

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

LOW TIDE OF THE NIGHT

**First edition. May 14, 2019.**

Copyright (C) 2019 J.Reed Morgan.

Written by J.Reed Morgan.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

# Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

LOW TIDE | OF THE NIGHT | J.REED MORGAN

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-six

Chapter Forty-seven

Chapter Forty-eight

Chapter Forty-nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-one

Chapter Fifty-two

Chapter Fifty-three

Chapter Fifty-four

Chapter Fifty-five

Chapter Fifty-six

Chapter Fifty-seven

Chapter Fifty-eight

Chapter Fifty-nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-one

Chapter Sixty-two

Chapter Sixty-three

Chapter Sixty-four

Chapter Sixty-five

Chapter Sixty-six

Chapter Sixty-seven

Chapter Sixty-eight

Chapter Sixty-nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-one

Chapter Seventy-two

Chapter Seventy-three

Organized Crime Surveillance Truck, Washington Ave. and 9th Street

Chapter Seventy-four

Chapter Seventy-five

Chapter Seventy-six

Chapter Seventy-seven

Chapter Seventy-eight

Chapter Seventy-nine

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-one

Chapter Eighty-two

Chapter Eighty-three

Chapter Eighty-four

Chapter Eighty-five

Chapter Eighty-six

Chapter Eighty-seven

Chapter Eighty-eight

Chapter Eighty-nine

Chapter Ninety

Chapter Ninety-one

Chapter Ninety-two

Chapter Ninety-three

Chapter Ninety-four

Chapter Ninety-five

Chapter Ninety-six

Chapter Ninety-seven

Chapter Ninety-eight

IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS

Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Vs. Maximillian Hope | Indicting Grand Jury

Chapter Ninety-nine

Chapter One Hundred

Chapter One Hundred-one

Chapter One Hundred-two

Chapter One Hundred-three

Chapter One Hundred-four

Chapter One Hundred-five

Chapter One Hundred-six

Chapter One Hundred-seven

Chapter One Hundred-eight

Chapter One Hundred-nine

Chapter One Hundred-ten

Chapter One Hundred-eleven

Chapter One Hundred-twelve

Chapter One Hundred-thriteen

Chapter One Hundred-fourteen

The End

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# LOW TIDE

# OF THE NIGHT

# J.REED MORGAN

Crimes Code Books

PHILADELPHIA

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copy (C) 2019 by J. Reed Morgan

Crimes Code Books supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artist to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author's intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book, please contact us at Crimescodebookspermission@gmail.com Thank you for your support of the author's rights.

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# Chapter One

It's not too often that I think about dying, but when I do, I imagined that I died in a situation like this.

Attendance wasn't optional. The meeting was at a rundown and overused warehouse on Washington Avenue. It was all but empty inside. High above was thirty or so windows, half of them with broken panes. The air was chilled and as ten lamps covered in dust swung above us, a breeze made its way through an open door pushing paper and other debris around the concrete floor like tumbleweed rolling down a ghost town street. I passed a few wooden cargo boxes on my way to a large table that was set up, in a spot next to where the freight trains used to load and unload. Everyone was waiting for me when I walked in thirty minutes late. I was met with stunned hushes and stone faces. Folded metal chairs surrounded the table, and each was filled with people who I didn't care about. They included a half dozen wise guy wannabes, foot soldiers, loan sharks and various captains trying to impress the acting "Boss."

I made my way towards Damian Mariano, the acting boss. He stepped to me, gave me a hug and whispered in my ear, "Don't worry." He then turned and sat in a chair near the middle of the table.

I sat between Damian and his half-brother, Anthony. I tried to relax, but I couldn't. Meetings like these never ended well. My heart pounded in my chest. The palms of my hands were clammy, and my mouth was dry. I scanned the men to my left and then to my right. Damian lit a cigar, took a few tots and opened the meeting. Before he got into the details Paul, one of the captains and all-around prick, stood and pointed at me. "So, you want to tell us why you didn't know Nicky had a federal case against him?" he said.

I shrugged. "I cannot." And I couldn't either. What these bastards didn't know was, that the Feds won't make a move until they have a complete case built, and even with my connections, both federally and locally, I didn't know there was a case against the old man until guys in blue windbreakers busted into his home on Christmas Eve.

"Your sister ain't have nothing to do with this?" Paul Said.

The question caught me off guard. My sister, although a powerful and feared prosecutor, had never come up in a conversation, yet alone made the subject of a meeting like this. My family was political muscle in the city. Some say we were the true crime family in Philly, but neither I nor anyone in my family, ever thought that. I made eye contact with Paul. My anger ravaged through my veins like a shot of fentanyl laced heroin. Family was sacred, and although I had a less than pleasant relationships with mine, no one better fuck with us, or they would feel my unmitigated wrath. I responded to Paul's edict seconds after, "My sister is a prosecutor, Paul. Of course, she had something to do with it." I don't think he got my sarcastic tone, so I leaned forward in my chair and glowered into his wrinkled Hollywood Tans, tanned faced. "And she wasn't the one who turned state's witness." I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out an Opus X, made a V cut, lit it and through the plume of smoke I taunted the bastard some more. "Who was that? Oh yeah, it was your brother. How's the family doing? The holidays must've been a bitch."

Paul stood and pointed at me. "You son of a bitch. Your whore of a sister did that. She made him turn. Bobby would never turn on family."

I wouldn't doubt that statement. My sister had a knack for getting under the skin of criminals and making them do things that went against the criminal code of ethics. I took another drag of the cigar, rolled the smoke around in my mouth and then exhaled. "But he did."

Damian turned towards me and said, "We need to talk about Nicole."

"Why?" I said.

"How did she get that kind of information on Pops?" Damian asked.

"Got me. My sister and I don't exactly have weekly dinner meetings to discuss shop." That wasn't a lie. It wasn't exactly the truth either. Nicole and I barely spoke about business, unless it was at family functions. She made it very clear that she never wanted to be on federal video or audio.

Paul turned right and then left as he gestured with his right hand towards me. "I got a man in the DA's office. He said he couldn't find any files on this fucker," Paul said.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I said. I placed my cigar onto the edge of the table and continued. "Please enlighten me in your best eighth grade vocabulary, Paul."

"It means one of two things. You were either a really good boy, or you got your sister to seal your files," Paul said.

"I have no record, you idiot. If I did, I wouldn't be a barred lawyer."

"Fuck you, Bart. I never liked you. I always thought you were a low-down dirty snake. I never trusted you." He gestured around the table and then pointed his right index finger emphatically towards me. "I say we kill the bastard right now and his sister."

I closed my eyes and told myself to stay calm. I then heard mumbles around the table. I couldn't believe these yellow rat bastards were seriously contemplating what this psychopathic knuckle head was saying. When I opened my eyes again, I glared at Paul and then I slowly panned the table from right to left all the while saying, "I know where you all live. I know what routes your kids take for school." I then pointed to Paul and continued. "I even know that your wife is fucking your limo driver and the cheese monger from Di Bruno Brothers on 9th Street. You all need to remember that I'm the motherfucker you all call when your sorry assess can't or won't do the shit that needs to be done."

I paused to allow my words to marinade in their thick skulls, and then continued my threat. "If I find out that anyone here has mentioned my family, stepped foot towards my sister, or anyone else in my family, I will slaughter you all." My family didn't need my protection. They've got all other types of local, state and federal law enforcement agencies at their beck and call. However, I needed to exert my expertise and authority. I leaned back, crossed my arms and then reached for my cigar. After taking a puff, I said through a thick plume of aged, cured and fermented Dominican smoke, "Fuck with me if you want. You all know I have the resources to carry it out."

"Enough, we all know what you are capable of, Bart," Damian said as he walked over to a small table with a coffee pot. He reached for a cup. "Someone here, in this room, has sold us out." He pointed to his chest. "Someone has sold my father out. My father who has done so much for all of you." He took a sip of his coffee and then pointed at me. "Including you. Bart you are the obvious suspect. You were his consiglieri."

Not really. The old man retained my law firm, after his old lawyer got busted for downloading kiddie porn. No one in the firm knew how to handle the kind of law that teetered on legal and illegal, except for me, so I was the obvious pick. I frowned back at Damian and mumbled, "Yeah, sure Michael."

"Which makes me believe it wasn't you." Damian stopped to take another sip of coffee and said, "So, who was it?" He reached behind the coffee pot and grabbed a nine-millimeter gun with a silencer on the muzzle.

I mumbled and cut my eyes at Anthony who had slouched slightly in his seat. "Shit."

Anthony sighed and closed his eyes.

Damian stood behind Paul and looked down at him. "Bart was right about you, Paul."

Paul frowned and turned just as Damian raised the gun and pointed it to his head.

"You really are an idiot." He pulled the trigger and shot him between the eyes.

I made eye contact with Damian as he pointed at me and then to the door. He said, "There's a duffle bag over there. Your retainer is in it. Take it and leave. I'm done with you for now. If I need your services again, I'll call." He then walked towards the door. Anthony and five other men followed him.

"Keep your phone on. Just in case I need you," Damian said.

"Will do."

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# Chapter Two

On the elevator ride up to the firm's office, I nodded to the woman next to me on the elevator.

Grace flashed a weak smile, lowered her head and seemed to go back into deep thought. She was an enigma, to me at least. I didn't know too much about her, although I had used her as a legal aid on several cases. I shared space on the eighteenth floor with the tax unit. It was the place where the firm's partners put all the red headed bastards who they never wanted to see or acknowledge.

The elevator doors opened.

Grace walked off.

I followed and cut left towards my office.

Mark, the chief of the tax unit, walked up and tapped me on the shoulder. "How's the trial?"

"It's going," I said.

"Hey, guys, hey guys," Andrew one of the tax lawyers said. "The new legal secretary, Grace."

"What about her?" I asked.

"There's a bet going on. The first person to sleep with her wins the pool. I have the odds. So, you guys in?"

I looked at him and frowned. "Two words. Sexual harassment," I said.

"Isn't she married?" Mark said.

"That's okay," Andrew said. "Most affairs start in the workplace. Need I remind you of Thomas up in Mergers? He's got a sterling reputation with the ladies here, despite being married with kids."

As I walked away, I said, "Get away from me."

After I finished my lunch, I glanced out the window and stared at City Hall. The statue of William Penn amused me. From the eighteenth floor of our building, old Willy holding out his hand at waist level looked more like he had pulled out his willie and was ready to take a piss on North Broad. I really don't think that Alexander Milne Calder thought the design through very well.

I swiveled and rocked in my chair as I thought about my case. A knock on my door jerked me out of my trance. I leaned forward. "Come in," I said.

Rocky Decker, one of the managing partners of the firm, walked in and smiled as he sat in a chair directly in front of my desk. He was a young guy who inherited his family's money and law firm. He was also a family friend. Rocky never came off his throne. Unless it was to fire someone, or occasionally promote a used and abused junior lawyer to a new department, so I braced myself for his informational news flash. I had a feeling that I wasn't going to like it, whatever he had to say. "What brings you down from the ivory towers?" I said.

He laughed like he always did at my corny jokes. He then crossed his legs and fiddled with his fingers. "I just got back from a meeting with the partners," he said. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. "Bart, listen." He cleared his throat and continued.

Any time a boss starts a sentence with the name of the person they're talking to followed by, listen, there was something barreling behind that made the recipient feel useless, ignorant, and smaller than a speck of dust. I know. I've been on both sides of the conversation. Luckily, I didn't give a shit what others thought, so I sat back in the chair, locked my hands behind my head and grinned as he tried his best to give me the old Oreo Cookie discipline. "We brought you on board for two reasons," he said.  "Do you know what they are?"

I furrowed my brow and examined his face as he glanced down at the desk like a schoolboy who couldn't look the cheerleader in the eyes to ask her out to the prom. When a few seconds passed, I said, "I'm sorry. Was I supposed to answer that?" I got my answer from the way he cut his eyes at me. I wanted to keep the conversation lite, so I retorted with a quippy and egotistical response. "I'm a stellar litigator and strikingly good looking?"

His lips parted slightly as he chuckled under his breath. "No," Rocky said as his facial expression turned to stone. This was serious. This was bad like the time when I was younger, and my happy-go-lucky loan shark sold my debt to a conglomerate of street thugs. However, this time I wasn't clueless or caught off guard. I had a feeling that I knew the reason for his visit. My current case, and a bunch of others, past and present, had garnered lots of press. Press that the firm didn't like. I think it was the cliched icing on the proverbial cake. Why? Well, the bunch of lily-white, head up their own asses corporate lawyers, recruited me, a cutthroat defense litigator, to handle well-paying underworld businessmen and to snag rich clients who were in constant trouble with the law.

However, they abruptly discovered that the kind of wealthy clientele they sought very rarely had negative contact with the law. I told them that ahead of time, but they didn't listen. Now, they're all pissed with me because the clients that I bagged were the drug dealers from the areas of Philly they never knew existed. Well, that and the fact I was a little whorish when it came to the media. I loved putting these guys into socially awkward situations. It was fun, for me at least. I raised my head and grinned slightly as Rocky nervously continued.

"Well, actually there are three reasons. One, your mother is Elizabeth Mancini." He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and folded his hands on his left knee. "I don't think I have to say any more about her."

My mother was Chair of the Democratic Party, and unofficial ruler of the City of Brotherly Love. She had a lot of favors owed to her, and people in the city, who were in the know knew what she could and would do for them, and what she wouldn't do for them. Politicians, civilians, and the newspapers either loved, loathed or feared her. For me, it was all three. "Please don't," I said.

He titled his head back slightly and silently acknowledged my simple request to never say my mother's name again in a casual or business conversation. After a few more seconds passed, he uncrossed his legs, leaned forward and took a deep breath. He then raised his right hand, held up his index and middle finger to form a V and said, "Two, your sister, the highly respected, powerful, and influential prosecutor, called in a personal favor." He leaned back again and re-crossed his legs in the same manner as before. His eyes wandered a bit like he was thinking of something courteous to say about her. "There's not too many people who can do that." He rolled his head around on his shoulders and smiled. "There's not too many people who have done that."

I flashed an impatient glare hoping he would get the signal to get to the damn point. I don't think he got it, so I sighed an irritating sigh and waited for him to continue.

"And three," he said as he pointed to me. "Your reputation as a stellar litigator and defense attorney."

I closed my left eye and wrinkled my face like I was thinking hard about words to connect to give a reply. Thank you? I think that was what I was supposed to say, but for some reason I think the last few minutes were just a string of words that made up a backhanded compliment, so instead of acknowledging his statement I asked, "So why do I hear a but?"

When he raised his eyebrows, his fat cheeks rose under his wire rimmed glasses and formed an unflattering grin. He said, "However, while the partners and I don't balk at your billable hours, we'd rather that you'd be more selective." He raised his right hand and waved it around in the air like he was conducting the Philly Pops. "Represent," he rolled his eyes and said, "I know this is going to sound strange, but it's something we want you to do."

I leaned back breathed in the warm air and asked in an impatient tone, "What?"

"We want you to find a better group of criminals."

I ran my hands over my face and looked at him between my fingers as they crossed my eyes. "A better group of criminals?" I then ran my hands through my hair and shook my head in disbelief at the words that I just heard. "Seriously? That's your master plan for the criminal defense division of this law firm? I stood and stretched as I glanced down at him. "That sounds oxymoronic, Rocky." I laughed between a pause as I thought about what an oxymoron was, and when I concluded that A better group of criminals fell within the definition of an oxymoron I said, "Forgive me. That is an oxymoron." I sat and shifted in my seat as I defended my means of wealthy and criminal clientele. "So, the million-dollar drug dealers from North Philly are causing a little embarrassment to the firm?" I asked.

Rocky incredulously pointed to himself and said, "It's not me. I find these people that you associate with to be..." he stood and crossed his arms. "Quite amusing, but."

I cut him off and smiled. "The partners and everyone else in this building are a bit uneasy when Bubs and twenty, saggy pants, tatted up goons come in for an initial briefing." I stood and walked around the desk and was now toe-to-toe with my boss and nemesis. "I understand," I said as I placed my right hand on his shoulder. "However, when my mother's political cronies forced you to hire me, I informed you of the kinds of clients I'd bring in and the limitations my sister imposed on me."

He turned and walked away from me as he said, "Limitations? That's a joke, Bart." Stopping at the office door, he turned. "You know as well as I that those limitations are nothing but formalities."

I don't scare easy. If I did, I wouldn't be a good defense attorney, and because I'm good, means I walk the walk and journey to places that would scare the shit out of most people. Trap houses, shooting dens, high-rise projects, Eighth and Butler--the badlands--they're all part of my beat. I had no issues. My secret? I respected the client and his work. You're a drug dealer. So? If you have enough to retain me, I'll take you on as a client. Prostitutes, yeah, the same. Junkies? Who cares? I didn't. If you're a burglar, thief, robber I'll treat you all the same. If your money is good and long, hey I'm in it for the long haul; from the 2AM arraignment court appearances to the verdict. I have a reverence for those who live in the sub-culture of society, because I live in and make my living from the sub-culture of society. I'm just a well-compensated member of the dregs of humanity. I have no qualms about who I am, who I represent, what I do and how I do it. And those who live in the sub-culture got just as much reverence for me.

My sister on the other hand doesn't respect me. She never did. My mother only acknowledges that I'm her kin when she has something to lord over me. The only member of my family whom I have a good relationship with is my uncle, the Ward Leader and that's only because everyone else in the family thinks he's a no-good corrupt piece of shit. Yeah, my mom, and my sister love me. Maybe. I think, but respect? No

Ever since Nicole and I were kids growing up, in the heart of South Philly, around Broad and Tasker, she'd always been the Alpha. When she was ten and I was seven, she told me that if I didn't protect myself against the neighborhood bully, she'd kick my ass. In my teens, she told me if I ever got into trouble, she'd kick my ass. When I moved back to the city, she told me if I ever embarrassed her, she'd kick my ass. She royally fucked me up mentally thirty years ago and still does it down to today. I have a morbid fear of her. She scares the shit out of me because she knows where to hit me, how hard to hit and how to counter the games I like to play. She's a freak of nature.

As Rocky walked out of the office, I said, "Rocky."

He turned and waited to hear what I had to say.

I took three steps towards him and placed my hands into my pockets. After looking him in the eyes I said, "You obviously don't know my sister very well."

"Maybe so, but you now know what we want." He turned and as he walked out, he said, "Just do what we asked."

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# Chapter Three

Nicole Mancini was a clinical psychologist by trade and education, but got bored with profiling criminals for the police, so she went back to school, got her J.D. and graduated first in her law class at Temple. She wanted to practice criminal law but stay on the good side of the law, so during her 2L year she interned at the district attorney's office, and through some political pull she got hired right after graduating.

She walked into the dining area of Del Fisco's, on Fifteenth and Chestnut, and got nods and smiles from the regulars and staff. She was confident and had the respect and awe of the city's officials and politicians because of who she was, what she did and does, her family lineage and how she mind fucked anyone into doing anything that she wanted them to do.

She was having dinner with her new boss, civil rights attorney turned district attorney, Chuck Walker. Chuck was a friend and sometime boyfriend. Nicole didn't believe in traditional relationships and only dated and slept with men whom she respected, which were few and far between. The restaurant was an old bank and had oak panels and polished brass trims. It was the only place in the city that served the Double Eagle steaks, top shelf liquor and desserts hand crafted by a celebrity pastry chef.

Nicole placed her order, an 8 0z. filet medium, a baked potato and steamed broccoli. Chuck ordered the same and stared at Nicole as she brushed her hair away from her face.

"What?" she said.

Chuck touched his wine glass to hers and made a toast. "To reform."

"People in the office are worried," Nicole said.

"About?"

Nicole's steely gaze pierced through Chuck's bespoke suit. "These are folks that have been on this side of the aisle for most of their legal lives." She leaned forward, folded her hands on the table, and continued. "Don't do what people think you're going to do."

Chuck crossed his arms and huffed.

She knew he didn't like people telling him what to do, particularly when it came to his new post. There was a lot of bad blood with Chuck and some in positions of major responsibilities within the office. Unit chiefs, first assistants, assistant chiefs and deputies, were all on the chopping block. The tensions within the office were unbearable. Those who got out before Chuck won the primary warned others of what the elected man would do if he was elected in the General and those premonitions came true. "I'm not a cold-hearted bastard," he said.

"I never said that you were cold-hearted."

Chuck sipped his wine and after placing the glass on the table, he gritted his teeth.

Nicole was unfazed. She was politically insulated. He couldn't touch her. She wielded power that he needed and wanted to make good on political promises. "Why did you call this meeting?" she asked.

"I wanted you to take over the Homicide Unit."

"You could've told me this in an email."

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# Chapter Four

The narcotic strike force prepped for the raid on a corner near Lippincott Street. It was a dead-end street in some part of North Philly. There was nothing there but concert barriers where construction sites once stood, weeds and thick bushes. It was the ideal spot to set up shop and distribute marijuana, heroin, fentanyl, OxyContin, crack and cocaine.  The Strike Force and Vice hit the places about three or four times a month, yet business continued. Today, however, was a bit different. Homicide detectives tagged along because there was a tip of a dead body in a trap house. Within minutes, the Strike Force, Vice and homicide swooped onto the location like a tornado on a small town somewhere in Oklahoma. They arrested fifteen people and charged them with misdemeanor drug charges to felony weight. On the corner of Lippincott was a small two-story house. Thick plywood covered the first-floor windows, but the boarded-up doors were just a façade. To find a safe space to shoot up and pass out, those in the know knew to just slide the boards to the left.

The officers of the narcotic strike force and detectives entered the house cautiously and searched the first floor. "Clear," one officer yelled as another searched the second floor. He held his gun at a tactical angle with his flashlight under his Glock and flashed the light in each corner of the darkened house. He searched one room and another and when he got to the last room in the back of the house, he paused, lowered his gun and frowned. "Up here," he yelled.

On the floor, sprawled out in the middle of the room, was a woman. She wasn't high or passed out. She was dead. He could tell from the pale color in her skin. He then walked closer and saw that she was naked. Her arms and legs were spread in the directions of the four corners of the room almost like she was posed in a ritualistic manner. But there was something else that caught the detective's eye. He kneeled and looked closer. He covered his mouth. "Shit," he said.

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# Chapter Five

"Only if you let me keep who is there." Nicole pointed to herself. "I won't run the unit with inexperienced trial attorneys. This isn't a private firm." She pointed across the table at Chuck and continued. "You need to remember the success of your office reflects on what the units do."

He raised his hands in the air and said, "I understand, but you need to understand there are things that I know about this office that you don't."

"Like?"

"I can't say right now. When the time is right, I'll be making some changes that will move this city onto the National stage."

Nicole rolled her eyes and looked at her phone as Ray Braxton flashed across the screen. She pressed accept. "Yeah," she said.

"Cheryl Mapp."

"I haven't heard that name in years."

"Neither have I. We just did a raid in Kensington and found her dead at 1325 Lippincott Street. I thought I'd give you a call."

Nicole reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded greetings card. The piece of mail arrived at her office earlier that day. She opened it and read it. She thought it was sent to her by mistake. Now, she knew it was message from a killer. She opened the card again and read the brief message--Happy Anniversary, Ms. Profiler.

It was signed K.R.

"Are you sure it's Cheryl Mapp?"

"Positive. It's her, Nicole. She has an incision on her left side." He paused and then continued. "It appears that our killer is back."

"What is it?" Chuck said.

Nicole's mind skipped and spun out of control. She knocked over her glass of wine as she placed the phone down on the table and didn't move to stop the flow. Her composure diminished. Her thoughts shot back to a crime scene ten years ago.

The man, dubbed the Kensington Ripper, killed five prostitutes all in the same way. Cheryl Mapp was a young addict and prostitute who helped Nicole and the police find the killer roaming the streets of Kensington. Their throats were slashed, and the vital organs; heart, lungs and kidneys were surgically removed. He's now serving five life sentences. Now this. A similar crime, in the same house, on the same day, in the same area, only ten years later. After the case, Nicole helped Cheryl with rehab, found her a place to live and a job. The last she heard, Cheryl was getting her Master's in social work at Temple University.

The waiter wiped the spilled wine before placing Nicole's dinner on the table.

She thanked him and leaned back in her seat.

"Looks like you just saw a ghost," Chuck said.

"I might have," she said as she pushed her plate back. "I just lost my appetite. I have to go," Nicole said to Chuck as she stood. "I have to call Bart."

"Why?" Chuck reached over and squeezed her hand. "Are you okay? What's going on?"

As she put her coat on, she said, "Do you remember the Kensington Ripper?"

"Of course."

"He's back."

Chuck tilted his head to the left and flashed an incredulous look. "I'm sure he is serving five life sentences. My firm exhausted his appeals."

"I know," Nicole said.

A waiter put a clean cloth on the table and refilled Nicole's glass, but she was no longer interested in the wine or dinner. All five of the girls had been killed in the same way, in the same area and in the same time frame and in the same house 1325 Lippincott Street. Nicole was the profiler working for the Philly P.D. at the time and nailed the suspect. She profiled his habits, his sexual preferences, what kind of family he came from, all with pinpoint accuracy. There was no doubt this was the guy. There was even surveillance camera footage from local stores showing the suspect picking up three of the prostitutes days before the police found their bodies.

"Fuck," Nicole said as she rushed out of the restaurant. She gave the valet her ticket and waited in the wintry night for her car arrive. She reached for her cell phone and scrolled through her list of contacts. She stopped at Bart. The brother and sister fought this first and only case against each other. He defended the murderer and she helped with the prosecution. The courtroom drama made for great news and the two were on the cover of all the daily newspapers. Nicole needed to prove that she was right about the suspect and Bart needed to prove himself as a trial lawyer when he re-settled in Philly from New York.

As the valet pulled up in her Lexus RX, she pressed send. The phone rang a few times and went to voice mail. "Bart," she said while handing the valet a ten. "Give me a call whenever you get this message. It's important." She slammed the door shut and drove off to the crime scene. What had she missed? She kept thinking. "Nothing. I missed nothing." She pressed the phone button on the steering wheel and activated the voice call. "Call Murray."

Detective Nero Murray was the lead on the original case and was now Nicole's go to guy on the force when she needed muscle and investigative know how. Murray picked up right away. "What's up?"

"I'm headed over to Lippincott Street."

"Wow, I haven't been around there in..."

"Ten years," Nicole said.

"Since..."

"Yeah, and another body was found in the same house, murdered in the same way. Cheryl Mapp."

"What? How? We nailed the guy. Wait, Cheryl Mapp? She was a witness."

"Yeah," she said. "I missed something. Be there, because we need to wrap this up and fast before the press gets wind of this."

"Didn't your brother..."

"Yeah," she said as she disconnected. What did she miss? The nail in the coffin came when the killer claimed credit for one of the murders in a bizarre crude letter that he sent to the Bulletin. He wrote that he buried trophies from the most recent murder under a tree in Dilworth Park, in the shadows of City Hall. He signed the note, KR.

It took some time for Nicole and her crew to get usable DNA from the letter, but in a stroke of luck when the city renovated Dilworth Park, they found a shoe, a locket and a wallet under a tree in a plastic bag. The items were clean, but there was a usable fingerprint on the zip lock bag. That led the police to a medical student at Temple University. His fingerprints were on file because he just started a job working for the medical examiner's Office. He denied everything, but when the police searched his off-campus housing, they found pictures of the women, newspaper clippings and snips of each victim's hair.

Nicole's synced I Phone rang in stereo and then Siri announced her call. "You have an in-coming call from Bart Mancini."

Nicole stopped at a light just under the El tracks on Girard Avenue and Kensington. She shook her head. "I need you to set up a meeting with your piece of shit client."

"Which one?"

"Ritchie Foster."

"He stopped paying my invoices, so technically he's not my client anymore. Why do you need to talk to him?"

"Just set it up. I'll call you later."

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# Chapter Six

Murray was already at the crime scene by the time Nicole arrived. Just as she dipped under the yellow crime scene tape, a news truck parked.

Ava Monroe, a reporter from channel 10, walked over with her microphone and set up with her cameraman.

Nicole glanced over her shoulder and mumbled, "Fuck."

Ava wasn't around to remember the case ten years ago, but that wouldn't stop her from using Google. That and the fact the Philly P.D. had more leaks than the H.M.S. Titanic. So, someone within the force must have tipped her off before any other news organization got the information. Before Nicole turned away, she made eye contact with Ava.

Ava took that as an opening and rushed over with her cameraman while yelling, "Ms. Mancini."

Nicole stopped in her tracks and lowered her head as she turned. "Make it quick," she said.

"Is it true that a woman inside that house," she said as her camera man panned to the right for a crisp shot of the decrepit boarded up building. "Was murdered in the same gruesome way as five other women ten years ago?"

"I cannot comment on that," Nicole said.

"Can you explain the similarities to this murder and those murders?"

"I cannot comment on that," Nicole said.

"Weren't you the forensic profiler who was instrumental in convicting the man responsible for those murders?"

Nicole didn't answer as she turned and walked towards the house.

"How do you feel that you might have sent the wrong man to prison?" Ava asked.

Nicole rolled her eyes as Murray handed her a pair of latex gloves.

Murray said while they walked in together, "It's the same. It's eerily the same."

Nicole snapped on a pair of latex gloves and walked into the room. Flashbacks flooded her mind. The horrors of that investigation. The press was all over her and the newly formed Division of Forensic Policing. She slowly traced the walls of the house and then the rooms. The place was still the same. It was like the very scene had been frozen in time. "Why didn't they tear this place down?" she asked.

"Some nut job bought it and wanted to preserve it," Murray said.

Nicole turned to Murray and said, "What?"

"You heard me right," he said.

Floodlights in each corner filled the room. The light exposed a floor that was rugged with plastic hypodermic needles, spoons, crack vials and other drug paraphernalia. The naked woman was on display in the middle of the floor like a twisted art exhibit.

"Who called you?" Murray asked Nicole.

"Braxton," Nicole said as she pointed over to a detective standing in a corner.

Kip Braxton walked over while shoving his note pad into his pocket.

Nicole nodded and then glanced down at the body. She couldn't believe what she saw. It was sickeningly identical from the butchered bodies from ten years. "Fuck me," Nicole mumbled.

Braxton said to Murray, "This was my beat ten years ago. I remember the case and all those girls like it was yesterday."

Murray frowned. "How did you stumble onto this?"

"We didn't stumble onto the scene. Strike Force was preparing for our weekly raid. We always get hits for heroin, oxy, fentanyl, but tonight, right before we left the station, we got a tip that a dead woman was in a room on the second floor of house on Lippincott. We called homicide to tag along and after a few street level busts, we raided the house and found her."

"Who knew you were hitting this area?" Murray said.

"Who didn't? You could set your calendar to the day that we hit this spot."

"And yet, people still sling here," Murray said.

Braxton shrugged his shoulders. "Guess so."

Nicole looked at Braxton and then slowly examined the body and scene. She said, "It's the same." She gingerly moved a flap of skin to reveal the cut rib cage. Her breathing got thick and heavy. One of the identifying marks the original killer left was on the cut bones. The police and other experts surmised that an old surgical rib cutter made the distinctive markings on the bone. Nicole remembered those markings, and when she saw the exact marking on the bones of this body, she closed her eyes. "Shit."

Braxton nodded. "It's what I remembered. Down to the way she's sprawled out."

Nicole nodded, stood and slipped out of the gloves.

Lieutenant Belinda Linden walked into the room and stood next to Nicole. "Blast from the past," she said.

Nicole noticed her out of the corner of her eye but didn't acknowledge her presence.

Linden turned in Nicole's direction. "Thought you were a D.A. What are you doing out here?" Linden was feisty, a smart detective with too much attitude. The bosses criticized her for not getting along with other female officers, equals and detectives. She and Nicole never liked each other going all the way back to the academy. It was the case of two alpha females butting heads and getting nowhere fast whenever they crossed paths.

Nicole turned, made eye contact with her and said, "Detective."

Linden chuckled a bit as her head bobbed up and down. "It's Lieutenant."

"Whatever," Nicole said. "The D.A. sent me."

"Aren't you two fucking?"

Nicole locked eyes with Linden.

Linden shrugged her shoulder and said, "That's what I heard. Isn't that how you got the job? Oh wait, mommy pulled some strings for you, that's right."

Nicole didn't let the comment get to her. She walked closer to the body and watched the medical examiner slowly lift the hollowed-out corpse onto a gurney.

"Your boyfriend calls," Linden said.

Nicole stood toe to toe with Linden and said, "You've got issues, bitch." She shoulder-checked her and stopped the M.E. once she spotted something. She leaned in and squinted. There was a large gash in the back of the girl's head.

The medical examiner shined a penlight in the area of the wound and raised his eyebrows. "Blunt force trauma," he said.

Nicole straightened and rolled her head around on her shoulders. "The others were strangled first, and then the throats were slit." She almost let out a sigh of relief. There was a possibility that this wasn't the same murderer, but a copycat. Still the details were eerily the same. Someone could have read the newspapers or gotten a copy of the police reports.

"I won't know if the hit to the head killed her until I get back to the morgue," the M.E. said. With the help of an assistant, he lowered the gurney down the narrow stairs and out the front door.

"What are you thinking?" Murray asked Nicole standing next to her on the top of the stairs.

Nicole turned her head slightly in the direction of Murray and said, "I don't know." She paused and then gave Murray some instructions. "I need the visitor's log of Frackville. I want to know whose visited that bastard and want to know who he's been calling him over the last ten years. Before that, however, I want to pay a visit to the whack job who brought this place." She glanced over at Murray. "What's his name?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure it's easy to find out. Give me a few hours."

"Do it," Nicole said as she followed the M.E.

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# Chapter Seven

Nicole followed the medical examiner's van to the morgue. On the way over, she called her one-time mentor, Doctor Phil Ross. Ross was a brilliant forensic medical examiner and surgeon who funded the Division of Forensic Policing, turned it into a model program for all big city police departments to follow and had since left and was teaching and practicing at the University Of Pennsylvania Hospital. Nicole felt the need to talk to someone with insight on the case. Ross was the man for just that because he worked with Nicole on the original Kensington Ripper case. He picked up right away. "Well, if this isn't a voice from the past."

Nicole chuckled and said, "I know."

"I've been keeping tabs on my favorite student and mentee. I know you're a busy woman, so this must be somewhat of an important call. What can I do to help?"

"The Kensington Ripper."

"I haven't heard that moniker in years."

"Another body just showed in the same house. Killed similar to the ones from ten years ago."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. Nicole knew that Ross didn't hang up because she still heard his breathing. "What do you mean similar?" he asked.

"Down to the marking on the bones."

"They never found the instruments used to cut open the chests?"

"No, so it looks like the same utensils were used."

"He was working with someone else?"

"That's what you told me ten years ago." Nicole breathed in deeply as she pulled into the medical examiner's parking lot. "You were right."

"But why wait this long to strike again? This just doesn't make any sense."

"Listen, I'm walking into the medical examiner's office now. Do you still work late?"

"I do."

"Can I come over to brainstorm? I'm going to need all the help on this one. I may have sent the wrong guy to prison."

"Don't say that. You got the right one. He had help. Like I said before. We find those tools and we find the killer."

Nicole followed the M.E. down a spiral staircase that led to an office. Sci-Fi and horror movie posters plastered the walls. Star Wars, Star Trek, Return of The Living Dead, Texas Chain Saw Massacre, just to name a few. Nicole said, "Someone's a movie buff."

"My assistant," the M.E. said. He then gestured for Nicole to follow him through a maze of concrete hallways lined with steel gurneys on either side. The air in the subterranean space reeked of chilled blood, rotting flesh, death and formaldehyde. It was enough to churn Nicole's stomach. It was a good thing that she didn't eat.

The M.E. stopped at a loading dock of sorts and pressed a red button. A metal gate rolled up and the van pulled in.

The M.E.'s assistant was a young-looking student type. He wore thick black glasses, a heavy down coat and a Phillies hat turned backwards. The M.E. and his assistant rolled the gurney out from the back of the van and placed it on a scale. They took the weight, did some measurements, subtracted the weight of the steel table, and then rolled it into the main examination room.

Nicole stood back and watched the M.E. examine the head. "Anything?"

"She could've been killed from a hit like this."

"And the surgery?"

"Most likely done after the death. But I won't know until I do a full examination."

Nicole nodded her head. "Keep me informed." Nicole dug into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She looked at the number. It was Murray. "What's up?

"I got the address of the owner. You care to join me?"

"I'm just leaving the M.E.'s. Text me the address."

"I'll meet you there. I'm a few minutes away."

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# Chapter Eight

Alexander Martin was an odd guy. He lived just outside the city, in a small suburb. Murray had called ahead of time and despite being almost midnight, Alexander was more than happy to play host. Murray knocked as Nicole looked around. The outside of the home was manicured. The home had a small spot of green grass and there was a small green bush outside the first-floor windows. Nicole said in a low voice, "Why would anyone want to own that home?"

Murray shrugged. "Got me," he said.

Just then a tall white man opened the door. He nodded to Nicole and Murray and gestured for them to enter. As Nicole and Murray entered, another man slowly walked down a winding staircase. He wore a red velvet smoking jacket and maroon Savinelli pipe hanged from his lips as a plume of smoke covered his face. As he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he took the pipe from his mouth, grinned and held out his hand. "Detective," he said.

Murray nodded and gestured towards Nicole. "We spoke on the phone. This is ADA Nicole Mancini."

"Alexander," he said as she nodded towards Nicole. "You were on the case?"

Nicole narrowed her eyes at him. "What case?"

"The Kensington Ripper case." He chuckled and walked towards the entrance of a room. "Such a primitive title." He opened the door and said, "Please have a seat."

"Thanks for seeing us at such a late hour."

"Late for whom?" Alexander said. "This is my morning. I do most of my work during the wee hours of the morning. It's so much quieter."

Nicole rolled her eyes. "Why did you buy the house on Lippincott Street?"

Alexander grinned. "I wanted to turn it into a monument."

"For the victims?" Murray said.

"For the artist."

Nicole took a deep breath and shook her head. "You've got to be fucking me?" she crossed her arms and looked at Alexander as he puffed his pipe. "Do you have an alibi for the last twenty-four hours?"

"Why?"

"Because another woman was killed the exact same way as all those other girls. And in the same house. The house you now own."

Alexander placed the pipe down on the table and smiled. "Do you have pictures? I'll...I'll pay for the pictures."

"Yes we have pictures and no they're not for sale you whack job. Now were where you?" Nicole said.

"I was at a mortician's conference in Los Angeles. I just got back when I received the call."

Nicole shook her head. "Come on," she said as she tapped Murray on the shoulder.

"I'll pay top dollar for the pictures," Alexander said as Nicole and Murray walked out.

Murray said as Nicole got into the car. "What do you think?"

"Do you really need to ask?"

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# Chapter Nine

Nicole pulled up to Ross' house around four in the morning. Ross lived on the other side of City Avenue, just on the border of Philadelphia and Montgomery County. He was from old money. Storied money. She never asked what his family did, or how they got the money to live in an audacious mansion. She hadn't been there in years and pleasant memories came to mind as she walked onto his tennis court. She picked up a racket, flipped on the court lights and hit a couple balls against a wall.

A few minutes later, she spun around and saw Ross's silhouetted form leaving the house. As he got closer, he smiled.

Nicole dropped the racket and walked over to him. She gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

He smiled as he rubbed her face. "It's been a while."

"It has. I'm sorry," she said. "I should've called. How's Sarah?"

He shrugged his shoulder and said, "She's alright, I guess. That woman has a mind of her own. I should've just let Bart deal with her."

Nicole raised her eyebrows and sat in a chair.

"Come inside where it's warm. I'll make us some coffee and we can talk."

Ross brewed a fresh cup of coffee all the while Nicole stared into nothingness. "Talk," he said.

"Did I fuck up? Did I send the wrong man to prison?"

"No," Ross said. "You got the right guy."

"How is this happening again? And why now?"

"Let me ask you a question, Nicole. Do you have a new theory? Anything at all?"

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Only that you were right, ten years ago. He had a partner."

"Or he was set up. That was another theory of mine." He paused to take a long deep breath in. He then said, "Now think about who might have worked with him then and who might be doing this now."

Nicole racked her mind. The only suspect they had in the crosshairs was now in jail. There was no one else. She stood from the stool, stretched and ran her hands through her hair. "I don't know. I haven't thought like this in a decade."

"You're a lawyer, which means you can still think outside the box. Think."

She clapped her hands together and took a deep breath in. "I have to look at the case files again." She leaned forward on the table and rested her head in her hands. "Who did you think it was? You had to have had a suspect."

He stood and walked into another room. A few minutes later, he came back with a manila folder in his right hand. He placed it on the table and slid it over to her.

Nicole opened the folder and read the first few paragraphs. She then looked up at Ross and said, "Really? Have you told anyone about this?"

He shook his head and said, "You're the first. It's all about the drug trafficking."

"Cocaine?"

He shook his head. "Fentanyl. I've been doing my own investigation into him for the last ten years." He gestured for her to follow him. He opened the door to a small room and turned on the lights.

Nicole's mouth dropped open as she examined the contents that were in the room. "Jesus," she said. "Ten years?"

Ross walked over to a white board and pointed to red string that crisscrossed a map of the entire city of Philadelphia. "This is just the tip of the iceberg," Ross said.

It was a little before seven when Nicole woke up. Next to her was a note from Ross. He had to go to the hospital for an early morning meeting. Nicole sat up in the bed, yawned and ran her hands through her hair. Slowly, she slid out of bed and dressed. Then she headed to her place in the city.

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# Chapter Ten

It was a little after seven 7 A.M. when Renee and Mal clocked out. They were both registered nurses working the overnight shift at the hospital of the University of Philadelphia. The two had just finished a fifteen-hour shift.

"Are you working this weekend?" Renee asked as she yawned and glanced at the cell phone in her right hand.

Mal shook her head and smiled. She said, "Christ, no. Tonight is my last shift. It's been seventeen days straight." She took a sip of coffee and said, "Sometimes, I wonder how I do it." She then rolled her eyes and said, "Thank god for the nursing students."

Renee smiled and nodded back. "Do you have any plans for the weekend?"

Mal shrugged her shoulders. "Maybe. Who knows?" She stopped at a door and looked at the name placard-- P. Ross M.D. She glanced over her shoulder and continued. "I'll see you tonight. I've got to talk to him about something." She then opened the door, turned on the lights and jumped back. She laughed. "Sarah. You scared me," she said. "I didn't know you were in here. Why were the lights out?"

Sarah was Doctor Philip Ross' wife.

Mal walked closer to Sarah, slipped, caught her balance and looked towards the floor. She dropped the cup of coffee, covered her mouth with both hands and took a deep breath. "Oh my god," she said.

Dr. Philip Ross was dead. A pool of blood puddled around his body.

Sarah dropped the knife in her right hand, held her arms in the air and shook her head. "It's not what it looks like," she said. "I swear. I didn't do it." She stepped over the body and grabbed Mal by the shoulders. "I swear. He was dead when I found him. I swear."

Mal took a step back, looked at the blood on her white lab coat, held her hands over her mouth and screamed as Sarah pushed her out of the way.

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# Chapter Eleven

I'd never dwelled on the past, but occasionally people, events, smells and sounds triggered memories from a time in my life that I really would've liked to forget. I shook off the thoughts of the conversation I had with Rocky the day before and plotted some well needed revenge. Sons of bitches. I'll show them. I picked up the phone and opened my phone book. After scrolling down the names under the M, I stopped and rolled my eyes at the name, Ava Monroe.

Ava worked at one of the local news stations. A woman about town and I really hated calling her. She was a stalker. My stalker, and there's nothing worse than having a beautiful stalker who knew how to track people down and find information that was better off left under a rock. I slept with her a couple of times. I had no choice. She was doing an expose on organized crime and my name kept popping up. She pounced on me like a hungry lion on an injured gazelle, so I had to tell her everything. My past turned her on. It was fun, for a while, but she pushed the limits and had me talking about things I hated talking about, which included my sister and family. In the end, she said she wasn't going to run the story, so I didn't think much of it. Just had to do what I had to do to shut some doors. Apparently, she thought more of the situation than I did. I got that she felt like I owed her one. I gave in, for a while, but I eventually got tired of the 2 A.M. booty calls and filed three stay away orders. The last one just ended a few days ago.

On the small screen and under the cameras and lights Ava was a drop dead gorgeous long dark haired and deep blue eyed woman with a bubbly personality and a degree in journalism from Columbia. However, what her legions of fans and Wikipedia page didn't know and say was that she also majored in batshittery. She was a certifiable nut case. Got that way from men using and abusing her over the years. She finally snapped and unfortunately, for me, I got caught on the tail end of the debacle. Well, anyway I knew she could and would help in the execution of my juvenile plan.

I took a deep breath as I punched in the nine numbers.

Seconds later, she picked up. "You calling to make good on dinner?" she said.

"Dinner for what?"

"Celebration."

"What are we celebrating?"

"The end of that stay away order."

I nervously coughed into the phone and took a deep breath. "Yeah sure," I said.

"Liar."

"I need a favor."

"If you return one for me."

I closed my eyes and plopped down in my chair. "What?

"My mother is coming to town in two weeks and I want you to go out to dinner with me with her."

"You want to introduce me to your mother? Are you trying to hook me up with your mother? Not really into the whole milf thing."

"No silly. She's fucking some guy that's thirty years younger than she is."

"And, where do I fit into this nutty plan?"

"I want to piss her off. She wanted me to marry up. You know, someone rich and successful, so I thought if I showed up with an ambulance chasing lawyer with a criminal past, she'd be pissed."

There it went again. Bad memories. I lowered my head. Jesus, she really was crazy. "Sure?"

"Great, now what can I do for you?"

"I need coverage on a case."

"Why?"

"The gods want to get off the front page."

She laughed. "The W.A.S.P.s at Decker Brigham and Ritter embarrassed by the current clientele and your cheesy commercials?"

"I think they're embarrassed of me and those commercials work."

"So, you want to piss them off?"

"Like you want to piss off your mother."

"What do you have?"

"Drug case. D.A. pinned ten bricks of coke on my client."

"What's the twist? I need a twist because that shit won't even make the mobile app."

"Here's the twist. The drug ring has direct ties to a certain political candidate who is running for re-election."

"And?"

"Let's just say a great portion of the drug proceeds have funded his campaign. And what makes it even better, for me at least, is that this particular politician is a college bud of one of the managing partners here."

"You're shitting me? You have proof?"

"I'm bringing everything out in court tomorrow. Be at the courthouse with cameras and a notepad."

"By the way, I just wanted to get an on the record quote from you."

"About what?"

"You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

"They found a girl in Kensington, with her vital organs surgically removed. Just like the ones your client killed all those years ago."

"Yeah, Nicole told me."

"Think of a good printable quote."

"Yeah, sure."

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# Chapter Twelve

The rocking of the boat woke me. I opened my eyes as the sun light peeking through the portals touched my face. After stretching, yawning and getting dressed, I walked out of my stateroom and made my way up the spiral stairs. Angela, my daughter, was sitting at the galley table, her back to me, her head bent over her laptop, studying for some exam. She'd already guzzled her mug of coffee down to the grounds. I moved her long, brown hair to the side and gave her a kiss on the nap of her neck. She turned, closed her eyes and smiled. "Why don't you get a house? Not that there's nothing wrong with living on a boat, but it just seems so juvenile. Mom thinks it's juvenile. She said no grown respected man lives on boat."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "I like it," I said while I poured myself a cup of coffee. "And your mother thinks everything that I do is juvenile." I looked over her shoulder. "What are you studying?"

"Econ. Its bullshit, but it's something that I need to get into Penn." She swiveled around in her chair and crossed her legs. "Why can't you just donate a couple of million dollars to their endowment, so that I can get in without going through all this shit?"

"First off, stop cursing. It's not ladylike and second, no. I want you to work like I did to get into that school."

She cut her eyes at me and laughed. "You're so full of shit. Grandma got you in with her connections, so I don't understand why she can't do the same for me."

"She did not get me into Penn."

She shrugged her shoulders. "That's what she told me."

I grunted.

She hopped off the stool, grabbed her bag and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Mom's on her way. Oh, I'm having some friends over after school. Hope you don't mind if we hang out here." She twirled around and waved. "Bye." She slid open the door and rushed out as my ex-wife Karen walked in.

Karen turned and pointed to Angela. "I'll be right there."

"Hey," I said.

"Did she tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I'm getting married."

"Congratulations, so you can stop leaching of me now." I looked her in the eyes and smiled. "Who's the sorry bastard?"

"You're such an asshole. It's Nelson Redding."

I frowned. "The Deputy Mayor?"

She smiled.

"I don't know too much about him, other than he's a slimy bastard." I pointed towards the door. "I don't want my daughter around him."

She ran her hands through her hair and laughed. "You are a self-righteous piece of shit. You make a living defending people lower than low and you have the nerve to talk about the man I love. A man who is honorable."

I shrugged. "Ok. Whatever floats your boat. When did you two become an item?"

"We've been dating for five years. We met at a dinner and we hit it off."

"When is the big day?"

"Next month. We're going to spend a month in Europe, so I'm going to need you to look after Angela."

"Sure, not a problem."

"I'd really like you to meet him. He's a good guy, Bart."

"I know that's what you think."

She shook her head and walked out. "He wants to invite you to dinner. Butcher and Singer, 7 P.M. the day after tomorrow."

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# Chapter Thirteen

Nicole crossed her legs and looked at her confidential informant, Made Mob Man, Anthony Mariano. She turned, narrowed her eyes at Murray, shook her head and then looked back over at Anthony. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapped one out and lit it.

With weary eyes, Anthony stared back and said, "It's my brother's wedding. You made me leave my brother's wedding." He pointed to his chest and continued. "I was the fucking best man." He paused and took a deep breath. "I thought the new D.A. was a reformer and things were changing."

Nicole leaned forward. Now inches from his face, she said, "He is. They are, but apparently he can't stomach homicidal, extortioning drug dealing motherfuckers like yourself." She tapped him on the cheek and continued. "So, you're an exception." She crossed her arms. "And keep in mind that you work for me, so if I want to pull you out of one of your whores before you cum," she leaned back and took a long drag of the cigarette, "it's my fucking priority. Remember that motherfucker." She leaned back and crossed her arms. "I'm the one that's keeping you out of jail, which means, according to that sweetheart deal my brother penned for you, you have to deliver for me at will." Through a plume of smoke, she continued. "Do you know what, at will means?"

Anthony sighed and lowered his head.

"I'll refresh you. It means, at any time. So, listen up fuck face. I need a certified hit with multiple arrests, and it better be high profile." She raised both hands in the air and slightly lowered her head. "I've got to look good for my new boss. When I look good, he looks good and as you know, he ran and won on the platform of cleaning this city up of shit-faced criminals. So, again, fuck the foreplay and give me some real action."

Anthony shook his head. His eyes wandered. He took a hard swallow and wiped his face with his right hand. "Fuck it," he said. "Nelson Redding."

"The deputy mayor?" Nicole said.

Murray said, "The deputy mayor is your drug supplier?"

"No shit?" Nicole said.

Anthony nodded his head. "He's been supplying us with coke, dope, and weed. It's been that way for years. He's got some connection right off the boat. Collecting the week's take tonight and transporting the money from uptown to a warehouse off Washington Ave."

Nicole leaned closer to Anthony and said, "Prove it."

Anthony bit his bottom lip. "Hit the warehouse on Washington Ave. and you'll get the cash, drugs and a few of his boys along with some others." He raised his head and nodded. "Hands in the jar."

"What else?" Murray said.

"Jesus," Anthony said.

"What else?" Murray said.

"He's got somebody high up in Major Crimes, or The Strike Force. He leads one of the squads. This guy's been pulling strings for a long time."

Nicole said, "We've never heard of this."

Murray tapped Nicole on the leg and said, "Maybe this is the guy who called that tip in on Lippincott." Murray then scooted closer to Anthony and said, "Who?"

"I don't know who it is, but Nelson's always talking about how he doesn't need our protection because he's got enough protection. I ain't questioning him."

"Nelson said that?" Murray said.

"Yeah," Anthony said.

Nicole asked Murray, "How well do you know Nelson?"

Murray nodded his head. "We grew up together." After answering Nicole's question, he continued with Anthony. "And he'll be there tonight?"

"During the first of the month, the take from up North is always the biggest. This guy, or whoever, is always there to oversee the operation, but we never see him."

"So how do you know he's there if you've never seen him?" Nicole asked.

Anthony shrugged his shoulders and said, "You know when you're being watched." He leaned back and nodded his head at Nicole. "Most of the time."

Nicole looked at her watch. She then pointed at Anthony and grinned. "This better be good. Don't fuck with me." Nicole opened the van door. Before she left, she looked over her shoulder and said, "I want you there as well."

"Where?"

"The take."

"What, are you fucking kidding me? It's my brother's wedding. I'm the best man."

Nicole lit another cigarette and tilted her head to the left. "Fuck your brother. I want to wake up in the morning to some good news."

Murray pointed his finger at Anthony and said, "Find out who this detective is as well."

Nicole looked at Murray and said, "Get two detectives to follow them. I want to make sure nothing goes wrong."

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# Chapter Fourteen

Detectives Leonard Marilla and Bobby Smith, of Major Crimes, sat in an unmarked police car, sipped coffee, nibbled on Taskykake butterscotch krimpets and watched a trap house while talking politics.

"Did you vote today?" Bobby asked.

"Of course. I just don't wear the fucking sticker like you."

"Clinton?"

Leonard slowly looked at Bobby and flashed a glaring stare. "Really?"

"Just asking."

"I take it you voted for her."

"Of course."

"I knew you were one of them."

"One of who?"

"Ivy League liberal types who thinks anyone who doesn't believe in the same thing they believe in are pieces of shit."

"I don't believe that."

"You think it."

"How do you know what I think?"

"Your actions and words. You implicitly say things that," he raised his arms up and continued. "Leave your politics wide out and in the open for everyone to judge."

Bobby narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

"You say, those people a lot," Leonard said as he looked at Bobby. "When referring to our clientele."

Bobby shook his head.

The courtyard of a low-rise housing project was empty and quiet until a woman scuffling behind a walker stopped at the base steps of one of the homes and waited for a man to give her product.

"Christ," Bobby said. "Will you look at this shit?"

Leonard scanned the area once more just as a black van pulled up behind a row of homes. "They're here," he said. "First of the month."

"Mo'money, mo'money," Bobby said.

"I was watching re-runs of that show the other day."

"What show?"

Leonard looked at him and frowned. "When were you born?"

"'88."

"Dear God," Leonard said. "Living Color."

"Oh, that show."

"You liberals would have a hissy fit if it were on today."

"Why?"

"They made fun of everybody." He laughed and said, "There was a sketch about a retarded superhero."

"Physically impaired."

"Yeah, ok."

A drunk man stumbled in the streets and fell onto the hood of a car not far from them.

"Sober up," Leonard said.

"You ever think he needs some help?"

Leonard looked at Bobby and shook his head. "Why are you a cop and not a social worker?"

"Unlimited overtime."

"At least we got one thing in common."

The drunk walked over to the car and looked at Leonard. "Hey, you got a few bucks?" He wiped his mouth and shook his head. "I ain't even going to lie," he said. "I'm going to use it to buy some drugs."

Leonard looked at Bobby. "You're mister social worker. You want to help the man?"

As Bobby reached into his pocket, four flashes of light and bangs filled the night air.

Someone watched from the shadows. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold lighter, lit a cigarette and gestured for the bum.

The bum walked over to a dark alley and said, "What next?"

A cloud of smoke billowed out of the dark alley. A man spoke in a raspy voice, "Stick to the plan. Follow the van and leave no one alive."

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# Chapter Fifteen

Dominique, a skinny white guy in his late thirties, stepped out of the van and looked around. He glared over his shoulder and looked at Anthony. "You hear that? Sounded like gunshots."

"It's fucking North Philly. What do you expect to hear? Crickets?" Anthony said.

A grey Aston Martin Vanquish pulled up behind. A young black man slipped out of the car and cut his eyes at Anthony. "Why y'all assholes think South Philly in the Bel Air?" He walked by Anthony and brushed against a stalk of weeds as he jumped three steps that led to the back of a house. He looked over his shoulder, balled up his fist and banged on the steel door.

Just then, a ripped curtain that barely covered a window in the back of the house moved. Then, locks tumbled, and the door slowly creaked open.

Hassan nodded his head at Cuff, the guy who opened the door and walked in.

Anthony followed, but before he entered, he turned to Dominique and said, "Keep an eye on the van."

Hassan walked into the kitchen and looked towards his left.

A man standing over the stove, scraping cooked cocaine from off the inside of a coffee pot, nodded his head.

Hassan nodded back and continued to the middle room where three men cut kilos of bricks of cocaine on a large dining table. In the next room two shirtless men separated piles of heroin while another man at another table crushed fentanyl tablets, which the group then used to weave magic to make one kilo of heroin into three. After giving a nod to the three men, Hassan walked down a small flight of steps into the basement where five counting machines flipped as a topless woman fed wrinkled bills into them. He walked over to the table and picked up a brick of twenties.

Cuff walked in and said, "We had an alright week. Counted three mil." He then pointed to three black plastic contractor's bags filled with money. "It's all there."

Anthony walked over and picked up two bags. "Re-up is coming tonight," he said.

"Good, cause we running low. Shit's selling itself," Cuff said.

Hassan picked up a trash bag from off the floor and said, "Bubs wants me to take this to Doc." He then turned and walked up the steps.

Anthony followed.

As they walked towards the van, Dominique opened the back and turned around.

Cuff took the driver's seat and nodded to Hassan. "Later."

Hassan nodded and said, "Take the Kelly Drive route." He then got into an Aston Martin and drove off.

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# Chapter Sixteen

From across the street in the unmarked police car, two men watched as the van pulled out of the alley. Clark, the driver, looked at Alexander in the passenger seat and said, "You sure about this?"

Alexander nodded his head. "Too late for second thoughts," he said. He then pointed towards the street. "Drive," he said. "But don't follow too close." He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a glass vial. He shook it a few times and held up a needle with a plastic top. He then pulled the top off, stuck the needle into the vial, withdrew some insulin, leaned over and stuck himself in the side.

Clark looked over and frowned. "What's that you're always sticking yourself with?"

"For my diabetes." He pointed to the left and looked at Clark. "When he gets past the gas station, hit the lights."

Clark glared up and into the rear mirror and said, "Paul and Frank still with us?"

Alexander looked behind and saw the white Cadillac two cars behind him. He nodded his head and said, "They still there."

Anthony, Cuff, and Dominique crossed Broad Street and continued down York. Dominique made a left and cut down winding streets lined with dilapidated homes on one side and on the other side of the street newly and reasonably priced renovated homes.

Clark cut left, sped towards Fairmount Park, and made a right into the park. He then took a winding road down to Kelly Drive.

"Hit the lights," Clark said.

When Cuff turned onto Kelly Drive, he looked back through the rear mirror. Flashing blue and red lights filled the van. "Shit," he said. "We got company."

"Play it cool," Anthony said as he looked out the back window. "Motherfuckers," he said as he dug into his pocket. He pulled out three one hundred-dollar bills. He then handed them to Dominique and said, "Give that to him."

Dominique nodded his head and pulled the van onto a small residential street, just off the drive.

Residential homes lined both sides of the street. Streetlights above flickered and sizzled. There was movement in the alleyway, and as Clark got out of the car, a dog barked. The cars traveling on the expressway above thumped and bumped. Shadows moved behind shades like puppets. As Clark got closer to the van, the lights in homes clicked off. He walked towards the driver's side door and held his right hand behind his back.

Dominique looked at Cuff and then turned to look at Anthony. "Something ain't right," he said.

Alexander walked towards the back of the van and put a crowbar between the back-door handle. He then stood by the sliding door.

Dominque rolled down the window and handed over the cash. "I guess this is what you want?"

Clark looked blankly and said, "License and registration."

Just then, Alexander opened the sliding side door.

Cuff looked at him and frowned. "They're not cops."

Dominique put the van into drive and slammed on the gas.

Alexander held up an Uzi and sprayed the van.

Clark whipped out his Uzi and shot.

Alexander drew his gun and fired into the van. He yelled, "Get the money and let's go."

Paul shot into the van and after he emptied the clip, he froze as smoke from his gun rose into the air.

The van slowly crossed the street, ran over a curb and stopped just before going into the river.

Clark ran over to Paul and said, "It's over, man. Get the money and go."

Alexander and Frank ran over to the van and grabbed the bags of money. After that, they leaned on the back of the van and pushed.

The van rolled slowly into the river, and within a few seconds, it was under water.

Clark got into the driver's seat of the Cadillac and yelled, "We did it, man. We got their bank. We did it."

When all four were in the car, Alexander nodded and tapped on the dashboard. "Drive. Celebrate later."

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# Chapter Seventeen

Frankie wore a double-breasted blue and charcoal pinstripe suit. He walked back into the reception hall and looked around. Ribbons hung from the ceiling, and a banner that read "Congratulations Damian and Theresa," strung across the room. A disk jockey stood in the middle of a stage and spun songs from the 70's and 80's while people crowded onto the dance floor. They were all guests of Damian and Theresa, the happy newly married couple.

Across the room, Damian and Theresa posed for pictures near the wedding cake as the photographer kneeled and snapped from a variety of angles. The photographer then gestured with his right hand, for Damian and Theresa to move in closer to each other and kiss.

They did.

Mark, one of Damian's groomsmen, held a plastic glass of vodka in his right hand. He then walked towards Frankie and patted him on the shoulders. "Where you been? You almost missed the cutting of the cake. Termini Brothers." Mark looked around and frowned. "And where's Dominique and Anthony?"

"I got a text from Anthony. I was supposed to meet him at the warehouse. Before I got there, I noticed cops swirling around and that's when I heard the news," Frankie said. He walked over to the bar and ordered a double shot of Scotch. He swigged both down in a second.

"Save some for the others," Mark said.

Frankie ran his hand over his face and furrowed his brow. "They got our bank in North Philly."

Mark shook his head and frowned. "Say that again?"

"They got the bank in North Philly, and they got us good."

Frankie ordered another drink and chugged it down. "They got us good, Mark, in North Philly coming out of the Projects. The van got hit on Kelly Drive. Dominique, Anthony and Cuff. They're all dead." He took another gulp of his drink. "They're all dead, and they got the bank for three million."

Mark lowered his head and said, "Christ. When did this happen?"

"An hour ago," Frankie said.

Mark looked around. He focused on an older man laughing and playing with little kids. "Got to tell him."

"What, are you crazy? You can't tell the old man this. Not here," Frankie said.

Mark turned and slowly walked away. "He needs to know," he mumbled. Mark looked over at Damian's father, Nicky.

Nicky was seventy-five and had slicked-back gray hair. He wore thick silver glasses and fit in with the role of the loving grandfather despite being the vicious head of a major mafia family. He smiled while looking around at his son's wedding guests and the children, who ran around playing tag and drinking purple juice. He then made eye contact with Mark. He headed over and nodded his head. He reached out for him and smiled. "Why so sullen?" he said. "This is a happy occasion."

Mark took a deep breath. "I don't know how to say this, Uncle Nicky."

Nicky frowned and shook his head. "Say what?"

"Our bank in Bloomfield got hit. Three million. They got it all."

Nicky frowned and leaned in closer. "Say that again?"

Mark hesitated and said, "Our bank in Bloomfield got hit for three million dollars. It's all gone, Uncle Nicky."

Nicky nodded his head and then shrugged his shoulders. "Well," he said. "Bubs will just have to make up for it. He should've had better security. That's just going to mean more taxes he'll have to pay." He patted Mark on the shoulder and grinned. "No harm to us, so enjoy the rest of the festivities. We'll take care of this later."

Mark lowered his head and took another deep breath. "There's something else," Mark said. He took another deep breath and continued. "They got Dominique and Anthony. Dominique and Anthony are dead, Uncle Nicky."

Nicky looked at him and frowned. He grabbed Mark by the collar and clutched him. "What?" he said before leaning over. He held his chest, groaned and held up his hand.

Mark looked around and yelled, "Someone call 911."

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# Chapter Eighteen

"Crime is down in this city. We're working better with the community." Chuck Walker scanned the faces of the audience and flashed a bright smile. "And I'd like to thank the old guard for giving me such a clean slate to build on." He laughed and continued. "Who's ready for reform?"

The crowd roared, "We are."

Chuck Walker, the newly elected district attorney raised his right balled up fist and yelled into the microphone, "Who's ready to get rid of bail?"

The crowd roared, "We are."

Chuck smiled and yelled, "Who's ready to get rid of dirty cops?"

The crowd roared, "We are."

He continued. "I vowed that I would work better with our community outreach programs, clean up the crime, rid the system of dirty cops, and stop charging crimes senselessly." He raised his arms in the air and turned to look at the banner that hung on the wall--Chuck Walker-District Attorney "And that is what I will do." He paused and smiled into the camera. "That is what WE will do. For all those who supported me, go to my new website and look for job openings. There's a lot."

Supporters and staff who worked on the Chuck Walker Campaign filled the Crystal Tea Room at the Wannamaker Building. Chuck grabbed the microphone from off the podium and walked around the stage. He said, "I made a vow to the people who put me in office." He pointed at the crowd and then scanned the audience. "A promise to you who put me in office. A promise that I would do something about the crime in this city," he paused. "Our city. My city." He pointed to his chest and said, "And what we will do, together, is raise the quality of life for everyone and make Philadelphia great once more."

Chuck's campaign manager walked up and patted him on the shoulder. He leaned into the microphone and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the real face of change and reform."

Captain Vernon, of Central Detectives, stood by the door of the conference room and scanned the faces. He had a look of paranoia and worry on his face instead of the normal calm and blank look. When he saw Murray, he walked over and said, "It feels like I've walked into the lion's den." He then stood next to the bar.

Murray walked over and frowned. "What's going on?" he asked.

"We got a problem," Vernon said as he gestured for Nicole.

Nicole nodded and walked over. "What's up?" she said.

"Anthony."

Nicole shuddered and rolled her eyes. "What does the little bitch want now?" she said.

"He's dead," Vernon said.

Murray moved closer, leaned in and said, "What do you mean? Dead?"

Nicole said, "Dead? How?"

Vernon narrowed his eyes. "It happened a half hour ago. He got gunned down."

"Where? How did this happen?" Nicole said. "Christ. I'm going to trial in two weeks, and he was my key witness," Nicole said as she pointed to Vernon. "You guys were supposed to have him under surveillance. What the fuck happened to the car that was tailing him?"

"We did. Whoever did this killed two of my detectives who were following them as well. They knew about the tail." He wiped his face. "They knew we were following them. It's a shit storm. We got five bodies all at the same crime scene. Two were my detectives, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't spin this as my problem."

"I'm sorry." Nicole raised her right hand and placed it on Vernon's shoulder. She squeezed and then took a deep breath. "This is bad. This is bad. I get your loss, but it's my loss as well. We had Nicky dead to right." She shook her head and continued. "I'm fucked. Do you understand? My case is fucked. Jesus," Nicole said.

Murray glared over at Vernon. "Who's the lead?" he said.

"Waters," Vernon said.

"Christ," Nicole said. "My case is fucked for sure, now." She paused for a few seconds. "Why is that motherfucker still around? Wasn't he indicted? I thought he was suspended."

"He was. Today is his first day back. His squad is up on this."

Nicole rolled her head, nodded to the new district attorney and said, "He's going to want to know all the details." She looked at Murray and said, "Waters is the antithesis of everything he wants this office and the police to be." She shook her head.

Murray shrugged his shoulders. "I can wipe my hands of this."

Nicole said, "This is mud on your face as well."

"True, but mud washes off me."

"How so?"

Murray said, "Unlike you political ass kissing motherfuckers, I'm Union."

Nicole said, "Like it or not, your task force put this case together and they're still involved. You led the task force. Anthony was your responsibility, so you are taking the lead. At least I know you're not corrupt."

Murray nodded. "Gee, thanks."

"You got a problem with that?" Nicole said.

Murray shook his head. "Not at all," he said.

Nicole looked at Vernon. "You?"

"No, ma'am."

Just then, the new District Attorney's First Assistant, Carl Weisman, tapped Nicole on the shoulder.

Nicole turned and smiled. "How are you?" she said.

"I'm well. As you already know, the new administration will be cutting a few ADA's, which leaves a gap in a few of the ongoing cases." He grinned and said, "You can relax. You're not one of them. Chuck needs people like you."

Nicole took a deep breath and nodded. "Of course," she said. "I'm here."

"We've assigned you to a case. It'll be waiting on your desk. We need you to take care of it." He looked at Murray and said, "Detective."

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# Chapter Nineteen

My phone vibrated around midnight. I looked at the I.D. It was Damian. "What now?" I said before accepting the call. "This is Bart Mancini."

"It's me. I'm sorry to bother you so late."

"Not a problem," I glanced at my watch and closed my eyes. I was sitting at the five ten poker table at Sugar House, bleeding chips. I was determined to win back what I had lost, but it wasn't looking good and from the call it appeared that I wouldn't either. "Not a problem," I said again as the button slid my way.

"I need you to come over to Pennsylvania hospital," Damian said.

"What's the matter?" I said.

"I'll tell you when you get here." He then disconnected the call.

I took a deep breath as I thought about my card game. I couldn't believe that I was about to be felted by these knuckleheads. My first card came. I slowly peeled one corner and immediately saw that it was an ace. Not bad for my last hand. A few seconds went by and my second card came. I slowly peeled that back and it too was an ace. Pocket aces, the best of the best. I tried not to grin, so I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes briefly as I waited for the betting to go around. Seat one, beat one fifty. Seat two, called. Seat three, went all in at five hundred. Seat four, folded. Seat five, folded. Seat six, called the five hundred. Seat seven, folded. Seat eight, went all in for six hundred. Now it was my call. I went all in for twenty-five hundred. There was an audible gasp at the table. Seat eight, called me. He had to call me. I figured there were pocket kings, an ace, king and someone hoping to hit a flush. The five of us in the hand waited for the dealer to show the flop.

The dealer tapped twice on the felt, burned one card and spread three. Ace, king, ace. I flopped quads. It was the best. Son of a bitch. I glanced around to see if anyone showed any excitement. One guy did. The guy in seat six turned over his cards. He flopped kings full of aces. The other guys flipped their cards onto the table. There were pocket queens and pocket jacks.

The turn came. It was a blank. A six of heart.

"Yes," the guy in seat six said.

At this point, a crowd gathered around the table to watch the river and gawk at the pile of chips in the middle of the table. I looked around at the spectators and shook my head. I then looked at the table as the river came. It was a king.

"Holy shit," the guy in seat six yelled. "Quad kings. High hand!" he screamed.

The dealer looked at everyone in the hand.

Everyone folded but me.

The dealer looked at me and said, "Bart?"

I turned over my cards and grinned as the air deflated out of the guy with the quad kings.

"Quad aces," the dealer said. "Unfortunately, we have no bad beat." He looked at the quad kings and shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, but aces win." He shoved the pile of red, green and black chips my way and as I racked up my wining, I tossed the dealer a black chip.

"Thanks," I said. "Gentlemen, I wish I could say that it was a pleasure." After I collected my winnings, I headed over to the hospital.

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# Chapter Twenty

As I walked through the sliding doors of the emergency room, I looked over at Mark and then rolled my eyes. Why did I have a feeling this fuck up was to blame? He held his head in his hands as Damian walked over to me.

Damian gave me hug. "Thanks for coming, Bart. I know you didn't have to."

"You know it's not an issue," I said. "What happened?"

Damian frowned and walked over to Mark.

Mark looked up as Damian stood over him. "I'm sorry."

Damian slapped Mark in the face three times and yelled, "What the fuck were you thinking? My fucking wedding? You tell my ailing father shit like that at my fucking wedding?"

Mark shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Damian looked over at me and said, "Did you hear what happened in North Philly?"

"A massacre. It's all over the news," I said as I frowned. "That was you?"

Damian shook his head. "Be real. This was an armature show. Our bank got hit. Go to Bubs and tell him to find out who did this, or else we will rip North Philly apart." He grabbed my shoulders and said, "And find my three million dollars."

I nodded. "I'll do my best."

Damian looked over at Mark and said, "Take this motherfucker with you. Get him out of my sight."

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# Chapter Twenty-one

A crowd parted the street as four ambulances pulled up to the crime scene. An unmarked Crown Victoria screeched around the corner with sirens blaring and lights flashing, stopping a few feet behind. The driver and passenger opened the doors and stepped out.

Julian Mack straightened his jacket as he stepped out of the passenger's side. He surveilled the area and then cut his eyes at his partner, Waters.  He then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigar tin, popped the top, slid out a cigar, snipped the tip, rolled it around his mouth and then lit it. After taking a drag, he blew smoke from the corner of his mouth, and said, "Fucking zoo."

A first responding officer walked over to the two. "You guys the primary?"

Mack nodded his head. "Yeah, why?"

"Look around," he said. "You guys caught a shit storm. Six dead. Two white guys, two black guys and two of our own." He gestured over to the river and said, "The van was fished out of the water. Odd thing, though."

"What?" Waters said.

The officer continued. "This looked like a drug deal gone wrong, but there's no traces of drugs." He raised both hands into the air and said, "I can't figure this one out."

Mack took a long drag of his cigar, and after blowing smoke out, he said, "It's not your job."

Waters walked over to the van and examined the bodies in the corner's van.

The ambulance driver stopped. "What's up, Waters?" After having a short conversation, he took a step back and put his hand on the gurney. "They took out one guy on two gurneys. Cut in half. I've never seen anything like it."

"Yo, Waters," Mack said.

"What's up?" Waters said.

"We got heat on this." His eyes moved towards the other side of the street where the Deputy Mayor, the Chief of Police, the Chief of Detectives and three shift supervisors stood talking.

Waters said, "All for me?"

"Who knew?" Mack said.

Murray leaned down and picked up an FCC next to the curb. He continued picking up the stray shell casing.

"Here's some more for you," the coroner said handing him more casings.

"They were all riddled with the same ammo. There are nine-millimeter shells all over the place. Last count, four hundred," Waters said.

Mack then pointed to the crowbar between the van's back-door handles. "Whoever did this, made sure that there was no escape. They wanted these guys killed."

Waters examined the van, leaned closer to the back door and glanced over his right shoulder.  "What are you doing here?" he said as he straightened.

Murray stood toe to toe with Waters. "Making sure you don't fuck up," Murray said.

"Last time I checked, you weren't part of our squad." He then pointed to his chest and said, "I was assigned this, and I'm taking it. So, fuck you, you ass kissing backstabbing rat bastard."

"Tell me something, Detective. When was the last time you had two made men from South Philly killed in North Philly?" He stared at Waters.

Waters stared back.

"This is a little over your pay grade, Detective," Murray said.

Vernon walked over and stood between Murray and Waters. He pointed his index finger at Waters and Mack and lowered his head. "You two," he said. He tapped Waters on the shoulder and said, "Over here." He stepped towards his left.

Mack and Waters followed and when he cleared his throat, he took a cautious glance around and over his shoulder. "This needs to be wrapped up nice and neat. And quick."

"What's going on?" Mack said.

"Two detectives were found in the trunk of their cruiser along with the four."

"Who?" Waters said.

"Leonard and Bobby," Vernon said.

"Jesus," Mack said.

Waters shook his head and ran his hand over his face. He said, "God. Bobby just had a kid. What else?"

"Two of the six bodies were positively identified as Anthony Mariano and Dominique Mastereli." He paused, raised his right hand to his mouth, and bit his thumbnail. "Anthony was flipping. He was working with the D.A.'s Office. He was going to testify against his stepfather and brother. This is going to be a shit storm both politically and on the street."

"You're telling me that this was a mob hit?" Waters asked.

Vernon shrugged his shoulders and said, "Possibly." He nodded his head towards Murray and said, "He thinks it is. Listen, this is a warning to you, Waters. He's going to be up your ass like a proctologist." He gestured in disbelief. "It's the powers that be. Plain and simple." He raised his right index finger and poked Waters in the top right shoulder. "And they got it out for you."

Waters crossed his arms.

"There is too much political juice flowing here. It's fucking politics plain and simple and I've got three years until I retire, so I'm not going to put up a fuss." He wiped his right hand over his face and said, "Anthony told Murray that his drug connection had someone on the inside feeding them information."

"A cop?" Waters said. "Did he say who?"

Vernon shrugged his shoulders and said, "He was supposed to point him out tonight, but then this happened." He bit his bottom lip for a brief second and then reached into his pocket for a stick of gum. After unwrapping the stick of gum, he folded it in half and popped it into his mouth. He said, "He knew before anyone else. His crew has more wire in this city than Verizon, so be careful of what you say and do. Don't trust the rat bastard." He raised his hands in the air and said, "That's all. Now go and do your thing."

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# Chapter Twenty-two

I had my marching orders. I rode in the back of a Cadillac with Mark and his cronies. I saw Mark out of the corner of my eye, and I just couldn't believe what he did. He was an idiot. The idiot who married into the family. The guy had no respect and gave no respect, but no one called him out on it because of who he was. Personally, I couldn't have cared less. However, I knew I had to handle this situation delicately.

The guy we were going to see was the King of North Philly. His name was William "Buds" Johnson. I represented Bubs on a bunch of charges that ranged from felony drugs, to extortion, to aggravated assaults. He gave me more business than the boys in South Philly, so my financial loyalty lay with him. As Christopher drove up Broad Street, Mark looked out the window and mumbled, "I'll take care of it. I'll get them."

"What was that, Mark?" Christopher asked.

Mark said, "Just talking out loud." He leaned back and said, "Do they really think they're going to get away with this?"

"Some crack heads who lucked out. That's all," Christopher said. "Chances are they're still around. Dumb molies."

Mark pointed to the left. "Take a left at the next light."

I rolled my eyes. God these guys were so cliched, I thought to myself.

"Bubs" Johnson ruled North Philly. He grew up in the slums, and was educated in the games of the streets, by his father who was a pimp and drug dealer. His father's father was a pimp and drug smuggler who passed down the knowledge and heritage. Bubs, though, was a man of the times. He had visions of grandeur. He wanted to go legit. Unlike some of his friends and family who had never crossed Germantown Avenue and only traveled downtown to pay bills or go to court, Bubs recognized the warning signs. He knew that his family business had a time limit, so he started making moves to legitimize his money by investing in real estate, the stock market and other business opportunities like sizable political donations through super pacts, donations to build playgrounds for the neighborhood kids, and he even sponsored drug rehab centers and shelters for abused women. Those on the outside who looked in, thought his moves were counterintuitive, but Bubs thought differently. Slowly, his reputation as a philanthropist grew in circles outside the drug game, although he still had a tight grip on the drug sales, gambling and prostitution. Anything illegal in North Philly still filtered through Bubs.

A few years back, the Feds busted his supply route from New York, so he had to make deals with the boys from South Philly. They took a forty percent stake in all of his operations and in return, he got access to the docks, drugs, whores and anything else that the mob controlled, which also included some of the police and in City Hall.

Christopher turned into a garage on Cecile B. Moore, screeched in, and came to a stop.

Bubs had just finished his dinner when he looked up at a security monitor and chuckled. "I was wondering who the old man was going to send," he said to his right-hand man, Ford.

Ford was Bubs' loyal gun. He stood and watched the monitors. "Right on time," he said.

Bubs said, "Old man's son-in-law and the lawyer."

Mark stepped out from the passenger's side and looked around. It was a contemptuous look. A look of distain and disgust. He walked around the car as Bubs walked out of the office.

I followed behind cautiously. These two were like fire and gasoline fumes. I had to prepare myself for anything.

Bubs gave me a hug.  "Good to see you," he said before turning his attention to Mark. "Markie. If it ain't the honky from another mother."

Mark furrowed his brow and shushed Bubs away like an irritating horse fly. "That kind of talk will get you killed."

"Motherfucker, we ain't in Alabama," Bubs said. "Look around you."

Mark took a few steps closer to Bubs and stood nose to nose with him. "This place makes me sick." He poked Bubs in the chest. "You're nothing but a bunch of hired coons below Girard. You need to remember that and show some respect."

Bubs took a step back. His eyes traced Mark's body. After, he stepped towards him, stuck a cigar in his mouth, raised his index finger and poked Mark in his chest. "And you need to remember that above Girard, you ain't nothing but a two bit fuck up wannabe thug." Bubs' body jiggled and finished his insulting comment. "Just your luck. I'm always in the market for dumb muscle." He turned and held up his left middle finger. "Now say what the fuck you got to say."

"Funny. You're funny," Mark said as he snapped his fingers. "I need to talk to you, boy. In the office now."

Bubs quickly turned, lunged at Mark and grabbed his collar. "Call me boy again and see what happens."

Christopher pulled his gun.

Ford and the others in the garage drew their guns.

Bubs flashed a crooked grin, lowered his hands, brushed Mark's suit off, laughed and gestured towards the office. "This way."

Mark smiled and nodded as he followed.

Bubs' office was more of a command center for his legitimate businesses. There were maps on the wall that indicated the routes his taxis and liveries took daily. On his desk was a forty-inch computer screen that had the real time tracking of a fleet of Uber drivers traveling around the city. Another monitor tracked stock markets from around the world. Behind his desk was a large picture of Pam Greer, as Friday Foster, a signed picture of Muhammed Ali in the famous Joe Frazier knock out pose. To the left was a medium bar stocked with top-shelf liquor. He walked over to the bar, grabbed a bottle of Hennessy and poured himself a drink. He took a sip and gestured towards Mark.

Mark declined and asked, "What happened?"

Bubs took a swig and shrugged his shoulders. "We got knocked off. That's what happened."

The answer didn't satisfy Mark. He huffed as he crossed his arms shooting imaginary daggers towards the calm and collected Bubs.

"Do you have any leads?" I said.

Bubs slowly shook his head. "Not at this time."

Mark walked towards the desk, placed both hands on the edge and tilted his head to the right. "You seem awfully calm about losing three million dollars."

Bubs took a swig of his drink, leaned back in the chair and propped his feet up onto the desk. He placed both hands behind his head and yawned. "We'll make it up next month. We'll double that. I'll put a tariff on the sales. The junkies will pay. They always do, so I'm not worried about it." He dropped his feet, leaned forward, picked up the glass, took a sip and continued. "Not like y'all."

"This was your turf. Your operation. So, you want to tell me why the fuck you didn't have security?" Mark said.

"The depot was secure. No one hit us before this. Nobody knew where we did business. I even had a police escort."

"Obviously, someone did know," I said.

Bubs said, "I'll look into that. I'll talk to my man on the force."

"Who?" I said.

Bubs looked at me and shook his head. "Somebody high up in Major Crimes. You don't want to know." He flagged me with his right hand and continued. "Anyway, we drive different routes and I had two of my best riding along."

Mark wagged his finger at Bubs and said, "Your best just lost us three million and two of our own." He then pointed to his chest. "So, what are you going to do about this?" he asked as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of Winston cigarettes, tapped one out, lit it and said again through a plume of smoke, "What are you people doing about this?"

"You people," Bubs' eyes went to the other side of the room.

Ford chuckled.

Bubs turned his attention to me and pointed towards Mark. "Motherfuckers in South Philly think they're better than us. Think they live in Bel Air."

Mark took a drag of his cigarette and nodded his head. "Tasker-Morris is a hell of a lot better than this shithole wasteland you people call home."

Bubs grunted. "Motherfucker." He took another sip of Cognac and said, "I got a tip that said cops pulled them over."

I frowned and shook my head. "You're telling me that Philly P.D. did this?"

"That's what the people are saying," Bubs said. "But I doubt it. My man said the boys I hired got hit as well."

"So it's some other greedy fuck on the force," Mark said.

"I got a lot of investments in the Philly P.D. If someone was dipping off, I'd know."

"Then who?" I said.

Bubs shrugged his shoulders. "Got a reward for info."

"How much?" Mark said.

"Two-grand," Bubs said.

Mark ran his hand over his mouth. He bunched up his face in an incredulous gesture and repeated Bubs' response. "Two-grand? That's it?"

"What do you want me to do?"

Mark held up both hands and said, "Ten. Ten-grand for information and put a twenty-thousand-dollar bounty out for these motherfuckers. I want yous people in the slums to know what happens when they try this shit."

Bubs gritted his teeth and wrapped his hand around the glass tightly and muttered, "It's not wise for yous South Philly white boys to go around killing Us people up here."

Mark blew smoke in Bub's face. "Fuck your people," Mark said and walked out.

I closed my eyes and lowered my head. I made eye contact with Bubs again and said, "Damian wants this handled quickly."

Bubs nodded. "What happened to the old man?"

I nodded back and said, "Genius boy told him about all this at the wedding. Dominique and Anthony were killed in this."

"I know."

"The old man had a heart attack and is in critical condition."

Bubs rolled his eyes. "What an idiot." He walked from behind his desk, leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up. He glanced at me again over the tips of his Jordan 3's and said, "So, you the new mouth piece?"

I rolled my eyes. "God, I hope not." I then ran my right hand over my face and said, "Do you trust this guy you got on the force?"

Buds said, "No, but he's part of a package deal that I'm regretting. The old man put me in touch with a guy." As he rocked back and forth in his chair, he folded both hands behind his head and said, "How's my brother's case?"

"It would've been nice if he hadn't got arrested again while on trial."

"The cost of business."

I shook my head. "We're finishing up tomorrow." I glared at him and said, "I could use a miracle. It would've been so much easier if your brother hadn't shot at his baby's mama, and now getting caught with a million in cash in the trunk of an Aston Martin on 15th and York."

Bubs shook his head. "I've got something in mind."

"What else have you heard about this? This shit is sloppy. It's not like you. What the fuck was he doing with that kind of money?"

He dropped his feet, leaned forward and grabbed a Padron 7000 cigar, lit it with his gold St. Dupont lighter, took a long draw and said, "We've been laundering money for an unnamed political power. The money was going towards a super pact. The stuff that the cops got was his."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "You don't want to know."

"Who's your contact?"

"Nelson," I said. "Nelson Redding? The deputy Mayor. What do you know about him?"

He nodded towards the door and continued. "He's shadier than those South Philly boys will ever be. Politics. Why you are asking?"

"He's about to marry my ex."

Bubs took a deep breath and said, "She needs to break it off with that bastard."

"Yeah, that'll be hard to convince her to do that."

As he continued, I thought about the unhappy coincidence. My ex-wife was now engaged to this shady bastard. I needed to concoct a way to break that up, but it'd be a lot harder than I thought. My ex was and is a headstrong bitch. That's mainly the reason why I broke up with her.

Bubs continued. "Anyway, I'll have the boys pay a visit to the courthouse tomorrow. Maybe they'll be able to shake things up."

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# Chapter Twenty-three

A jury of 14, 12 regulars and 2 alternates, sat and listened to the facts of the case. Hassan Johnson was on trial for aggravated assault. Baby mama drama stuff. All allegations, of course.

"Ms. Write," Nicole said. "Do you recognize the person who shot at you?" Nicole was filling in for the ADA assigned to this case. The ADA originally assigned got fired by Chuck and Nicole took me by surprise when I saw her walk into the courtroom.

Leticia Write was on the stand testifying against my client for the Commonwealth. She was a twenty-two-year old, lifelong resident of the Blumfield Housing projects situated in North Philly. My client, Hassan, was her baby's daddy, and I'll never understand why these two hooked up. They hated each other and this trial was testament to that hatred. He was a deadbeat dad who since the hook up and the birth did not interact with the child. She sued him for child support, but when the courts found out that my client had no source of income, the court threw out the case. It was all pretext of course. Hassan kept a bankroll of a couple thousand dollars on him and he drove one of those audacious luxury SUVs and an Aston Martin that was parked outside a house on a block lined with dilapidated homes. He asked me for help, so being the good defense attorney that I was, I helped him hide his ill-gotten wealth from his baby's mama and the social services agencies. Hassan paid my bill on time, so I had no issues with him. Leticia on the other hand knew the zero balanced checking account was just a ruse. She knew he was involved in a cash-based business and she was pissed. So, she set Hassan up to take the fall for an attempted hit on her life. The charges were bullshit. I knew it. Nicole knew it. My client knew it and I'm sure the judge knew it. I just had to convince a jury of twelve. Easier said than done.

Ever since the old D.A. threw himself off a building to avoid a federal indictment and the new district attorney that took office, the ADA's in the charging unit and the districts stopped pursuing bullshit charges and cases. Things were more serious now. It used to be fun going to war with these guys, in court, but now coming to work was a drudge. Work was a battle.

Leticia pointed to Hassan and then rolled her eyes as she pointed to him. "That's him," she said.

"Please let the court record show that the Commonwealth's witness identifies Hassan Johnson." Nicole breathed in and walked over to the jury box. She then glanced back at Leticia. "And how do you know the defendant, Ms. Write?"

"He my baby daddy."

"Alleged," Hassan, grunted.

"Mr. Mancini," the judge said. "Keep your client quiet."

Nicole shook her head as she proceeded with her line of questioning. She was pissed. I could tell. She was pissed that the First Assistant assigned her to this case. People always wanted to see the two of us face off in some kind of Law and Order, courtroom drama. She rose through the ranks of the Philadelphia Prosecutor's office to the assistant Unit Chief of Homicide in no time and there were rumors that she was next in line for the Chief's job. Murder was her business. She was part of an elite few who did nothing but prosecute homicides, so to deal with a baby daddy and baby mama drama was something beneath her.

Nicole listened to the witness, tried not to roll her eyes and then turned towards me, and said, "Can you tell the court what happened that night?"

"I was sitting on the steps of one of the low-rise houses talking with my girl when," she pointed to Hassan and continued. "This motherfucker come walking up and shoot me."

Nicole rolled her eyes and said, "And you can positively identify Hassan Johnson as the shooter?"

She nodded her head.

"Please say yes or no for the record," Nicole said.

"Yes, he's the one."

"How did you know?"

"Cause I know him. Despite wearing a hoodie in the middle of July, I knew who it was as soon as he walked around the corner."

Nicole said, "No further questions."

The judge looked at me and said, "Cross?"

I slowly stood up, straightened my jacket and looked at the witness. "Do you have any hostilities towards my client?"

"What you mean?"

"Are you angry with my client?"

Leticia shrugged her shoulders and said, "Not really."

"Haven't you sued my client for child support?"

"He owe me money."

"Didn't you threaten him with violence if he didn't pay up?"

"He owe me money."

"He owes you money." I looked at the jury and said, "Which gives me reason to think that this is a ploy to get back at him."

"Objection," Nicole said.

"Mr. Mancini," the judge said.

"I know what I saw, and I saw him. He was wearing a hoodie in the middle of July. I saw him walk up to me and shoot me. It was him."

I nodded, raised my eyebrows and said, "I'm sure. No further questions."

The judge looked at Nicole and said, "Do you have any other witnesses?"

Nicole stood and looked back at the empty courtroom gallery. "The Commonwealth would like to call Melonie Parasol."

A few seconds later, a heavyset black woman walked into the courtroom. She looked around and took a hard swallow. She then took the stand and after the clerk swore her in, she looked at Hassan and then at Nicole.

Nicole said, "Please state your name for the record."

"Melonie Parasol."

"On July fourth, of last year, you were sitting on the steps with Leticia Write when she was shot and rushed to the Temple University emergency room. Did you recognize the person who shot your friend?"

Melonie lowered her head and took a deep breath. She shook her head and said, "Not really."

Nicole walked towards the table and reached for a remote. She then clicked on an overhead projector and said, "I'd like the jury and the court to please view this photo array." She looked at Melonie and said, "Ms. Parasol, I'd like you to notice the third photo from the right." She raised a laser pointer. "Is that your signature?"

"Yeah."

Nicole placed the photocopy of the police statement. "You told Detective Wilson that the person who shot you was Hassan Johnson. Detective Wilson next asked, 'How do you know Hassan Johnson?' And you said, 'From around the way. He slings dope with the Juice Boys.'" Nicole looked at Melonie and said, "Do you remember saying that?"

Just then, a large black man walked into the courtroom and sat on the defense side. A few seconds later, three others walked in and sat behind the large black man. Right on time. I'm not adverse to using tactics that shifted the tide towards victory in the court. Call it leveling the playing field. The prosecutors have a five hundred-million-dollar war chest, the entire Philly P.D. at their disposal, and dedicated detectives to track down leads. Now, what I set up here may boarder on witness intimidation, but I'm not going to let my guy get railroaded by a couple of vindictive hood rats. Melonie knew she was wrong, and she knew if she got a member of the Juice Boys thrown in jail over some baby mama bullshit, she'd have hell to pay. Melonie turned her head towards Hassan and then sheepishly glanced at the floor. She then slowly raised her head, made eye contact with Nicole and said, "I'm not sure."

"I'm sorry," Nicole said.

Melonie shrugged her shoulders and said, "I just don't want to say if I'm not sure."

"You were sure six months ago," Nicole said. "You were sure last week. What changed?" Nicole then turned and saw the guys in the gallery.

I made eye contact with her.

"Really?" she said.

"What?" I mumbled.

Melonie said, "I know, but I just want to be sure, Ms. Nicole. I don't want to get anybody in trouble."

Nicole held up the witness statement and said, "I'd like to admit Ms. Parasol's testimony that identifies Hassan Johnson as the shooter into the record."

"Granted," the judge, said. "Any other questions?"

Nicole shook her head and said, "No, your honor."

The judge looked at the defense and said, "Cross examination?"

I stood and grinned. "I have no questions."

An hour later, we did our closing arguments and the jury was led back to deliberate. I looked at Hassan and said, "It'll be alright."

Nicole sat on the edge of the defense table.

I glanced up. "It's been a while."

She ignored my words and switched conversational gears like a person who couldn't drive a manual shifting car. "They found another body in Kensington."

"I heard." I slid in my chair and crossed my legs. "That's good for me. I told you all that the wrong guy was on trial." I fiddled with my pen and glanced up at her. "So, what are you guys going to do?"

She looked at her cell phone and rolled her eyes. "Hello," she said. She jolted up from the table and covered her left ear with her left hand. "Say that again." She breathed heavy. She ran her hand through her hair, and then I saw something that I hadn't seen in...well ever. I saw a tear trickle out of her eye. She sniffled. "Ok, thanks," she said. She disconnected from the call and slid the phone in her pocket.

"Everything, ok?" I asked.

She glared at me but didn't respond.

The bailiff walked out and said, "They have a verdict."

"Seriously?" I said.

"Not good," Nicole said.

"For me or you?"

Not long after that, the jury went back to deliberate. The sheriff led Hassan back out a few minutes later.

The judge took the stand. "Have you reached a decision?"

The foreperson nodded and stood. "We have."

"Are you sure?" the judge asked.

The foreperson nodded and held a small sheet of paper up. "We have."

"How do you find the defendant on the count of attempted murder?"

"Not guilty."

"Possession of drugs and delivery?"

"Not guilty."

I grabbed Hassan by the shoulder and rocked him back and forth.

"Thank you for your service," the judge said.

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# Chapter Twenty-four

Sarah hadn't left the room at the Admiral Inn since the murder. Now, she worried that someone might've recognized her from all the press. Respected physician murdered in cold blood, suspected wife on the run. She leaned forward on the bed and rested her head in her hands just when a picture of Bart and his client popped on the screen. She frowned as she reached for the television remote. She turned up the volume and starred at the screen as Bart raised his hands. He looked at the news cameras and said, "The time has come for people to clean up their own backyards before knocking on other people's doors." he smiled and nodded my head. "Thanks, and that's it."

News reporter Ava Monroe rolled her eyes and flashed an irritated glare into the camera. "Defense attorney Bartholomew Mancini and his client leave the courthouse this afternoon right after a huge win against the district attorney in an attempted murder charge. The jury found defendant Hassan Johnson not guilty on all charges. It was a stunning twist in this tense legal drama." She paused, lowered her head and smirked before turning her attention back to the camera. She said, "Besides his penchant for quoting twenty-five-year-old rap lyrics, Mancini has taken the big law firm of Decker Bingham and Ritter from mergers and acquisitions to the streets of North Philly."

Sarah grinned and picked up her cell phone. She quickly scrolled to a number and waited for the pickup. "Hello," a man said in a squeaky voice.

"This is Sarah."

"Sarah, where have you been? I just got a call from a Nicole Mancini, the ADA that's handling this case. This doesn't look good. Do you know the entire city is looking for you? The D.A.'s office is offering a deal."

Sarah looked at the screen and watched the press conference for a few seconds more. She then said, "I need you to make arrangements for me to turn myself in to the district attorney."

"Of course. When and where?"

"Tell them I'll be at the office of Bartholomew Mancini, Decker Bingham and Ritter in two hours."

"Bartholomew Mancini? Did you hear me? I said, Nicole Mancini is the A.D.A. on this case. She's Bart Mancini's sister. She's a real hard ass. Are you sure you want to use Bart Mancini?"

Sarah took a deep breath and nodded her head. "I do, so let them know where I'll be."

"I'll do that. Where are you now?"

Sarah pressed end call, tossed the phone onto the bed and picked up her coat, slowly opened the room door, looked around and ran out to her car.

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# Chapter Twenty-five

Nicole walked into the lobby of the district attorney's office when a guard stopped her and pointed to a woman sitting by the window. "She's been waiting all day to see someone."

"What does she want?" Nicole said.

The guard shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

Nicole walked over and held out her hand. "Hello, my name is Nicole Mancini."

The woman stood and wiped the tears from her eyes. "It's my friend. She died a few days ago." She shook her head and continued. "She was hooked on heroin. We both were. We both tried to get clean, but I just couldn't kick it. She did though. She made good."

Nicole closed her eyes and waved her hands in the air. "How can I help?"

"When I went to the morgue to I.D. the body, they said that she didn't have any kidneys. They took her kidneys."

Nicole shook her head and said, "Who are they?"

The woman looked at Nicole and said, "I...I don't know. I just don't know. They said her kidneys were surgically removed." She pointed to herself. "I know my friend."

"Cheryl Mapp? Are you talking about Cheryl Mapp?"

The woman nodded.

Nicole took a seat and gestured for her. "Sit down." When she did, Nicole leaned forward and said, "Tell me what you know."

The woman sniffled and said, "That's just it. I don't know much. I just know it happened in Kensington. There was a house we used to go to."

"Lippincott Street?"

The woman wiped the tears from eyes and sniffled and nodded. "Yeah, that's the one."

Nicole leaned back and crossed her legs. "When was the last time that you saw Cheryl?"

"Three days ago. She was a changed woman. She was trying to help me, and now I want to help her." She stood and shook her head. "Please help. Find the person who did this. This isn't right." The woman wrote down her information and handed it to Nicole.

"What's your name?"

"Pamela."

Nicole's phone vibrated. She reached into her pocket, grabbed her phone and said, "Hello."

"ADA Mancini? This is Josh Manning, the lawyer for Sarah Ross. She wanted me to let you know that she's ready to turn herself in."

"Where is she?"

"She'll be at the law offices of Decker Brigham and Ritter."

"Decker Brigham and Ritter? Who's her lawyer?"

"She wants to hire your brother, but I told her that was a bad idea."

Nicole closed her eyes. "Get the...," she said as she titled her head back. "Is there anything else?" she said.

"She just wanted me to tell you that."

Nicole disconnected the call and scrolled through her contacts. She stopped at Warrant Task Force. Someone picked up right away. "Warrant Squad," someone said on the other end.

"This is ADA Mancini. Sarah Ross. There is a murder warrant out for her arrest. I need her in custody. She'll be at Decker Brigham and Ritter. How soon can you guys be over there?"

"A couple of hours."

"Hours?"

"We're backed up."

"Let me know when you have her in custody."

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# Chapter Twenty-six

After I sent Hassan off, I walked back to the office. As I got to the courtyard of the complex, I noticed Grace, one of the legal secretaries, standing by the smoking section nursing a cigarette. I walked over and stood by her. "Mind if bum a smoke?" I asked.

Grace reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboro Red.

I took one.

She lit me up, took a long drag, of her cigarette, and looked at me. "Did you hear about the pool?"

I shook my head. "What kind of pool?" I knew, but I didn't want to get lumped into the group of knuckleheads that pitched in.

"To the first person I sleep with," she said and then shook her head as she tossed her cigarette into the ashtray. "So juvenile."

I nodded my head. "I agree."

She took one step away, stopped and then looked at me. "Can you do me a favor?"

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Sure."

"But I haven't told you what it is yet."

"It doesn't matter," I said.

She wrote down a phone number on a piece of paper and said, "I need you to call me around nine tonight." She handed me the paper and continued. "I kind of need someone from work to call me." She paused and took a deep breath. "I have a complicated situation at home."

I took the paper and said, "Sure. No problem."

"Thank you, counselor."

"Bart."

She smiled and nodded. "I know."

As I walked into my office, my phone vibrated. I looked at the screen. It was my ex. "What's up?"

"Don't forget about dinner tonight."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'll be there."

"Great, Nelson is looking forward to meeting you."

"Why?"

"Can you not be an asshole and just help me out, for once? Can you do that?"

"Sure. I can do that."

"Thank you, and don't be late."

I disconnected and walked towards my office. Rocky followed and laughed. "You sonovabitch," he said. "Channel 10 just happened to be covering your trial on the day of a verdict?"

I shrugged my shoulders and took a deep breath. "Maybe."

"They're pissed. They want to fire you." He laughed and shook his head. "But I told them that they'd be sorry if they let you go." He then ran his hand over his face. "Mergers and acquisitions to the streets of North Philadelphia. That's just great. That's just great."

"I didn't say it."

He flagged me with his right hand. "But somehow you orchestrated it." He then said, "Anyway," before turning and walking towards the office door.

I slowly glanced up from the desk and frowned as Grace stood behind Sarah. She held up her hands, shrugged her shoulders and said, "I tried to stop her, but she wouldn't listen."

Sarah walked in to my office like she owned it. She sat next to Rocky in the chair directly in front of my desk.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to react. I made eye contact with Grace. "It's ok. She's always been this way." I snarled at Sarah and said, "Bitchy."

Rocky turned his head in Sara's direction and cut his eyes at me. "Should I leave?"

"No, stay," I said. I studied Sarah while she fiddled in her purse. She pulled out a folded piece of paper with the National Cancer Society stamped on the top and placed it on the desk. God it'd been, what? Twenty years? I glanced at my J.D. on the wall. Class of '85. Almost thirty-one years. All this time and she still looked somewhat the same. There was just a hint of aging. Her long blonde hair had a wisp of grey and although she wore a long coat, I could tell she still had a good figure. I'd been in Philly for a little over ten years and she hadn't even so much as dropped a hello, so what did she want?

She grabbed the paper, tossed it into her purse and then addressed me like I had owed her a favor. "I need your help."

Rocky stood.

I said to Rocky before he got up from the chair, "Stay."

Rocky raised his eyebrows and sat back down.

I nodded at Sarah and said, "Nice to see you too. How are you? How's life treating you?" I said. "I'm fine and well."

She brushed me off like I was a bell hop hovering around for a tip. She crossed her legs, reached into her purse and grabbed a pack of Virginia slims, tapped one out, and slowly stuck it onto the tip of her ruby red lips.

I reached into my jacket pocket, pulled out a gold St. Dupont lighter, and lit her cigarette. There was no smoking in the building, but when I have a client with racked nerves walk in to talk about their felony offenses, I overlook health code laws.

She leaned back, took a long drag on the cigarette and said through a plume of smoke that formed in front of her face, "I'm in trouble. The kind of trouble someone like you can get me out of."

"After all these years, you thought about me in your time of need?" I crossed my arms, cocked my head to the left a bit, and waited for a response that never came. Back in New York, I was a bigger media whore than I am now. I snatched the complex cases that made national headlines. Now, though, I was a little gun shy about taking certain cases. What with that and the fact that my sister and mother implicitly and explicitly called me a piece of shit, quite regularly, because of the clients I kept, I wasn't sure that I had it in me to tackle the heavy-duty ones. D.U.I.'s, the drug cases and an occasional gun charge was all I looked for nowadays. Those kinds of cases were all I really wanted although the gods were now unhappy with my billing. I built the bastards a nice stable of clients who were in constant conflict with the law and this was what I got in return. Ungrateful bunch of bitches.

I say that, to say this. I have a shit ton of experience when it comes down to the criminal element. I could tell from the rip what kind of case sat before me before the client spoke a word, and from that experience I knew what kind of troubles Sarah had. Her slumped shoulders, sad eyes and the smoking were all signs that pointed one thing. She was into something her connections, money, or looks couldn't solve. I'd figured her troubles were 2502, which was Pa. Crimes Code for murder. If so, whom did she kill? And why? I was curious. "What kind of trouble you are talking about?" I said.

"I'm accused of killing my husband."

"Philip?"

"You remember him?"

I rolled my eyes. How could I not remember the yellow rat bastard who stole the woman I loved away from me? Sarah was one of those women who looked for a man to take care of her although she was on a good career path. She was a medical student at The University of Penn while I was a 2L at the law school. We met at some mixer. A year passed and I was certain that she was going to be my wife. But that was before Philip. He was doing a surgical residency and had the swagger and cachet that made all the young nurses swoon. On top of all that, he was a thoroughbred from the cliched well-connected mainline W.A.S.P. family. He swooped in, showed her the upper crust life of Lower Merion. You know, the fine dining, big mansions, fast cars, a shit ton of money, and from then on it was as they say, history.

I had forgotten about them, but apparently, she hadn't forgotten about me and seeing her in the flesh, even after all these years, caused the heartbreak, resentment and hatred to boil over in me like a big unwatched pot of South Philly gravy. Well, I thought, there was a reason why the D.A. charged her and there was a reason why she'd do such a thing. There's always a reason. Some understandable and others not so much. "Now why would they accuse you of doing something nasty like that?" I asked.

She took a long drag of the cigarette and through a thick cloud of smoke that formed over her face she responded, "Probably because I wanted to kill the fucker. He was having an affair on me. Some young slut." She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Didn't think I'd find out. But I did."

"That's not enough to charge you with murder," I said.

"I was holding the bloody knife when someone walked in."

"That's not good."

"No, it's not."

"How did you know he was having an affair?"

She looked at me and rolled her eyes. "A woman knows." She slid in her seat. "I had a feeling, but I couldn't prove it.

"One day I went to meet Philip for lunch. I was early, so I decided to surprise him. I had some Chinese food and some iced coffee from WaWa. I got off the elevator, walked around the corner, and saw Mal, one of the nurses. She walked up to him, rested her hand on his shoulder, and said, "You seem preoccupied. Is everything okay?"

Philip raised his head and looked at her. He then nodded his head and flashed a smile. "I'm just in deep thought."

"Thinking about last night?" Mal said.

Philip smiled and nodded his head. "Yes," he said.

That bitch kissed him on the lips and then ran her hand across his face. "We'll make some better memories tonight," she said.

I narrowed my eyes at them both. I wanted to kill them both.

Mal said, "So, when are we going to Italy?"

Philip kissed her and said, "Soon."

Italy? We've never been to Italy.

"So, have you talked to the divorce attorney?"

Philip shook his head. "Not yet. It's been too busy." He then walked away.

I walked around the other way to meet him. When I saw him, I smiled and said, "I brought some lunch, but I have to head back to my floor. I caught an emergency."

He smiled and kissed me on the cheek. "Fine. It's okay."

"You didn't forget about tomorrow? Did you?"

"Of course not. How could I forget our anniversary?" He kissed me.

As we embraced, I saw Mal walk around the corner.

She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw us. The smile on her face turned into a frown.

I stepped away and licked my lips. "I'll see you tonight," I said.

He nodded his head and walked the other way.

I stopped when I met Mal at the other end of the hall. I figured that I'd fuck with her a bit and have some fun. "Oh, Mal," I said. "I wanted to let you know that your request off the weekend of the tenth is denied. Philip and I are going to Italy that week. We're celebrating our anniversary. I can't wait." I stepped closer to Mal and looked her in the eyes. "Have you ever been to Italy?" I brushed her lab coat, straightened her I.D. badge, and smiled. "It's so romantic." I hugged myself and took a deep breath as I twirled around like a giddy little girl. "I can't wait," I said. As Mal walked away, I frowned. "Bitch," I mumbled. I was pissed. I called a divorce attorney right after. Then I decided to follow Philip and try to get some intimidating evidence.

After work, he left and drove a few blocks away. I parked a half a block away, waited, and watched. Not long after, some other little tart walked up to the window of his car and knocked.

He got out and hugged the bitch.

She placed her head on his shoulder and then they talked for a few minutes.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out some money, and handed it to her.

She gave him a kiss on the cheek and walked away.

He gave her a look. That look he used to give me.

The night before the murder, I logged into his Gmail account and found a bunch of emails between him and some girl. I pretended to be Philip, set up a date and confronted her. It was around 38th, right off Lancaster. Where I had followed him before.

The same girl showed up. She knocked on the window.

I got out and just let her have it.

She was defensive and told me it wasn't what it seemed, but I didn't want to listen. I threw the car keys at her face and walked back to the hospital. I was furious. I walked into Philip's office and waited for him. I made a cup of coffee, closed my eyes and when I woke up, he was dead on the floor.

"You woke up and he was dead?" I said. "You mean to tell me that while you slept, on a couch in your husband's office, someone came in and stabbed him and you didn't wake up?"

"That's what I'm telling you."

I rolled my eyes and said, "Do you know the girl's name?"

She shook her head. "Reina Anderson or something. She can probably tell you more about my husband than I can."

"How do I find her?"

She dug into her purse and pulled out a little black address book. "Her name and address are in there." She tossed the book onto my desk.

I picked it up, looked at it and nodded. "Keep going," I said.

She shrugged her shoulder and said, "It's bad. I know. Ever since I found out, my head hasn't been in the right place. A few nights before, I got drunk at the City Tap House and told people at the bar that I wanted to kill him." She shrugged her shoulder. "There's a difference between saying and doing." She said, "When I saw him on the floor, I panicked." She pointed to herself and said, "I'm a nurse, so my first instinct was to see if he was alive and then to see if I could save him. When the bitch walked in and screamed, I looked at myself in the mirror."

"Who walked in?"

"Mal. Blood was all over me. I dropped the knife and ran out to the parking garage, got into my car and drove off. They got me on tape running away. I've been in some flea-ridden motel on the Boulevard. It was all on the news channels. The whole city, my friends, everyone thinks I killed Philip. But I didn't. I swear, Bart. I didn't kill him." She took one last draw on the cigarette and stamped it out on the ashtray on my desk.

I rubbed my mouth and looked over at Rocky. Press case. This is big news, and big publicity. It was a high society murder. "Where do you live?"

"1820 Rittenhouse Square."

I made eye contact with Rocky and said, "I guess I stand corrected. People in elite zip codes do commit crimes."

"I didn't do it," she said.

"Of course not." I couldn't believe this just fell into my lap. She was the poster child of the type of clients the firm wanted. Rich, white and socially connected. However, "Your story has no outs," I said.

"What?"

"Remember when we used to play poker in the basement of Sansom East?"

She nodded her head. "I do."

"Well it's something like waiting around for pocket aces and after five hours you finally get them and your opponent's got pocket tens. What do you do if you're short stacked?"

"Go all in," she said.

"Yeah, pre-flop you're great, but when the flop hits there's two tens and a blank and the turn and river you blank." I leaned forward and counted on my right fingers. "You wanted Philip dead. There was a witness. There was taped evidence and you're on the run. This is quads for the D.A. and even a skilled litigator such as me can't do anything with that, except cut a deal. And that deal would include some real nasty numbers that I'm sure you wouldn't like." I raised my eyebrows and shook my head. "It sounds like there's nothing that I can do."

She shook her head and said, "No good. Listen I know what you can do. Over the years I've kept track of your exploits."

"Exploits? I didn't even know I had exploits."

She stood and walked over to the window and glared below. Market Street bustled with pedestrians during the late evening. "Can you please help me? I have no one to turn to," she said as she looked over her shoulder.

I stared back. The outside light that hit her face made her look like an angel with a soft glowing halo. I looked away from her for a brief second and gave Rocky a quick glance.

He raised his eyebrows. He was excited. I could tell. I knew it took a lot for him not to yell at me to take the case, and it took all my power to say to her, "I don't do murders. Drunk driving, drugs and occasional gun charges is all I do now. It's safe and I like safe." I leaned back in my chair and rocked back and forth. "Let me ask you a question."

"What?" she said.

I stood and walked beside her. With my right hand, I brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and looked into her eyes. Damn, she was still beautiful. It now occurred to me that I was not going to turn this woman away. I rolled my eyes and said, "So if they're charging you with murder, why haven't they arrested you?"

"My lawyer cut a deal for me to turn myself in today."

I gave her an incredulous stare. "Lawyer? If you've got a lawyer, why come to me?" I said.

"Because this lawyer hasn't seen the inside of a courtroom." She paused and said, "Ever. He was Philip's accountant." She waved her hand in the air and said, "Besides, Philip was worth more to me alive than dead."

"Explain," I said.

"His parents were old mainline money, as you know. They liked the appearance of their successful son with a beautiful smart wife." She stopped and then turned slightly to me. "A few nights ago, I went to his parent's palatial monstrosity out in Lower Merion. I hated going to that place. I hated being in the presence of his mother. She's the most condescending bitch that I know.

"Oh, Sarah so nice to see you. To what do I owe this pleasure?" she said when I paid a visit.

I said as I walked into their library, "I need to talk to you, Maggie."

She followed and gestured for me to sit.

"I'd rather stand," I said. "I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it. Philip is having an affair, and I'm filing for divorce."

Maggie sat and crossed her legs. She sat silently for a few moments and then looked at me. "Do you really have to bring this up now? We're so close to the holidays. Can't you just deal with it?" she said.

"Excuse me?"

She flagged me with her right hand like my concerns were trivial. She said, "Boys will be boys. Alexander has had more than his share of affairs, but I just looked the other way."

I shook my head, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. "I...I'm speechless. I've devoted almost thirty years of my life to this man, and he's just pissed it away." I chuckled and shook my head. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

She brushed her leg and placed her arm across the back of the couch. "How about this? If you stay with him, I'll give you twenty thousand dollars a month and keep you in the will. That should be more than enough to supplement your salary."

I shook my head. "It's not about the money."

"Of course, it is. It's always been about the money with you," she said.

"Wow. For once in my life, I'm speechless. I honestly don't know what to say."

"Good," she said as she reached over for her checkbook. "We enjoy having you. You've been extremely entertaining." She wrote me a check for two-hundred and fifty thousand. "This is for the first year." She handed me the check and continued. "Buy yourself something to take your mind off this." She said, "I know shopping usually helps me clear my mind."

I took the check and walked out in utter disbelief.

Rocky and I stared at each other for a long couple of seconds. I said, "A quarter of a million dollars a year for just turning a blind eye to a cheating spouse? Why doesn't that shit ever happen to me?" I moved closer and got lost in her eyes. "Why me? There are dozens of high-end defense attorneys in this town who can take you on. Savino, Tinari, McMonagle, Shaka Johnson, just to name a few. Me, I haven't done a murder trial since being in Philly."

She furrowed her brow, wrinkled her lips, narrowed her eyes and said, "Your area of expertise. Your dealings with the underbelly of society is legendary." She pointed her manicured index finger at me and said, "You need to stop pretending you're some above board citizen and embrace your shadiness." She then pointed to her chest. "I know what you can do, and I know who you really are."

"Nice backhanded compliment," I said.

She looked out the window and said, "I've got thirty minutes to turn myself in to the D.A."

I moved closer to the window and glanced out at a black SUV with flashing lights double-parked on Market Street outside the building. Two men dressed in black with Warrant Squad written on the back of their bulletproof vests jumped out and ran inside the building.

She said, "Less than that. They're here."

"How'd they know you'd be here?"

"I told them," she said and pulled out a .22 from her pocket.

Rocky jumped up and held up his hands.

She racked the slide and said, "I'm not doing this without you." She then pointed the gun at her head.

I twisted her arm and grabbed the gun.

"You're hurting me," she said.

I took the gun and placed it into my desk drawer. "What A.D.A. has the case?"

She grunted. "Your sister."

I looked at Rocky.

Rocky leaned forward, and grinned.

I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply.

She looked at me and said, "A nice coincidence."

The penny dropped. This visit wasn't random. Conniving little bitch, I thought.

"So, you can just tell her that I had nothing to do with this," she said.

"It doesn't work like that," I said, but somehow, I knew that she knew that. "A quarter of a million dollars. If you want me on this, it's going to cost you." I honestly thought she wouldn't agree, but she reached into her purse and pulled out a checkbook without hesitation.

"Any friends and family discount?" she said.

"No."

She wrote a check made out to the firm and before the ink dried, the Warrant Squad rushed in with guns drawn and had her in cuffs.

"I didn't do it, Bart," she said. She looked over her shoulders as they dragged her out and continued. "I love you. I always have. Please help me."

I plopped in my seat and tossed the check over to Rocky.

Rocky grabbed the check and shook his head. "That was so exciting," he said. "Does this happen with all of your clients?"

I looked out the window and shook my head.

"So, what next. What happens now?"

I raised my left arm, glanced at my watch and said, "Within the next ten to twenty hours, she'll be arraigned."

"Arraigned? What's that?"

I looked at Rocky and frowned. "Do you know anything about criminal law?" I shook my head and closed my eyes. "It's when I find out what she's being charged with," I said.

He shook his head.

"Jesus. Bail hearing. It's a bail hearing."

His eyes wandered. I could tell that he was thinking of other questions that I was sure would irritate the living hell out of me and right on cue he said, "What kind of charges? Homicide?"

"Murder."

He frowned and shook his head. "What's the difference?"

I glared at Rocky with daggers in my eyes. Never in a million years did I think that I'd give a crash course in criminal law to an established lawyer. "Murder is just like homicide, but different. Intent is the difference."

Rocky nodded his head. "Do we pay her bail?" he said.

My god, I thought. These motherfuckers are so detached from the real world. "She's charged with murder, Rocky. There is no bail on that charge."

"So," he said and looked at me to fill in the blanks.

I said, "She sits at RCF until her trial, or until I prove she didn't do it."

He frowned. "RCF?"

I said, "Riverside Correctional Facility."

He shook his head.

"The jail for women."

"Oh," he said. "How long does that take?"

"I have no clue." I got on the phone and called Nicole. Chances are she was gone for the day. The phone rang three times before going to voicemail. Next, I hit up the reporter who wrote the story for the Bulletin. I picked up the paper that was on my desk and looked at the headline. Respected surgeon murdered. Suspected wife on the run. The reporter owed me one. I represented her husband. Narcs busted him on thirty thousand dollars' worth of weed. The D.A. requested a Nebbia6 hearing, so he couldn't use the proceeds of his business to bail himself out. I used some connections and got him loose. Bastard still owed me fifty-grand. This reporter, Emilia, knew everybody and everything that went on in the city. Her connections went deep and whenever I needed some information touching the underworld, she was the one to call. I put the phone on speaker and looked at Rocky.

He leaned forward and smiled like a giddy little boy. "This is so exciting," he said.

I rolled my eyes.

She picked up after one ring. "Metro."

"Hey," I said.

"Hey."

"How's your husband?"

She grunted. "Fuck if I know. I'm divorced."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"You are not."

"He still owes me bail."

"That's between you and him."

"So, I guess I can't call in a favor?"

"It depends on what it is."

"The doctor that was murdered at H.U.P. What can you tell me about him?"

"Why?"

"I'm representing the wife, and you wrote the story."

There was a pause. How long? I hadn't noticed. "We need to talk."

"Dinner?"

"No. I have a function. Meet me at Annenberg, Penn the day after tomorrow. I'll tell you then."

"I need to know something now. She'll be arraigned in the next few hours."

"Jesus, Bart. For someone who isn't fucking me, you're a real pain in the ass." She paused and breathed heavy before continuing. "Her husband was on to something. Something big that could've damaged a lot of people in the city."

"What kind of people? Who?"

"The kind of people I don't want to talk about over the phone."

Click.

I hung the phone up and looked at Rocky.

Rocky stood. "If I would've known how exciting criminal defense was, I would've gone into this instead of corporate law." He shook his head and walked out of my office. "This is great. This is just great," he said.

I shook my head and took a deep breath as I picked up the phone and dialed my investigator, Faith. She answered the call immediately. "What's up?"

"Are you back in town?"

"I landed a few hours ago. I'm still three hours behind. What time is it now?"

"Six. How'd everything go?"

"Perfect," she said.

"When you're settled, I need you to track down someone."

"Who?"

"A Reina Anderson. She's a witness in a new case." I told her what little information I did have and she was off.

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# Chapter Twenty-seven

Slowly he looked around and checked his surroundings. When he felt that no one was watching, he picked the front door lock and entered Dr. Philip Ross' house. The sweep started with the living room, and then the bedroom. After a few minutes of overturning furniture and pulling out dresser draws, he realized that what he searched for wasn't around. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a contact number and waited. "There's nothing here," he said.

A scratchy voice on the other end instructed him to continue looking.

The burglar continued his search on the first floor of the home. He swept the kitchen, but there was nothing. He moved his way through to the living area. It was a large space. There was a large leather couch in front of a bay window. In front of the couch was a glass and brass table. He scanned the bookcase but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Taking a step back, he suddenly noticed the room was smaller than what it appeared to be. He glanced down at the rug and noticed in front of the bookcase there was a half-moon rub mark like the bookcase scraped the rug as it opened and closed. He moved in to take a closer look and within seconds, he saw a small hook. He grabbed it and pulled open the bookcase. A small office appeared. He smiled and reached for his phone. He called the number from before. "I've got it. What now?" He nodded and said, "Ok, if that's what you want." He disconnected and walked out to his car. He popped the trunk and pulled out a red gasoline container.

Once back inside, he dosed the living room and office with gasoline. He took a step back, lit a match and tossed it into the office. Within seconds, the office was in flames.

I don't know why I agreed to this dinner. I never could tell my ex no, and she knew that. Most of the time, she asks me to tag along, or do something that benefits her. In this case, she just wanted me to know that she's stepping up. Nelson was connected. He had money and power, but mostly he had the respect and cache that she wanted, and I couldn't give. I mean I could, but I don't care about that shit.

I walked over to the table and smiled. She stood and grabbed Nelson's right hand.

Nelson and I made eye contact and shook. "Pleasure to meet you," I said.

He smiled and nodded. "The same. I've heard so much about you. It's no wonder you and I have never crossed paths."

"Yeah," I said as I took the seat across from them.

The waiter stood over us and asked if we were ready to order.

I gestured towards the two. "After you."

They ordered the Porterhouse and a side of broccoli and loaded baked potato.

I ordered the eleven-ounce filet and side of broccoli, and a bottle Monet for the table.

Once the order was in, an awkward silence fell over the table. I honestly didn't know what to say, or how to start the conversation. What I did know about Nelson, I didn't want to share. It was rude to start a conversation with someone you just met with how about those corruption charges you and your boss have against you. "So, how long you been in politics?"

Nelson rocked his head back and forth and took a deep breath. "It's been a long time."

"You know where all the bodies lie?" I smiled and laughed, but neither didn't like the joke.

Nelson reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone and frowned. "Excuse me," Nelson said as he stood.

When he walked away from the table, Karen shifted in her seat.

"What?" I said.

"Why do you always have to be an asshole?"

"What are you talking about?" I raised my hands into the air and said, "It was a joke."

"It wasn't funny. He's a very sensitive man. He's protective." She smiled. "That's why I love him."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm going to be sick."

Karen rolled her eyes. "Grow up." She stood. "Like it or not, he now part of my life, so I'd appreciate it if you make things easy and not inject your asinine views."

"Sure," I said.

Nelson walked back and kissed Karen on the cheek. "I've got to go." He pointed to the phone. "Work. I'll make it up." He smiled. "I'll make it up. Will you two be ok?"

"Fine," I said.

"Yeah." Karen smiled. She rested her head in her hands and turned towards me when Nelson left. "Don't say anything."

"I wasn't."

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# Chapter Twenty-eight

Nicole and Murray noticed the smoke about a half a mile away. When they approached Dr. Ross' home, Nicole jumped out of the car and ran towards one of the firemen. "When did this happen?"

The fireman looked at her and asked, "Who are you?"

Nicole flashed her badge.

"Philly District Attorney's Office? You're out of your jurisdiction."

Nicole walked closer to the house. "The owner was murdered in Philly, so that makes this my jurisdiction." She turned and placed both hands on her hips and gritted her teeth at her fellow civil servant. "So, you want to tell me what happened? Because his house getting torched ten hours after his murder makes me believe this wasn't a coincidence."

"Sorry," the fireman said.

"Nicole," Murray said. "Over here."

Nicole met Murray in the spot where the living room was. Although the fire had been out for some time, smoke still lingered in the air and the smell of burnt wood and gasoline filled their nostrils with every breath. He pointed in the direction of a burned bookshelf.

"That was his office. I was here yesterday, and he showed me his investigation."

"Why were you here?"

Nicole glanced towards Murray. "He was my mentor."

"I remember," Murray said. "So, what investigation?"

"Philip always believed that the Kensington Ripper had a partner, and he was right."

"You saw all this information?"

"Not all of it. That's why I wanted to come back here with a warrant and gather what he had." She kicked a book and said, "I was late, but it proves that he was right and the person, or people who helped with the killing of those women ten years ago, is still active."

Murray walked away and looked around the torched space. "Do have any clue to who he was working with?"

Nicole reached down and picked up the book she kicked. "No," she said. She opened the book and a piece of paper fell out. It was half burned, and there were only two things readable; a 3 and 8. "Thirty-Eight?"

"What?" Murray said.

She unfolded another badly burned piece of paper. This one had a full paragraph written on it, but it was wet and scorched. It was unreadable except three words: Lan, hope, surg. "What the..."

Murray stood next to her. "What does it mean?"

Nicole turned to him and shook her head. "I have no idea." When she turned to walk back towards the car two men in almost identical charcoal grey suits and dark sunglasses stopped her and Murray. She determined from the outfits and said, "Feds." She knew them both and didn't like either.

The man on her right reached into his pocket and pulled out his I.D. badge and said, "Special Agent Risler, but you already know that A.D.A Mancini."

"You're not special?" Murray said.

Risler wasn't amused. "What business does Philly P.D. and the district attorney's office have over on this side of City Avenue?"

"The house that once was, was owned by a man who was murdered in the City and County of Philadelphia," Nicole said.

Risler whipped off his sunglass and turned to his partner. He then glanced back at Nicole. "Philip was murdered? When? Where?"

Nicole was hesitant to answer, but she decided to give a response because they may have something that she could use down the road. The Feds always did. "In his office at the hospital."

"Do you have any suspects?" Risler asked.

"We do, and she's in custody."

Risler frowned. "She?"

"His wife," Nicole said.

Miller laughed. "His wife?"

"Why is that funny?" Nicole asked.

Risler took a deep breath and placed his hands inside his pants pockets. "We've known a lot of people who wanted Philip dead, but his wife was never one of them."

"Well, thank you for your interest. We'll take over from here," Miller said.

"Are you alluding that the F.B.I. was investigating Philip?" Nicole asked.

"You know that I can't confirm, nor deny that," Risler said as he walked around the charred remains of Philip's home. "That'll be all. We'll take over from here."

"Fuck you, you piece of shit. Philip was murdered on my turf and I intend to investigate and prosecute to the fullest power of my authority."

Miller grinned and tapped Risler on the shoulder. "Everybody knows that Nicole Mancini only takes orders from the District Attorney, the AG, or God, and even they have a tough time making her take them."

Risler placed his sunglasses back on and handed Nicole his business card. "We'll keep in touch, but if there's something that you'd like to share let us know. Here's my number just in case you forgot."

"Will you be coming to Philip's funeral?" Miller said.

"I thought you guys didn't know that Philip died?"

"We never said that," Risler said. "We didn't know he was murdered. His family is burying him at Mt. Nelson, tomorrow at noon."

As the two agents walked away and got into a black Ford Taurus, Nicole said, "Lying pieces of shit."

"Fucking Feds," Murray said. "What were they doing here?"

Nicole watched them drive away. Once off the property, she cut her eyes at Murray and said, "Same thing we're doing here." She paused and headed back to the car. "Looking."

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# Chapter Twenty-nine

Nicole called in her District Attorney Detective, Yusef Ali, and handed him a list of license plates of cars that visited Dr. Ross. "We got this list from one of Philip Ross' neighbors. He had a lot of visitors lately."

Yousef sat in the chair in front of her desk and said, "You just want me to track them down?"

"No need," Nicole said. "I just need you to find two of the names. I've already run the plates through Jnet."

"Who?"

"Reina Anderson. I couldn't find any information on her."

Yousef nodded. "This doctor was a friend of yours?"

"He was a mentor, back in the day."

"You got it."

The phone on Nicole's desk buzzed. She picked it and gave Yusef the thumbs up as he walked out. "A.D.A. Mancini." She leaned back in her seat and rocked a few times. "I'll be there in an hour." She placed the phone back on the receiver and picked up her cell phone. She called Murray. "Hey, we need to head to the M.E. He found something."

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# Chapter Thirty

"You were right," the medical examiner said. "She was hit over the head with a blunt object. That's what killed her." He walked over to a light box, clipped the X-rays onto it, and pointed with his right middle finger. "You see?"

"I do," Nicole said. "Any idea what could've caused it?"

"A pipe? A brick? Or anything hard. However, I can tell you one thing. Whoever did this, was taller than the victim, and strong. The hit came from above and there is no indication of another strike, but the hit didn't kill her. That's not why I called you down here," the medical examiner said. "There were also enormous amounts of opioids in her."

"Why is that odd? She was a recovering heroin addict."

"Not in her system. In her."

Nicole frowned. "I'm not following you."

He reached over to a metal tray and held up a plastic bag full of small packets of a white powdery substance. "She was a drug mule. She had this inside her."

"What is that? Coke? Heroin?"

"Fentanyl."

"Fentanyl?"

"Fentanyl. One of the bags started leaking and made contact with her system. She had a massive unintentional overdose, but after she was hit on the head." He then held up a student I.D. from Temple University. "No one has claimed the body."

"She doesn't have family."

"But if she was a mule, someone out there has lost a couple of hundred thousand dollars' worth of drugs."

"Yeah, but who."

"One last thing. She had several incisions in her abdomen. Knowing that she was a drug mule, I'd say that she did this several times, and had a surgery to remove the drugs from her body. On top of the major heart surgery. Whoever removed her kidneys, knew what they were doing. I don't see any signs of amateur mistakes."

"That's frightening," Nicole said.

"Very."

Nicole reached her hand out. "Can I have that I.D.?"

"Sure."

She examined the name and the other information on the I.D. She then glanced at her watch and turned. "Thanks again, Doc." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone and placed a call to a contact she had on the Temple University Police.

"Conrad," the male on the other end said.

"Hey, it's me, Nicole."

"What's up?"

"I need access to a dorm."

"You got a warrant?"

"I don't need one. The student is dead. I also need access to her student file. I want to see if she had any issues with grades or behavior."

"Who is it?"

"Cheryl Mapp."

"How soon?"

"I'll be over in a few minutes."

"Meet me at Morgan Hall, Broad and C.B. Moore."

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# Chapter Thirty-one

Nicole described the victim and the crime scene to Sergeant Conrad, in detail and got more worked up with every sentence. She stopped only to clear her throat and gather her thoughts. Conrad was horrified. "Drug mule?" he said. "We've had our issues with drugs, but I don't think I've ever known one of our students to be a drug mule."

Nicole paused as Conrad opened the door to the dorm. "Winter break just ended, didn't it?"

"It did."

"I need to know where she was."

"You're probably going to have to ask one of her friends."

Nicole walked in and scanned the small dorm. It was a one bedroom, two room dorm. From the decoration, she could tell that Cheryl shared the room. Both students were neat and organized. There wasn't anything out of place, as far as she could see. Nicole walked over to a small table in the living area and noticed something odd. There was an answering machine and there were messages stored. "I haven't seen one of these things in years," she said.

"Neither have I. Odd, though." Conrad walked over and picked it up. There was no cord connected to it. "There are no telephone lines in the dorms. They stopped putting them in with the new construction. No need with everyone having cell phones."

"So, what is that?"

"This might be an external hard drive." He held it up and examined it closer. "That's what it is."

"Why the blinking light?"

Conrad placed his right hand over the top. "The red light indicates that it's connected to the Wi-Fi and I think someone is logged in."

"How can you tell?"

"The drive is humming. It's moving."

"Can we find out who is logged in?"

"If they're logged into the University servers yes."

"And if not?"

"We're going to need a warrant for Comcast." He grabbed the hard drive and gestured for Nicole to follow him. "Let's see what the I.T. guys can do."

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# Chapter Thirty-two

Within a half of a day, Faith had Reina's information. She pulled up to a small row home in South West Philly and looked around. The block was made up of mostly dilapidated homes and weeded over vacant lots with garbage bags piled up in corners and lined along the pavement. She walked up to 6005 Allman Street, knocked on the door and waited. A few minutes later, a tall black girl answered. "Can I help you?"

Faith reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card and said, "I work for Bartholomew Mancini. He's the attorney. I wanted to know if I could speak to a Reina Anderson."

"That's me."

"Can I ask you a few questions about Dr. Philip Ross?"

Reina nodded her head and unlocked the security door. "Come in."

"Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"He's been killed. Murdered," Faith said.

When Faith entered her house, Reina said, "Murdered? Doctor Ross was murdered?" She shook her head and took a deep breath. "I didn't know."

"He was," Faith said. "Can you tell me what your relationship was with him?"

She looked up and frowned. "I didn't have a relationship with him. I was helping him get some answers."

"Answers? What kind of answers?"

"About everything that went on in the clinic that I work at." She shook her head and said, "It's bad what they do. It's really bad."

Faith reached for her cell phone and opened the recording app. "Do you mind if I record our conversation?"

"Not at all."

"Good," Faith said. "What do you mean, really bad? Can you tell me what went on in the clinic? And what was Philip looking into?"

Reina was hesitant, but after a few seconds of silence, she closed her eyes, breathed in deeply and said, "The clinic was a place that performed late term abortions. Women from all over the country came to us, but believe it or not, 26-week abortions wasn't the worst thing we did." She paused as tears streamed down her face. "I should've told someone about this before."

Faith reached into her pocket, pulled out a pack of tissues and handed her a tissue. She said, "Keep going."

"His name is Maximilian Hope and his medical practice was not set up to treat or help. His aim was not to give women control over their bodies and lives. He is not and was not serving the community." She paused and looked Faith in the eyes and said, "He runs a criminal enterprise that's motivated by greed. It's that simple. That clinic is a cattle line of abortions, drugs and," she paused and shook her head. "I'll get to the other stuff later. They do in..." she paused and raised her eyebrows, "We do four million dollars in abortions a year."

Faith shook her head. "4,000?"

Reina shook her head. "You heard right, four million. That translates to 10 to 20 thousand a night, and it's all cash."

Faith leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. "How?"

"There were two parts to his operation. By day, it was a prescription mill. And by night an abortion mill. There was and is a constant stream of patients coming through during business hours and for the proper payment they left with a script for Oxycontin and other controlled substances including heroin." She took a deep breath and shook her head. "Hope didn't even see those patients. He'd leave a blank pre-signed prescription pad and we, his unskilled, unauthorized workers took care of the rest. That side of the business brought in millions a year." She looked at Faith. "Are you familiar with abortion laws in the state of Pennsylvania?"

Faith shook her head. "I am not."

"Physicians must provide counseling about the nature of the procedure. Minors must have parental or judicial consent. All women must wait 24 hours after visiting in order to fully consent." She shook her head. "But Hope's compliance with the requirements were casual at best. We only asked one question and it was the most important. Will you be paying with cash? We were the only clinic with same day service."

"And this is what you told Doctor Ross?"

She nodded her head and continued. "That and some girls went in and never came out alive."

"What do you mean?" Faith said. "They died on the operating table?"

She shook her head and said, "They were killed. Murdered for...for," she stood and walked over to the front door and took a deep breath.

"For what?" Faith said.

Reina turned and looked at Faith. "For their organs."

Faith narrowed her eyes and leaned back in her seat. "Heart, lungs? Those organs?"

Reina nodded her head.

Faith raised her eyebrows and continued. "How is that possible? You mean to tell me that he killed women for their organs and no one noticed. Who were these women?"

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Women the doctor got off the streets. He gave them heroin and there's a group of cops he's got paid off who find women hooked on heroine."

"How do you know this?"

"I saw it with my own eyes. I was there when one of the girls overdosed. There was a cop who brought in some girl from Kensington. He had her shoot up heroin and we all waited around for her to overdose. When she did, Doc and his crew went into action."

Faith shook her head. "This sounds like something out of a Stephen King novel. This is hard to believe."

"I know, that's what Dr. Ross wanted to see for himself."

"How often did this happen?"

"I've seen it five times, but I'd guess more than a couple of dozen times."

"And they made sure the drugs sold to these women were potent?"

Reina nodded her head. "Doc had some deal with a drug dealer. The dealer made sure the stuff that was sold to that part of the city was cut strong."

"Cut it with what?"

She said, "Rat poison and fentanyl." She glanced at the floor and then back up at Faith. "Abortions weren't Hope's cash cow. He did make a shit ton of money, but his cash cow was moving prescriptions. Fentanyl mainly and doing these operations."

"How'd he get fentanyl?"

"His son. His son is a pharmaceutical sales exec for one of the major manufactures of opioids. I'm talking about hundreds of thousands of scripts per year. That's millions of dollars for him and the pharmaceutical company." She shook her head and said, "He's an exclusive distributor for these drugs. Pain clinics from New York to Florida come to him and he sells to street dealers and people hooked on the stuff as well."

"What pharmaceutical company gave him his supply?"

"Jenson and Kellerman."

"And there were no red flags?" Faith frowned and shook her head. "I get the drugs, but I don't get the whole harvest the organs of heroine addicted women and then sell them. Wouldn't the drug abuse taint the organs?"

Reina shook her head.

"Why?"

"Doc's partner said that there's a better chance of acceptance by putting the organ of heroin addicts into a healthy body." She shrugged her shoulders and continued. "That's what she said. She got the project going."

"What's her name?"

"I'm not sure what her name was, but she was always around during the operations."

"And you're sure she's a nurse?"

Reina nodded. "I'm positive. Doc was always gushing how she was a genius for getting this project started."

"Project? The harvesting organs?"

She nodded her head.

Faith leaned back and said, "And this was at the hospital where Doctor Ross worked?"

She nodded. "They're the first to do something like this and no one questioned, or questions, Hope because of who he is."

"And that is?" Faith said.

"Powerful, connected, and rich."

"Is there anyone else I can talk with on the subject?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't deal with this anymore, so I filed a report with the Pennsylvania Department of State. I gave them everything they needed to shut the clinic down. I told them that he used unlicensed workers to administer the anesthesia and that I was one of them. I told them about the underage girls forced to have abortions. But nothing happened."

Faith shook her head and said, "What happens to the bodies after the surgery?"

"Some guy from the morgue comes by and picks them up."

"And no one has made the connection?" Faith said. "No one has noticed that bodies void of organs are popping up?"

Reina looked at Faith and said, "The guy who works in the morgue writes up the reports. He covers over everything, so no one questions anything."

"Who is this guy?"

"Somebody Doc knows."

"No one from CDC, or the State, has ever come by to inspect?"

She nodded her head and said, "Nobody. But Philip started noticing things."

"How?"

"Philip sent over six girls to get abortions and all six ended up contracting trichomoniasis."

"Trichomoniasis? What is that?"

"It's a sexually transmitted parasite that they didn't have before going to him."

"What happened?"

"Philip delivered the report to the Department of Health."

"And nothing happened?"

"Nothing. Hope is the Commissioner of Health here in the city, so he intercepted the report before it got anywhere."

Faith rolled her eyes. "How did you meet Philip?"

Reina took a deep breath and said, "Another one of his patients has an organ thanks to the clinic. Philip told him that the match would take six months to a year, but this guy got it in a little less than a day. Philip got curious."

"And?"

"The patient developed trichomoniasis. Philip made the connection and started calling the office. After the fifth call, he told me that he knew the Mayor's kidney came from the clinic."

"The mayor? The mayor of Philadelphia has a kidney from this place?"

Reina nodded her head. "The Mayor needed a kidney. He was sick and Doc got it for him."

"From these girls?"

Reina nodded. "He said the Mayor told him where he got the kidney," Reina said.

"Why did he tell Philip?"

"Philip told him that his body was rejecting the kidney and he started displaying symptoms of trichomonas."

"And then what?"

"He came to me. I told him that I would get more information for him, so I started doing overtime and sticking around later and saw a lot of the operations."

"What kinds of operations?"

"A kidney removal."

Faith ran her hand through her hair and said, "Who else was there?"

"The doctor, his partner, some other guy I never saw and me. After that, I told Philip that I had some information for him. We started talking and he said that he knew somebody in the Attorney General's office. I started telling him what I knew. He had me get what I could on the operation. I wore a wire, got some audio and took pictures and started gathering information for them."

"Like?"

"Everything. I had access to everything. There wasn't much security and he kept everything on hardcopy in unlocked cabinets. He keeps files on who requested what and where the organs came from. When the girls got an abortion, he would keep track of their blood type and if someone who needed an organ popped up with that blood type, the order went out and that girl's number was up."

Faith shook her head and took a deep breath. "Oh my god. This is so hard to believe."

"It is, but there is an unlocked file cabinet in his office of the third floor of the building. He even kept a ledger on who he paid off and how much he paid them."

"Like who?"

"The cops. Particularly them. He made sure they were paid off."

"Why?"

"They were his connection to the streets. Without the cops, he wouldn't have access to the heroin addicts, or the street connections to move his drugs."

"The fentanyl?"

"That and Oxycodone. Oxy was big or is big. I looked at the books and in the drug sales alone he was moving tens of millions of dollars a year."

"Who was his street connection to move the drugs?"

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Some guy in North Philly. His name is Bubs."

"So why do they do organ harvestings and the abortions if he's making that much money from drug sales?"

She shook her head and said, "I think he's delusional. I really believe that he believes that he's helping the community."

Faith stopped the recording app on her phone. She said, "Listen, I'm going to need you to talk with my boss. Are you okay with that?"

Reina nodded.

"How long have you worked at the clinic?"

"Ten years."

"Why speak up now?"

"I can't live with this on my conscience anymore. That's why I agreed to testify in the grand jury."

"What grand jury?" Faith said.

"The one that convened for Hope's trial. Philip was set to testify as well." She stood and walked closer to Faith. "The file cabinet in his office. It's enough in there to take him down."

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# Chapter Thirty-three

Temple's I.T. team pinpointed who was logged into the server and extracting information from the hard drive. Conrad and Nicole stood at the entrance of the University's main library and looked around. There were rows and rows of students hunched over books and computers as they burned the mid-night oil during the first week back from winter break. Conrad looked at a printout of the student, which included his picture, name and major. Ben Westcott was logged in somewhere, downloading potential information that could help in solving the gruesome murder. Despite the packed library, it only took Conrad a few minutes to find him. Westcott was at a carrel hunched over his Apple I-Book. Nicole followed Conrad as he pointed Ben out. The two slowly walked over. Conrad tapped Ben on the shoulder.

Ben shook and pulled the headphones off his head.

"Ben Westcott?" Conrad said.

Ben closed his computer and said. "Yeah."

"I'm Detective Conrad. Temple police."

Ben leaned back in his seat and placed his hands behind his head. "And?"

"We need to talk to you," Nicole said.

Ben tilted his head to the side and flashed a crooked smile. "Who are you?"

"Philadelphia District Attorney. We need to ask you some questions."

"About?"

Nicole gestured with her right hand. "A murder. Now you can either come quietly, or we drag you out in handcuffs."

Three young students circled the carrel as Ben stood. "Ben, is everything ok? Are you being harassed?"

Nicole said, "You'd know if we were harassing him."

"What's your business?" one student said. "He's not bothering anyone."

Nicole rolled her eyes. "We want to know why he's logged into the hard drive of a student that was murdered."

Ben shook his head and took a deep breath. "What? Who?"

"You're logged into her hard drive."

Ben covered his face with his right hand. "I..."

"Save it," Conrad said. "He'll be down at the police unit if you all want to form a protest."

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# Chapter Thirty-four

Nicole sat across from Ben and folded her hands on a grey steel table.

"Do I need a lawyer?" Ben asked.

"That would depend."

"On?"

"Tell me about Cheryl Mapp." Nicole said.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Conrad said.

"Two days ago. We...we spent time together over winter break."

Nicole glanced down at the file in front of her. She flipped a few pages, read a few sentences and looked up at Ben. "You're thirty-eight, and your transcript says that you're an undergrad."

"I started school in my twenties, and then life got in the way. I took a break, came back and now I'm finishing up."

"What are you studying?" Nicole asked.

"I'm double majoring in Computer Science and Bio-Medical Engineering."

"Where did you two go for winter break?"

"Mexico."

"Cancun?"

"No, Mexico City. I had an interview at a company that has a branch there."

"What company?"

"Jenson and Kellerman."

"The pharmaceutical company?" Nicole said.

"Yeah. Am I being arrested?"

"You don't seem upset that your girlfriend was murdered."

"Am I being arrested?"

"What were you getting off the hard drive?"

He didn't say anything.

"Can we look at your computer?"

Ben leaned across the table and said, "I'm not a criminal justice major, but I do know that you need a warrant to see that."

Nicole stood and looked down at Ben. "We'll get it and until then we're keeping you in custody. By law we have seventy-two hours to pin something on you." She glanced at her watch and continued. "I'll have a warrant in a half an hour. I.T. will get into your computer a few minutes after and find out what you were mining from the hard drive."

Conrad entered the room and handed Nicole a folder. "We don't need a warrant. He was using University bandwidth. Anything transmitted over that bandwidth is property of Temple University." Conrad walked around to Ben and sat on the edge of the table.

Ben cut his eyes at Conrad and then at Nicole. "Lawyer."

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# Chapter Thirty-five

Around fifty people showed up for the funeral. Nicole and Murray stood towards the back and observed the friends and family giving the grieving mother their condolences. As the group thinned, Miller stood next to Nicole. She turned. "I wasn't expecting you."

He held out his hand. "I know he was a friend."

Nicole shook his hand and felt a small piece of paper.

"Take care and I'll see you two around," Miller said.

Nicole cut her eyes as he walked away.

"What was that about?" Murray said.

"I don't know," Nicole said while turning away. She unfolded the paper that Miller passed to her. It read, Pier 18 9 P.M. tonight.

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# Chapter Thirty-six

I hadn't been on Penn's campus in years. Things changed, and I found myself reminiscing and retracing my steps from all those years ago.

"Yo, Bart."

I turned and saw an older black man walking towards me. "Son of a bitch. Ralph?" I held out my arms and gave him a hug. Ralph was old school Penn, W '73. He got me through law school and put me in touch with some hardcore New York "banksters" when I graduated, who just happened to work for the five major crime families in the Tri-State. When the "Boss" found out an Ivy League educated Italian American lawyer was on the payroll, he gave me an offer I couldn't refuse. Since then I'd been carefully balancing my life between the black and white issues of the law. No complaints, because in the process, I'd made a shit ton of money. I owed my career to this son of a bitch. "The hell you doing around here?" I asked.

"Retired, man. Grinding and working my game. Made a couple million. Lost a couple million. Trying to make a couple million more." He laughed.

I laughed.

"What are you doing here?" he said.

"Meeting a contact. Need some information on a case." I paused and stepped back. "You have contacts all over. What have you heard about the doctor that was murdered over at the hospital?"

He nodded his head and said, "Not much. Just that he was having an affair with the charge nurse that walked in on his wife who had the bloody knife in her hand."

"Yeah, I got that much." I looked at my watch and nodded to the Annenberg Theater. When I finally got to the auditorium, I grabbed a program and frowned. This whole event was about Advancements in Medicine, and the keynote speaker was a Doctor Maximillian Hope. "I hate being at these things. The bourgeoisie make me uneasy. I find comfort around mischiefs, criminals and convicts because I know what they bring to the table. There really is transparency among criminals."

Ralph nodded his head. "Is that why you hung around me?"

"You put me in touch with the motherfuckers that made me a wealthy man." I patted him on the shoulders and nodded my head. "Of course, that's why."

He laughed.

I looked around and took a deep breath. The event drew a large crowd. I stood in the back of the auditorium with Ralph and looked around for Emilia. She was in the front row taking notes and when the keynote speaker stepped on to the stage, she raised her cell phone and took a few pictures. Doctor Maximillian Hope flashed a bright smile. He was maybe in his late sixties, but he looked good for that age. After taking a sip of water, he glanced down at his notes. He looked up, took one last sweeping glance of the audience and said, "Medicine has always been about new ideas, new players, new approaches and new technology. What medical professionals thought was innovative one hundred years ago, is now outdated and obsolete. We as medical professionals need to keep in mind that if we are to remain relevant in the world, we need to embrace newness. We need to think of new ideas, and approach illnesses not with the eyes of someone who clings to old ways, but with the foresight of a trailblazer and pioneer. In the city of Philadelphia alone, last year, we saw the tragic demise of 900 men and women due to heroin overdose. As medicine professionals, we must look at these instances with open minds and not only ask how we can prevent such tragedies, but what we can do to save others." He looked around and nodded to a few people before continuing. "We need innovators who are not afraid to ask why, or how? We need those who will take risks and do things that others won't."

He went on for another thirty minutes about things that were way over my head. It was at this point I zoned out. As he left the stage, I awkwardly smiled at some very agitated people, and squeezed passed to the main aisle. When I got to the lobby, I saw Emilia standing by a table that had three buckets of iced bottle water in them.

Emilia walked over. "Hey," she said. She tapped Ralph on the shoulder and said, "Hey, you." She directed her attention back at me. "How'd you like the program?"

"Good," I said. "I learned a lot."

She punched me in the arm and said, "Liar. I saw you sleeping."

I raised my eyebrows and shrugged my shoulders. "Guess you got me there. So, what can you tell me?"

"You going to take me out to dinner?"

"Sure. Let's go," I said.

"Not now. What's your hurry?" Emilia said.

"I don't like being around here."

Ralph chimed in, "Hey, Emilia, he said he don't like being the bourgeoisie unless he's with a couple of bourgeoisies." Ralph laughed. "He got us."

Emilia looked at Ralph and said, "I'm not bourgeoisie. I'm an elitist bitch. There's a difference."

Ralph held up his hands and said, "I stand corrected."

Emilia laughed and looked at me. "What did you think of the keynote?"

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "It was interesting. I mean, it's not my bag, but hey."

"Doctor Philip Ross was..."

I flagged my right hand and said, "Yeah, yeah. Just get to the juicy stuff."

Emilia nodded her head. "Above board and all around nice guy. Not a bad bone in his body."

"So, besides fucking around on his wife, why would his wife want him dead?"

Emilia opened a bottle of water, took a sip and looked around. It was a cautious look. Paranoid almost. When she was satisfied that no one was looking or listening, she relaxed and looked me in the eyes. "I don't think she did. But of course, I can't prove it."

"Why do you say that?" I said.

"He came to me a few months ago and said that ten months prior Mayor Washington was in the hospital for kidney failure. Philip was his attending physician. Washington needed a kidney transplant right away. However, there was a ten-month wait. Washington got a match in a day and a half."

"And," I said. "People with money and power get to the front of the line all the time. There's nothing new about that."

She shook her head. "Nope. There was something more. Philip looked into the situation. He started peeling back the layers and found something big."

"What did he tell you?"

She looked at me and said, "This is what Philip told me..."

He was in a deep trance. He hadn't realized that he was bunched into the corner of the small elevator. It was only after the woman next to him asked what floor the maternity ward was on did he notice that the next stop was his.

He looked at her and grinned slightly. "I'm sorry. The maternity ward is on the fifth floor."

The woman thanked him, and as the lift jerked and stopped, the doors opened. He pushed his way through the crowd, excusing himself.

The critical care unit smelled of soiled linen covered over by industrial strength cleaning chemicals. The tile floors sparkled as a maintenance worker ran a buffer from left to right, and the hum of the machine faded in with the beeps of heart monitors and respirators. The intercom called for doctors and nurses to report to room 458, and as he walked aimlessly, a few doctors ran into him on their way to the emergency.

His heart dropped like a piece of lead in a lake. He had the unpleasant task of informing a patient that death lurked around the next corner. It was something that he did not care to do. He was never one that could relate bad news to others well.

Mal, one of the nurses on the floor who worked with Philip, walked up and rested her hand on his shoulder and said, "You seem preoccupied. Is everything okay?"

He raised his head and looked at her. He had spent the night with her. He flashed a smile and said, "I'm just in deep thought."

"Thinking about last night?"

He smiled again and nodded his head. "Yes."

Mal stole an intimate moment when she ran her hands across Philip's face. She walked away just as Philip's wife headed down the hall.

Sarah glanced at him as she turned the corner and picked up her pace. She stood in front of Philip, straightened his tie and kissed him on the cheek. "Will you be working late tonight?" she asked.

He took a deep breath and nodded his head.

"You didn't forget about tomorrow, did you?"

"Of course I didn't. How could I forget our anniversary?" He raised his hands and gently grabbed Sarah's face and kissed her on the lips.

Mal turned the corner a few feet away and stopped in her tracks when she saw us kissing. The smile she had on her face slowly turned into a frown. The public display of affection she witnessed did not appear loveless.

Sarah stepped away. "I'll see you tonight," she said as she walked down the hall and as she passed Mal, she smiled.

"So, he was a having an affair," I said.  "His wife knew that. This doesn't look good."

"You're not getting the point. This is more than an affair. Fuck the affair. You're barking up the wrong tree." She took a step back and crossed her arms. "I've talked to a lot of people on this. People on the inside."

"What else? He tell you anything more?"

"Yeah," Emilia said.

Philip nodded his head to the bodyguard by the door as he stepped into the room. The air in the room was chilled and smelled of cleaning chemicals, fresh roses and stale cigar smoke.

The patient slid up in the bed, tilted his head slightly to the left and grinned. He said, "Give it to me straight, Doc." His raspy voice made it sound like he was one step closer to death's door.

Philip sat in a chair at the foot of the bed and crossed his legs. He looked down and before he raised his head again, he bit his bottom lip and said, "Sir." He stopped and rocked in his seat. "You're going to die if you don't receive a kidney."

"A kidney? Well, get me a goddamn kidney."

"It's not that simple. There is a long wait, and by the time we get a match you'll be..."

The man in the bed raised his hands and turned his head. "I've fought that bastard death five times." He lifted his gown and showed a scar on his chest. "You see this? This is from a fucking gunshot. Desert Storm. One of them rat bastard motherfuckers hit me. I ain't dead from that, or the other five times I got shot." He reached over to his right and took a tin cigar tube from off the stand by the bed. He popped the top off and slid the cigar out. After, he slipped it in his mouth, lit a match, lit the stogie and asked, "How long is the wait?"

"Six months."

"If I get a kidney, I get the operation and live, right?"

"In theory."

"You don't sound very confident, Doc."

"Yes, you will live."

The man blew smoke into the air and said, "You perform the operation?"

"Yes."

"Alright." He shrugged his shoulders, "Thanks for the news, Doc." He then wrote an address and some information on a piece of paper, called in his bodyguard, and handed him the note.

"Go to this address and tell this guy to come here today."

The bodyguard looked at the paper and nodded his head.

As Philip walked out of the room, Mal looked over her shoulders to see if anyone was looking and gestured for Philip to follow.

He grinned.

Mal opened the door to a supply closet, pulled Philip in and as the door shut, she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him.

"We can't," he said.

Mal reached between them and moaned. "Why not?"

He closed my eyes. "I...God," he mumbled.

Mal slid off him and straightened her skirt. She smiled and wiped her lips and said, "I'll finish tonight." She cracked the door and peeked out and then walked out of the closet.

He followed and shook his head as he tried not to smile. When he walked towards the elevator, a surgeon yelled to get his attention. "Philip."

Philip turned and nodded his head while holding out his hand. "Hey Smith, what's going on?"

Dr. Sam Smith was a dark-skinned man who was a brilliant vascular surgeon. He shook his hand and said, "The mayor, he's your patient, right?"

He nodded his head. "What about him?"

"I need his blood type just in case we get a match for a kidney."

Philip raised his eyebrows and said, "I told him it would be at least ten months."

"Yeah, but you know how these things are. Sometimes people die, and the names at the bottom of the list get bumped. We just need to be prepared. After all, I voted for the bastard. I'd like to get him another term in office."

Philip shrugged his shoulders and gestured for Smith to follow him to his office.

Philip had a large corner office that overlooked 34th and Spruce. Outside the window, construction was going on at a building across the street.

Smith stood by the window, shook his head and smiled. "How long did it take you to get this office?"

Philip opened the drawer to a file cabinet and shrugged his shoulders. "My father's name is on this wing."

"Lucky you."

"Here it is. He is B+."

"Well that shouldn't be hard to find."

Philip frowned and asked, "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing at all." Smith waved as he walked out of the room. "See you around."

He followed.

Smith walked towards the elevator and nodded at a man in a suit.

Philip was only a few steps behind and could hear their conversation.

Smith looked at the man and said, "B+. How soon can they have it?"

Philip stopped and stood out of sight.

"Twenty-four hours," the man said to Smith. "Tell him it's going to cost extra for a rush."

"How much extra?"

"One hundred grand."

"And what's my cut?"

"Fifteen."

"Not bad. So, do I want to know where you guys are getting these things from?"

The man looked at Smith and shook his head. "Last person who asked that ended up being a donor himself."

The doors opened and the man in the suit walked on to the elevator. "We'll be in touch."

A few days later, Philip jumped onto the 40 bus and headed south. He was fidgety. He picked up a crinkled piece of paper. Sweat dripped from his brow. His complexion was pale and clammy. He looked left to the people sitting across from him. He turned and looked behind. There were only ten people on the bus, and all looked suspicious. There was a young Penn student, a male, dressed in a blue hoodie with a University of Penn sweatshirt and blue jeans. He got on the bus behind him.

Philip looked at him, but he didn't recognize the face. He turned, picked up a ruffled-up Metro, smoothed it out and shook his head. He then turned his head and saw there was a daily edition of the Philadelphia Bulletin on the seat across from him. He picked up the paper and read the front page. Mayor successfully undergoes a kidney transplant. He is resting at the Hospital of the University of Philadelphia. He shook his head and said, "This is wrong."

"This is wrong? What did he mean by that?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I was supposed to meet up with him at a clinic around 38th and Lancaster. But before that could happen, he was killed."

"38th and Lancaster? Clinic? What kind of clinic? Sarah followed Philip to a clinic. She said she saw him with a girl. She thinks it might be a lover."

"I don't know. My story got spiked after he was killed."

"What do you speculate?"

"He was killed because whatever he stumbled into was worth killing for. But what I have won't even make it past the daily budget meeting."

"Shit," Ralph said. He looked at me. "I'll hit you up later. Got to check something out."

I nodded my head.

"I ran the deed to the clinic on 38th and Lancaster Avenue," Emilia said.

"And?"

"It's owned by a Maximillian Hope."

"The guy who just gave the keynote?"

She nodded.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I reached in my pocket, pulled out my phone and looked at the I.D. It was Faith. "I may need some help," I said to Emilia.

"Yeah sure. I want to know what the hell happened," she said.

I stepped away as I pressed accept. "What's up?"

"We need to talk. I found the girl, Reina."

"And?"

"There was some shady, illegal shit going down. You were right. Philip may have been killed by someone else."

"Was there a mention of a clinic?"

"How did you know?"

"Meet me at the boat."

"It'll be late. I'm going to the hospital to talk to the staff. I'll see you in the morning."

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# Chapter Thirty-seven

Nicole stood on the pier and watched a container ship slowly cruise down the Delaware. It was a mild mid-winter's night and people strolled up and down the promenade enjoying the break from the typical North Eastern January.

"Relaxing, isn't it?"

Nicole turned as Miller walked up.

"I used to come here as a boy and watch the boats," he said.

"What do you want?"

"You don't waste time."

"You guys are the epitome of time wasting, so cut the bullshit and just tell me what you need to tell me."

Miller grinned and leaned over the banister. Moonlight reflected off the rippling waters and casted a star-like twinkle. The seconds of silence irritated Nicole. She straightened, lowered her head and narrowed her eyes at Miller as he glanced out onto the open water. Just as she turned to walk away, he said, "Philip was working for us."

"Informant?"

Miller swiveled his head from right to left. "Not exactly. He went undercover in an operation. We suspected a doctor in West Philly of running an OxyContin cartel. He was doing business up and down the East Coast."

"If he wasn't an informant then what was he?"

"He and the A.G. went to prep school together, or some W.A.S.P.y shit like that. Philip suspected that there was an organ harvesting ring operating here in Philly and got the A.G. to open an investigation."

"An organ harvesting ring?"

"Yeah, it sounds nuts, and we would've tossed his complaint to the back burner, but when he mentioned who he suspected of running it, we took a step back and listened to what he had to say."

"And, who was it?"

"Maximillian Hope."

"Is that name supposed to mean something?"

"He's a doctor, here in the city. He sits on the National Cancer Society Board and is involved in philanthropy. He's also politically connected up the ass."

"Did you guys have a file on him?"

"We did. He's the guy we suspected of running the OxyContin cartel."

"No shit? Did Philip have proof?"

"He was getting it. He said something about a patient of his who needed a kidney transplant, and when he told the patient that it would take six months to a year to get a match, the patient turns around and gets it within two days." He raised his hands and continued. "And then the other day, he wanted to meet because he had something that was big that he wanted to share."

"What was it?"

"We don't know. He was killed before we found out."

Nicole sighed. "If you weren't going to tell me, why this meeting?"

"Really, we didn't know who his patient was, that's what we wanted to talk to you about."

"I'm not following."

"We can't get his records without tipping off our investigation." He pointed to Nicole and said, "However, since you have an open investigation into his death, you can subpoena his patient records without anyone taking note."

"Now, why would I do that?"

"Because we believe his wife didn't kill him."

"You need to talk to my brother then."

"I don't think so. We believe that Hope or someone in his operation killed him. We suspect that there are other things going on there besides the drug pushing." He paused, turned and stood within inches of Nicole's face. "We're handing you a career case, counselor."

"I already have a career."

"Then do it for the good of the city. Your city."

"Save the hype talk for an impressionable junior esquire."

He grinned. "Help us, and we'll owe you one," he said while walking away.

Nicole reached for her cell phone and shook her head. "I doubt it," she mumbled.

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# Chapter Thirty-eight

I reached for my cell phone. It was a call from Nicole. "The House of Pain?" she said. "You quoted the fucking House of Pain at a press conference."

"It wasn't really a press conference," I said. "And I always wanted to say that line."

"You're an idiot." Nicole laughed. "Mom wants to know if you're coming to her birthday party this weekend."

"Oh, god. She's still alive?"

"She's worried about you."

"That's hard to believe."

"Why do you say that?"

"Last time we talked, she told me that I was a disappointment and I wasn't living up to my potential."

Nicole laughed. "You aren't, so are you coming?"

I said, "Do I have to?"

"Yes, you do."

"Fine, I'll be there with a bottle of cyanide laced Jack."

"Good. That you're coming, not about the cyanide laced Jack." She said, "I've got a meeting with my boss."

"You're working late."

"Yeah, your client just turned herself in. We're charging her tonight. So, when were you going to tell me about her?"

"Listen," I said. "We need to talk."

"Not now, I've got to go. It won't be me on the case, so it doesn't matter."

The line went dead.

I looked at my watch and called Grace, who worked at the office. The call went straight to voice mail. "You've reached Grace. I'm not here to answer your call, please leave a message."

"Um, hi this is Bart from the office. We need support staff to report in, to work on the account of a major client. Please call in and thank you."

Grace lived near the airport at some apartment complex. I didn't know why I drove out to her house, but I did. I sat in the car and waited for her. Just as I was preparing to leave, Grace walked out from the courtyard and headed to the corner. I got out and smiled. "Grace."

She frowned. "Counselor? What are you doing here?"

"I got kind of worried when you didn't answer your phone." I raised my hands. "Just as a work colleague."

"That's," she lowered her head. "That's very sweet, but you didn't have to. Thank you."

"I'm headed back to town. I can give you a ride."

She hesitated, but then walked over to the car. She opened the door and slipped in. "I heard your message." She chuckled. "You're a good liar. I guess that's what makes a great lawyer."

I nodded my head and smiled. "I guess so."

She leaned closer to the door and cut her eyes at me. "I guess I should tell you about my situation."

"You don't have to."

"Really?"

"Of course. It's not my business." I did want to know, but I didn't want to intrude. I guess I could've used some rhetorical magic, to get her to open up, but that would just be creepy.

She crossed her arms. "I take that back. You're not such a good liar, which makes me wonder why you're such a good lawyer."

I smiled.

She smiled back.

I dropped her off at El Vez on the corner of Thirteenth and Sansom.

"Thank you, counselor," she said while opening the door.

"Bart," I said. "Please, just call me Bart."

She swung one leg out and then the other all the while smiling. "Bart." After she closed the door, I pulled up about halfway up the block and looked into my rear mirror. She hugged and kissed a man who had just walked out of the restaurant.

I rolled my eyes, and hit my head onto the steering wheel. "You idiot," I said.

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# Chapter Thirty-nine

Nicole got a phone call from Conrad around 10 P.M. "Yeah," she said.

"We finally got into the computer."

"And?"

"We don't know what to make of it."

"Give me some kind of idea."

"It's a formula."

"A formula?"

"Like, for a drug. What do you want us to with the kid?"

"Charge him with murder. That should make him talk."

"Oh, hell no," Ben yelled. "I want my lawyer."

"Answer one question. That's it. Just one question."

"What?"

"Do you know where Cheryl went for winter break?"

Ben closed his eyes and said, "Mexico. She went to Mexico."

"What's the formula for?"

Ben shrugged his shoulders.

"The D.A. has instructed us to charge you with murder. She believes that killed Cheryl."

"I didn't."

"We also know that you didn't have an interview with that drug company in Mexico, so the question is, why were you two down there?"

Ben glanced up and crossed his arms. "If you're going to charge me, charge me. But I'm not saying anything else until I talk to my lawyer."

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# Chapter Forty

It was the same story from the employees of the hospital. Doctor Philip Ross was beloved. However, Faith had become more and more agitated and distant during the days leading up to his murder. "Shocked," Renee one the RN's told Faith. "Shocked and horrified. You think that you know someone."

"So, I take it that you knew Sarah well?" Faith said.

"Knew her? She was in my wedding. We graduated nursing school together and went on vacation as couples."

"Did you notice any problems between her and Philip?" Faith asked.

"No, other than the fact that Philip was just distant in the last few weeks, no."

"Everyone keeps telling me he was distant. Distant how?"

"Like his mind was elsewhere, which is something horrifying, considering he was a surgeon. Normally those guys always have their shit together."

"What about Sarah? Anything change with her?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Not that I noticed. She was consistent." She rocked her head from left to right and said, "Abrupt, calloused. She was one of those women who was real. The kind that if you didn't know her, you'd think she was a bitch."

Faith raised her eyebrows and nodded her head. "Ok."

"But deep down inside she was good person. She gave to charity, volunteered a lot. For her to do something like this, murder her husband in cold blood, is totally uncharacteristic of her."

Faith pulled out her notepad and said, "Do you know where I can find Mal Miller?"

"Fifth floor." Renee looked at her watch and said, "I'm not sure what shift she's on."

Faith walked towards the nurse's station on the fifth floor and smiled at the woman at the desk. "Hello," she said and handed a business card over to the woman. "I was hoping you could tell me where I could find Mal Miller."

The woman looked at the card and raised her eyebrows. "Private investigator?" She then nodded to a room across the hall. "She should be in there."

"Thank you," Faith said. She walked over to the nurse's lounge and knocked on the door before entering. "Hello," she said as she walked over a woman sitting in a lounge chair. "I'm looking for Mal?" she said.

Mal looked up from reading a magazine and said, "That's me."

Faith held out her hand and said, "My name is Faith. I work for the lawyer representing Sarah Ross."

Mal leaned back and took a deep breath. She nodded her head and said, "What do you want to know?"

"I understand that you knew her husband well."

Mal crossed her legs and nodded her head. "Is that what the bitch told you?"

"That's what she told me."

Mal crossed her arms. "She's lying through her teeth."

"So you weren't having an affair?"

"I was not. I mean, I looked up to Philip. I loved him, but only as a mentor. Nothing more."

"So, why would she say that?"

"She's a delusional drunken whore. That's why."

"Can you be a bit more specific?"

"She came to visit Philip one day drunk. I stood at the end of the hall and watched her with Philip. Philip was mortified."

"She was drunk or tipsy?" Faith said.

"I don't know. I didn't smell any alcohol on her." She lowered her head. "I did have a thing going on with Philip."

"You just told me that you weren't."

"I'm embarrassed. And I know that if you're any good at your job, you'll find out about it, so I might as well be honest."

Faith rolled her eyes and said, "Anything else you want to tell me?"

"Philip was dissatisfied with his marriage."

"He told you?"

"He did. He said that he loved me, and he was going to leave Sarah for me. He talked to a divorce attorney."

Faith stood and glanced over at a set of car BMW keys on the table and said, "Do you know if there is any place where I can get my parking ticket validated?"

Mal reached for the keys and said, "Unfortunately, there is none. You have to pay the full price."

"Wow that must be expensive."

"It is. That's why I park off site."

Faith raised her left arm and glanced at her watch. "That must be inconvenient."

"Not at all. When I get off, I just wait for the shuttle. It takes us to a cheap lot a few blocks away."

"Do you have any information about kidney transplants?"

Mal looked at Faith and shook her head. "No. Why would I?"

Faith narrowed her eyes and said, "Tell me about your research."

Mal tilted her head to the left and said, "What research? I don't know what you're talking about."

"I came across someone who mentioned you as being someone who was familiar with the process."

She shook her head and said, "I'm sorry. I can't help you there."

Faith looked at her watch and said, "Well I've taken enough of your time. You must have a long day ahead of you. 3-11?"

Mal nodded her head. "Swing. This week it's 3-11, but I'm off a little early today. I have something personal that I have to take care of."

"How long have you been working with the clinic on Lancaster Ave?"

"Five..." she paused and looked Faith. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Faith nodded her head. "Thanks," she said as she walked out." She then headed to the security desk. "Hello," she said.

The guard looked up and grinned. "Can I help you?"

"I'm a private investigator working on Dr. Philip Ross' murder. I was wondering if I could get the video footage of the floor."

"I was wondering when someone else was going to ask about this. The cops only subpoenaed the footage, but only wanted the portion of her running away. "

"I take it there's something else on it?"

The guard popped in a CD and played it back. Sarah walked into Philip's office. Faith looked at the time stamp. "Can you fast forward?"

The guard nodded and pressed the forward button. The time stamp read 5:44.23 P.M. Philip and another man walked into his office. At 6:00.21 P.M. the unidentified man walked out, stopped and looked around. At 6:15:45 P.M. Mal walked into the office and a few seconds later, she walked out. At 6:36:34 P.M., Renee walked into the office and a few seconds later, she walked out. At 6:50:33 P.M. Sarah walked into the office. At 7:01:23 P.M. Mal walked back into the office. About a minute later, Sarah opened the door, stopped, looked at herself and then ran into the fire exit. Mal followed, looked around and then screamed.

"No one else has seen this?" Faith said.

The guard shook his head. "Just the 7:01 footage."

Faith reached for her cell phone and placed a call. "Did you tell the police about the other people going into his office?"

"Yeah, I told the guy about it, but I don't think he cared."

"Why?"

"Got me, he just wanted the footage of the woman running out."

"Rewind it back to the guy."

He did.

Faith leaned forward and squinted. The image was blurred. "Who is he?"

He told her.

"Can I have a copy of that?"

The guard handed her a copy and said, "My pleasure."

Faith reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. She stopped at Bart and pressed send.

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# Chapter Forty-one

I reached for my phone and saw the call was from Faith. "Hey."

"I just talked to a few nurses at the hospital," Faith said.

"How'd that go?"

"They're all a bunch of liars. All of the stories conflict. I can't tell who's telling the truth and who's lying. But most of all I have the video footage and that's even more bizarre," Faith said.

"How so?"

"I need the coroner's report," Faith said.

"Why?"

"I want to know the time of death and how many times he was stabbed."

"From what I remember, the report says that he was murdered between the hours of 5:30 A.M. and 7A.M. And he was stabbed three times. Two shallow wounds and one that was deep and to the heart."

"Three stabs?"

"Three."

"Between the hours of 5:30 A.M. and 7, four people, including your client went into that office."

"Are you sure?"

"I am."

"She said that she fell asleep in the office and woke up and Philip was dead."

Faith paused before continuing. "She's lying. I'm going to follow this Mal chick. Reina said that Mal was a key man on a project harvesting organs from heroin addicts who overdosed."

"Say what now?"

"It's crazy, and for once in my life I am at a loss for words." Faith frowned when she saw Mal walk out of the main entrance of the hospital. "Hey, I've got to go. I'll call you back later tonight after I go to this place on 38th Street."

"Be careful."

She disconnected the call and followed Mal.

Faith trailed behind the shuttle van to a parking lot a mile away from the hospital. Mal rushed out of the shuttle, got into her Subaru, and sped out. Faith stayed her distance. Mal eventually drove to a house on Magee, in the Tacony section. She parked and rushed into a house.

A man stood in the front door and talked to her. Faith recognized him from the hospital security video. He said something to Mal.

Mal shook her head and gestured with both hands.

Faith reached over to her left and grabbed a laser microphone. She pointed it towards Mal and the man. "Did you know about this?" Mal said.

"Calm down."

"They know something. That little bitch talked. I told you all that you should've handled her a while back."

"Who?"

"The secretary at the office. You guys need to do something. I'm not going down for this shit. If I go down, you all will go down. Tell him that. This is not worth it, at all."

"Calm down. Nobody knows anything. Who asked you these questions?"

"Some private investigator working for Sarah."

"Private investigator? What did you tell her?"

"Nothing. She said something about an affair, so I played along. I didn't say anything."

"Don't speak to anyone else again." He looked around and then stepped into his house. "I've got the next delivery." He waved for her to follow him.

Mal followed.

Faith reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. She pulled up the Zillow app, typed the address into the search, and discovered that a Regan Miller owned the house. Faith looked at her notes. No one mentioned a Miller, but she recognized him from the security video.

Mal stormed out of the house, hopped into her car and drove off.

Faith tailed her. She had the laser mic on her car as she drove down 95 South.

"This is bullshit," Mal said. "You never told me about this. I did not sign up for anything like this. You said I'd be consulting only. I want my money. Give me my money and I'm done." She paused for a few seconds and then continued. "When? When will I get it?" She paused once more and then yelled, "If I don't have it by the end of the week, I'm going to the paper. I'm going to tell everyone about this." She sped up, turned off on Girard Avenue, and headed to a drug rehabilitation clinic on the West side of the city.

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# Chapter Forty-two

Mal parked on Parkside Avenue on the park side of the street. Faith parked three cars behind her and waited until Mal got out and ran into a building. She watched and while Mal talked to a few people on the street, she googled the clinic. CFH Heath Care. The picture that popped up was a distinguished looking black man who held a young smiling child in his arms. Faith looked up and stepped out of the car.

Mal slowly entered the building. She walked down a tile hall. In the hallway, several groups of men and women stood around and talked about the various groups they were in and the group leaders.

"What's up? What you looking for?" a man said to Faith.

Faith turned and looked as a young white man stepped to her. He wore baggy jeans, an oversized sweatshirt, and a Philadelphia 76ers hat that turned backward. She grinned and shook her head. "I'm sorry?"

"I got perks, xanis and some bars. Whatever you want."

Faith closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "Nothing," she said as she walked into the clinic. Once inside she looked around. Towards her left was a woman on a bench, leaning over. Faith thought she was going tumble over. She walked over and looked at her. The woman looked much older than she actually was. In her right hand, she had a lanyard. Faith looked at the I.D. and then looked at the woman. The I.D. said that she was thirty-five. Faith frowned and shook her head as she examined the woman again. Physically, she looked like double her age. Faith took a step back and looked to her right. A man stood in the corner of the lobby and was bent over like he was touching his toes, but he maintained his balance. Faith glanced at a banner sprawled across the wall. It read, Center For Hope, founded by Dr. Maximillian Hope.

Faith saw Mal and followed a few steps behind her. She stopped by the security guard.

"Excuse me, but I need to see some ID," the guard said.

Faith smiled and walked closer to the desk. She glanced at the guard, ran her right hand through her hair, and said, "I'm sorry, like I just started today, and I haven't gotten my ID yet."

"What department do you work in?"

"I'm a nurse." She glanced at the map of the building. "I'm in the phlebotomy department."

The guard stood and pointed to the right. "Straight down the hall. Make sure you get your ID. I can't let you in without it next time."

She nodded her head and walked down the hall. She stopped when she saw Mal and another man talking. She waited until Mal went into an office before proceeding. Just as she walked towards the door, Mal walked out.

Faith rushed into a bathroom just before Mal walked by. A few minutes later, Faith walked out of the bathroom and headed towards the office.

Faith picked the office lock and searched the small drab cold office. She was befuddled at the sloppiness of this operation. It was almost as if they didn't care if anyone got caught, which made Faith even more cautious because sloppy criminals were the most dangerous. She scanned the office walls and saw that it belonged to a Doctor Maximillian Hope. He was a graduate of the University of Philadelphia Medicine. Next to the diploma were pictures of the doctor with various politicians. Faith recognized one of the politicians as Mayor Washington. Along the wall was a grey filing cabinet. There were stacks of paper lining the walls and desk next to it and the drawers were unlocked. She turned and looked into a duffle bag by the door. It overflowed with money. A couple hundred thousand dollars, according to her estimate. There was also a file in a manila envelope on top of the cash. Faith reached for it. The file was on a woman. She skimmed over the information. Kensington, heroin, overdose. Faith raised her eyebrows. "It's true," she said. "Unbelievable." She turned towards the file cabinet, and pulled the drawer, but it was locked. "Interesting," she said. She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a lock pick, and within seconds, the cabinet was open. The drawer was the usual patient information, but behind them were other files. There were files that had financial information, bank statements and bank accounts. There were also files of payment recipients as well. After taking some pictures with her cell phone, she closed the drawer and opened the very bottom drawer stuffed with files marked 3801 Lancaster Avenue. It was as thick as the entire cabinet itself.

Faith pulled the first file from the rack. In it were reports of late term abortions and pictures of fetuses in small drawers. She opened another file and sat on the edge of the desk. "My god," she said. She continued flipped through it and came to the medical records of women who died of heroin overdoses. She then reached for her phone and took several more pictures of the files, names and information. Just as she placed the file back into the cabinet, she heard a voice at the door. She slowly closed the drawer, locked the cabinet and hid in a closet as the office door slowly opened.

She looked through the cracked opened door and watched two men stand only a few feet from her. The man with his back towards her said, "I got a call from an investigator. She wanted to talk about supplying pills to you."

"Who was this?"

"She works for a lawyer who represents Sarah Ross. I thought you all tied up this mess." He raised his hands and said, "I can't do this. This is beyond my moral compass."

"Please. Stop with the morality. How do you think I paid for your Ivy League education? Or those trips to Paris? How do you think you got that cushiony job? It was through this." He paused and walked towards the window, turned and then pointed his finger at the man by the door. "I need more for my pain clinics. The word is out that we can deliver, and people are willing to pay, so if you want to continue your privileged lifestyle do what you do best. Follow my orders. I'll take care of the lawyer." He walked over to the man and gave him a hug. "You're my son and I will always take care of you."

"How much more do you need?"

"At least two fifty worth."

"That's doable. Do you want it delivered to the same address?"

"Yes. Now let's get some lunch. I'm famished. Wait for me outside, I have to make a phone call." He picked up the duffle bag, closed the door and walked over to his desk. He opened the bag and then sat down in the chair behind the desk.

Faith stood still and silent as she listened in on Hope's phone call. "I've got the money," he said. "Yes, that can be arranged. We have a donor. Don't worry, don't worry," he said. "Fortunately for us and you no one misses these people." He laughed. "They're disposable members of society." Faith heard him mumble a few other words and as he stood and walked over to the office's door, he continued. "And we made sure that the new man pushes the idea of setting up safe shooting houses. When they overdose, we'll be right there to pick them up. This is an exciting time for medicine and we're on the front line. I have a new batch coming in tonight. I'll be at the clinic late, so I'll talk to you later with more information." He hung up and then left the office.

Faith slowly opened the closet door and frowned. She shook her head and said, "Monsters." She glanced at the bag of money as a diabolical thought ran through her mind. She picked up the bag and walked out.

An hour later, Doctor Hope and his son returned to the office on Parkside. "We really must do this more often," Hope said as he walked over to his desk. He frowned and looked around.

"What's the matter?"

"The bag...the bag with the money in it." He raised his hands and ran out of the office. "It's gone." He then ran to the security desk and pounded his fist. "Something was stolen from my office." He looked around at the cameras and said, "I want to know who came in and who left. Find my bag or you're fired."

Max Junior frowned and looked at the security guard. "Look at the tapes from the last three hours."

"Um, sir," the security guard said. "The cameras are just for show."

Hope said, "What does that mean?"

"It means that they don't work."

Max Junior looked at his father and said, "What else was in the bag?"

Hope looked at him and shook his head. "Everything." He said, "Whoever has it, now knows everything about our operation."

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# Chapter Forty-three

Bubs stood under the gazebo that overlooked the Art Museum Waterworks. He took in the warm breeze that skimmed off the Schuylkill River and watched a stretch limousine pull up to the curb. When the passenger side front door opened, a man dressed in a dark suit stepped out and gestured for Bubs.

Bubs walked towards the car.

"Arms up," the man in the dark suit said.

Bubs held up his arms.

"Go ahead."

Bubs leaned into the limousine, slid into the back seat, and glared at the man who sat in the shadow at the other end. He then looked to his left at Nelson. "It was supposed to be clean."

The man in the shadow clicked open a gold lighter. "There was a complication."

"On to other matters. How do you want to deal with your brother?" Nelson said.

"What you mean?" Bubs said.

Nelson leaned forward and raised his hand. "You know what I mean. You don't want us to handle your house."

Bubs shrugged his shoulders.

The man in shadow said, "How do we know that you're not the one who did the heist?"

He slid in the seat and crossed his arms. "You guys want me to take the fall? Fuck you. I didn't do it."

"This doesn't look good for you. Every other time that there's been a pick up and drop, Hassan is there. And he wasn't on this one. Why?"

Bubs huffed. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not trying to say anything. I am saying it looks like your brother stole three million dollars."

"He didn't," Bubs, pointed at Nelson and the other man. "And if you don't believe me, fuck you both."

Nelson took a deep breath and said, "How much did Hassan give up?"

Bubs shrugged his shoulder and said, "Nothing. His case has nothing to do with what happened." He narrowed his eyes at him and continued. "And why would he give up anything?"

"Vulnerable people do and say things. What about Bart?"

"What about him?"

"What do you talk to him about?"

"He only knows what I tell him."

Nelson took a deep breath and said, "Keep Mancini away from us."

"How would he find out? He's my lawyer not my best friend."

"Keep it that way."

Nelson handed Bubs the key to a BMW. "Pick up this car and drop it off at my office. It's parked on the corner of 38th and Parrish."

Bubs nodded his head and said, "Why?"

"Just do it."

"What else?"

The man in shadow said, "Handle the loose ends. The crew that knocked us off will be on the corner of 15th and York."

Bubs narrowed his eyes and said, "How did you find them?"

"Don't ask questions," Nelson said.

"What do you want me to tell Damian?" Bubs asked.

The man in shadow said, "Leave the guineas to us."

Nelson waved his hand and said, "You can go now."

Bubs shook his head and slipped out of the car.

When he slammed the door shut, Nelson reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed a number.

"Strike Force."

"I'd like to speak to Lieutenant Linden," Nelson said.

"One moment."

"This is Linden."

"It's me. Have your boys around 18th and York tonight."

"Why?"

"They'll catch a big fish."

"18th and York?"

"Yes."

"What are we looking for?"

"Somewhere on that block, there's a trap house. Hit it hard, you'll find everything there. Guns, drugs and cash. And also be on the lookout for a black BMW." He disconnected the call then looked at the man in the shadow. "Call them."

The man in shadow put the call on speaker. "Yeah," someone on the other end said.

"You and your boys laying low?"

"Of course. We ain't stupid."

"Did you take your cut?"

"Yeah."

"Be at the corner of 15th and York. One of my men will pick up the rest. Put it into a black trash bag and put it in the empty lot next to the bodega." He hung up.

Nelson looked at the man and said, "Make sure the package is in the car."

The man in shadow scrolled through his contacts and stopped at Reina Anderson. He pressed call.

Hello," Reina said.

"We need to talk. There are some things that we need to clear up."

"Ok," she said. "Where?"

"Meet me in an hour at 13th and Market."

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# Chapter Forty-four

Hassan's mother threw him a homecoming barbeque, and while his friends and family laughed, drank beer and liquor, he sat in the backyard by himself and thought about his life. What was next? School? A real job? He wanted to weigh his options.

"What's wrong with you?" Bubs said as he slapped Hassan on the back of the head.

Hassan shook his head. "I can't do this shit no more, man." He paused and shifted in his spot on the step. He looked at Bubs. "I'm done man. I want out. I'm tired."

Bubs said, "That's why you're out here by yourself? You always were into that philosophical shit." He looked at Hassan and said, "Don't worry. I got your back." He stood and walked towards the door. He looked at Hassan again and grinned. "Now get your ass in there. You got your girl in the other room. You got any hoe you want, and you sitting out here like a little bitch."

Hassan shrugged his shoulders.

"We found out who the motherfuckers are who ripped us off."

"Who?"

Bubs grinned and shook his head. "Don't worry about it." He then dug into his pocket and tossed the key to the BMW over to him. "Oh, one last thing. Get your mind off shit. I need you to pick this up for me."

Hassan looked at the key and frowned. "Where?"

"38th and Parrish. In West Philly."

"This yours?"

"Naw, I'm doing it for a favor."

Hassan stood and nodded his head. "Alright," he said.

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# Chapter Forty-five

Nicole got off the elevator on the eighteenth floor and walked towards the DA's office. She smiled at his secretary who gestured for her to enter through the large wooden doors. Walker stood by a large window and looked out onto the city he swore to protect. "Thanks for coming. Please, sit down," he said as he turned towards her.

Nicole sat, crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knees. She looked at the District Attorney, Chuck Walker, and then towards his assistant, Carl Weisman.

"A favor has been asked of me, and I'm asking you to deal with it," Walker said.

Nicole hated politicians. The passive language shrouded in mystery just irked her soul. "Just ask me whatever you want me to do."

"We need you to handle a case," Carl said.

"Okay."

"You've heard about that doctor who got murdered in his office at HUP?"

"Of course. Philip was a friend. I did the turn in. Charging is finishing up the case now."

"Good," Walker said as he sat in his chair, leaned back, and rocked a few times while smiling a politician's smile. "Should be a slam dunk."

"I'm on it. I assigned Chris to it."

"I fired Chris." He waved his hands in the air and said, "He wasn't a good fit. Besides, everyone thinks you're a good fit for this."

Nicole rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. If she knew anything about playing Philly politics it was this, when given a flattering complement there's something big barreling behind it. "I need you on it," Walker said.

She uncrossed her legs, leaned forward, let out a light chuckle, and lowered her head. When she leveled her eyes towards him, she said, "Why? I have a shit ton of other things that I need to handle. What with all the new changes and staff shake up."

"Put them on the back burner. This is a good case. This is a good case for my new vision and me. It's a good case. Slam-dunk. You'll do great."

"There is no such thing as a slam-dunk case." Nicole crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Walker. "I've known you for fifteen years, so stop being a politician with me, cut the shit and tell me what's behind this."

Walker chuckled under his breath, leaned forward, picked up a gold pen and fiddled with it in both hands. No words.

Nicole leaned back in her chair and rested her head I her hand. "Bart," she mumbled. "It's because of my brother. That's the reason."

He looked back, grinned and tilted his head to the right.

Nicole shook her head and said, "No. I told you I was never taking a case against him. You knew that when you put me in this position. You guys had your entertainment with the one and only case I had against him. No."

"Nicole, the dead doctor was the personal physician to the Mayor and me."

Carl said, "We want this handled by you. Your bother is a hemorrhoid on the ass of this office. While he hasn't won every case against this office, he does have a strong track record. Especially after his latest win."

"I don't need to tell you how many people he embarrassed on that," Walker said.

Carl stood and walked to the corner of the desk and sat. "Besides, he's been out of practice. He hasn't done a murder since being here in Philly. You know him. You know his tactics. You know his antics, and we need that edge." He pointed to Nicole and said, "You're that edge. The X-factor." He smiled.

"And I can tell someone else what his tactics are. There are plenty of other ADA's that are capable of handling him."

"This is coming from the top of the political food chain. The bosses want this to happen. This is a high-profile case, and we want you on this." He paused, took a deep breath, and then said, "They want you to smack your brother around and humble him. No, I take that back. I believe eviscerate was the word they used." He shrugged his shoulders and continued. "For god sakes, his client was caught by a nurse, with the murder weapon in her hand and she's on surveillance covered in blood." He waved his hand and continued. "Cut her a deal, and if she doesn't take it tell her we're seeking the death penalty."

Nicole took a deep breath. "Alright. Fine. But if she hired Bart that means she's not going to take a deal, and if Bart took the case that means he knows something that we don't know."

"And that's why we have the indicting grand jury. So, we'll have a few days' head start."

Nicole flagged him with her right hand and rolled her eyes.

Carl said, "Detective Murray has been doing the leg work on this already. He's supposed to be the best. You two have closed quite a few cases together."

Nicole nodded her head.

"He's pretty good. He has it ready to go. All you have to do is get a conviction," Carl said. "What do you know about him? Murray."

Nicole looked over at Carl and shook her head. "I only have a professional relationship with him. I know nothing outside the scope of that."

"Keep an eye on him," Carl said.

Nicole frowned and glared back. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. We found an interesting box in SIU labeled Tainted Goods, and our friend Murray is prominent throughout it. Of course, we're still investigating. Our new Special Investigations Team is compiling a list of officers and detectives with less than stellar records within the city."

"That's all for now," Walker said. He made the sign of the cross and smiled. "Now go my child, and may the Holy Spirit be upon you."

She walked out of the office and pulled out her phone. "Motherfucker. I'm going to kill him."

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# Chapter Forty-six

I looked at my phone. When I saw Nicole's I.D. I got physically sick. "Can't." I pressed decline.

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# Chapter Forty-seven

"Motherfucker," Nicole said.

"You've reached the cell phone of Bart Mancini. Please leave a message and I will return your call within fifteen minutes."

"Bartholomew James Mancini, call me when you get this message."

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# Chapter Forty-eight

The chatter, laughter and screams echoed off the walls at the 22nd precinct. In the small station that could only hold 75 people at the most, three hundred or so squeezed in, stood shoulder to shoulder as officers walked around and took statements. Waters punched in a code to unlock the door. He walked in and looked around as Vernon made his way over to him. "They're pulling in shit," Vernon said. "People who live on the other blocks with no clear view. It's just a matter of time before a riot breaks out.

Waters shook his head and said, "Shit."

On the other side of the room, a prostitute Waters knew looked at him, rolled her head and said, "What did I get pulled in for? I don't know a goddamn thing."

Waters grabbed the clipboard from an officer taking her statement and said, "You were in the apartment just across the street. Your bed was right by the window and you mean to tell me that you didn't see or hear anything?"

"That's what I've been trying to say to you guys," she said. "When I'm working, I'm working."

"Just talk to the officer and tell him that," he said as he walked away.

Mack stopped him and grinned.

Waters frowned and said, "What are you smiling at?"

"Who's your daddy?"

"What?"

Mack handed him a piece of paper and said, "You owe me a blow job, bitch. I pulled the video from a Septa bus around the corner and got the make and model of the car used in the robbery. We couldn't make out the gunmen, but the car was clear."

Waters looked at the paper and took a deep breath. "What kind of car?"

"Cadillac SVX ."

Mack nodded his head. "From there we tracked the ride on traffic cameras from North Philly to South West. The guys at the 19th said somebody reported a crazy guy who drove a Cadillac  into the Cobbs Creek."

Waters nodded towards Murray and said, "Did you tell him?"

"No this is yours, man."

"Good, leave the bastard in the dark."

"One more thing."

"What?"

Mack looked around and said, "I got word back from Bubs' people."

"And?"

"It wasn't a hit. It was a robbery. The bank got hit." He nodded towards the other side and said, "Murray is talking to Nipsy now."

Waters turned and watched Murray take a medium built black man named Nipsy into the interrogation room. Nipsy owned the small gas station around the corner from the massacre. He would've been in direct sight of the getaway route.

Waters walked towards the room and opened the door as Murray talked to Nipsy.

"You mean to tell me that you didn't see anything?" Murray said. "You were in direct line of sight. Four hundred rounds of ammunition were fired in the street right around the corner from you."

"Man, this guy is crazy," Nipsy said to Waters. He then looked back at Murray and shook his head. "I ain't see nothing."

Murray looked up at Waters and shook his head.

"Need some help?" Waters said.

Murray gestured towards Nipsy and said, "Be my guest."

Waters tool off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and grabbed Nipsy by the collar. "You better tell us what you saw, or you know what we'll do."

"Man, I ain't see nothing."

Waters slapped him with his right hand and said, "What did you see?" He slapped him again and said, "Tell me."

"Alright. Fuck, man."

Waters took a step back and crossed his arms. "Well? Give it up."

Nipsy took a deep breath and said, "I saw a car with three or four guys in it."

"What kind of car?" Waters said.

"I'm going to get killed for this," Nipsy said as he shook his head. "Shit, man. It was a Cadillac. A black Cadillac."

Waters looked at Mack and grinned. He then looked at Nipsy. "I should book you for being an asshole."

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# Chapter Forty-nine

I couldn't believe I was heading to court at eleven at night. I placed my bag onto the x-ray machine, walked through the metal detector and nodded to the sheriff. No need to ask where I was going. There were only two places open this late in the building. Arraignment court and the master's office to obtain protection from abuse orders. I knew both places well. Philly was one of the very few cities where the criminal justice system ran twenty-four seven, however, it's logistically impossible to bring every defendant down to the court. So, seven precincts around the city act as holding cells and bail is set via closed circuit television. Although arraignment court was held in an inconspicuous courtroom nestled deep within the bowls of the justice center, away from the hustle and bustle of the CP and municipal courts above, that didn't mean the court, the staff, and the orders issued were not important. Realistically this was the most important phase of the criminal process.

I walked through the wood and glass double doors. Then I briefly closed my eyes. A narcotic detective that I ripped apart on cross-examination during my last trial sat in the gallery waiting for the magistrate to sign a search warrant. During trial, I stopped inches away from calling him and his crew crooked. Jesus, I thought. I didn't expect to see him so soon.

He looked over his shoulder and sat up straight. His eyes bore into me. However, seconds later, he nodded and said, "Counselor."

"Detective," I said.

Beyond the bulletproof glass were two tables that sat in front of an imposing judicial bench trimmed in dull brass. A defendant on a CCTV monitor, fastened to the right of the magistrate, lowered his head and raised his hand.

"What's your name?" the magistrate said.

"Quamire Right. Can I ask a question?"

"You're being charged with felony drugs, thirty-four thousand dollars' worth of PCP, a hundred dollars' worth of marijuana, aggravated assault and violation of the uniform firearms act. You got a court action on December 7th at ten in the morning." He looked at the District Attorney Representative and said, "What's he wanted for?"

"State detainer. Magistrate, we're requesting seven hundred thousand dollars' bail. This is his fifth VUFA charge, two convictions, one dismissed and two open. He also has an open agg assault against the same complaining witness as well."

The defendant waved his hand in the air like he was in a classroom. "Your honor. Your honor. Can I say something?"

The public defender leaned forward and said into a microphone, "Don't say anything that has to do with your case."

The defendant mumbled, "Man, I ain't have no marijuana."

The magistrate rolled his eyes, and said, "Bail is set at five hundred thousand dollars. You need fifty thousand dollars. However, since you have a probation detainer you have to go to the prison on State Road to address that issue. Thanks, One. We'll see you at midnight." The screen went black and he buzzed the security door.

The detective got up and walked in.

"Counselor," the magistrate said. "Who are you here for?"

"Sarah Ross," I said.

"She's on the next list," the clerk said.

"Midnight," he said.

I looked at my watch. An hour. My phone vibrated. I had five texts and six missed calls from Nicole. I looked at the text. She threatened me and called me all kinds of names. I texted her back. --Lunch tomorrow.

Within five seconds she responded--The fuck?

--Will tell you tomorrow. At arraignment court. Can't talk now.

--When is she up?

--Midnight

--Meet me at David's Mai Lai Wah when you get out.

"Oh my god," I said. I'm sick. I slouched on the bench and closed my eyes. Before I knew it, I heard, "Counselor. Your client's up."

The clerk buzzed me into a small courtroom surrounded by thick plastic. When I walked in, the public defender handed me the redacted police activity report and said, "Not good."

I looked at the charges. I shook my head and leaned back in the seat. "This isn't quads. They've got a fucking royal flush," I mumbled.

"What's your name?" the magistrate said.

"Sarah Ross."

"Your lawyer is here. Can you see him?"

"Yes."

"Sarah Ross this is your arraignment. You've been charged by the Commonwealth with Murder, Attempted Murder, Criminal Conspiracy, Aggravated Assault, Possession of an Instrument of Crime, Simple Assault, Recklessly Endangering Another Person and Fugitive of Justice. You got a court action, on February 16, 2019. You will be held without bail."

"What? What does that mean?" Sara said.

I leaned forward and said, "You're stuck in jail."

"I can't stay here. Have you seen this place?"

"You're not staying there. Where you're going is worse. I'll be up tomorrow in the morning. Just...just try to relax."

"Are you serious?"

"Stand up and sign the black box," the officer at the jail said.

"What?"

"Ms. Sign the box in front of you."

Sarah stood and signed the box. "Get me out of here, Bart."

I rested my head in my hand and took a deep breath. I then stood and nodded to the magistrate. "Thanks." As I exited the courthouse, I froze and lowered my head. "Christ. I got to meet Nicole." A few minutes later I slowly walked towards Thirteenth Street. "God, I don't have the energy to deal with her mess."

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# Chapter Fifty

A few minutes after I left court, I found myself at the entrance of David's. It was about one. Nicole and some other guy sat at a table towards the rear and looked at me as I walked in.

I felt her stare. That cold, deathly stare she used to give me when I told on her to our parents. I nodded as I sat. "Hey."

"I'm coming after her with all that I have," Nicole said.

I glared at her and grinned. "Please, Nicole," I said as I leaned in. "You got all that you have from me."

She pointed at the man next to her. "This is Nero Murray, Major Crimes."

Murray nodded. "You're the counsel on this?" he said.

I nodded back and said, "I am." I shook Nero's hands. "Nice to meet you," I said.

Nicole pointed at Murray and said, "He's working with me on this." She then pointed at me and said, "You're out of practice. On shit like this, you need to remember that we have all the toys and it's up to us to share them."

I shrugged my shoulders. I was expecting her to call me all kinds of names, but she was civilized. "That's it?" I said.

"What did you expect?" She frowned and narrowed her eyes at me. "Why do I have the feeling that you've been telling people that I'm some kind of bully?"

"I just thought that you were going to shoot me."

"You are so dramatic." She sipped her tea and after setting it on a dish looked over at the waiter and said, "Salt pepper wings."

"The same."

"Twenty-five to fifty."

"For?"

"Your client."

"That's insane. She didn't do it, and I have a witness who will testify to the fact that someone else had more of a reason to want and have him killed."

"That's what they all say." She shrugged her shoulders and continued. "Well it's on the table."

"Take it off because she's not going to take it."

"You cried like a little bitch for a month when she left you, so why are you helping her?"

Nero laughed. "You two are very entertaining," he said as he flicked open a gold lighter and stood. "I'm going to have a smoke."

I grunted and said, "I did not cry for a month."

"That's not how I remember it."

"Speaking of flames. What's up with him?"

"No," Nicole said.

I took a deep breath and said, "Anyway, she's paying a quarter of a million dollars."

"Shit. Must be nice."

"Well, I didn't think she was going to do it, but she pulled out the checkbook without blinking an eye. She got bank."

Nicole crossed her arms. "She royally played you."

I said, "Other than the money, I get this warm fuzzy feeling inside knowing that her prissy little ass is locked up with a couple hundred ride or die bitches at RCF." I paused and took a deep breath. "That in itself is more than enough revenge for me."

"We're using the IGJ."

"I know. For what? There's no witness intimidation here."

"The nurse, who found her, Mal Miller, feels threatened by Sarah's family."

I tilted my head slightly to the left and laughed. "That's bullshit. They're a bunch of mainline W.A.S.P. They're about as threatening as Mr. Rogers." I pointed at Nicole and said, "You do know that Mal was fucking the husband? Which makes her an even bigger suspect than my client."

"Yeah, but she wasn't caught with the bloody knife in her hand."

"True, but that doesn't make her less of a suspect. Have you guys even talked to her?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm sending Murray over to H.U.P tomorrow."

"And of course, I get none of this information because you guys aren't playing fair."

Nicole pointed to herself and smiled. "We got the toys. Twenty-five to fifty," she said.

"Fuck you, Nicole." I then raised my hands in the air. "What's the motive? She was paid twenty grand a month, by the in-laws to stay with him."

"Don't care," she said.

"You don't care about the truth?" I said.

"Oh please. Don't even try to lay that bullshit on me. You only care about the money."

"And you only care about the power." I paused as I leaned back in the seat. After taking a sip of tea, I nodded across the table and said, "Why are you on this? I'd thought you'd assigned Carlos or Richie on this. This is high profile and politically connected. Why are you coming out from under your rock on this?"

She held up her middle finger and narrowed her eyes at me. "He fired Carlos and Richie retired."

"So, you've got no choice." I laughed.

She glared back.

I said, "Walker told you to do it." I could see the blood boiling in her. "Oh, this is great. So let me guess, he thinks that you can use what you know about me to win. This is pretty funny."

"Keep it up. Keep going."

I paused and leaned back. Yeah, I had better stop while I was ahead. Well, I did get some info out of her. They were using the indicting grand jury, which meant they didn't have shit other than the fact that Sarah had the knife and was on the run. That meant I had about a week to find out what Sarah knew about her husband and find some other suspect. This was so much easier when I had mafia goons at my disposal. I reached for my phone and glanced at the caller I.D. It was Faith. I looked at Nicole and smiled. "Got to take this call." Well at least I still had one talented investigator I could rely on. I stood and walked towards the door.

I nodded to Murray and grinned as I continued my conversation with Faith. "What's up?"

"I'm headed to the clinic on 38th Street."

"Why?"

"Reina told me about a trove of information."

"Whose clinic is this?"

I glanced over at Murray and saw him narrow his eyes at me. "Tomorrow morning." I disconnected and closed my eyes. I held the door open for Murray and followed him back to the table.

"Who was that?" Nicole said.

"Back up. Faith."

Nicole frowned and titled her head to the right. "I thought Interpol had her?"

I shook my head and said, "Nah, I got her off and finagled a citizenship. Now she's forever in my debt. You got the toys. I got Faith."

Nicole grunted.

"Who's Faith?" Murray said. "This woman sounds interesting."

"You have no clue," I said. "I've got someone who might just get my client off."

"Who?"

"Philip had a contact he was working with." My phone vibrated. I looked at my phone and frowned.

"What's wrong?" Nicole asked.

"It's Rocky."

"At one in the morning?'

I shrugged my shoulders and pressed accept. "This can't be good. Hello."

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Good. We want to assign you an assistant."

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. "I don't need one."

"We insist. They want to create an official criminal division and if that's going to happen, we're going to need more lawyers like you."

"There's only one of me. I'm sorry to tell you that."

He laughed and said, "Of course, but you know what I meant. You're going to need someone to assist you. Things will go better."

"You mean keep an eye on me and report back to you. Listen if you fellas don't want me, I'll go. I'm sure I'll find a home. Maybe the district attorney's office." I looked at Nicole.

She frowned back.

"No, no not the case at all. We just want you to focus on this one. There is a market. We feel that we're opening the doors for other high caliber clients."

"Higher caliber clients," I mumbled.

He continued. "We're going to need more than one lawyer taking criminal cases."

"Yeah sure. Whatever."

"Good. She'll be at your office in the morning. You already know her. Grace."

"I don't really know her. I just know she's good at finding shit."

"She's a lawyer."

"Really? Didn't know that." I disconnected and looked at Nicole. "Lawyers. A bunch of bitchy little bastards."

The waiter placed our food on the table and smiled. "Enjoy."

Murray stood as he looked at his phone. "I've got to head out." He looked at Nicole. "I'll stop by the hospital tomorrow and talk to some of the nurses on staff." He then looked at me. "Nice to finally meet you," he said.

"The same," I said as I watched him leave. I then looked across the table at Nicole. "I don't trust him," I said.

"I don't trust you," Nicole said.

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# Chapter Fifty-one

The strip club was packed. Six women danced on six stages that were scattered around the dark club. Strobe lights flashed. Lasers bounced around in sync with loud hip hop music. Alexander smiled as a woman grinded on his lap. When the song was over, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wade of hundreds and handed her three. "Nice work." He then stood and looked around as Bambi, one of the other dancers walked over. She ran her hands up and down his chest and smiled.

"You see something that you like?" she said.

Alexander grinned and nodded his head. "I see a lot I like," he said. "How much for the champagne room?"

Bambi's grin widened. "Five hundred an hour."

Alexander nodded and looked around. "I'll take you for three hours." He then looked a couple other girls and said, "And her, and her and her."

Bambi frowned and said, "Are you sure you can handle all of us at the same time?"

Alexander laughed and said, "No, but money can."

Bambi and the three other girls guided Alexander to the back of the house. When she got to a large black man, she looked at him and said, "He wants us all for an hour."

"He knows how much that's going to cost?"

Bambi shrugged her shoulders and said, "He seems to know."

The big black man looked at Alexander and said, "You know that's going to be about four g's?"

Alexander dug into his pocket and pulled out the wad of cash. He handed the bouncer a hundred and said, "So be it."

Bambi pulled Alexander into a private room and stripped with the three other girls. She then straddled Alexander and said, "So, what do you do for a living?"

Alexander closed his eyes as the other women sat next to him. "I'm an investment banker," he said.

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# Chapter Fifty-two

Mack walked over to Waters and tapped him on the shoulder. "Where's the asshole?"

Waters said, "He got a call. Something about a meeting with a district attorney. Why?"

Mack smiled and nodded towards the door. "We got a crane. They're pulling the car out of the creek."

Waters stood up and picked up his jacket.

A half an hour later, Waters and Mack pulled up to Cobbs Creek. It was a small creek surrounded by thick trees, weeds and piles of garbage on one side and on the other were large three-story homes. A crane set up on the residential side of the creek. The road was blocked off as crowds formed to watch a diver disappear into the murky cold water. A few minutes later, the diver reemerged and waved his hands for the crane to lower its winch. The diver grabbed the cable, pulled it down and dove under the water again. He popped his head up and crawled out. A loud hum filled the still air as the crane pulled a wet, black 1996 Chevy Impala out of the water. Just then, floodlights shined on the car as the water drained out.

Waters stood beside Mack and watched the crane pull the car onto the asphalt. He walked over to a uniformed officer and said, "Flash your light on the dash. Look for the registration."

"Got it," the officer said.

"Pop the trunk," Mack said.

Another officer took a crow bar and popped the trunk.

Mack flashed his light over and shook his head. Inside the trunk were four Uzi sub-machine guns and a duffle bag. Mack put on a pair of gloves, grabbed an Uzi, and held it up.

Waters walked over and raised his eyebrows. "This needs to get to the impound lot."

Mack nodded. "What are the chances of the bullets matching the ones at the scene?"

Waters took a deep breath and said, "I'd say there is a high probability."

An officer at the police impound lot ran the tags and VIN that were on the Cadillac. He got a hit. An April Moreland, of 2545 North Cumberland Street, owned it. The officer looked around and made a call.

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# Chapter Fifty-three

Ford reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He frowned and pressed accept. "Yeah," he said.

"I heard you guys were looking for information."

"Who is this?"

"Mason, Paul Mason."

Ford laughed and said, "Yeah, what's up, brother?"

"Nothing, man. They got me at the fucking impound lot. I'm down here starving."

"What you got for me?"

"They found a Cadillac that was dumped in Cobbs Creek. They say it's the one used in the robbery. Now, how much is the information for the registered owner?"

"For that?" Ford said. "I'd give you three bills."

"That'll work. April Moreland. 2545 North Cumberland Street. You know her?"

Ford nodded his head and said, "I know her old man. We hold a couple of his gambling debts. Come by later for your dough." Ford dialed another number and nodded towards Mark. "Yeah, is that bitch April still there?"

"Yeah, she here."

"Keep her there." Ford disconnected and gestured for Mark and the crew to follow him.

Ford took Mark and Christopher to a small nightclub not far from the garage where a mature crowd from the neighborhood went after work. They walked in and looked around. Ford nodded to a woman sitting at the bar talking to her girlfriend Zora. "That's her," he said to Mark as he walked over to her. He nodded at Zora and then looked at April. "Hey, April," he said. "I got some questions for you," Ford said as he grabbed her arm.

April frowned and looked at him. "What the fuck you want from me?"

The bartender slid over and pointed to Ford. "You want anything else, Zora?"

Zora shook her head.

The bartender looked at Ford. "You?"

Ford shook his head and dragged April to a table in a dark corner of the bar. "I need some information."

"Ok," she said. "What kind of information?"

"Did you hear what happened?"

She nodded her head. "Everybody heard that."

"I need to know about the car."

"What car?"

Ford held up his hand and then slapped her. "Your car, bitch."

"We sold it. We ain't got it no more."

"Who did you sell it to?"

Zora said to the bartender while trying to eavesdrop, "I will have another drink after all."

"What kind?"

"Gin and tonic."

"I'm asking you," Ford said.

Ford reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He peeled off three crisp one hundred-dollar bills and handed them over to April. "Is this good enough?"

She reached for the money, folded it and slid it into her bra. "Alexander."

"Alexander who?"

"I don't know his last name. He was here about a half an hour ago."

Ford frowned and said, "Alexander? The one that just got back from Iraq?"

"Yeah, that's him. He said he just hit it big and bought everyone here a round."

Ford frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and said, "And you sold him the car?"

April nodded.

"He bought everyone a drink? So what?" Ford said.

"That motherfucker don't have no money to be spreading around like that. Just the other day he was asking for a ten to hold him over until the 15th when his disability check comes in. Then he comes in today, pays for everybody's drink and pays what he owes on the car."

"Did he say how he got the money?"

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "I can infer. My man was Upstate with Alexander. He was laughing about how crazy Alexander was because he kept saying that he and his boys knew about Bubs' delivery and payment drops." She took another sip and said, "My man told some cop he knew about it. He told the cops that he saw the Cadillac drive by the gas station he works at." She shook her head and said, "I swear that's all we know."

"Who was Alexander's boys? The one's that were locked up?"

She nodded her head. "I just know one. Some guy named Clark somebody."

"Did Alexander say where he was going after he left here?"

She nodded and said, "He said he was going to a strip club."

"Which one?"

"I think it's called Risky Business."

Ford looked at Mark and nodded.

Mark walked over and said, "What?"

"Risky Business, is that one of your clubs?"

Mark nodded.

Ford looked at April and peeled off another two hundred. "You did good." He then looked at Mark and said, "Call the club and see if some dumb nigga is there dropping money."

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# Chapter Fifty-four

When Ford and Mark left , Zora left and rushed over to her boyfriend's apartment. She rushed up the three flights of steps and when she got to the door marked, 3b, she balled up her fist and banged on the door. A few seconds later, Paul yelled, "Who is it?"

"It's me. Open up," Zora said.

Paul opened the door and then looked around as Zora walked into his studio apartment. He walked over to a bed and packed a duffle bag full of money.

Zora walked over, grabbed a wad, and looked at it. "Some guys were asking questions tonight." She looked at Paul and shook her head. "Asking if anyone knew what happened."

Paul looked at her and said, "What did you tell them?"

"I ain't say nothing." She threw the money into the bag and took a deep breath. "You are nuts. You're insane. Do you know what you've done?" She grabbed Paul by the shoulders and said, "Look at me. Do you? Do you know who these men were?"

Paul stopped for a minute and then looked back at her. "Who?"

"It was Ford and two white men. Ford. Do you know who he works for? He works for Bubs." She pointed to the money on the bed and said, "That's Bubs' money."

Paul chuckled and said, "Was."

"You are insane," Zora said.

"Maybe I am, but I'm a rich crazy motherfucker now."

"And you're going to be a dead one soon. You have no chance of living out this week, yet alone the night."

Paul looked at her and said, "Really? Really? Is that what you think? Like I had no chance of getting the opportunity to know when all that money was getting moved. All those motherfuckers just thought I was some old man sitting around drinking beer." He hit his chest and said, "But I was smart enough to know when the opportunity knocked. I watched every last one of them." He nodded his head and said, "But I was smart. I knew I couldn't do it on my own. I knew I needed help." He pointed to his head and said, "I had help. I got a guy I knew from around the way who needed money and who had some pull to help." He walked over to the dresser drawer and pulled out a green shirt. He folded it and then put it into the duffle bag. "I didn't want to kill all those men, but my boy said it had to be done." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "So I did it." He looked over at Zora and shook his head. "Stop bitching. It wasn't like we ripped off a real bank. It was drug money, pimp and bookie money."

"Just give it back. I'd rather talk to you through bars than to talk to a tomb stone."

"I can't just give it back. It doesn't work like that." He shook his head and said as he looked at his watch. "I've got to go drop off my man's cut. After, I'm out of here." He grabbed her and pulled her close to him. "We can go anywhere you want. We can start a new life, together."

Zora nodded her head and said, "Why can't we go now?"

"I've got to meet with Alexander and Clark." He picked up his cell phone and dialed a number. "Where you at?" Paul said.

"I'm out having fun."

"You still coming by tonight?"

"No way, man. I'm having too much fun with newly found wealth."

Paul said, "Stay safe. I'm meeting with Clark. Afterwards, Zora and I are leaving town."

"Peace out, man. Have fun."

Paul disconnected from the call and looked at Zora. "Let's go."

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# Chapter Fifty-five

The clinic on 38th and Lancaster Avenue looked more like a small house. Faith drove past it three times before she realized that the triangular shaped building on the corner of 38th and Lancaster Avenue was the place. The night was hot, and the wind barely moved. The 10-trolley rumbled down the street causing the ground to shake. Walking up to the window of the red brick building, Faith peeped in and saw a small sign that identified the place as being an OB/GYN.

"The lights are still on," Faith said. "It's ten. What doctor in his right mind would work this late?" She walked around the corner and looked inside a cracked open window. There was a shade covering the entire glass pane , but towards the bottom, it was slanted and provided a view into a small room. She leaned forward, rested her hands up on the sill, and peeped in. Three men stood around a small operating table. On the table was a woman in her teens or early twenties. She was out cold from the looks on her face. And before Faith could make out some details about the woman, one of the men around the table walked over to the window. When Faith tried to get a better look, she kicked a trashcan.

The man bent down and looked under the shade.

Faith squatted beneath the sill and heard the man say, "It's just a cat."

She then stood and tried to get another look into the room, but the man had straightened the curtain. She walked towards the corner and made a call.

"Hey," Bart said.

"I'm at the clinic on 38th. There something funky going on."

"What did you see?"

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "I saw something, but I don't know what I saw and whatever it was, it wasn't right."

"What are you planning to do?"

"I'm going to try to get in. I'll call you back later."

She walked across the street to a pizza shop and got a slice as she watched the entrance of the clinic. Around a half an hour later, a car pulled up to the corner of 38th and Lancaster. A few minutes later, a man stepped out. He was a good looking, well dressed black man who looked like he was in his late sixties. Faith looked at the license plate of his car and took a picture. I AM A MD. Faith rolled her eyes and mumbled, "Cute." The man opened the clinic's front door and walked in. Faith paid her bill, walked out and stood on the corner. She slowly walked towards the clinic while looking around to see if there were any external cameras. They were none. She reached for the door handle and pulled the door open. The main entrance of the clinic was unlocked and there was no one standing guard and no security.

From the foyer, the stench of urine filled the air. She glanced at her phone's location app just to make sure of the location. This place had more resemblance of an unkempt apartment than a doctor's office. It was filthy. Again, she looked around and expected to see a camera, motion detectors or an alarm system, but there were none. She leaned closer to look a fish tank. She tapped on the glass and saw a large turtle move. When she took a few more steps, a cat rubbed against her right leg. She clicked on the flashlight app on her phone and shinned it around the room. On the floor not far from where she stood were cat feces and as she walked towards a small flight of steps, there was more feces. As she stepped up, she heard a faint moan coming from a closed off room. She walked closer, leaned towards the door and slowly opened it. Inside a small waiting room were three semi-conscious women. Faith wasn't sure if they were waiting for an operation or were recovering. She raised her phone and took three shots of the women and the filthy surroundings. Just then, she heard a loud thud. She looked around and saw another flight of stairs. She followed and made her way up to the third floor where she head faint voices. She followed the voices and peeked into an operating room. She saw the well-dressed man with two other men she hadn't seen. The three tried to lift the woman who had fallen off the procedure table.

"You idiot," the well-dressed man said.

"Sorry about that, Doctor Hope," one of the other men said. "She wouldn't stop moving around."

"Next time make sure she's out cold. That's what I pay you two for." Doctor Hope looked at the younger of the two men and said, "Go downstairs and make sure the door is locked."

Faith took a step back and stood in the shadows as the man ran out.

"Jesus," Hope said. "She needs to go to the emergency room."

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No."

"Doctor Hope," the other man said as he ran up the stairs. "Doctor Hope. Her family is here. They're threatening to call the police if you don't release her."

Hope took a deep breath.

"Where is she?" a woman said.

Faith slipped into a broom closet. She didn't need a flashlight to know that filth surrounded her. From the cracked door she watched the action.

"Where is my daughter?" The woman screaming was a heavyset black woman who was dressed in a purple velour sweat suit. "I want my daughter. She's been here all day. I'm taking my daughter."

Hope held up his hands and said, "Your daughter is fine."

The woman looked at the male with her and said, "Help me grab her. I'm taking her to the emergency room." The mother and the man carried the girl out and down the steps.

Hope looked at the two men. "Is there anything else you two nitwits want to tell me?"

They lowered their heads. "No sir."

"Now, my alma matter is giving me an award, so I have to go and prepare a speech. If there are any other issues, handle them," he said and walked out.

Faith waited a few minutes before leaving the broom closet. She then went back to the waiting room and looked at the three women. She raised her hand to her forehead. "Wow. I'm speechless." She heard the two men talking as they walked down a flight of steps. She slipped into a small lab room and squeezed behind a dirty refrigerator. As two men walked by, she scanned the room with her phone's flashlight. Dust covered the oxygen equipment. Dried blood stained the floor. Dirt was everywhere. She walked towards a countertop and looked at the suction equipment. She wasn't a medical professional, but even she knew no one had sterilized the equipment in a while. She took a step back into the corner as the two men talked.

"They're gone," one man said.

"All of them?" the other responded.

"I think we can resuscitate two, but the other one is gone."

"Help me get them into the van. We'll take them somewhere and make sure they're ok." "And the other one?"

"Leave her there. She's not going anywhere." He laughed. "I'll call Dr. H. later to see what he wants us to do."

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

The other guy nodded. "Yeah," he said. "It's best if we just left him in the dark."

Faith raised her phone and made sure the flash was off before snapping a series of pictures of the two men dragging two sedated women out of the small waiting room. "Oh, my god," Faith mumbled. When she was sure the men were gone, she continued her sweep. She looked at the woman who they said was gone and took her pulse. She had a very weak pulse, but she was still alive. "Fuck," Faith whispered. She leaned over and slapped the woman. "Hey. Hey wake up," she said.

The woman moaned and opened her eyes. "Where am I?" she said.

"You don't want to know. What's your name?" Faith said.

"Pa..." she leaned forward and threw up.

Faith jumped back and took a deep breath. "Jesus." She looked at the woman and said, "Stay here. Like she's going anywhere," she mumbled. She then walked into the room where she hid earlier and reached for a paper towel, but there were none in the dispenser. "Shit." She then took a few steps to a set of cabinets and opened the door. She jumped back and covered her mouth. Lined in rows of five and three deep were jars that contained the severed feet of fetuses. "The fuck?" She shook her head as she snapped pictures of the discovery. Just then, the refrigerator next to her hummed on. She slowly turned and reached for the handle. When she opened the refrigerator, she found fetal remains stored in Ziploc baggies, milk jugs, orange juice cartons and three in cat food containers. She took pictures. She then walked back to the woman to make sure she was still alive. She was. Faith then searched the winding corridors that went up and down. She concluded the building wasn't one building, but at least three joined. She finally arrived at an office marked private. She walked over to a file cabinet and opened the unlocked drawer. She took the file out marked OD and opened it. The two-inch file contained the medical records and pictures of women who had overdosed on heroin. There were thirty in all. "My god," she said. "What is this place?" After taking pictures of the files, she headed back down to the waiting room. She grabbed the woman and noticed that she was bleeding from the right side of her stomach. Faith raised the woman's shirt and saw that the bleeding was coming from sutures on her right side just above the waist.

Faith stepped away and walked around the maze of hallways and endless rooms. Ahead of her was a room marked S 10. She hurried to the door and opened it. She then covered her mouth and jumped back. There was a woman, sprawled on an operating table, her limbs tied down, her chest cracked and spread open with metal chest spreaders. Faith couldn't believe what she saw. It was like they left her there like a piece of trash waiting for the cleaning crew to come. She slowly walked closer and flashed her phone's light on the woman. She breathed heavy and deep as she looked inside the woman's cavity. The woman had no heart. It was surgically removed from her body. "My God," she whispered. She raised her phone and took a series of pictures of the gruesome discovery. She turned and saw a small camera pointed at the table. She flipped the viewing screen up, turned the camera on, and saw what it last recorded.

"What time is it?"

Faith leaned closer and noticed the woman on the tape was Mal Miller.

"It's nine," a man said.

Mal nodded and said, "Patient number 0030 died at 08:45 from a heroin overdose. At 09:00 an attempt to remove the heart of patent number 0030."

Faith sped up the tape. Forty minutes later, the woman's chest was opened, her heart removed and put into a plastic cooler. Faith took a deep breath and then grabbed a wheel chair that was in the corner of the room and rolled it towards the waiting room. She slid the unconscious woman into the chair but just as she started to roll her out, the two men came back into the building. "Shit," she said as she hid in a dark corner. When the men walked by, she rushed out the door and headed to her car. She drove to the next corner, looked into the rear mirror, and saw the men run out into the street. They looked around and raised their hands into the air while reaching for a cell phone. She then drove to the nearest emergency room.

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# Chapter Fifty-six

Presbyterian Hospital was only two blocks away from the clinic. The emergency room was glass enclosed and as Faith walked towards the entrance, she noticed the heavyset black woman from the clinic. She walked in and sat across from the woman and the man. About a half an hour later, a doctor walked out and gestured for the woman. The woman stood and walked over.

The doctor touched her arm and said in a low voice. "She's going to make it."

The woman covered her chest and said, "Thank you, Jesus."

"However, she's got a really bad infection."

Faith narrowed her eyes at the two and tried to read his lips.

"We found fetal parts inside her."

The woman lowered her head and took a deep breath.

"We found a foot and an arm. Where was she?"

The woman broke down and cried.

The doctor said, "It's our obligation to call this in. We have to report this."

The woman nodded her head and walked back to her seat.

On the other side of the room, a woman dressed in an EMT uniform looked at the family and shook her head. She frowned and took a deep breath before walking outside.

Faith followed. She stood next to the EMT and grinned. "Got another cigarette?"

The EMT nodded, reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of Newport. She shook one out and gave Faith a light. Faith took a long drag and said, "These things will kill me."

"Yeah."

"So," Faith said. "I saw your reaction to that family in there."

The EMT looked at her and shook her head. "Do you know why they're here?"

"Something about the daughter being sick."

"Sick? She was fucking butchered. She's part of that whole meat factory up the street."

"The clinic?"

"If you want to call it that. A few weeks ago, I got a call about a woman who was not responsive. We go to that place and find this girl laying on the floor dead. My partner and I try to resuscitate her, but it was too late. Those guys at that place said she had an uneventful vacuum abortion and was recovering and watching TV when she suddenly became unresponsive." She shook her head, stamped out her cigarette and looked at Faith. "It was a lie."

"How do you know?"

"I followed up. The toxicology report said that there were massive amounts of Demerol in her system." She shook her head and continued. "She overdosed and those bastards did it."

"Did you file a report?"

"I did, but nothing was done. The guy who owns that place is some bigwig that everyone in this city is afraid to confront." She looked at her watch. "It's been real. My break is over."

Faith nodded and walked back into the emergency room. She looked at the mother of the girl from the clinic as she cried. She then leaned forward and handed her a card. She said, "My name is Faith. I'm an investigator. I'd like to ask you and your daughter some questions."

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# Chapter Fifty-seven

Alexander joked around with the girls in the VIP room. Bambi whispered to Alexander that he was making the other men in the club jealous. Alexander laughed and threw the wad of money into the air.

Mark, Ford, and Christopher walked into the bar and looked around.

Ethan, the manager, walked over and gave Mark a hug. "I got a call. You think the guy you're looking for is here?"

Mark nodded his head. "Anyone shelling out money like there's no tomorrow?"

"There is," Ethan said as he gestured for Mark to follow him. He guided them up to a room that overlooked the club. Inside were cameras that panned every corner of the dark facility. Ethan flipped a few buttons and pointed to a monitor. "We keep cameras in the VIP rooms, just in case."

Ford walked closer to the monitor and nodded his head. "That's him," he said.

Mark leaned closer and nodded his head.

Ethan said, "That guy's spent ten grand in a little less than three hours." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "He's alright with me."

Mark looked at Ford and said, "This the guy?"

Ford nodded his head. "He ain't doing this alone," he said.

"What did he do?" Ethan said.

Mark looked at Ethan and said, "He ripped us off." He then took off his jacket and said, "Can you clear out that section?"

Ethan nodded his head and said, "Yeah, I can do that."

Mark walked out of the office and headed to the VIP room. He opened the curtain, looked at Alexander and held out his arms. "What's up, my nigga?"

Alexander looked at the girls and laughed. "That's Mr. Alexander to you." He stood and walked over to him and said, "And just who are you?"

Mark tilted his head to the left and said, "You know who I am, my nigga." He looked over at Ford and Hank and smiled.

Another man in the room walked over to Mark and pushed him.

Hank shook his head and took a deep breath as he pulled out his gun. "I don't want your brains on the wall, brother. Sit your ass down and mind your business."

Mark picked up a bottle of Dom Perignon, looked at the label and smiled. "Good choice." He glanced at Alexander and said, "I hear you been spending money like a baller."

Alexander grinned and looked around. "So, what's it to you if am?" Alexander said as Bambi rubbed her hands up and down his chest. She then kissed him on the cheek and smiled. She stood and said, "Got to go, baby. It's been nice knowing you."

Mark pushed Alexander back and poured the rest of the champagne on his head. "You a baller? You like making it rain?"

Alexander slapped the bottle away and yelled, "Who the fuck you think you are?"

Mark grabbed the bottle by the neck and hit it over Alexander's head.

Alexander yelled as the glass cracked over his head.

Mark then kicked him.

One of the other girls handed Ford Alexander's coat.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to her.

She smiled and walked out.

Ford reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. He looked at it, unfolded it and read a phone number scribbled under the name Rose.

Mark picked up Alexander and threw him on the couch. He then reached for a napkin and wiped his hands. He looked over at Ford and Hank and said, "Alright, get him out of here. I'll take care of him somewhere else."

Ford handed the piece of paper to Hank and said, "Call that number."

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# Chapter Fifty-eight

Hassan stopped in the middle of 18th Street near Cumberland Street. He put the car in park, leaned back and closed his eyes for a brief second. He then turned the car off and opened the door, but before he stepped out, he shook his head. Not far was a house that from the outside looked like a dilapidated shell. Inside, however, it was another story. It was a place to store drugs, money and guns. 1824 North 18th Street was the corporate headquarters for his family's multi-million dollars a quarter drug business.

In a rundown-chipped paint 1999 Ford Econoline, Murray and his crew camped out not far from 1824 North 18th Street. The tipster said that somewhere on that side of the block was where he got his drugs, so they waited. They watched as Hassan walked towards the house and when he stopped briefly, they knew. Murray picked up his cell phone but before he made a call, it vibrated. He frowned when looked at the number. He pressed accept and said, "Why the fuck are you calling? I told you never to call me again."

Hank looked at the phone and frowned. He held the phone closer to his ear and listened to the background conversation

"Hello?" Murray said.

Someone in the background said, "Hey Sarge, we need that warrant."

Hank disconnected and glanced over at Ford.

"What?" Ford said.

Hank said, "We got a problem."

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# Chapter Fifty-nine

Murray shook his head after the call went dead. He scrolled through a few names and stopped at the District Attorney's Charging Unit.

"What was that about?"

"A CI," Murray said.

"Charging."

"Nero Murray, Major Crimes. Did you guys get the search warrant we sent for 1824 North 18th Street?"

"I did. What's your PC?"

"We have a tip from a CI that this is a distribution center for heroin, crack and marijuana."

"I need more than that."

"Come on. We live stopped an Aston Martin with a million dollars in cash, and a vile of crack with the stamp of this crew's marking. And now a known member of the crew just walked into the house."

"Do you see any drugs being sold from the house? Did your CI buy anything from that location?"

"No."

"Until then, I can't give you a warrant. Someone needs to buy from that location."

"It's a fucking stash house. They don't sell there."

"Get me specifics and I'll get you the warrant. Until then I'm declining the warrant."

Murray slammed the phone on the floor on the van. "Motherfucker."

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# Chapter Sixty

Hassan turned, looked around, frowned, jumped two broken marble steps, and pushed the metal door open. Inside was dim, damp and smelled of oil and mildew. The row home was two story and had five rooms. The first room was sort of the reception area where the armed guards greeted or shot unauthorized visitors. Behind them was the break room. There was a small couch, a table, a refrigerator and a sixty-inch Sony flat screen. Hassan walked past a few of the guys who were on break, slapped hands and walked towards the manufacturing section, the kitchen. Hassan nodded his head at a guy holding an AK 47 guarding the back door and opened the door leading to the basement. He paused to give a, "S'up", to a guy that was dressed in a grey jumpsuit stirring cocaine, baking soda, and vodka mixture in a clear coffee pot.

On the table, in the middle of the room, were another three men breaking up the hardened mixture and weighing little slivers on an electronic scale. The next step of the operation was in the basement where another crew stamped those slivers before placing them in colored vials.

Hassan turned and opened the wooden door that hung on one hinge and moved down the steps. He clapped hands with Cuff and Bubs who were putting together a small arsenal.

Bubs nodded towards an old rickety table with a couple of nine millimeters, a Desert Eagle, an AK 47 and an Uzi on it and said, "Pick one. We need you with us."

Hassan walked over to the table and picked up a .40 caliber, rubber gripped Desert Eagle, checked the clip and raised it to his eyebrows. He looked over his shoulder to a small crew under a hanging florescent light. On the table in front of them were piles of the hardened and cooked cocaine. They vialed the rock into three tubes sizes: small, medium and large and then capped the tube with the daily colored cap. Tomorrow's color was yellow.

Another armed guard with an AK 47 watched that crew closely.

"Who we after?" Hassan asked Bubs and Cuff.

Bubs slid the slide on the Desert Eagle and said, "Clark is up on the corner, up the street. I want that motherfucker dead. He gots to go. The two other motherfuckers who ripped me off will be there as well."

"What other two?" Hassan said.

Bubs looked at Hassan and shook his head. "You don't need to know, little bro."

Hassan turned and nodded at the man with AK, and then followed Cuff and Bubs up the stairs. "Yo, Bubs. What he do?"

Bubs looked at him and said, "He ripped me off. He stole the money."

Murray looked at his partners. "When he comes out, we take him down. Motherfucker's got to have something on him to get us into that place. That's the place we've been looking for."

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# Chapter Sixty-one

Hassan, Cuff and Bubs exited the house through the back, weed filled yard, which led to an alley. The thick treelike weeds that grew out of the foundations of dilapidated homes, created an almost Amazonian like canopy over the narrow walkway. They brushed through the arms of the green like a group of explorers.

Bubs led the way to a small opening that led to the right of York Street, and next to a craps game. Bubs pushed through prickly weed stems, broken glass, rusted barbwire and all kinds of animal shit and stopped. When he got to the mouth of the alley, he looked between the untrimmed hedges of an overgrown bush and saw Alexander, Clark, and Don on the corner rolling dice. Bubs pointed to a vacant lot and whispered to Hassan, "Go that way. Meet us on York and look for two trash bags. They got the money in them."

Hassan nodded and ran across an empty lot littered with bricks, glass and a dead dog. When he arrived at Cleveland Street, he peeped his head out and saw the three on the corner.

Paul parked on the corner of Cleveland and York. He looked over at Zora and smiled. "We just got to hand over something to my man," he said, turned and looked at Clark in the backseat. "You going to be alright?"

Clark nodded his head. "Yeah," he said and opened the back door. "Stay cool."

Zora smiled and ran her hands across Alexander's face. She kissed him and said, "Let's go."

"In a minute. I just got to make sure the delivery is picked up."

When Clark got out of the car and walked towards the corner, he held out his arms and yelled, "What's up, my brother?"

Frank looked up and rolled the dice in his hand. After missing his numbers, he stood and gave Clark a hug. "We did it, man." He laughed. "Where's Alexander and Paul?"

Clark pointed to Paul and Zora in the car and said, "Zora and Paul are heading out. They leaving town to start over."

"What are you going to do?" Frank said.

Clark shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "Might just hang around."

Zora lowered the visor and reached into her purse. She pulled out a tube of lip stick. As she glossed her lips, Paul looked at her and smiled. The smile quickly turned to frown. He looked past Zora and saw Bubs and Cuff pull down their ski masks as they crouched out from an empty lot. Everything at that point seemed to go in slow motion. He hit the horn on the steering wheel, but nothing happened.

Zora frowned. "What's wrong?" She slowly turned, covered her mouth and yelled, "No, no," she said.

Paul hit the horn again, and this time it went off.

Clark frowned and shook his head. "Paul must want something," he said. He turned and looked but before he said anything else, he noticed two men squatting on one knee aiming at him and Frank.

Hassan watched from the opposite corner. He froze and then walked behind a car. He looked up and watched as Frank, Clark and another guy rolling dice on the corner, got gunned down. Hassan watched Bubs on one knee shooting towards the men on the corner. He turned and watched Cuff leaned over the hood of a car across the street. He looked down Cleveland Street and watched Zora yelling and screaming.

Bubs got off ten shots.

Cuff got off five.

The whole incident happened within seconds. Clark went down to the concrete with a bullet to the head. Frank collapsed with a shot to the femoral and the other guy, Don, leaned against the wall with a gunshot to the shoulder.

Hassan rushed across the street and grabbed two large black trash bags, ran back across the street and ducked behind a car.

Zora screamed as she watched bullets riddle Clark and Frank. "No," she yelled as Bubs and Cuff ran off.

Paul started the car, put it into gear and drove off.

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# Chapter Sixty-two

"You hear that?"

"Linden wants us to stay here. Don't move," Murray said.

"That sounded like it came from around the corner."

"I don't feel like hearing the Captain's mouth tonight," Murray said. "Stay here."

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# Chapter Sixty-three

Hassan ran back through the empty lot and met up with Bubs and Cuff.

Bubs and Cuff pulled their masks off and handed Hassan their guns. "Dump everything in the river."

Hassan trotted behind but cut through an empty lot that led to 18th Street. Before walking towards the car, he looked up 18th Street as four police cruisers sped down the wrong way towards York. Sirens cut through the still night. Overhead Hassan heard a low flying police helicopter. Not long after a bright searchlight hit the streets. "Shit," he said. He only had a few steps to the car when a screeching siren and a spotlight flashed his way. He turned as Murray and three other detectives rushed towards him with guns drawn.

Murray slammed Hassan against the hood of the BMW. The guns and masks he had in his arms fell onto the concrete. One gun fired when it hit the ground. The bullet narrowly missed one of the detectives.

The three punched and kicked Hassan as he curled up on the ground in a fetal position.

"Motherfucker," the detective said as he kicked Hassan in the ribs.

Hassan leaned over and tried to catch his breath. His face swelled. He had a black eye and a bloody nose.

Murray pulled the detective off Hassan and yelled, "Chill, chill." He then reached down for the guns and looked at the masks. He turned towards the other three detectives and said, "How much you want to bet the slugs from those poor bastards around the corner match these." He glanced down at Hassan. "Was that you?" he said as he slapped Hassan in the face. "Was that you?" he said.

"Don't you hear the man talking to you, motherfucker?" the other detective said.

Murray pulled Hassan up and reached into his pockets. He pulled out a wad of cash and said, "Dinner's on me tonight, fellas." He reached into Hassan's other pocket and pulled out the keys to the BMW. "This yours? Is this car yours?"

Hassan said nothing.

Murray pressed the trunk button and smiled. "What else you got for us? Drugs? Guns? Some money?" The trunk slowly opened as one of the other detectives walked over. He lifted the trunk all the way opened and took a step back.

Hassan turned and closed his eyes. Inside was a young black woman hogtied with her throat slit. It was Reina Anderson.

"You better take a look at this," the detective said as he turned to Murray. "Yo, run these tags."

Murray said to Hassan, "You got five to ten on those guns. You're looking at letters and not numbers if they match those bodies around the corner." He then grabbed Hassan and pulled him over to the trunk. He pointed to the body and said, "Who is this?" He slapped Hassan in the face. "Who is this?"

Hassan's knees buckled. He turned and slid towards the ground with his back on the car. He shook his head and mumbled, "I ain't got nothing to do with that." He lowered his head. "I swear. I don't know nothing."

"Yeah sure," Murray said as he examined the body. He dug into the dead girl's pocket and pulled out her wallet. He then glared at Hassan.

"Name on the tags came back," the third detective said. He jumped back and yelled, "Jesus. Who the fuck is that?"

Murray took the sheet with the registration information and looked at the driver's license. He shook his head. "It belongs to a Philip Ross." Murray kneeled and pulled Hassan up. "Get this dumb fuck out of here."

As the detectives dragged Hassan into a squad car, 1824's second floor window curtain closed. Bubs looked at Cuff and a young girl briefly before holding up his cell phone. He pressed save on the video file and took a deep breath. He then scrolled through the names in contacts and stopped at Mancini.

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# Chapter Sixty-four

Waters and Mack looked at the officer in the emergency room at Pennsylvania Hospital. "What do you have?" Waters said.

"Some guy got beat up pretty bad. He's almost dead. When I ran his name, and you came up. He's one of your CI."

Waters frowned and shook his head. "I haven't run a CI in three years. What's his name?"

The officer flipped through his notepad and stopped at the third page. He nodded his head and said, "Alexander Kimble."

Waters took a deep breath and nodded his head. "I haven't heard from him in years. Where is he?"

The officer pointed to a small room at the other end of the hall.

Waters nodded and slowly walked into the room. When he pulled the white curtain away, he looked at Alexander as he squirmed and screamed on a bed. He was bludgeoned. His eyes were gauged out. His face was swollen. His skull was shattered, and he had what looked like cigarette burn marks all over his body. Waters covered his mouth and shook his head.

The doctor taking Alexander's vital signs looked up and over at Waters and said, "Who are you?"

Waters reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge. He said, "Philly police. I'm a detective." He nodded towards Alexander and said, "Will he make it?"

The doctor shook his head, wiped his forehead and took a deep breath. "I doubt it," the doctor said. "I have never seen anyone deliberately do this to another person." He shook his head and said, "If he makes it, it'll be a miracle."

"Where did they find him?" Waters said.

"Oddly, he was dumped in front of the emergency room door."

Waters leaned over and looked at Alexander. "Alexander. Alexander, it's me. Waters." He leaned closer and said, "Who did this to you?"

Alexander squirmed in the bed and said, "Waters? That you?"

"Yeah, it's me. What happened? Who did this?"

Alexander screamed, "Paul. Paul."

"Paul? Paul who?" Waters said. "Paul who?"

"Paul, I can't see. I can't see. Give it back. Give it all back." Over the screaming, a loud beep occurred.

The emergency doctor looked at Waters and said, "He's crashing. You're going to have to go."

"Paul?" Mack said.

Waters looked back and said, "I need to find this guy Paul."

Mack shook his head while looking at his cell phone and said, "Later. We just caught a triple."

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# Chapter Sixty-five

I had just paid the waiter when the call came through. I looked at the screen. "This can't be good," I said and pressed accept. "Yeah?"

"Yo, they got Hassan."

I closed my eyes and slid in my chair. "What? How? I just. He just got out. Never mind. Where?"

"Cops got him. I'm sending you a video"

"I'm on my way." I disconnected and looked at Nicole. A few seconds later, I got a video file and played it. "Jesus," I said. It was fuzzy but I could clearly see Hassan getting the shit beat out of him.

"The good thing about my job is that I can leave it at the office." Nicole leaned across the table and looked at my phone. "What is that?"

I looked at Nicole and shook my head. "It's a video of your folks kicking my client's ass." I crossed my arms and thought for a few minutes about who I knew on the force that could handle something like this. I glanced over at Nicole and said, "What do you know about Phil Waters?"

"Waters? That slimy motherfucker. You can't trust him for shit. We've been trying to pin shit on him that we know he's been involved with, but we can't. He always comes out clean." She shook her head and said, "It's like he's made of Teflon. Why do you ask?"

I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Oddly, he's the only one in the police I can trust."

"And that says a lot about your judgement," Nicole said.

I scrolled through my contacts and called Waters to see if he had anything.

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# Chapter Sixty-six

Waters and Mack pulled up to the murders. He looked on as the medical examiner hauled the bodies away. He stepped away from the scene as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the I.D. and said, "Make it quick. We got a shit storm here."

"Good to hear you're back."

"Thanks."

"Do you remember Hassan? Bubs' little brother."

"Fuck if I know. Three motherfuckers just got gunned down on the corner of 15th and York. I haven't seen anyone from Bubs crew in a while."

An unmarked police car rolled up to the corner. Murray stepped out.

"Hold on a minute," Waters said. He looked at Murray as he walked over. "This is too low profile, so what are you doing here?"

"We got a tip. The guys here were part of the stick-up crew that did the massacre."

Waters closed his eyes and shook his head. "Bart," he said. He then said, "Your boy's with drugs?"

"Probably," I said.

Waters looked at the car and then at Murray. "What's up with young boy?"

"He's an asshole."

"That's Bubs' kid brother."

Murray nodded his head. "Something like that."

Waters walked over to the unmarked car and leaned in. He looked at Hassan in the back seat, shook his head, and then held the phone up to his ear. "For you."

Hassan said, "Yeah?"

"Is this Hassan?"

"Yeah."

"This is Bart. Don't say anything. I'm on my way."

Waters took the phone. "Hey it's me again."

"What did he get caught with?" I said.

"Hold on," he said. He then walked over to Murray. "What's the kid in for?

"Guns and murder."

Waters nodded to the coroner. "This?"

Murray shook his head and said, "Somebody else. Some girl."

Waters raised the phone to his ear and walked away. "Guns and a body. And being that he was a block away from our murders, I'd say he was part of the hit squad."

"A body? My guy isn't a killer," I said and then glared at Nicole. "Where are they taking him?"

"Probably to the 22nd."

I pressed end, tossed the phone on the table and crossed my arms. "I need a new vocation."

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# Chapter Sixty-seven

As Waters walked away, Murray reached for his phone and dialed a number. "It's done. Yeah, I'll find it." He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I said I'll find it."

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# Chapter Sixty-eight

I arrived at the precinct a few minutes later. As I walked in, I nodded to the sergeant. "You guys are holding one of my clients," I said.

"What's up, Bart?" the sergeant said as he gestured to a room on the other side of the building.

Waters walked towards the room with a bottle of coke and a snickers bar. "Your boy wants to tell all. He was involved in my murders as well." He shook his head and continued. "We told him to wait until you came, but we couldn't stop him from talking."

I grabbed the snickers and soda. "Thanks," I said and then walked into the integration room. "Seriously?" I said. "You haven't been out twenty-four hours. The fuck is wrong with you?" I frowned and looked at his face. "Jesus," I said. "Who did this? What are their names?"

He didn't say anything.

I reached for my phone and called Ava.

She picked up right away. "Two calls in one week?" she said.

"I'm sending you a video."

"I never took you for that kind of guy."

"It's not that kind of video. Look at it and give me a call back. I'll provide the narrative later." I disconnected and then sent her the video of the officers beating on Hassan.

Hassan shook his head. "I'm tired of this shit, Bart. I'm telling them everything. I'm tired of taking the hit."

I handed him the soda and sat in a chair across from him. "You're sure about this?" I said.

He nodded his head.

I stood and walked over to the two-way mirror. I then tapped on it a few times.

A few minutes later, Waters walked in and pulled a chair over. He sat next to Hassan and looked up at the cameras on the wall. "We're now going to start taping and audio recording this conversation. Do you understand?"

"Yeah," Hassan said.

"Okay, Hassan Johnson. That's your name?"

"Yes."

"Okay, my name is Detective Waters. You already know that. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And your lawyer Bartholomew Mancini is here as well."

"Yes."

"Were Paul Bowie and Clark Stokely killed on the corner of 15th and York?"

"Yes."

"And you were present during that time?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm going to show you a series of photos. Can you identify anybody in these photos?"

He looked at the photo array and nodded his head. "Yes," he said.

"Can you point to the ones responsible for the murders?"

He pointed to two men on the sheet.

"Who are these men?"

He pointed to a picture and said, "That one there is and that one is William, my brother."

"Alright, the top of the interview is basically your biographical information. As you can see. Right. Hassan Johnson. It gives your address, 2407 W Oxford Street. You told me your mother Charlotte Reece lives there and that's why you're using that address."

"Yes."

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I looked at the caller I.D. It was Ava. I excused myself and walked out into the hall. "You look at it?"

"This is some Rodney King level shit. Where the fuck did you get this? If this gets released, this city could have a major riot on its hands."

"The guy getting the shit kicked out of him is my client."

"What's the backstory?"

I paused and looked up. The officers on the video were now in the precinct laughing and telling jokes. "As far as I know, it was a routine traffic stop," I said to Ava.

"Who is this?"

"Hassan Johnson."

"Wait. The Hassan Johnson that was acquitted of attempted murder the other day?"

"Yeah. The officers are narcotic detectives. The same ones that arrested him before."

"You're shitting me? Bart, this is golden. This will go national by this evening. I owe you."

"How soon can you have it up?"

"I'll sift through it some more. It will make the morning news, viral by this afternoon, and it will hit all the national stations by tonight, and by tomorrow morning there will most likely be a protest. Where in the city is this?"

"Around 18th and York."

"This is some explosive shit."

"Good," I said. "This city could use a riot." I disconnected and walked back into the interrogation room.

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# Chapter Sixty-nine

Trevor McNeil looked at his glowing phone and leaned up. "Yeah," he said.

"This is the Captain of the 22nd. I think you need to come down to the 22nd precinct."

"Why?"

"We just I.D. on an informant who was working for you."

"Who?"

"Reina Anderson."

Trevor jolted up in his bed and said, "What happened? What did she do?"

"She's dead."

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# Chapter Seventy

"You're thirty-one years of age," Waters said.

"Yes."

"Your date of birth is 10/26/80."

"Yes."

"You have a social security number 207-00-6627. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Once again it says here that we're questioning you about the shooting deaths of Paul Bowie and Clark Stokely on August 21, 2016, outside 15th and York Street. Okay, and you weren't threatened to give this statement. You asked to go to the bathroom, and you went to the bathroom. You asked for something to eat, you got something to eat. You asked for something to drink, you something to drink. You asked for smokes you got several of them. Is that safe to say?"

"Yes."

"And there was nothing physical taking place here?"

He looked at me and then at Paul. "Not here.

"There was no beating up on you or nothing like that."

"Not here."

"Alright, Hassan, my name is Detective Waters and this is Detective Jenkins, and we are going to commit to paper everything we have spoken to you about with regards to the shooting death of Paul Bowie and Clark Stokely. Okay. Make sure you can speak up so that we can hear. Alright, so that brings me to my first question. How far did you go in school, and can you read and write the English language?"

"Yeah, I can read and write English and I went to the 11th grade at Kensington High School after transferring from Dobbins. I got my GED while I was locked up. I also went to Community College."

"What did you study there?"

"I just took up a language."

"Which one?"

"Portuguese."

"What, are planning on moving there?"

Hassan looked him and said, "You always need a way out."

Waters nodded his head and said, "The next question here was, do you understand the rights that were told to you while we were talking, and then again when we started this interview?"

"Yes."

"Hassan, do you go by any other names and or nicknames?"

"People who know me call me Gunna."

"Are you currently under the influence of any alcohol and or illegal or prescription drugs?"

"No, sir."

"Right, can you tell me what occurred that led up to the shooting deaths of both Frank Bowie and Clark Stokely?"

"They were the motherfuckers who ripped my brother off for three million dollars." He shook his head and said, "No other explanation needed."

"Wait," Waters said. "When did they steal three million dollars?"

"Day before yesterday."

"This was when Anthony was killed?" I said.

"Yeah," Hassan said.

"The BMW?" the detective said.

Hassan nodded his head. "Yeah, earlier in the day Bubs gave me the key, but I didn't get it until later."

"Then what happened?" Paul said.

"I took the bus to some parking lot near 38th and Lancaster Avenue. Got the car and drove back to the neighborhood. I met up with Bubs and he told me what was going down."

Trevor walked into the observation room and looked at Hassan. "What has he said?"

A detective shrugged his shoulders and said, "If he's telling the truth, he just cleared six bodies."

"What?"

"The massacre the other day. Six bodies. This was in retaliation for that."

"Did he mention the doctor?"

"Not that I know of."

Trevor knocked on the window.

"Excuse me," Waters said.

I looked at Hassan and said, "Three million dollars? You guys tracked them down?"

"One of my brother's inside men told us."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

I took a deep breath, and texted Damian,

Bart--Robbery cleared.

Damian--Good job. The money?

Bart--Don't know but I will find out.

I looked at Hassan and said, "It's not too late to change your mind."

"Naw, I need to do this."

Waters held out his hand towards Trevor. "Hey," Waters said. "What are you doing here?"

"The dead girl in his trunk," Trevor said.

"What about her?"

"She was working undercover for me as an informant. I want to know what this bastard knows. Ask him about her."

Waters stepped back in and said, "Keep going."

"Bubs gave me a gun and we walked to the spot on 15th Street. Everything was quiet. I didn't really hear anything and then maybe like five or ten minutes at the most, the green ATV flew up the street and stopped on the corner. I started walking towards 15th Street trying to call Bubs and tell him to stop because I saw my boy on the corner."

"Who is your boy?"

"Don," he said. "He ain't have nothing to do with this shit. He was just standing around shooting dice. Then I heard car ties screeching, like somebody about to crash. I ran to the corner of 15th and York. Frank and Clark were there. Then I saw Cuff and Bubs start shooting at them." He shook his head. "They never had a chance. They were trapped. Everybody started screaming. They were trying to go but the bullets stopped them and then they couldn't go anywhere. The little gun was first, you heard the pop, pop, pop and then Cuff just opened with that big gun and he just kept his finger down on the trigger because those bullets were coming out of that AK-47. That's when I saw Frank, Clark and the Don just fall down."

"What happened then?"

"Bubs started running back to the alley and as Cuff was running back, he was shooting some more at Clark. I've seen shooting, but not like that. This was personal. Then they handed me the guns and the masks and told me to get rid of the shit." He shrugged his shoulder and said, "That's when your boys picked me up."

"So, you never took a shot?" Waters said.

"No. I just watched."

"Whose car were you driving?"

"Bubs said it was his, but if I had to guess, it was probably Doc's."

"Who is Doc?" I asked.

"Don't know his name. We just call him Doc. He supplies us with pills and shit," Hassan said.

"Doctor Philip Ross?" Waters said.

I glanced at Waters and shook my head. "What? What did you just say?"

Waters looked at the sheet of paper in front of him. "The car," he nodded to Hassan and continued, "he was driving was registered to a Doctor Philip Ross."

Hassan shrugged his shoulder. "I don't know."

My mouth dropped open. "What the fuck?" I mumbled

I looked at Hassan and said, "How did you know Philip Ross?"

"I didn't."

Trevor's mouth dropped open as he turned up the microphone volume. He pulled out his cell phone and made a call to Nicole.

"This is Nicole."

"Some kid got caught with a car that was registered to Philip Ross. It had my informant in the trunk. She's dead. Tell your folks to bring Philip Ross in for questioning and I want this kid charged with murder by sunrise. And I want Philip Ross in cuffs."

"Alright. Wait. Philip Ross?"

"Yeah. He's the owner of the car. Double crossing bastard," he said.

"Trevor, Philip Ross is dead. His wife was charged with murder. Just a few hours ago."

"What? When did that happen? I just talked to him the other day. He had some information about my case."

"What case?"

"Some guy running a clinic on Lancaster Avenue. We know he's a big Fentanyl dealer, but we also suspect he was selling human organs as well."

"What?"

"Hearts, lungs and kidneys to be precise. I was supposed to be working with Philip on finding out more."

Nicole said, "I know what organs are." She paused for a few seconds before continuing.  "I'll call charging to let them know about the kid. What's his name?"

"Hassan Johnson."

Nicole said, "You've got to be fucking me. Is my brother there?"

"Yeah."

"Don't tell him about the car."

"Too late. He already knows."

"Jesus."

"What?"

"I'll tell you later."

"What kind of pills?" Paul asked.

"Oxy, perks and shit like that. He was our main guy for Fentanyl as well."

"Where does he get the Fentanyl?"

"He's got some connection with a drug company. He never told us, but one his people said they get these girls hard up on cash from Temple to make trips to Mexico and bring the stuff back."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Who was the girl in the trunk?"

"Don't know, but I've seen her around at Doc's."

"Where is Doc's?"

"38th and Lancaster Avenue. Right on the corner."

I froze. I then frowned and leaned over to look at Hassan. "38th and Lancaster? Are you sure?"

He nodded his head. "I've been there a few times with my girl. She got a couple of abortion."

Now I knew Emilia was on to something. "What else do you know about the place?" I said.

Trevor frowned behind the glass and crossed his arms. "What is he on to?"

"Nothing," Hassan said. "I mean we directed business to him."

"Like?" I said.

Waters looked at me.

Hassan shrugged his shoulders and said, "Girls. Women who needed a doctor."

"A doctor for what? Be specific."

"They needed or wanted abortions."

"Do you know their names? These women?" I said.

He shook his head and said, "No. A couple of them died though. One was found in a vacant lot over by K & A and a couple of others were found in abandon homes. But they were hookers, so nobody cared about them."

I looked at Waters and said, "Who's in the other room?"

"McNeil," he said.

I frowned. "The Attorney General has interested in this? Why?"

Waters looked over his shoulder. "Apparently he wants to know something."

I looked at the mirror. "Immunity. If you want any more information, I want immunity from your office for my client." Shit, I thought. This was bigger than I had anticipated. Drugs, politics, black market organ trade and somehow my two clients were connected. I hated coincidences. I shook my head and looked at Hassan. "Listen, you're getting arraigned again, but this time on murder. Do not talk to anyone."

Hassan nodded his head.

"No one," I said as I got up and walked out of the room.

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# Chapter Seventy-one

Trevor walked out of the observation room and held out his hand towards me. "Deal," he said.

"What's going on?"

"The girl in the trunk was an informant. She was feeding us information about this doctor's operation."

"Philip?"

He shook his head. "No, Hope. He owns the clinic. We suspected that he'd been supplying Oxy all up and down the East Coast, but we never had any proof. The girl in the trunk worked for him. She was cooperating with the office. Now she's dead and I got nothing." He paused and looked at Hassan as officers hauled him away. "If your boy can tie Hope to the supply and sales, then we've got him." He nodded his head. "I'll give him immunity for everything he knows about his brother's operation and Hope."

"Why his brother?"

"He's a distributor of Fentanyl. That's all we got so far."

"What do you guys have on Philip Ross?" I asked.

Trevor shook his head. "He came to me a few months ago. He suspected that a black-market organ ring was operating out of Hope's clinic in West Philly. But we'll never know about that because he's dead. I need to get into the clinic, but in order to do that I need a warrant and to get that I need probable cause."

"I don't." I walked towards the entrance and nodded my head. "I'll write up the deal tonight." As I walked away, I reached for my phone.

"By the way," he said. "Philly is eating the murder, and your boy is suspect number one." He shook his head. "Can't do much. I got no juice with your sister. I used my last chip with her a while back."

I grunted as a call came through on my cell. "Yeah," I said.

"Hey," Bubs said.

"Where are you?"

"At the club."

"Stay there. I'm on my way."

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# Chapter Seventy-two

The club was a hole in the wall bar off 24th and Oxford. On the cusp of gentrification and bordered by Temple University frat and sororities, it was the haunt for Bubs' crew. And quite possibly one of the only places in the city where I could park my Bentley without a valet and not have to worry. Club Paradise was a place that the average citizen would never consider going for an after-work drink. It was cold, damp and reeked of cheap liquor, menthol cigarettes and marijuana. I stepped in and looked around at the patrons, which included street level soldiers and hoods with earned nicknames like Binladen. He wasn't just a gun for hire, he was the gun for hire. Idi Amin, the enforcer and all-around psychopath. Capone was just pure muscle and Christopher Nitti was Bubs' right hand. He oversaw the high-rise projects when they were up. The guy was a brilliant businessman and strategist. He squashed beef between a rival gang by leasing them floors six to eight of a twenty-story complex so that they could sell and distribute crack and coke. If he'd had the right training and guidance, he'd probably would've gone to Wharton and be running a Fortune Five Hundred business by now. Shoulda, coulda.

Obviously, these guys loved international criminals and the movies that featured them. I got nods from half the crowd, and after shaking hands with Omar Johnson A.K.A. Christopher Nitti, I walked towards the rear of the joint and sat a table in a darkened corner with Bubs, Cuffs and Binladen. "Where the fuck did your brother get the BMW?" I said

Bubs lowered his head.

"Tell me. He thinks you set him up to take a fall."

Bubs looked up and shook his head. "That's crazy. I wouldn't do that."

"He feels that you did. So, tell me where he got the car?"

He looked at Cuffs and Binladen.

They got up and walked away.

Bubs took a deep breath and said, "Nelson."

I closed my eyes. "Who the hell is Nelson?"

He nodded his head and said, "You know?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

After a deep sigh he said, "He works for James Washington."

I closed my eyes and slid in the seat. "As in the mayor?"

"Yeah."

"Nelson, as in the Deputy Mayor?"

He nodded.

"Really?" I shook my head and glared at him. I said, "Why would you accept something from him?"

"He's been my contact and supplier for years."

"His boss is out to bring you down and he's succeeding by targeting the most vulnerable person in your entire operation." I ran my hands over my face and took a deep breath. "That's how he knew."

"What?"

I shook my head and thought about the connection. I looked at Bubs and said, "You're the connection."

"What?"

"Do you know how royally fucked your brother is? He's not getting off this one." I then raised my arms and said, "Not even twenty-four hours after he gets off a major drug trafficking charge, he's back in. But this time he's accused of grand theft, VUFA, attempted murder of a police officer and oh yeah and murder."

Bubs looked at me and shook his head. "He got nothing to do with those murders."

"Those murders? The fuck are you talking about?"

"The guys on the corner."

"Yeah, what about them?"

"They stole from me." He looked at me and took a deep breath. "Nobody steals from me."

"Of course not. But, I'm talking about the body that was hog tied and shot in the trunk of the car."

He narrowed his eyes at me. It took him all but a few seconds to make the connection.

I nodded and said, "You've been set up. What is Washington's connection to you?"

He took a deep breath.

"Motherfucker." I leaned back in the chair. "Hassan wants me to cut him a deal. Not with the district attorney, but with the motherfucking attorney general."

Bubs frowned and then shook his head.

I wanted to slap the shit out of him, but I'd lose a client and probably wouldn't make it out alive. So, I took a deep breath, leaned back and crossed my arms. "The car that your bud gave you was registered to a murdered physician. Who just happened to be the personal doctor to the fucking mayor of the city.  His wife, my client as well, is accused of killing him." I gestured with both hands on the table. "Do you see the connection? Do you see why you're the patsy? I'd be pissed too if I were Hassan. He's already told Homicide everything about the hit." I touched my head with both hands and frowned. "Normally I can rationalize your executive decision, but this is just senseless. Everything comes back to you."

Bubs lowered his head into his hands and mumbled, "Motherfuckers ripped me off."

I closed my eyes. "Whatever. The cops got the guns. And I am quite sure that you nor Hassan wiped them clean, which means right now they're testing them for fingerprints and ballistics. When the results come back positive, and they will come back positive, and match the slugs in those three dead bodies, from the corner of 15th and York, you're fucked. The D.A., police and U.S. Attorney are ready to unleash the wrath of the apocalypse on your operation."

He looked at me and said, "I pay you to stop that from happening."

"True, and normally I can. But this is different. You've evolved from hood nigga to key player in a political scandal. Like it or not, your business is entwined with certain political figures who are not only powerful but ruthless. They will stop at nothing to keep their involvement secret." I leaned forward and looked him in the eyes. "Let me tell you something. Politicians, especially in this city, are down and dirty motherfuckers who do anything to anyone who stand in their way." I stood and pointed to him. "If you want to stay out of prison, you need to find someone to eat those murders and help me take down Washington. Hassan is done. He's had enough. Do not call or visit him." I looked at my watch and said, "You've got until noon to find me a patsy."

He nodded his head as I walked away. I pulled out my phone and stopped. I turned, looked back at Bubs and said, "The officers in the video. Who are they?"

He shook his head. "Dirty cops. They been ripping me off for years. It started with a few dollars here and there, but then it blew up to giving money for their kids' private school tuition, new cars, and mortgages."

"Why haven't you told me this?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"What else do you know?"

He shook his head.

"You don't know anything about the motherfuckers shaking you down?"

He shook his head.

"Ok," I said as I sat back down. "Is there anyone you know who can tell me anything about any of them?"

He thought for a few minutes. He hemmed, hawed, and finally said, "Pamela."

"Who is she?"

"Some hoe. Been selling to her for years. She's the girlfriend of one of those guys."

"Who?"

"Man, I don't know."

I glared at him.

He rolled his eyes and said, "She works K and A. She'll be there."

"How do you know?"

"It's around that time of week. She needs money for her hit."

"Do you have her number?"

He nodded his head.

I stood and reached for my phone. "Call her. Tell her I want to meet her."

He nodded his head.

I walked out and called Emilia. The phone rang four times. "This better be good," she said.

"Philip was about to expose a black-market organ harvesting ring."

"You're shitting me?"

"You got the exclusive when everything is in place. Meanwhile, I've got something else."

"What?"

"The cops stopped my client and beat the shit out of him. And I've got it all on tape."

"Who are the officers?"

"That's where I need your ex. Where is he?"

She said, "He's probably at Max's."

"What's the deadline for the morning edition?"

"Four."

"I just sent you the video. I'll call you with what I have in a few."

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# Chapter Seventy-three

I shook my head in bewilderment. I just couldn't understand why Emilia, the self-proclaimed elitist bitch, would deal with a low life drug dealing wannabe gangster. He was bad news. He sold E, coke, and weed to college kids who dared to explore outside the Temple bubble. His base of operations was Max's, on the corner of Germantown and Erie. Playboy ranked the joint as the best place in the city for cheesesteaks. However, being that it was smack dab in the middle of the un-gentrified hood, not too many people outside of Philly ventured there.

I parked. The folks around here knew me. I got nods and handshakes as I walked in and I instantly recognized the back of Christopher's greasy Jerri curled head. He was at a table with three college age white girls who looked like they were from good families. Slumming it. Probably hanging out with the piece of shit to piss off daddy. I walked over and smacked him in the back of the head. "Get up," I said as I wiped the hair grease off my hand.

He frowned and turned. If it was anyone else, he probably would've drawn his gun. However when he noticed that it was me, his eyes widened. "Bart, I was just..."

"Get the fuck up," I said.

He slid out of the booth and followed me to an empty booth towards the back. I pulled out my cell phone and showed him the video of Hassan getting beat up. "I want the names of all these guys and I want to know what kind of shit they're into."

He knew who these guys were. Christopher was an ex-cop kicked off the force for stealing from dealers and selling back to them. It was a good hustle, until he got greedy.

He looked at the video and shook his head. "You don't know what you're asking for."

"I'm asking for names and information, so yes I do know."

"I can't do that." He pointed to himself and continued. "You know I would, but this I can't do."

"Ok, so here's what I'm going to do. I'm selling off the fifty grand you owe me to someone in South Philly. You might know him. Goes by the name of Sal."

"Come on, Bart."

"I'm going to sell it at a loss. Pennies on the dollar, but don't be alarmed. I'm sure he'll put you on a nice payment plan." I raised my hands and said, "Five, six points a week."

He said, "I can get killed for talking to you about them."

"This is North Philly. You can get killed walking your doggie down Erie Avenue."

"Man, these guys aint's to be fucked with, Bart. And because they cops, they get away with anything."

"Names," I said as I scrolled to Sal's name. I showed him.

He didn't respond.

I pushed call.

Sal picked up. "What?"

"I got a note that I want you to take off my hands. I don't have the time nor the patience to collect."

"How much?"

"Fifty."

"What's the sale?"

"Ten."

"Who is it?"

"Some low life piece of shit that I bailed out of jail who didn't even give me thanks. Christopher Wilson. You know him? Ex-cop? Black guy, curly hair?"

"That's him."

"You're right. He is a piece of shit. Deal. I'll take it."

I looked at Christopher. "Out of my hands now." I then said to Sal, "What kind of rate you going to give him? I told him five or six points a week."

"That's too much. No wonder you can't collect. I'll give him a point a week."

"Oh, that's more than generous. Donate the ten to your kid's ice hockey league for me."

"You alright, Bart."

"See you." I looked at Christopher as I put the phone in my pocket.

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# Organized Crime Surveillance Truck, Washington Ave. and 9th Street

Agent Wilson took off the headphones and looked at his partner. "Of all the things we could possible get him on, it's this."

Robert, his partner shook his head. "Won't stick."

"Why?"

"What did you hear?"

"I heard a loan sharking transaction."

"No, you didn't. You heard two guys talking about giving a donation to an ice hockey league." He shook his head. "That's it."

"I disagree."

"Just log the conversation."

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# Chapter Seventy-four

"You'd rather be in bed with a Made man than tell me about these guys?" I said.

He nodded his head.

"Wow, I really need to know more about these motherfuckers," I said as I walked away. "By the way, Emilia says hi."

"Really?"

"No. She hates you," I said and walked out.

I called Emilia again. She picked up right away. "Can you pull stills from the video?" I said.

"I can and I got the story cleared. The three kicking him are Nero Murray, Trevor Heller and Hank Bumgardener."

"How do you know? Wait. Did you say, Nero Murray?"

"Yeah, he's the leader of this crew. Why?"

"I just met him. He's working with my sister on a case."

"We've been investigating him for years. The new D.A. has got it out for him. My contacts within the office say they went to SIU and uncovered a file cabinet marked Tainted Goods, and in it there were hundreds of files on corrupt officers within the Philly P.D. Murray is part of a cabal of major crimes detectives that go by the name Squad 5, but we could never proceed with the story because no one could ever find anyone that's willing to roll on them. As far as Philly P.D. knows, the guy is in good standing."

"Squad 5?" That rang a bell. My phone vibrated. I looked. Bubs was on the other line. "Hold on," I said to Emilia. "Hey," I said to Bubs.

"She'll be at K and A. I told her to look for you."

"Thanks."

"Get my brother out of jail."

I clicked back over. "Well, here's an anonymous tip. A source close to the crew is willing to talk."

"Try to get whoever it is to talk to me."

"I'll try. Be sure to mention that I'm representing the victim and mention my firm in the article as well."

"Thanks, and I'll see what I can do."

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# Chapter Seventy-five

I glanced at my watch. It was a quarter to three. I still needed to make some calls. I needed to stick a dagger in this crew. Make them feel pain. Going after corrupt cops or politicians is a delicate art. Before any movement, evidence of a crime needed to be on the table. I flipped through my contacts and stopped at Carl Weisman. He's the dagger. If there was ever a civil lawyer who hated Philadelphia politicians and dirty cops, it was Carl.

"It's three in the morning," Carl said. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"I happened to be in need of a super liberal, card-carrying ACLU litigator."

"Why?"

"A client of mine got the shit kicked out of him by Philly PD."

"If he's a client of yours then he probably deserved to get the shit kicked out of him."

"Gee thanks. Didn't you run Bernie Sanders' campaign?"

"Your point?"

"Nothing."

"What do you want?"

"It's on video."

"And?"

"I just confirmed that the cops doing the kicking are part of Squad 5."

There was an extremely long silence on the other end. I knew he was still on the line because I could hear him breathe. Rumor had it that Carl and crew had files on a cabal within the city. Those whispers also added that he had a lot of street level intelligence, but nothing solid. With the clear video, Hassan's statement, and possibly a girlfriend of the ringleader, things might turn for good.

"On video?" he said.

"Rodney King type HD clarity."

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to sue the shit out of the city. So be a good Jewish liberal and file a hundred-million-dollar suit for me."

"Fuck you, and you'll get nothing close to that."

"I know. I just want the world's attention on this serious epidemic of police misconduct."

"You don't give a fuck about what's going on. You just want the world's attention on you." He went silent again. I could hear the gears in his mind turning.

"Do I hear a smile?" I said.

"I can't."

"Can't or won't"

"Can't. I'm with the new district attorney. I'm the first assistant, so I can't."

"No shit?" I said. "He brought you on board?" I chuckled. "That's interesting. You guys really are trying to go for that whole reforming the system thing. I respect that. Good luck."

"However, I can help you with the criminal complaint. I've been waiting for a long time to nab these bastards."

"Patience is a virtue," I said. "Tell me what I'm up against."

He said, "A low life piece of scum. My firm had ten complaints against him and his crew."

"How is he still on the force?"

"Everyone who attempts to file a complaint ends up with bullet induced amnesia."

"This makes no sense. He's currently on a case with my sister."

"I know. I assigned her to the case for this particular reason."

"Your statement was vague. Clarify."

"We know what this bastard has been doing and we're working with the AG's office building a case against him. We couldn't send in anyone. It had to be someone he trusted and respected and that's Nicole."

"Does she know?"

"No."

"You do know that's not a good move?"

He said, "Yeah, well hopefully she won't find out until everything is over."

"I have to hand over discovery to her."

"What do you have?"

"Quid pro quo."

He said, "Sure, Bart."

"I'll call you tomorrow. I need to speak with my investigator. She's dug up something."

"On Murray?"

"Not exactly, but his name is popping up all over this investigation. I'm meeting with a woman who claims to be his side jawn. Pamela something or another."

"We know about her. Try to get her to talk. She might have some gold."

"Those were exactly my thoughts. Well it looks like we're finally working together to do some good."

He grunted and said, "Call me, and good luck."

"Same to you and congratulations on the new gig. I hope things work out."

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# Chapter Seventy-six

Kensington and Allegheny was not just a major El stop. It was where hope, future and anything resembling a life went to die. Bars and hookers were on every corner. Dealers slung everything from crack to synthetic marijuana to pussy every five feet. It looked like a set piece from Batman. The first one with Michael Keaton. Steel and iron train tracks rose from concrete, and no matter what time of the day, it felt cold and damp. It was the perfect place for someone to go when there was no other place to go. So it made sense that the degenerate cop, who led a crew of other degenerate cops, would have a side jawn working the area.

Here's another Nicole story. I had just turned sixteen and my hormones were off the chart. She overheard me tell my friends that I was thinking about picking up a girl at K&A. She cornered me, slapped me around and told me if she ever heard me mention K&A again, she'd kick my ass. To this day, I avoid the area like the plague, but sometimes duty calls.

I double-parked on the corner.

Someone knocked on the window.

I rolled down the passenger's side window.

A thin Milano girl smiled. She looked like she was pretty, ten years ago, before the drugs, booze and pimps got to her. She flashed a smile, and I was shocked to see that she had all her teeth.

"Are you Pamela?" I said.

She nodded her head.

"Get in," I said.

She slid in and looked around. As I drove off, she looked over at me and said, "Bubs said if I do you a righteous, he'd hook me up." She started to unbutton her blouse.

I stopped at the light and shook my head. "Not interested."

"You a cop?"

"No, I just want to ask some questions."

"You don't want no pussy and you ain't a cop? Well, who are you?"

"I'm a lawyer."

She nodded her head and said, "Oh, ok."

"Tell me about your boyfriend, the cop."

She frowned. "Why?"

"One of my clients got beat up by him. I don't like cops beating up on my clients."

"He beats up on everybody."

"Has he ever beat up on you?"

"Of course. He treats me like a piece of shit."

"So why be with him?"

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "Sometimes he's nice."

I shook my head as I pulled up to the stoplight on Broad and Allegheny. "Did you eat?" I said.

She shook her head, "Not since last evening."

I reached for my phone and called Emilia.

"What now?"

"I got somebody that wants to talk."

"About?"

"Bad cops," I said. "Meet me at the Oregon Diner in a half an hour." I disconnected and glanced over at Pamela. "I think I can help, but you need to make some steps." I took a deep breath and looked her over. "Are you willing to accept help?"

She nodded her head.

"You can never come back to this area."

She nodded her head.

"Ever."

She nodded her head.

"Alright, tell me everything about your boyfriend and his squad."

"He'll kill me."

"I've got connections all over. The D.A., U.S. Attorney, and people in the private sector that help women in your situation. I can set you up with a new life."

"You'll do that?"

I nodded my head. "Done it before, but you have to help me."

She nodded her head.

I clicked the record button on my phone. "Tell me about your boyfriend."

She nodded her head and took a deep breath. "Ex," she said. She then said, "Ok."

Forty-five minutes later, Emilia and I were stunned at the level of detail she gave us concerning this crew. I had enough to help with Hassan's issues and Emilia had enough for a first run story that would scare the shit out of the crew and get Internal Affairs to start a file.

"I need you to follow up on murder," Pamela said.

"I can try," I said. "Who is it?"

"Someone who used to work with me. She died the other day. I called Nero, and he came by and picked her up to take her to doctor, but when I went to check at the hospital, they said she hadn't been there."

I looked at Emilia and took a deep breath. "What's your friend's name?"

"Cheryl. I even talked to a DA downtown, but she didn't seem interested. I want to know what happened to her."

"Do you know what doctor she went to?" I asked.

"Nero always took the girls around here to the Medical Center, on Lancaster Ave."

I looked at Emilia and then back at Pamela. "Where at on Lancaster Avenue?"

"I don't know. It's the place where we all go for checkups and abortions."

I raised my eyebrows and took a deep breath. "I'll do my best," I said. "Now tell us more about this crew and what they do."

She shook her head while sipping on a milkshake. "What haven't they done? Murder, they steal from drug dealers and sell back to them as well as the working girls."

"What kind of drugs?" I said.

"Heroin, mainly. But whatever they can get their hands on. But mainly heroin."

"Why?" Emilia said.

"For some reason, they had the best shit. No one knew where they got it from, but the girls who took it got knocked out. A lot died."

I took a deep breath and thought back to what Faith told me. "They overdosed on heroin?" I said.

"Yeah."

"How many?"

"At least thirty. Maybe more."

"These were target sells?" I said. "To women who were already addicts?"

She nodded her head. "And some, like my friend, had other things done to them."

"Like?" I said.

"Their hearts and kidneys removed."

Emilia and I glanced at each other. I leaned over the table and touched Pamela's hands. "Can you tell us anything else about the heart and kidneys being removed?"

"I can only tell you what I heard on the street. Some guy, young guy, would ask around for girls who wanted to make some extra money. The ones that went with him always ended up dead."

"How recently did this happen?" I said.

"A few days ago. That was Cheryl. We all thought she had her life together. She was studying to be a social worker at Temple. I liked her. They say she overdosed and was found in an abandoned house on Lippincott Street. But the thing is she ain't do drugs."

I lowered my head and took a deep breath.

Emilia looked at me and said, "What's up?"

"I just met this guy tonight." I looked at Emilia and said, "He's working Philip's case with my sister."

"No shit?" Emilia said.

"Are you sure about Nero?" I asked Pamela. "I mean...well you know what I mean."

"I know who I fuck. I know what I saw, heard and dealt with when I was with him. He had me sell drugs. He pimped me out on the streets and he even had me shoot up a couple of girls."

"Why?" I said.

"When they died, he said I was just as guilty and could never tell anyone."

I shook my head in disbelief. For more than two decades I'd been surrounded and worked with the vilest criminals and never felt the way I did now. I concluded the reason was this. Hardened criminals don't pretend to be something other than a hardened criminal. The men Pamela told us about were cops. They were sworn protectors of the innocents, justice and peace who acted worse than the criminals I knew. Listening to the story made me feel physically sick.

Emilia, on the other hand, was enthralled. She finally had enough concrete information to tie events together and run a story on this crew.

After dinner, I dropped Pamela off at a women's shelter in Chester P.A., and went back to the office where I spent the rest of the early morning writing up the immunity deal for Hassan. He'd probably get a few years, plus a long stint of probation, for violating his parole, but nothing like he would've gotten if not for immunity. Now, I just had to convince Nicole he had nothing to do with the murder of the girl in the trunk. To do that, I needed to find out everything this Reina person told Faith.

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# Chapter Seventy-seven

It was about six in the morning when I finished. It was a good night. I got a lot done for my clients, but things were far from over. I closed my eyes and went to sleep on the couch in my office. Not long after, I felt a shove. I opened my eyes.

Rocky stood over me and tossed the Bulletin at me. I opened it up. A picture of Hassan getting the shit kicked out of him was on the cover with the headline, Corrupt Narcotics Officers Run Amok in North Philly. Rocky smiled and took a deep breath. "Looks like you had a long night," he said.

"What makes you think this was me?"

"It quotes a source close to the victim, and our firm is prominently mentioned."

I leaned up and stretched. "Yeah, well something good came out of it."

"What?"

"He got immunity. I had to write up an immunity deal for Hassan."

"What for?"

"He's flipping on his brother and his operation," I said.

"Is that a good thing?" Rocky said.

I shrugged my shoulders and walked towards my desk. "It is for him." I opened the top right drawer of my desk and pulled out a toiletry set. "I guess."

"Well," Rocky said. "I want to officially bring in your new team member." He turned and said, "Grace, can you come in please?"

I raised my eyebrows and grinned.

"You two already know each other."

"Of course," I said.

"She wanted some court experience, so we figured she'd be a good fit."

I nodded my head.

Rocky walked out and tapped Grace on the shoulders and said to me, "Show her everything you've got, Bart."

I looked at her said, "So, you want to see everything I got?"

She shook her head as she rolled her eyes. "You know that's considered sexual harassment," she said. "Along with the juvenile pool."

I raised my hands in the air and said, "First off, I've never been part of that and two...Don't tell me you're one of them?"

"One of who?"

"One of those people who can't take an off-color joke." I stretched and shook my head. "Listen babes, if you're going to be around me, you're going to see shit, hear shit and experience shit that will make you skin crawl. It's like that outside the boardroom." I gestured up. "That's why those motherfuckers never come down here or go out to the real world." I pointed to myself and said, "That's why they got me." I walked towards my bathroom. "Give me a few minutes."

She took a deep breath. "Take your time." She held up the paper on the desk. "Your client?"

After I brushed my teeth, I grabbed my suit jacket and gestured for her to follow. "Yup. And if you were with me getting all that you probably would've had a fit." I gestured for her to follow me. "This is the criminal law they don't teach you in school." I looked her up and down and said, "Now that I know who you really are, you do look like one of those prissy little liberals from upstate New York. Let me guess, Vassar/Harvard?"

"West Point, actually. Then I did four tours in Iraq, then Afghanistan."

I raised my eyebrows and grinned. "Wow."

"I was a sniper."

"Get out of here."

She nodded her head. "I came home and got my J.D. from Brooklyn Law."

"Shit. I stand corrected. Where'd you grow up?"

"The Bronx."

"Bullshit."

She nodded her head. "163rd and Prospect."

"Shit. The South Bronx. Well I'll be. So, you got a chip on your shoulder and want to prove yourself."

She rocked her head slightly back and forth like Nicole when she gets pissed at me.

I grinned and said, "You can say it."

"Say what?"

"Go fuck myself, Bart."

"I wouldn't say that."

"Why?"

"I respect you too much."

I raised my eyebrows and smiled. "It's been a long time since someone said that to me."

"It's true. I remember seeing you on T.V. up in New York. That case when you defended Rose Tilly."

I nodded my head. "Yeah, her drug dealing boyfriend beat her up, until she couldn't take it anymore. She killed him with a kitchen knife. I got her off. One of my finest." I nodded my head. "I wonder how she's doing."

"She's good."

"How do you know?"

"She's my aunt."

"No shit." I paused and took a deep breath. "Well fuck me. Looks are deceiving. Guess you aren't a prissy little Ivy Leaguer after all."

"I've heard stories about you." She held the newspaper in the air. "I've read stories. I know stories about you."

I walked onto the elevator. "Yeah, it's hard work keeping up a persona, but you know, somebody's got to do it."

She laughed. "What you did for my family and the stories are the reason why I wanted to work with you." She lowered her head and said, "You're the reason I have the job here."

"How so?"

"You gave me a letter of recommendation."

"I did?" I laughed. "And yet they still hired you?" I laughed louder and said, "I guess I do have some juice around here." I looked at her as the elevator opened to the parking garage. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key to my Bentley.

She slipped in the passenger side.

She smiled back and clicked the seat belt.

"So," I said. "You ever been to RCF?"

"Don't even know what that is."

"Prison for women. It's a holding facility for defendants while they await trial. Well, women there, men are at CF. Not a very nice place." I drove out of the parking garage and headed towards Penn's Landing. "But first I need some breakfast."

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# Chapter Seventy-eight

A few minutes later, I pulled up to pier 18 and parked on Columbus Boulevard. "Come on." I got out, put some money into the meter, and said, "It's going to be a long day." I walked towards the gate entrance of the marina, swiped the key fob across the security box, and held the gate open.

"Which one is yours?"

I nodded to the Sunseeker Predator 80 docked just ahead.

She laughed.

I smiled like I always did at people's reactions to the yacht.

"You live on a boat?"

"It's a motor yacht. And yes." I paused and shrugged my shoulders. "I got a place in Center City, but women like this better," I said as I opened the sliding door. I walked in and nodded to Faith who reclined in a chair. She turned up the television and nodded.

"One of yours?" she said.

I looked. Ava had the story up on the news. "Yup," I said. I pointed to Grace. "Faith, this is Grace. Grace, this is Faith. Grace is my protege. I get to corrupt a virgin mind." I looked at Grace as she smiled back and then said to Faith, "Don't let her looks fool you. She's from the Boogie Down." I then pointed to Faith. "Faith is my investigator. Best in the game. Get to know each other. We're going to be working closely."

Faith nodded and held out her hand. "Pleasure."

"The same."

"I need a shower and a change of clothes. Then I'll cook us some breakfast and talk about what's going on."

"You cook?" Grace said.

"Of course, I cook," I said as I walked down the steps. "I'm a damn good cook," I mumbled as I headed towards the stateroom. A few seconds later, I walked back and looked at Faith. "Um, there's a woman in my bed."

Faith nodded her head and said, "Oh yeah that's Jayda."

"Who is Jayda?" I said.

"She was at the clinic last night. She's a living witness of the butchery that went on in that office."

I waved my hands and said, "Please continue."

"She was at the clinic either for an abortion or she was going to get her organs harvested. I'm not really sure."

"What? Wait. Go back. This organ harvesting thing keeps popping up. Why do you think she was there to get her organs harvested?"

Faith ran her hands through her hair and shook her head. "It's the most horrific thing I've ever seen." She pointed to her iPad and said, "Take a look. It's something out of a horror movie."

I looked at her iPad and looked at the picture of a woman with her chest spread open. I looked at Grace and frowned as I scrolled through another deeply disturbing picture of a fetus.

"I can't get anything out of Jayda right now because she's high on some kind of drug. I told her family that I'd look after her so that she could testify. We have two witnesses now that may prove that your client's husband may have been killed by others."

"Two? Who's the other?" I said.

"Reina Anderson."

I took a deep breath and said, "Oh, yeah her. She's dead."

Faith titled her head to the left and said, "I just spoke to her. How did she die?"

"Somebody set up my other client, but I'm almost certain that she died at the hands of a corrupt police detective."

"Reina told me that some dirty cops were involved." She raised her hands and said, "He might be one of them."

I shook my head and said, "I would not doubt it."

Grace raised her hand and said, "Ok. Ok. Organ harvesting? Dirty cops? Murder? What the fuck? I'm used to dealing with tax audits."

"Welcome to my world," I said before glancing back at Faith. "Can you make a connection to Philip?"

"I think I can," Faith said.

"Who is involved?" I said.

"Everyone, and I mean everyone. The mastermind behind this is Doctor Hope."

I leaned forward and said, "Doctor Hope? As in the chair of the National Cancer Society Doctor Hope?"

Faith nodded her head. "That is the one. And he's the Philadelphia Health Commissioner, and he also runs the drug rehab clinic on 50th and Parkside where I believe he gets unwitting victims."

"Victims of?" I said.

"Here's what I've pieced together. He's got a crew of cops he pays off who sell toxic heroin to addicts in North Philly. When those people, and they're mostly women, overdose this cabal of cops bring them to him where he and a few others harvest organs needed to sell to the highest bidder."

"You can tie all of this together? We can prove it?"

Faith nodded her head.

"So, I've got two clients connected by a bat shit crazy conspiracy."

Faith glared at me and took a deep breath as she sat back in her seat. "Conspiracy?" She took a sip of freshly squeezed orange juice. "Conspiracies are just unfounded truth. We have the truth, so by definition this can't be called a conspiracy."

I nodded my head. "Alright," I said. "So, what we've got is adulterous affairs, drugs, political corruption, organ harvesting and of course murder." I shook my head. "I've been around a while, and yet I have never seen anything like this. What tipped Philip off?"

"The mayor was his patient. He developed a sexually transmitted disease. Philip investigated. Reina provided information about Hope providing a kidney for the mayor and..."

"Grace, I need you to stay with Jayda."

Grace nodded and said, "Good thing I used to be a nurse."

"I also need you to find everything that you can on Philip. There's WiFi here. I'm talking about his family, his career, money, check social media, everything." I looked at Faith and said. "You and I are going to the prison to talk to Sarah. I've got a feeling that she's not telling me everything." I stood and headed to the bathroom. "Give me half an hour."

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# Chapter Seventy-nine

Nicole picked up her phone and leaned back in her chair. "Nicole Mancini."

"It's Conrad."

"What's up?"

"Your girl made several trips to Mexico."

"Thanks," Nicole said.

"She was an intern for Jenson and Kellerman."

"The pharmaceutical company?"

"Our boy says that she was a drug mule for them."

Nicole leaned forward and frowned. "He said that?"

"He did. He also admits to being her handler. He was downloading a formula for a synthetic Fentanyl."

"Cheryl had Fentanyl packets in her stomach."

"That was probably the stuff."

"Who was she delivering to? I mean, there had to be a skilled surgeon to remove the packets from her body."

"He said there was. Some guy out in West Philly who runs a clinic."

"Who?"

"A Dr. Hope."

Nicole looked on her desk at the scraps of paper she took from Philip's charred house. Hope, 38 Lan. "Did he give an address of the clinic?

"38th and Lancaster."

Nicole titled her head back and closed her eyes. "Thanks," she said.

"What do you want me to do with this guy?"

"Release him. I'll get a detective to follow him."

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# Chapter Eighty

I stood behind Faith as she walked towards the interview table at the RCF. Not long after, Sarah walked out with a guard and shuffled over. Her hands and feet were shackled, and the orange prison issued jumpsuit hung off her petit frame. It had only been a couple of days since the murder yet Sarah seemed collected. I didn't expect her that way.

I turned and gestured towards Faith. "This is Faith."

Sarah looked Faith up and down and said, "You don't look his type."

Faith shook her head and said, "Excuse me?"

"I said you don't look his type. My husband. He went for the dumb bimbo type. You actually look intelligent."

Faith said, "Gee thanks."

I glanced at Sarah and said, "She's my investigator, Sarah. She's working with me on your case."

"Oh, so you weren't sleeping with him...good for you."

I shook my head. "Why would I bring one of your husband's mistresses to the jail to meet you?"

She shrugged her shoulders and gestured towards me. "Please get me out of this place."

Faith shook her head and frowned. "Your husband wasn't having an affair."

Sarah squinted at her and said, "How do you know?"

"The woman you saw him with outside the clinic was helping him build a case."

Sarah frowned. "He was building a case against Max? How did you find out?"

"I talked to a girl who worked at the clinic. Reina Anderson," Faith said.

Sarah looked at me and said, "So she'll testify that Philip was killed by Max?" She raised her hands in the air and said, "I'm out. This is brilliant."

"Reina is dead," I said. "She was found hog tied in the trunk of a BMW." I looked at Sarah and said, "Philip's BMW."

Sarah lowered her head. "That's not good."

"No, but since you were in here, it can't be you. And since we know that this woman was helping Philip build a case, we know that others were involved. Those other people may have had Philip killed."

Sarah looked at me.

I nodded. "We still have a lot of work ahead of us."

Sarah ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath. "This is humiliating. Can't you just tell your sister this?"

"It's a process. I still must prove all of this. Is there anything else I should know?"

"I'd rather if people not hear or know my personal problems."

I leaned forward, reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a black notepad. "What other personal problems were you having with Philip?"

She paused and closed her eyes briefly. "When he got something in his head, there was no stopping him." She paused and crossed her arms. "He wanted to be independent of his family, so he started up some business with Max."

"Doctor Hope?" Faith said.

"What kind of business?" I said.

"He wanted to buy a part of the clinic on Lancaster Avenue." She nodded. "It all sounded legit. I mean how bad could it be? Hope was the Chair of the National Cancer Research Society. You can't get any more respected than that." She looked at me and said, "Talk to Maximillian Hope. I'm sure he's got some answers."

"How do you know?" I said.

Sarah continued. "The e-mails on my home computer. Check them. Philip was meticulous in keeping records."

"Is there anyone else we can talk to that knew your husband?" Faith asked.

Sarah shrugged her shoulders and said, "Check the nurse's station. Renee, Mal and some other guy who did leg work for Hope. I never knew what he did. He was a bit of a creep and then some."

I looked at Faith and then at Sarah.

Faith said, "Mal is part of this. She's neck deep."

Sarah's eyes wandered. She frowned and then shook her head. "I had a feeling."

"Why?" I said.

"It was after Philip's meeting with Hope that Mal started acting really strange. Almost clingy. That's why I thought they were having an affair."

"What was this meeting with Hope about?" I asked.

"Philip came home one day freaking out about how one of his patients received a kidney." She shook her head and said, "He wasn't making any sense and I couldn't get him to calm down." And when he did, he still didn't make any sense. He went on about there was an organ harvesting ring, abortions, diseases and he tracked it back to Max's clinic. He called Max up that night and just started screaming how he was putting all of their lives and livelihoods in jeopardy."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"It didn't make sense. I didn't make the connection."

"What then?" I said

"He rushed out of the house and when he came back a few hours later, he was calm." She shrugged her shoulders and said, "I didn't bring it up again."

"When was this?"

She leaned back in her seat. "About six months ago. Maybe a year."

"Who was the patient?" I asked.

She looked at me and said, "The mayor. Mayor Washington."

The connections between Hassan's case and Philip's murder were starting to stack up and there was one common denominator. "The clinic," I mumbled.

Faith looked at me and frowned. "What?" she said.

"The connection. The connection is the clinic." I shook my head. "Philip went to the AG and said he had information about a doctor who ran a clinic on 38th and Lancaster."

"What are you thinking?"

"Sarah and I have history, but still I don't trust the bitch."

Faith looked over and grinned. "That's the old Bart we all know and love."

I dropped Faith off at her car. "I'm going to head to the Cancer Society and then check out Sarah and Philip's apartment."

"What do you want me to do?"

I paused for a second and then reached into my bag and pulled out a little black book that Sarah gave me on the day she hired me. "This was Phillip's. Go through it and see if you can find something to help us. Try to get someone who works at the health department to talk. If this was this bad, they must have a file on him. Let's meet for dinner tonight and go over the details."

"Where?"

"Del Frisco's."

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# Chapter Eighty-one

I called ahead of time and made an appointment with the chair of the cancer society on Locust Street. Dr. Hope was more than happy to help. "I'm not sure if there is anything that I can offer, but I can try."

"Tell me about Philip," I said.

Without hesitating he spewed out a string of stock superlatives. "He was a superb physician. He had the upmost respect within our community. He was truly the best."

"What about his wife? Did he mention any problems?"

He sat in his chair, rocked back and forth for a moment, and then took a deep breath. "I'm not one to gossip..."

"But," I said.

"I had a feeling things weren't as happy as they once were."

"When did you pick up on that?"

"At the annual Christmas party. There was a lot of tension between the two."

I thought back and nodded. That would be around the time he had stumbled onto the harvesting ring. "Did he ever confide in you?"

Hope looked at me and said, "I don't like revealing things said to me in confidence."

"He's dead, Doc, and his wife is accused of murdering him. I don't think that she did it, but in order to prove that, I need all the help I can get."

"Of course," he said. He took a long-controlled breath and then leaned forward. "He told me that he suspected his wife was having an affair."

Well, that through me for a loop. "Really?" I said. "And how did he discover that?"

"He hired an officer, a detective we use as an investigator. I gave him the name of someone we use from time to time."

"Name?"

He jotted the name and information down on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk. "Nero Murray."

I took a deep breath as I picked up the paper and looked at the number. "Wow," I said. Nero Murray keeps popping up. It wasn't a coincidence. This guy was bad news and my sister was dead in the center of whatever he was into. I looked at the notepad on the desk and noticed the letter heading. Sarah tossed a similar type of note on my desk the day she hired me. I folded the note and slipped it into my jacket pocket. "Did you know Sarah well?"

He shook his head and said, "No. She was never really our kind."

"I'm not sure what that means."

"She wasn't cut from the same cloth. She was rough around the edges."

I nodded and said, "Yeah, I can see that. So, she's never been here except for the occasional functions?"

"Yes."

I stood and grinned. "Thank you, Doctor." As I made my way out of his office, he stopped me.

"I'll have my man, Nero, call you."

I frowned and shook my head. "Sure, that would help me out."

"He's top notch."

I thanked him and saw myself out.

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# Chapter Eighty-two

Doctor Hope reached for the phone on his desk and placed a call. "I need a meeting." He nodded his head and said, "Soon."

Hope set a lunch appointment with Murray at the Original Bookbinders in the Society Hill section of the city.

Murray chomped on the bread, slurped on his French Onion soup and after wiping his mouth, he looked up at Hope and said, "So?"

Hope slid an envelope across the table. "We may have an issue with a lawyer."

"You got a name?"

"Bartholomew Mancini."

Murray leaded back in his seat and frowned.

"So, you've heard of him?"

"Why were you talking to him?"

"He paid me a visit today.

Murray nodded at Dr. Hope and said, "What was he meeting about? What's he got on you?"

"I don't know. That's why I need you. You seem a little antsy," Hope said.

"What did you tell him?"

"Nothing much. I just said that Philip hired you to dig up some things on his wife."

"You told him that Philip hired me?"

Hope nodded his head. "I did."

Murray closed his eyes.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Murray threw his napkin onto the table and said, "There's a reason why you hired me to do your dirty work." He stood and looked at Hope before continuing. "Let me do the job. I know how to slow him down."

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# Chapter Eighty-three

Nicole sat on her couch and looked out onto Rittenhouse Square. She grabbed a newspaper and scanned the article about Squad Five. She then picked up the phone and called Carl Weisman.

"Weisman."

"Did you read today's Bulletin?"

"I did."

"You knew about this. You knew about him? There's a mention of a prominent civil rights attorney now working for the district attorney's office." She paused and said, "That's you."

"My name wasn't mentioned."

"Cut the shit, Carl."

"Alright, fine. Murray was one of our targets from the day we won the primary. We couldn't let you in on it because we needed you to keep objectivity. Now that you know he's a lowlife scum, give me your thoughts."

"Anthony told us at the meeting that Nelson Murray had someone high up in the P.D. on his payroll, but he didn't know who it was."

"And you think it's Murray?"

Nicole took a deep breath. "A few hours later, Anthony was dead. I mean, Anthony wasn't the smartest in the bunch, but he knew how to survive. To do something like that took nerve, planning and inside information."

"Murray had all three."

Nicole breathed in and said, "Yeah. We need proof. Not just suspicion."

"Well, your brother is on the case."

"What do you mean?"

"Let things play out."

Just then Nicole's landline rang. "Hold on," she said as she picked up the phone. "Hello."

"Hello, Ms. Mancini. This is Henry from the main desk. You've got a visitor."

"Who is it?"

"A Nero Murray."

"You can send him up. Thank you."

"Speak of the devil," she said. "He's coming up."

"What does he want?"

"I don't know. I'll call you back later." Nicole walked into her bedroom and put on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Before she opened the door, she put on a pot of hot water.

A few minutes later she heard a knock on the door and walked over to open it. She smiled and let Murray in. As he stepped in, he scanned the spacious living area, stopped and examined a small painting on the wall. He looked at Nicole and frowned. "All the years we've worked together, you've never invited me up here." He looked around and said, "You've got some really expensive tastes. Nice. I arrested a guy who lived here once." He glanced over at Nicole and smiled. "You're a lot prettier than he was. I hope that I didn't interrupt anything. I mean if you have any guests or a boyfriend staying over, I can come back."

She smiled and laughed. "You're very subtle."

"Yeah, I try to be, but seriously I just wanted to check up on you and see if you wanted to go with me to the hospital."

Nicole frowned. "Why?"

"I've got an appointment with a few of the nurses. I thought you might want to know why the wife killed her husband."

"You know?"

"No, but I want to know."

The teapot whistled. She walked over and shut it off and said, "Give me a couple of minutes. I have to freshen up. Make yourself at home."

As Nicole disappeared, Murray walked around and explored the living area. He stared at her many citations and awards and pictures with politicians. His eyes traveled to the window where a small sculpture was displayed. The sofa, the chairs and all the accents of Nicole's place showed she had taste and money.

Nicole walked back into the room buttoning a shirt.

Murray took a long stare as she tucked it into her pants. His eyes staid locked on her as she sat on a bench and slid on boots. She reached up and pulled her hair into a ponytail, stood and then opened a walk-in closet and whipped out a black leather jacket.

She put it on and said, "Let's go."

Murray followed and when he got to the elevator he asked, "How's your brother?"

"Fuck if I know."

Murray raised his brow and grinned. "I take it you two aren't that close."

"We are, but when it comes down to business," she said as she shrugged her shoulders. "Business is business. Why do you ask?" Nicole asked.

"I like knowing who I'm dealing with."

Nicole shook her head and rested it on the window and said, "I'd rather not talk about him right now. It drains me to talk about my relationship with him."

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# Chapter Eighty-four

Grace and I waited in line for a cheesesteak at Gino's. The air was filled with smells of fried onions and meat.

"I never took you to visit this place," Grace said.

"I grew up on this." I looked at the wrapping and took a deep breath. I raised my eyebrow and nodded my head, "That wasn't bad. It still tastes like I remembered." I then looked at Grace and said, "So what did you find?"

"Clean guy. Dr. Philip Ross had no negative social media presence." She took a sip of her soda and said, "I..."

"Bart? Is that you? Bart Mancini."

I rolled my eyes and lowered my head. When I looked up I made eye contact with a squirrely looking man. Linton was an accountant I used to use to hide money. I was shocked to see him here in Philly. The last time I saw him was about thirteen years ago in New York. I stood and held out my hand.

Linton opened his arms and gave me a hug.

"Jesus," I mumbled.

Across the street from Geno's in a white van, three members of the Philadelphia

Organized Crime Division took pictures of the squirrely man and Bart.

One of the men looked through the lens of a camera and asked, "Who is this guy?"

Another man looked out the window shook his head and said, "You don't read the news? That's Bart Mancini. Lawyer to the criminal underworld."

The other man in the back of the van sifted through a binder of mug shots of known gangsters in the Philadelphia region. "We've got a hit. He's a person of interest in an ongoing case."

"So what brings you to Philly? How's John? You know I did some really creative accounting for you guys."

I shook my head back and forth. "I wanted a new life."

"You got out?"

I glanced over at Grace and took a deep breath. "You can say that. Johnny was murdered and I was...forced out. I was forced to leave." I sat for as long as I could with the squirrely looking accountant before he stood, and held out his hand. We shook and I walked towards the corner and jumped into the car. I asked Grace some more questions about her findings, or lack of, and just then I glanced at the red flashing lights behind me and frowned. A few seconds after I pulled over, a big burly man, that looked at least six foot five, walked to the driver's side door and knocked on the window.

Grace said, "I think he wants to talk to you."

I rolled down the window and said, "Yes?"

The man looked at me and said, "Get out."

I stared at him and frowned as I opened the door, got out and walked around to the curb.

The big man nodded his head and held out his massive right hand. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course, I do."

"And I know who you are."

"Okay, so what is it that you want?"

"Why were you talking to Barney?"

"Who is Barney?"

"The guy back at Geno's."

"Why does it concern you who I have a cheesesteak with?"

"It's a lot, especially when that man is part of an ongoing criminal investigation. Now that makes me think that you," he pointed his index finger at me and continued, "are someone who is just as shady. I've made it my goal to disrupt the mafia's business in my city. The only reason that you are not arrested is we have nothing on you. I've started a file on you and if you're anything like the assholes here, you will fuck up, and when you do, I'll be there."

"It's rather presumptuous of you to think that."

"No, it's not."

"I make no plans to fuck up, officer," I said.

"It's Chief, and I've got my eye on you." He walked away and got back into the car.

Grace looked at me and grinned. "You've got some interesting friends.

I grunted and pulled off. "What were we talking about before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"Nothing came up negative. There were no lawsuits, nothing. But then Jayda woke up and we started talking. Philip was her General Practitioner. She's got three kids and was pregnant with another. Neither she nor her mother could afford another mouth to feed, so she decided to get an abortion. She went to Philip, but he wouldn't do it because she was almost nineteen weeks pregnant. So, Philip told her to see Hope who agreed to do the abortion. In turn, he butchered the girl's insides." She shook her head and said, "She's lucky to be alive. They found parts of a fetus in her."

I looked over and frowned. "What?"

"You heard me."

"What else did she tell you?"

"It didn't take much for her to open up." Grace shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. She said, "You were right. This is not the stuff they teach you in criminal litigation and if I hadn't heard this straight from the horse's mouth, I wouldn't've believed that this kind of stuff happened."

"Tell me what she said."

"First of, she wasn't just a patient. She was also an employee," Grace said as she shrugged her shoulders. "I heard you and Faith talk about the other aspect of the case, such as drugs and organ harvesting. While those things are bad, what this guy is doing to vulnerable women in this community is just horrific."

"Explain," I said.

"Jayda started working at the clinic back in 2010. She was just a senior in high school, but Hope knew her family and gave her a job. She worked there as an untrained and unlicensed anesthesiologist. There were unsupervised abortions going on there as well. She mentioned two workers. One was a nurse, the other was unlicensed and unqualified. She was sloppy and didn't care about the patients as well."

"Who was the nurse?"

"Mal Miller."

I nodded my head. "Why doesn't that surprise me?" I took a deep breath and said, "What else did she say?"

"She said the facility was dirty and unsanitary instruments were used all the time. They lacked functioning monitoring and resuscitation equipment. They used street drugs for pain killers."

I looked over at her and frowned. "What kind of street drugs?"

"Heroin. He used fucking heroin as a pain killer."

"Why did Jayda use the clinic?"

"She went to Philip because she trusted him. Philip said she was too far into the pregnancy to get an abortion and Hope's clinic was the only clinic that offered what she needed."

"Is she still on the boat?"

Grace shook her head. "She left. Her mother picked her up, but she said she'll do whatever you want her to do.  This really makes me sick."

I looked at her and took a deep breath. "You don't have to do what I'm about to ask, but..."

She immediately answered, "I'll do it."

"Do what?"

"You want me to make an appointment and see what I can get out of there."

"Are you sure that you want to do this?"

"This guy needs to be stopped."

"Did she say if there was anyone else who would talk about working there?"

Grace nodded her head. "There is one other person. A woman who may be willing to talk."

"What's her name?"

"Natasha Dillard. I have her address."

"I'll send Faith to talk to her."

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# Chapter Eighty-five

Murray parked his car a few blocks from the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania.

"What do you know about this guy so far?" Nicole asked.

He shook his head and said, "Not much. He was a surgeon, a well-respected surgeon at that. As far as I can see, he had no enemies."

"Why are we here?"

"I just thought we might get some more info from the workers." Murray pointed to the entrance of the hospital and continued. "A few of the girls who knew Philip and Sara work the night shift here."

"Any additional suspects?"

"You know how these things are. Everyone is a suspect until they are proven otherwise. But in this case, the suspect is in jail."

"Yeah, I know that."

When they walked into the hospital, a security guard stopped them. Murray flashed his badge and walked towards the elevator. They stepped on and as the elevator moved, Murray stood behind Nicole and looked her up and down. "I want to put the nail in the coffin."

Nicole tilted her head to the left all the while looking at the numbers on the elevator "Girlfriend?" she said.

"I don't have time for a relationship."

Nicole turned and grinned. She looked at him and nodded her head. "Yeah, neither do I."

The elevator opened and the two of them walked off. Murray pointed toward the nursing station. "She knew Sarah."

"How do you know?"

"We met earlier."

An attractive blond rushed towards Murray and Nicole and as she apologized for her tardiness she held her right hand out. "Mr. Murray, I am so sorry. I know I told you eight, but the meeting slipped my mind."

Nicole stood behind Murray and tried not to frown at the woman.

"This is Nicole Mancini. She is the lead prosecutor on this case."

Renee turned and opened the door to her office. She walked in and sat behind the wooden desk. "You can shut the door."

Nicole shut the door.

Murray sat in a steel chair and leaned forward. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a black notepad. "Do you know of any personal problems Philip was having?"

"He was a brilliant surgeon and physician, but he had flaws."

Nicole sat next to Murray and crossed her legs. "Can you be more specific?"

"He was a bit of philanderer."

"That seems to be a motive for murder," Nicole said.

Renee chuckled. "I'll say."

"Is there anyone else we can talk to here that knew the doctor personally?" Murray asked.

Renee shrugged her shoulders and said, "Take your pick." She walked out and pointed to the nurse's station and said, "But what I've just told you and what they will tell you is the same thing we told the other investigator."

Nicole looked at Murray and then at Renee. "What other investigator?"

Renee said, "I didn't catch her name, but..."

Murray frowned. "She? What did she look like?"

"Redhead, very pretty and she had a British or Irish accent. I really couldn't tell. Her whole appearance was very Pussy Galoreish."

Nicole shook her head and said, "I'm not sure what that means."

Renee laughed and said, "She reminded me of a character from James Bond."

Nicole tilted her head to the left and stepped forward. "Did she have any other physical attributes?"

"Yes, these piercing green eyes."

Nicole looked at Murray.

"Someone from your office?" he said.

"I doubt it," Nicole said.

Murray flipped through his notepad and said, "Is Mal Miller around?" Murray said.

"She's off today."

Murray nodded his head and said, "Thank you. We'll stop by whenever she's back to work."

Nicole and Murray walked out and headed towards the elevator.

Murray looked at Nicole and said, "We'll find her."

Nicole nodded. "I'm sure." She looked at her cell phone and texted Faith.

--Nicole: Clothes Pin, twenty minutes

--Faith: Is that an order?

--Nicole: Just be there

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# Chapter Eighty-six

Seeing Faith for the first time in some years brought back some emotions. Nicole frowned as she got closer. "Do you know that impeding an investigation is a crime?"

"Really, Nikki?"

"When I heard a red headed woman with an Irish accent was asking questions about this murder, I immediately thought of you."

"Out of all the red headed Irish women in the world? I'm honored."

"What are you up to?"

"The murder is-" She held up her right hand and placed it on her chin and continued. "I hate to sound cliched, but the tip of the iceberg."

"Tell me more."

"I happened upon some documents that tie doctor Ross' death with a group of scoundrels that have left a nasty little trail leading to..." She pointed to City Hall in the background.

"The mayor?" Nicole asked.

"Him too, however, things are going on, which I can say, I've never seen."

"How do you know this?"

"Like I said, I happened upon it."

Nicole took a deep breath as she ran her hand through her hair. She said, "Faith, I cannot legally use information attained illegally."

"I understand, but I work for your brother, who would probably want me to tell you to get a warrant for this clinic on Lancaster Avenue."

Nicole's eyes wandered around for a brief second. "Wait," Nicole said as she leaned forward. She looked Faith in the eyes and continued. "Where at on Lancaster Avenue?"

"38th," Faith said, "All joking aside, there are some really fucked up things going on in that place and as a citizen and resident of the City of Philadelphia, I'm extremely concerned."

"I don't have the time for this, Faith."

Faith frowned and took a step back. "My god, you didn't used to be so abrasive. I remember you as an open-minded woman. What happened?"

Nicole rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Just tell me whatever you have to say, please."

Faith shrugged her shoulders and said, "First off, let me say that your brother has empowered me to make changes in life and in careers. You need not be concerned about that."

Nicole shook her head. "You two, I swear."

"Yeah, we work well together." She raised her eyebrows. "Anyway, I've been tailing a nurse from the University of Penn Hospital. Every day she makes two deliveries. One is to a drug rehab clinic in West Philly called Center for Hope. Its run by a doctor named Maximillian Hope. The clinic appears to be the face of the doctor's above-board business. However, there's several layers to his operation and like Dante's Inferno, the deeper you go the more bizarre and disturbing things become. He runs another clinic on 38th and Lancaster Avenue and when I say that I've never seen a place like that, I mean it. On the outside it looks like a simple women's medical place. A typical OB/GYN, however, I spoke to a girl who worked there, and she told me some horrific things that go down there."

Nicole looked at Faith and said, "Who's the girl?"

"Reina Anderson. Sadly, she's dead. She was murdered, no doubt by the operators of the clinic."

"Yeah, I know about her, "Nicole said. "What else was the nurse delivering?"

Faith took a deep breath and took a hard swallow and said, "She was taking money from the 38th Street place and dropping it off at the rehab clinic."

"Why is that of importance?"

"If it were a couple dollars it wouldn't be important whatsoever. But she's dropping of hundreds of thousands of dollars bi-weekly."

Nicole frowned and shrugged her shoulders. "I still don't see how this gets Bart's client off the hook."

"They're laundering money, Nikki. That is layer two."

"Laundering money for who?"

"A pharmaceutical company that supplies the doctor's operation with Fentanyl," Faith said.

"Fentanyl?"

Faith nodded.

"What drug company?"

"Jenson and Kellerman."

"No shit?" Nicole said.

"Does that ring a bell?"

Nicole shook her head. "Another case. A girl was killed a few days ago. She worked for Jenson and Kellerman and may have been a drug mule."

"Interesting. The 38th Street clinic is also an abortion factory. They clear about twenty to thirty grand a day and that's seven days a week."

Nicole shook her head and said, "How is that even possible? And how could you possibly know this?"

Faith said, "Reina told me where to look. Just like she told Philip where to look." She nodded her head and looked over Nicole's shoulder. It was almost like she dazed out for a second before she said, "Sarah didn't kill her husband. Someone did it at the bequest of Doctor Hope, and I'm betting that someone was this shady cop by the name of Nero Murray."

Nicole narrowed her eyes at Faith and whispered, "How does he fit into this?"

"His name is everywhere. He pops up at the most inconvenient places. Have you seen the security footage from the hospital the day of the murder?"

Nicole shook her head. "Just the part when Sarah runs out."

"Did you know that Murray is in the room forty minutes before the murder? He knew Philip Ross." She paused and continued. "You need to get a search warrant for that place on 38th Street before someone else dies. And I'm not talking about someone like Philip Ross. I'm talking about the lowly citizens they prey on. The man and those who work for him are greedy butchers of women and infants." She walked over to a hot dog cart, bought a can Coke, took a sip of her drink, and walked back towards Nicole. "I've seen a lot, Nicole, but nothing like what these guys are doing."

Nicole sat on the edge of a stone flower pot and crossed her arms.

Faith glanced at her as she sat beside her. "There's also drugs."

Nicole frowned as she lit a cigarette. "What kind?"

Faith nodded her head. "Opioids, but mainly Fentanyl. I've seen the sales records. This guy was meticulous, yet careless."

"What do you mean by that?"

Faith raised her hands in the air and said, "Everything was left unlocked, unguarded and there's literally a paper trail that will incriminate everyone involved." She shook her head. "I've never seen anything like it." She raised her right hand and put three fingers. "The third thing that I've come across, and this will also cast a shadow of doubt, is this. There's some kind of harvesting going on in Philly."

Nicole frowned and took a long drag of the cigarette. "Harvesting?" Nicole asked. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Organ harvesting, Nikki. Livers, kidneys and sometimes hearts, and the mayor's got one of them." She pulled out her cell phone and showed her the picture of the woman sprawled on the operating table.

Nicole looked at the picture and furrowed her brow. "What the fuck? That looks like it's from a horror movie. Where did you get that?"

"It was taken from the clinic on 38th Street. They just left her there like a piece of trash." She shook her head and continued. "I know that this all sounds and looks unreal, but I can tell you that it's not."

Nicole thought back to the woman. She then cut Faith off and said, "No, I believe you." She looked at Faith and said, "I need proof, Faith. And a lot of it, if my brother wants his client free. And I just can't issue a warrant for this place."

"If I had your access, I would look into the deaths of heroin addicts from the last ten years and look at the complaints against this clinic on 38th Street."

"What do you mean complaints against the clinic?"

"Start asking questions about Doctor Hope." She raised her hands and said, "If I were you."

Nicole turned and walked away.

Faith's cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out, looked at the screen and pressed accept. "Yeah," she said.

"I've got another name for you."

"Who?"

"Natasha Dillard."

"Who is she?"

"She works at the clinic and may want to talk. Make her talk. I'm sending over her address."

"I'm on it."

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# Chapter Eighty-seven

Nicole walked back to her office and called the chief of the homicide detectives. Her request was simple. She wanted the official count of heroin related deaths. It wasn't long before the file was on her desk. The official count was 2900, but there was one thing that stood out among the all the names. It was a small detail and one that no one would have picked up on unless they were looking. Thirty deaths that were officially ruled as overdoses where written up by Detective Nero Murray. Nicole sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She leaned over and looked at the names again while highlighting them with a marker. She didn't want to believe what she had uncovered, but all the pieces were coming together to form a picture of corruption and murder. She then looked at the pile of paper on her desk and flipped each piece over until she came to the name of Pamela, the woman who asked for help with her friend who died. She picked up her office phone and called the number Pamela gave her. Someone picked up after three rings.

"Hello," a woman said on the other end.

"Hello, my name is Nicole Mancini. May I speak to Pamela?"

"This is Pamela."

"Hi Pamela. I'm calling about your friend, the one who died a few days ago."

"What about her?"

"You told me that you suspected something wasn't right. Could you elaborate a bit?"

"I..." she paused before continuing. "I can't speak right now. I have to go."

"Wait, just answer this one question for me."

"Go ahead."

"Did your friend know a Nero Murray?"

She took another long pause, breathed in and out and then said, "Yes." She then disconnected from the call.

Nicole stood, ran her hands through her hair and grabbed her jacket. She zipped it up as she reached into her pocket for her phone. She dialed Murray.

"What's up?"

"Are you busy?"

"Not now, why?"

"Meet me at the morgue. I need to talk to you."

"What for?"

"I need to talk to you about a murder."

"A recent one?"

"Within the last few days. It happened in Kensington. You knew the girl."

Murray said, "Kensington? Who died? What's her name?"

"Cheryl. Her friend came to me the other day. The friend's name is Pamela."

"That is strange. Pamela? And you believed her?"

"I don't. Something we missed may connect Cheryl's death to the Philip Ross murder."

"How did you make that connection?"

"My brother's investigator just told me," Nicole said.

Murray took a deep breath. "I'll meet you over at the morgue in an hour," Murray said.

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# Chapter Eighty-eight

Murray disconnected the call and looked at Hope and said, "She's made a connection."

"What kind of connection?" Hope said.

"She's headed to the morgue to look at Cheryl's body. Her brother's investigator gave her a tip." He stood and looked at Hope. "One of your people has been talking."

Hope said, "Maybe. But don't worry about the D.A.  I'll call my man to put a stop to her."

"And her brother and his investigator?"

"You handle them."

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# Chapter Eighty-nine

Natasha lived north of the city. The Huntington Park section. It's peaceful and lined with residential blocks of two- and three-story homes that have been willed for generations. She lived on the 3900 block of North Marshall, a street with old trees that provided shade on a hot summer's day and cool breezes at night. Faith parked under one of those trees, looked around and checked her cell phone for the correct address. She slowly walked up to the house, opened the iron waist high gate at the steps and headed to the front door. The front door was open, but there was a metal screen door blocking the entrance. She rang the doorbell once and waited. A few seconds later, a little girl in pigtails ran up to the screen door and said, "Who are you?"

"Hello, is you mother home?"

The young girl turned and yelled, "Mom, somebody's at the door for you." Not long after, a woman who was not more than thirty years old, walked from the back of the house and frowned.

"Yes?" she said.

Faith reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card and showed it to Natasha. "My name is Faith. I'm an investigator. I'd like to ask you some questions about your place of employment."

The brown skinned woman turned three shades lighter. She closed her eyes as she leaned on the doorjamb. Her knees buckled. She covered her chest with her right hand and said, "I've been dreading something like this for years."

"Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

Natasha nodded her head and unlocked the screen door. "Come in and have a seat."

Faith walked in and glanced around the small front living room. There was a couch, a love seat and end table. Flush up against the wall was a large screen television. Natasha told the kids to go out in the back to play and when the three girls ran out back, she sat across from Faith and bit her bottom lip. She raised both hands into the air and said, "Who told you about me?"

"Your co-worker, Jayda."

Natasha shook her head and closed her eyes. "Jesus," she said. "That little bitch." She looked at Faith and said, "What are you? The district attorney? Feds?"

"I work for a defense attorney who has been retained by a woman accused of killing Doctor Philip Ross."

Natasha frowned and said, "I don't get it."

"My investigation led me to the clinic where you work. There, I met Jayda after a botched abortion. Once she sobered up from the drugs, she told me what went on. My employer believes that someone at the clinic had his client's husband killed because he was about to tell what went on there." She pointed to her chest and said, "I've seen the shit, but I'm not interested in the business. I'm here to find out who killed Doctor Ross and why so that his wife can go free."

Natasha shook her head. "I don't know a Philip Ross."

"He stumbled onto the business practices of the clinic after several of his patients contracted a sexually transmitted disease after going to the clinic." Faith leaned back and crossed her legs. Before she could finish the conversation, the screen door opened, and a man walked in. He wore green scrubs and a pair of black sneakers. His back was turned towards Faith as he closed and locked the screen, and when he turned around, she recognized him. He was one of the two men at the clinic the night she was there. He was one of the men who dragged the two women out of the waiting room. He was with Hope in the room when Jayda had the botched abortion.

He leaned over and kissed Natasha on the cheek and said, "Hey, babe." He then looked at Faith and nodded his head. "Who is this?"

Faith stood and held out her hand, "Faith." She then looked at Natasha and said, "If there is anything that you can remember about the automobile accident, please let me know. You have my card." She smiled and walked out of the house and headed to her car. She got in and drove off.

Natasha's boyfriend stood on the porch and watched Faith drive off. He turned and looked at Natasha and said, "What accident?"

"A couple of months ago, I witnessed a car accident. She just wanted to know if I could remember anything."

He pointed his finger at Natasha and said, "Don't fuck up what I've got." He wrapped his hand around her neck and said, "Understood?"

Natasha nodded her head.

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# Chapter Ninety

Patience was one quality that Faith had. She could wait for hours until someone made a false move or until she got a picture that she wanted or needed. She sat a block away from the house on Marshall Street and waited until Natasha and her boyfriend left. They got into a black van and drove to a couple of stores around the area. Faith followed them from their home, to a super market, to a drug store, to a spot where they got fried fish. After three hours of tailing the two, she finally got what she wanted. The black van slowly drove down Kensington and stopped a few blocks from Allegany. There under the train tracks they stopped and called over a prostitute working the corners. Faith raised her camera and took several shots of the woman. She looked at the pictures on the back of the camera and frowned. Faith recognized the woman. She saw her at The Center for Hope on Parkside Avenue in West Philly. She was the woman in the lobby. She slowly looked up and shook her head as the woman got into the back of the van. "Dear god," Faith said as she picked up her cell phone. "Bart, I'm following that worker."

"What worker?"

"The one you told me to interview."

"Alright."

"Her boyfriend was one of the guys who I saw that night at the clinic. He was one of the men who dragged those drugged up girls out."

"Ok, so what now?"

"I followed them from their house to Kensington. They've just picked up a girl that I saw at that rehab clinic in West Philly."

"What?"

"Bart, we need to do something, now. This girl is going to OD on heroin and chances are they're going to do something horrific. You have to call someone to put a stop to this. This girl is going to die, tonight."

"Stay with them. I'll call you back."

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# Chapter Ninety-one

I scrolled through my contacts and called Nicole, but then stopped. She probably wasn't the right person to call on this, so I called McNeil. He picked up right away. "Bart?"

"Hey, I've got a situation that may be of interest to you."

"Go ahead."

"My investigator is following a woman who works at Hope's clinic. She says that this woman and her boyfriend just picked up a prostitute from Kensington. They have her in a van."

"I'm not interested in misdemeanors, Bart."

"And neither am I. However, my investigator says she saw this woman at Hope's drug rehab clinic. All signs point to this woman overdosing on heroin and Hope and his crew removing her kidneys or other organs." There was a long silence on the phone. "Dammit man, this is what Philip was talking about before he was killed. And now you have the opportunity to nab two workers in the act. I can say for sure this woman is in danger and will die if we don't stop what will happen."

"Where are they?"

"Hold on, let me get my investigator." I put him on hold, called Faith and put the two of them on the same call. "Faith, are you there?"

"I am."

"Trevor?"

"I'm here."

"Faith, where are they?"

"They just turned onto Girard Avenue and heading west."

"I got it," McNeil said.

"Call Waters."

"Why?" McNeil said.

I said, "He's the only one I trust right now."

McNeil placed the call on hold.  A few minutes later, he clicked back over. "He'll cut them off on Broad Street."

"Anything else, Faith?"

"They're still moving. This is bad. From what I've been told, they've been spiking the heroin with a synthetic Fentanyl that will kill her in minutes."

"Who supplies it?" McNeil said.

"Jen..." she paused for a second and then continued. "I see flashing lights. An unmarked car and three cruisers just blocked the van on Broad and Girard."

Faith pulled behind one of the cruisers and got out.

The officers in the cruisers drew their guns and surrounded the van. "Hands on the steering wheel and dash."

Detective Waters walked over to the driver's door and opened it. "Get out," he said.

Faith looked at her watch and mumbled, "Get the girl."

One of the other officers opened the passenger's side door while another opened the sliding door.

The officer that opened the sliding door, jumped back and yelled. "We got a body." He leaned in as Faith walked behind and peeked over his shoulder. "She's gone," the officer yelled.

Faith took a deep breath and pulled out her phone as she looked at Natasha as she got handcuffed.

Detective Waters walked over to Faith and said, "You work with Bart?"

She nodded her head. "There should be a supply of heroin in the van. Test it for Fentanyl. I'm betting the girl died from a heroin overdose."

Waters looked at one of the officers and said, "Check the van for drugs."

An officer stepped into the van and within a minute he held up a plastic bag with a needle and a powdery substance in it. "Got it."

"Test it for Fentanyl." Waters looked at Faith and said, "Nice catch."

Faith looked at Waters and said, "The girl is dead. I was too late."

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# Chapter Ninety-two

Nicole took the bus to the morgue. When she arrived at the entrance, she flashed her I.D. to the guard who called an assistant medical examiner to meet her. The waiting room was a large carpeted room with three long sofas and three oversized chairs. On the wall, there was a fish tank with five exotic type fish swimming around. She sat and crossed her legs as she picked up a Philadelphia magazine. A few minutes later, a short stocky white man wearing a white lab coat walked through a swinging door and smiled as he held out his right hand. "ADA Nicole Mancini. Kirk Vago. We met a few days ago."

Nicole stood and shook his hand.

"How can I help you?"

"I'd like some information on bodies that arrived within the last month."

Kirk waved for her to follow him. He walked her through a short corridor and turned left into a bright white room. Nicole followed him down metal spiral stairs into another room that housed file cabinets and computer terminals. He stopped at one terminal and logged into the system. After typing the name into the query field, he looked at Nicole and said, "What did you need to know?"

Nicole took a deep breath and said, "This is going to sound bizarre, but I need to know if she had any vital organs removed prior to being brought in?"

"Why would that sound strange?" he said. "Bodies with no internal organs come in here all the time."

Nicole frowned and asked, "Why?"

"If they're a donor, the family is informed, and a doctor is dispatched to the hospital. The organs are removed, and they come here." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "There is a short window of time for the operation to occur." He looked at the computer screen and nodded. "Five bodies have come in within the last week."

"Females?"

"Um, three."

"What were the ages?"

He looked at the screen and nodded. "15, 20 and 49."

"Who was the twenty-year-old?" Nicole asked.

Kirk scrolled to the bottom of the page and said, "Cheryl Mapp."

"We know that she was hit over the head, but what was the official cause of death?"

"Um," he said as he looked over the information on the screen. "Heroin overdose."

"And she was an organ donor?"

He looked at the screen and frowned. "That's odd."

"What?" Nicole said.

"She was not. Well at least it's not in her medical records, but it must have been above board because the operation was done at Doctor Hope's clinic."

Nicole turned her head a bit and narrowed her eyes at Kirk. "Doctor Hope's Clinic. Which one?"

"Um, on 38th. Not too far from here." He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Doctor Maximillian Hope runs that women's medical clinic. He chairs of the National Cancer Society, the City Health Commissioner, respected, very connected and extremely influential. If he performed the surgery, then I am not the one to question him."

"Can I take a look at the body again?"

Kirk nodded his head. "Follow me." He guided her through a maze of cold and damp halls and when he got to a metal door, he reached for the knob and pulled.

Nicole looked at the door knob and then the temperature gauge. It read 32 degrees. She frowned and said, "Is this safe?"

He nodded. "No one will lock us in here. People move in and out of these rooms all the time and no one gets locked in here."

"That's good to know. Thank you," she said as she walked in to the freezer. She reached for her phone and dialed Murray. "Hey, where are you?"

"I'm pulling up to the morgue now," Murray said.

Kirk pointed to the body cooler marked number five. "Right there."

Nicole walked over as Kirk unlocked the metal container. He opened the door and slowly pulled out the gurney. He then peeled back the white sheet.

Nicole frowned as she looked at the woman on the slab. This was the woman who Faith had taken a picture of and showed to her. In the picture, the woman was sprawled out on a table with her ribs cracked open. Now she was on a gurney, stitched up.  "My god," Nicole said. "Can..." Suddenly a white cloth covered her mouth. Her eyes got heavy as her body went limp. She lowered her head and closed her eyes as someone lifted her onto a gurney. She opened her eyes slightly and saw two hazy figures standing over her.

"She's gone. Give her an injection and slide her into the body cooler. We'll take care of her later." Then everything went black.

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# Chapter Ninety-three

A waiter gently placed a menu before me.

Faith poured a glass full of red wine and said, "I'm going to need a couple bottles of this." She then reached over to the empty chair to her right.

"Have you talked to Nicole?"

"Why would I?"

"To see what she's got."

"We know more than her, so why would I waste time? She's resting on the fact that my client is guilty."

Faith leaned across the table and said, "She's got more resources."

"Like?"

"Police reports and grand jury documents." She sipped on her wine and then said, "Reina told me that she and Philip testified in front of the grand jury."

I frowned and leaned forward. "What are you thinking?" I said.

"There's something in their testimony that may connect everything."

I shook my head and said, "She'll never give that to me."

"It wouldn't hurt if you just ask."

I waved my right hand at her again and said, "She can't. It's the law."

"When has the law stopped you from doing what's best for your client?"

I sipped on my glass of wine and said, "Do you have any suggestions?"

"I planted some seeds with Nicole earlier today."

"And?"

"She'll come around."

The waiter stood above them and politely asked, "Are you ready to place an order?"

I looked up briefly and said, "Porterhouse medium."

The waiter looked at Faith, and she replied, "Lamb chops." She looked over at me and continued.

"What made you follow that girl?"

"When I realized who her boyfriend was."

"Who was her boyfriend?"

"He was one of the guys I saw at the clinic that night. He's one of Hope's flunkies."

"Man, these guys are just all over the place."

"Perhaps the most calloused people I've ever seen." She shrugged her shoulders. "Using the organs of heroin addicts and placing them into healthy recipients. This is something out of a Michael Crichton novel." She handed me her phone and showed me the picture of a woman on a table.

I shook my head. "That doesn't even look real."

"It is."

"This is what Emilia said Philip thought was going on. She believed he was killed before he talked. Now there's no doubt it was because murder it would have to be in order to keep everything under wraps." I leaned forward, looked Faith in the eyes and said, "The million-dollar question is...Can I prove it?"

Faith nodded her head and smiled. "You have all the proof. It's a little jumbled, but you have everything here." After sipping her wine and said, "When I was at the drug rehab clinic, I happened upon a bag filled with cash and files on the next victim."

I looked at her and frowned. "It's frightening that plot, plan and manipulate these people. This isn't random?"

She shook her head. "Far from it. The request was made a few days ago by some rich guy in Jersey. He needs a heart transplant to survive."

I looked at her and said, "And they have one? A heart?"

She nodded her head.

"How much money was in the bag?"

"Five hundred thousand."

"He's going to miss that."

"I'd say the absence of that money will disrupt his operation. But not for long." She paused and continued. "You need to call Nicole and share what you have." She leaned back and crossed her arms. "She can get things in motion. This guy will continue to kill until someone stops him." She pointed at me. "You also need that grand jury report."

I shook my head and said, "Until it's unsealed, there's nothing I can do."

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# Chapter Ninety-four

Nicole felt groggy. She moaned as she slowly opened her eyes. There was darkness all around her. She reached up and ran her hands across a cold metal surface. "No," she said. She then yelled, "Help." She felt to her left and right. She was in a box. A coffin? "Help," she yelled. She breathed heavily and then said, "Calm down." She reached into her pocket and slowly pulled out her cell phone. She was only able to hold it up a few inches above her waist. She then unlocked it with her fingerprint and yelled, "Call Bart."

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# Chapter Ninety-five

Just as the waiter placed the meal on the table, my phone vibrated. I looked at the caller I.D. and then glanced over at Faith. "It's Nicole," I said. "Hey, I need..."

"I'm buried."

"What?"

"I think. No, it's cold where I am. I must still be at the morgue."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'll tell you later. Get me out of here. I must be in a body cooler. The fucker gave me something to knock me out."

"What? I don't understand."

"Just come to the morgue, and don't hang up."

I stood and pulled out the money for the meal.

Faith looked up at me and frowned. "What's going on?"

"It's Nicole. She's at the morgue. Somebody gave her a drug to knock her out and she thinks she's in a body cooler."

Faith stood and said, "That's horrifying."

"Is everything ok?" the waiter asked.

I shook my head and pointed to the table. "The money for the meal is there. And no, everything is not ok."

"Are you still there?" I asked Nicole.

"I am."

"Nicole, we're on our way. Keep talking to me. What happened?" I put the phone on speaker call and drove the few blocks to the morgue.

"I went to the morgue to look at a body. A woman came to me the other day. Her name was Pamela."

"Pamela?" I yelled. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I talked to her. She told me that a friend was found dead and without her kidneys." Nicole breathed heavy and shivered. "Hurry up."

"I'm five minutes away. Hang tight." I paused and said, "Murray, Nero Murray was Pamela's boyfriend. He and his crew beat my boy up and I'm sure he set him up as well."

"Murray?" Nicole said.

Faith leaned forward and said, "Who else did you tell that you were going to the morgue?"

Nicole said, "Murray." She took a deep breath. "Can't be. I've known him for years."

"We're here," I said as I parked the car. Faith and I jumped out and rushed into the main entrance of the morgue. "Someone is alive in a body cooler," I said to a guard. "How do I get there?"

The guard jumped up and waved for me and Faith to follow him. The place smelled of death, flesh and blood. The stench almost made me sick to my stomach. We followed the guard to a large door. He opened it and we rushed into a large empty room. I looked to my left, there were hundreds of small body coolers that lined the wall. I raised the phone and said, "Holler."

Nicole yelled, "Help. Help."

I pointed to the center locker and ran over. I opened it up and found Nicole laying on her back. She looked horrible, but then again, I'd look horrible too if I were drugged and placed into a body cooler for god knows how long. As I pulled the gurney out, Nicole slowly rose and placed her hands over her face. "I'm so stupid. I should've seen the signs."

I rubbed her back and said, "It's not your fault. Who did this?"

She looked at me through blood shot eyes and shook her head. "Murray."

I nodded my head. I glanced over at Faith.

"I called him," Nicole said. "He said he was here. I think it was the worker who took me down here."

I looked at the security guard. "Who is she talking about?"

He took a deep breath and said, "It must be Kirk. He just clocked out."

"Last name," I said.

"Kirk Vago," he said.

Faith glanced at the copies of the files she got from the clinic on her phone. "Yeah, he's one of them. I've got his information." She walked away and came back over while pushing a wheelchair.

Nicole turned and tried to jump off the gurney, but she fell on to the floor.

Faith and I picked her up and helped her into the wheelchair.

I looked at the guard and said, "Thank you."

He nodded as he guided us to the elevator.

I looked down at Nicole as we got onto the elevator. "How are you?"

She lowered her head and took a deep breath.

"Do you know what they gave you?" Faith said.

Nicole said, "It felt like a knock out drug. I don't know."

As I rolled Nicole to the car, I looked at Faith and said, "I put any amount of money on Fentanyl or heroin. Either way, we need to get you to a hospital."

"They tried to overdose her," Faith said.

"No, no," Nicole said. "I need to wrap this up. If Murray is part of this, I want that bastard in jail."

"His name has popped up all over the place. He's got dirt on him for sure," I said. "Think. How did all this start?"

Nicole shook her head and took a breath. "Back when I pushed Anthony to go on the drop."

"Murray was there with you?"

She nodded.

"What did Anthony say?"

"He said there was a guy that Nelson had on the force."

"Nelson?" I said.

Nicole looked at me. "You know him?"

"We have a common acquaintance."

"Murray said that he knew him," Nicole lowered her head and closed her eyes. "I'm such an idiot," Nicole said before she passed out.

Within an hour, Nicole had a room at the hospital. The doctors ran a few tests to determine what drug or drugs were in her system. They confirmed that she was first hit with a massive dose of chloroform and then injected with a highly toxic dose of heroin. She was lucky to be alive.

"The old you would've put a hit on this Kirk guy."

I looked at Faith and nodded.

The doctor walked over to us and held up his hands. "It's going to take a while for the heroin to get flushed from her system. She needs rest."

I nodded and then glanced at Faith. We both walked into the room and stood over Nicole. I then looked at a table that had Nicole's I.D. and cell phone. "You're right."

"About what?"

"I need to get that grand jury transcript," I said.

Faith nodded to Nicole and said, "She's going to be out of it for a long time."

I grabbed Nicole's District Attorney's I.D. badge and gestured for Faith to follow me.

"You're joking?" Faith said as she pulled me to the side of the hallway. "You want to use your sister's I.D. badge to break into the fucking District Attorney's office and illegally obtain information about a grand jury case?"

"Yeah," I said. "I mean, I can't. People in that office know me. You on the other hand."

Faith grinned and said, "I haven't had a case this exciting in a while." She held out her hand. "Wouldn't the office have tight security?"

"Just act like you know where you're going. Besides, it's eight at night on a Friday. Very few people will be there. Here's what you do."

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# Chapter Ninety-six

"The front door will be locked, but just use the I.D. badge to swipe in. Once you're in the lobby, bare to your left. Swipe in again. A security guard will be there, but if you have the swipe card, he won't say anything to you. You'll then see two sets of escalators ahead of you. They'll probably be shut off, so use the stairs to your right. Once you're on the second level, go straight, bare left and then bare right."

Faith frowned. "This all sounds very complicated."

"It is. The office was designed to confuse people who didn't know where they were going. You're now on the mezzanine level. Follow right and around the mezzanine until you get to the office lobby elevators. You'll pass a set, but those aren't the ones you want. You want to go to the set that are ahead. Once you get on the elevators, go to the twelfth floor. Swipe the card again and enter. Go right until you're at the end of the hall and then turn left. Make a sharp right and an immediate left. Nicole's office will be all the way at the other end. It's a corner office."

Faith looked at me and said, "That's it? No retinal scanners, or finger print I.D. machines, or cameras?"

"None."

Faith took a deep breath and said, "Ok. Once I'm in the office, what do I need to find?"

"Call me and I'll walk you through."

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# Chapter Ninety-seven

"How do you want me to write this up? State or city?" Waters said.

"No, we're taking it. The F.B.I. is coming in to handle this."

"Murder by a lethal injection of heroin." He shook his head. "Crazy."

McNeil looked through the two-way glass window and crossed his arms as he looked at Natasha. Her head was lowered in her hands up to her face as tears rolled down her cheek. "Let's wait and see who rolls on who first. He then looked into the other room at Natasha's boyfriend. He slouched back in his chair and looked around while mumbling a rap song. McNeil pointed at Natasha and said, "Deal." He then pointed at the boyfriend and said, "No deal." He walked out of the observation room and into the room where Natasha sat. He sat across the table from her, folded his hands and looked at Natasha as she slowly raised her head. "My name is Trevor McNeil. I'm with the Pennsylvania Attorney General's Office."

She shook her head and looked at McNeil with tears in her eyes. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

McNeil leaned back and crossed his arms. "How long did you work for Doctor Hope?"

"I was there for a little over eight years."

"Tell me about the clinic."

"Hope's practice on 38th and Lancaster Avenue was broken up into two practices. The abortion clinic, which was mainly on the first floor, and the family practice on the second floor." She shook her head and said, "But it was a family practice only in name."

"You're going to have to explain that," McNeil said.

"The family practice had devolved into a pain clinic. We wrote thousands of scripts for oxy and pretty much anything else. If you had the money and wanted those kinds of drugs, we would fill your prescription."

McNeil waved his hand in the air and said, "Give me a description of what a normal day was like at this place."

She closed her eyes. "The office opened at 10 A.M. with family patients coming during the mid-day. From the time we opened, people would come in to buy, barter and beg for pills."

"Who were these people?" McNeil asked.

"Mostly people from his rehab clinic. They knew where to go, and doc knew who they were, and he did nothing to prevent these people from buying the very drugs he was supposed to help them get off."

"Continue."

"Abortions patients arrived throughout the day. Doctor Hope didn't arrive until late in the evening, but most of the time, he didn't bother to show up. He just had one of us do it."

"What do you mean by that?" McNeil said.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "He had his staff perform the abortions."

McNeil frowned and said, "Are any of you medical professionals?"

She shook her head and said, "I just have a GED. The other girls had high school diplomas."

"How did you know what to do?"

"He walked us through everything."

McNeil shook his head and said, "Keep going."

"Abortions were done on Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. But he never saw the patients during the weekday. He would only come in on Sundays. That's the day he performed the late term abortions."

"Tell me about the drugs."

"What about them?"

"Where did his supply come from?"

She looked at McNeil and said, "His son is an exec at Jensen pharmaceutical. Junior made sure his father had an unlimited stream of synthetic opioids."

"Tell me about the surgeries."

She took a deep breath in and out. She then said, "He was there for those. Those were the only medical procedures that he actually had interest in."

"Why?"

"Money. He made the most money from those. Anywhere between one hundred and three hundred thousand dollars a pop."

"And how many did he perform?"

"Ten to twenty a year."

McNeil said, "Jesus. How do you know about the surgeries?"

"I was the bookkeeper for the practice as well."

"What was going to happen to the girl we found in the back of the van?"

"Doc gave word he needed a match. She was the match."

"How did you find her?"

"Doc has a nurse who worked at the drug rehab clinic. She keeps track of blood types and what kind of drugs their addicted to. When the call is made that person's number is up."

"Who is this nurse?"

"Mal Miller."

McNeil pulled out his cell phone and e-mailed his office.

"I need an arrest warrant for Mal Miller."

He then looked up at Natasha and said, "Who did he supply with the drugs?"

"Anyone who came in with some kind of story about being in pain, however, when he wanted to make a quick buck, he'd sell a batch to a dealer in North Philly."

McNeil leaned closer and said, "What's the dealer's name?"

"William Johnson, but he goes by the name of Bubs."

McNeil leaned back in his seat. "There's no way you're not getting out of the murder. However, if you are willing to testify to what you've seen and done under Hope's supervision, I'll downgrade to manslaughter. You'll be out in three years."

Natasha nodded her head.

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# Chapter Ninety-eight

Faith swiped Nicole's I.D. on a black box outside the front door of the district attorney's office. She glanced left and saw another set of doors. She swiped the badge again and pulled the door open. As she walked towards the steps, she looked right at a guard who leaned back in a seat. He didn't even bother to look her way. As she made her way up the steps, two ADA's walked down the steps and nodded to her. She grinned back and made her way to the mezzanine. Right at the top of the stairs were the pictures of the past and present district attorneys. She turned right and walked through a reception area and then towards a large opening. Ahead of her was a large cutout that overlooked the first floor. Three large oval shaped domed lights hung and lit the area. She looked ahead and noticed another well-lit lobby of elevators, but before she got there, she walked past another set of elevators. Just as she made her way to the office elevators, one of the elevators doors opened and a cleaning cart rolled out.

An older white woman nodded and said, "How are you? Have a good night," as she pushed her cart.

Faith pressed the up button and waited. It seemed to take forever, but eventually one of the cars opened. She stepped in and pressed 12. The doors slowly closed, and the car smoothly went up to the 12th floor. She made it through the gauntlet and sat in front of Nicole's computer and moved the mouse around on the desk. Nicole was still signed in and all her notes were in neatly organized folders. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. "I'm in. Everything is still signed in, so what am I looking for?"

"Look for a file or folder marked trials."

Faith looked around the desktop and moved the mouse to the folder marked trial. "Got it."

"Click on it."

She did.

"She's probably got the case a few days ago, so look for the most recent date."

"Ok, I've got it." She clicked on the recent date and several files popped up. She then reached into her pocket for a flash drive. She popped that in to the computer and started copying. "I'm copying the folder now." She frowned. "There's no security to this?"

"Believe it or not, no. No one has ever been dumb enough to break in to the District Attorney's office and steal files."

"I resent that."

"I'm saying we're both that."

The filed finished copying. She then clicked on Nicole's email and scrolled through it. "Hey," she said. "I see an email from the U.S. Attorney General."

"McNeil?"

"Yeah."

"Open it."

She clicked on it. "It's from him. He wants an arrest warrant for Mal Miller."

"Does it say why?"

"My girl flipped and is testifying in the grand jury."

"Look for a folder marked D.A. Office."

"What about it?"

"Click on it."

"Ok, now what?"

"Look for an icon labeled notes of testimony."

"Got it."

"Click on it."

"Ok, I just did."

"Does it ask for a password and I.D.?"

"It does but it's filled in."

"Click into it and in the search bar type in Philip Ross."

She did. "It's searching." A few minutes later, the grand jury testimony popped up on the screen. "Grand jury testimony. We got it."

"How many pages?"

Faith looked at the page count and said, "300."

"Download it to the flash drive."

Faith directed the download to her flash drive and leaned back in the seat. "It's downloading." She stood and walked over to the window and looked out onto Chestnut Street. She then walked over to the door and peeked out. She saw a man walking down the hall. He stopped and looked at his phone. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm heading to her office now."

"Shit," Faith said. "I got to disconnect."

"Why?"

"Someone is coming. I'll call you back. Come on, come on." The download completed. She disconnected the drive from the computer, looked around the office and ducked behind a large couch that was cattycornered by the window.

"Yeah, I'm in her office now."

Faith peeked from behind the couch and saw a man flip through papers that was on Nicole's desk. "I'm looking for her note that she had on that rat bastard Anthony. The last thing I need is for some curious ADA looking around now that she gone." He stopped and nodded his head. "She's gone. We hit her with an injection of the shit. Nobody comes back from that shit. He sat at the desk and flipped through her computer folders. "It has to be here. Shit," he said. "Philip testified before the grand jury. Did you know that?" He shook his head and said, "I didn't either." He paused and stood. "It means that they know a lot more that what they say." He walked around the desk and opened the office door. "I'll meet you at 38th."

Faith slipped from behind the couch and walked back over to the computer. She peeped her head out the door to make sure no one was around and when she felt that she was safe, she scanned through the testimony just to see what Philip said. On page one hundred twenty-five, there was a section where McNeil asked him a series of questions.

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# IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS

FIRST JUDICIAL DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA

CRIMINAL TRIAL DIVISION

IN RE  :  MISC. NO. 0009905-2015

COUNTY INVESTIGATING  : Philadelphia

GRAND JURY XXIII  :  C-25

--------

 REPORT OF THE GRAND JURY

--------

H. MICHAEL JOHNSON

DISTRICT ATTORNEY

IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS

FIRST JUDICIAL DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA

CRIMINAL TRIAL DIVISION

--------

IN RE  : MISC. NO. 0009901-2008

COUNTY INVESTIGATING :

GRAND JURY XXIII  : C-25

--------

FINDINGS AND ORDER

--------

AND NOW, THIS 05 DAY of December, 2018: after having examined the Report and Records of the County Investigating Grand Jury XXIII, this Court finds that the Report is within the authority of the Investigating Grand Jury and is otherwise in accordance with the provisions of the Investigating Grand Jury Act, 42 Pa.C.S. §4541, et seq. In view of these findings, the Court hereby accepts the Report and refers it to the Clerk of Court for filing as a public record.

IN THE COURT OF COMMON PLEAS

FIRST JUDICIAL DISTRICT OF PENNSYLVANIA

CRIMINAL TRIAL DIVISION

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# Commonwealth of Pennsylvania Vs. Maximillian Hope

# Indicting Grand Jury

Pg. 125

--McNeil: Do you fear for your life?"

--Ross: Yes. I fear for my life and my wife's life as well.

--McNeil: Why?

--Ross: There is an officer, a detective who works with Maximillian Hope. He does the

dirty work. He's been around the hospital where I work and has threatened me.

--McNeil: Is there anyone else who works with Hope?

--Ross: Yes. One of the nurses I work with. She handles the people who eventually

die.

--McNeil: What do you mean by that?

--Ross: I stumbled on to the other part of his operation. He harvested organs from the

people who went to him for drug rehabilitation. The courts ordered people to go

to him and in return, he kept them hooked on heroin, and if they matched a person in

need of an organ, he had them killed and harvested the organs. The nurse kept a

record of all those people.

--McNeil: What is her name?

--Ross: Mal Miller

--McNeil: Where did the nurse find the people?

--Ross: From a drug rehab clinic that Max operated.

Faith reached for her phone. "Jackpot," she said as she called Bart. "Philip knew Murray and Mal was neck deep in all of this. Everyone is complicit."

"How do you know?"

"He says so in his grand jury testimony. We have three hundred pages to get through, but I think we have what we need."

"Get out of there and meet me back at the office."

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# Chapter Ninety-nine

McNeil knocked on Nicole's hospital room door before walking in. He smiled as he walked over to the bed. "Hey," he said.

Nicole leaned up and took a deep breath. "Hey," she said.

"I just heard what happened." He shook his head and said, "I just wanted to tell you that we've got a live witness who gave us everything we need to arrest Hope and his crew."

"Who?"

He said, "The woman who did the books." He rolled his eyes and said, "It's all thanks to your brother, believe it or not. We hit the clinics and the Pharmaceutical company tomorrow." He walked back towards the door and said, "I wanted you there, but unless you're out of here by six tomorrow morning." He raised his hands and walked out.

"Thanks for thinking of me."

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# Chapter One Hundred

I got a stomach ache all of sudden. As I walked towards Nicole's room, I noticed a tall dark-skinned man standing by the door. I knew him and knew why he was there. I stopped, closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I nodded to the man.

He nodded back and grinned.

When I walked in the room, I saw my mother sitting next to Nicole.

"Well, well look who decided to show up," my mother said.

"Mother," I said. "I didn't see your hearse outside." I leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

She turned and rolled her eyes. "It takes an attempted murder on your sister for me to see you," she said. "Why do I have a feeling this all your fault."

"Really? Do we have to do this?"

"McNeil just stopped by." Nicole said.  "He said you helped with getting someone to turn on Hope," Nicole said as I walked towards her bed.

"What's in it for you?" Mother said to me.

I ignored her. "Yeah," I said to Nicole. "Is that right?"

"That and they'll be hitting Hope's operation in the morning."

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows and gave Nicole a kiss on the forehead. I said, "Listen, I've got to go. I'll stop by later."

Four hours later, Faith and I finished combing through the Grand Jury testimony. It was a massive cover up that included not only Doctor Hope, but several city and state agencies. The Philadelphia Health Commissioner, before Doctor Hope took over, testified twice before the Grand Jury. He appeared contrite for his agency's lack of knowledge of the wrongdoings within the clinic. He also accepted responsibility for the lack of action and regrets failing to protect the Philly community.

I leaned back in my chair. "This is totally unbelievable," I said. "So, if Philip lived, they would've had this guy. This is enough doubt."

"Can you use this?"

I shook my head. "We cannot."

"Why?"

I looked at her and said, "Do you want to go to jail?"

She shook her head.

"We broke into the District Attorney's Office and stole an indicting grand jury file off government computers." I took a deep breath and shook my head. "We can't use the information." I paused for a second, rattled around some ideas in my head and then the lightbulb in my head went off. "Of course," I said.

"What?"

"If it were to be leaked to a reporter..." I leaned forward, picked up the phone and dialed Emilia.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, I've got something that is of interest to you."

"I'm on my way out the door. Make it quick."

"I can't say over the phone."

"My parents are in town. I'm taking them out to dinner."

"You may want to cancel."

She said, "This had better be groundbreaking."

"It's 7.5 on the Richter scale."

"Where do you want to meet?"

"I'll come to your place. Give me ten minutes."

Not long after the call, I walked in to Emilia's apartment building pulling a file case behind me. I handed over all of Faith's findings and the Grand Jury notes. Emilia opened the door and narrowed her eyes at me. "This better be good."

I walked in and said, "I've got the Grand Jury testimony of Doctor Philip Ross. Philip knew what was going on. He knew Nero Murray. He knew about the organ harvesting and all the other shit that was going on in Hope's clinics."

"No shit?"

I nodded my head. "But I cannot use it."

"Why?"

"Because I unlawfully obtained it."

She held up her hand and said, "I don't even want to know."

I handed her the testimony and said, "You didn't get this from me." I pointed to the file case behind me and said, "I'm also handing you all of the investigator's notes.

"What do you want in return?"

"Run the story. Run a big story."

She smiled and held out her right hand. "Give me the information and I'll sort through everything."

"But here's the catch. I need this story dropped for tomorrow morning's edition."

She looked at her watch and took a deep breath. "Why?"

"The prelim is tomorrow morning and Hope's operation is getting raided in the morning. I want this out before that happens."

She raised her hands and said, "Let me see what I can do."

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# Chapter One Hundred-one

"Motherfucker," McNeil said as he looked at the newspaper. It was five in the morning when the story dropped. He picked up his phone and called Emilia.

"Hello," she said.

"How the fuck did you get this information?"

"A source."

"Who?"

"You know I can't reveal that."

"The information in this story comes from an investigation. An Attorney General's investigation and Grand Jury testimony." He huffed and then yelled, "I swear to god, if you fucked my investigation, I will have you arrested."

"Yeah, sure you will."

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# Chapter One Hundred-two

McNeil stood in front of a group of FBI agents and ADA's from the Philadelphia District Attorney's office. "Alright," he said. "We're doing four simultaneous raids.  He pointed to one group that was made up of ten agents. "Group A, you'll be with me and the District Attorney's office. We're hitting the clinic on 38th and Lancaster Avenue." He pointed to the group in the center of the room. "Group B, you're hitting the drug rehab clinic on Parkside." He looked to the next group and said, "You guys are hitting Hope's home in Society Hills and finally, Group D is hitting Jensen and Kellerman Pharmaceuticals." He clapped his hands and said, "Let's go and no one make a move until I give word."

An hour later, all four groups were in place. Three black vans filled with agents sat across from the 38th Street clinic. It was 7:45 A.M.

Three vans parked on Spruce Street. Hope lived in a remodeled townhome from the early part of the century. A Bulletin newspaper sat on his steps. He wasn't out of the house yet. The agent in charge looked at his partner and said, "All calls to the house are blocked?"

His partner nodded his head. Just then, the front door opened, and Doctor Hope stepped out of the front door, stretched and looked around.

The agent in charge radioed McNeill. "Hope is out of the door and reaching for the paper."

Hope opened the paper and looked at the headlines. He then looked around and turned.

"He's turning around and heading back into the house."

"Go," McNeil said.

The agent in charge radioed, "Go."

The agents jumped out of the vans with guns drawn and ran towards Hope's home.

"Maximillian Hope," the agent said while holding up his badge. "FBI. We have a warrant for your arrest and to search your home."

McNeil and his crew broke down the door to the 38th Street clinic and walked in. The first agent frowned as he panned the office with a camera while other agents searched the other parts of the office.

McNeil shook his head and said, "The fuck?" The premises were beyond dirty. They were dangerously unsanitary for a doctor's office.

"This place is filthy," Doctor More of the Health Department said. He walked into an exam room and picked up a rusty and unclean pair of medical tongs and shook his head. He looked down and ran his foot on a black splotch on the floor. He leaned down and rubbed and then looked up at the agent with him. "This is blood."

"In here," someone yelled.

The group ran and stopped at the door of an exam room. On the table was a young girl, who was semi-conscience.

Doctor More walked over and took her vitals. "She needs an emergency room now." He then looked at the staff member and asked, "What did you give her?"

The staff member sheepishly pointed to a large container in the corner of the room.

More frowned and said, "How much of this did you give her?"

The staff member shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. "I don't know."

An agent walked down the small flight of steps and said, "McNeil, I think you better see this."

McNeil nodded and followed the agent to a room. He looked at the cupboards filled with the severed feet of fetuses and covered his mouth. "Dear god," he said.

The agent shook his head and said, "There's more." He opened the refrigerator and pointed to the orange juice containers.

At Hope's house, the agents found patient files that had been taken from the clinic. In his 13-year-old daughter's room, they found $500,000 in cash and a loaded nine-millimeter gun.

The raids at the drug rehab clinic and pharmaceutical company yielded results of drug trafficking and murder.

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# Chapter One Hundred-three

Room 306 at the criminal justice building was where all the preliminary hearings for murder that occurred in the city of Philadelphia was heard. Today, only three were scheduled. It was Sarah's case, and two other shootings that happened somewhere in the city. I sat towards the left at a desk and sorted through some of my notes. In front of me was a clerk, a stenographer, a District Attorney homicide paralegal and the judge's bench. To my right was where the witnesses sat. Next to me was the desk where the Assistant District Attorney sat. Before I entered the room, Faith handed me a copy of the morning edition of the Bulletin. I sat and opened the paper to the front page. Emilia came through. The headlines read, Dr. Death: Prominent West Philadelphia Doctor Runs A House Of Horrors While City And State Officials Turn A Blind Eye.

I glanced to my right and nodded at the ADA. Nicole was still in the hospital and probably would be for a few more days. The ADA stood and walked over to me and held out her hand.

"Bart," she said.

I stood and nodded. "Pleasure."

"This doesn't have to go to trial."

"Are you willing to drop the charges?"

She laughed and shook her head. "God no. I'll offer 10-25. I understand that your client was aware that the victim was having an affair." She raised her hands and said, "That's motive for murder."

I took one step forward and said, "It's a lot bigger than that."

She stepped away and took a deep breath. "Once the prelim is over, the offer is off the table. I'm going to win this." As she walked back to her desk, she looked over her shoulder and said, "I don't lose."

"I admire your confidence." Just then Faith knocked on the window and gestured for me to come to the door. I walked over and said, "What's up?"

She handed me her phone and said, "Ava and her news crew just broke the story. They're at the clinic."

I turned and then tossed the newspaper onto the ADA's desk. "You might want to check this out."

She frowned and looked at the cover. After a few minutes, she looked over at me and tilted her head to the left.

"All rise," the clerk called. "The Honorable Oliver Jenkins presiding."

I looked behind me. Past the thick bulletproof glass was a packed gallery. Sitting directly behind me was Faith and sitting next to her was Philip's mother. Directly in the back of the room, was Mal and Renee. Right before I sat, I saw Murray walk in. He looked at the officers in the room and nodded.

They glared at him as he walked towards an empty bench.

I took my seat and leaned back as Sarah walked in. She was dressed in an orange jump suit. Her hands and feet were shackled. She sat and looked at me.

I placed my arm around her shoulder and said, "I'm not going to ask how you are."

She rolled her eyes and said, "Thank you."

"We're going to make it through this."

"First case up, Commonwealth of Pennsylvania versus Sarah Ross."

The judge looked at the ADA and said, "Is you first witness ready?"

The ADA looked behind her and said, "Yes, we'd like to call Renee Personne."

Renee walked in, held up her hand and swore to tell the truth.

"Mrs. Personne," the ADA said. "Can you tell the court your recollection of the day that Philip Ross was murdered?"

She nodded and told her story.

The judge then looked at me and said, "Do you have any questions?"

I shook my head and stood. "No, Your Honor."

The judge looked at the ADA and said, "Anything else?"

The ADA stood and said, "The Commonwealth would like to call Mal Miller."

Mal walked in, held up her hand and swore she would tell the truth.

"Please tell the court your recollection of the day that Philip Ross was murdered."

Mal told her story.

The judge looked at me and said, "Do you have anything to ask?"

I stood and said, "Just one thing."

The judge nodded and said, "You may proceed."

"I just have one question to ask you, Ms. Miller."

She nodded her head. "Ok," she said.

"Did you know a Detective Nero Murray before the murder?"

She frowned and looked at the ADA.

The ADA stood and said, "What does this have to do with the case?"

The judge looked at me and said, "Mr. Mancini?"

"It has everything to do with the case." I looked at Murray and said, "Everything."

The judge looked at Mal and said, "Answer the question."

She looked at me and took a long hard swallow and said, "I only met him when he interviewed me."

"No further question," I said.

The ADA looked at me and shook her head.

The judge looked at the ADA and said, "Do you have anyone else you'd like to call?"

The ADA stood and said, "I'd like to call Detective Nero Murray."

Murray walked in, raised his right hand and swore to tell the truth. He then told his story.

The judge looked at me and said, "Any questions?"

I stood and said, "Just one."

"Go ahead, Mr. Mancini," the judge said.

"Detective Murray, did you know Mal Miller before the murder?"

Murray narrowed his eyes at me and said, "No."

I nodded and before I sat down, I said, "Just one more question. I'm sorry." I stood, straightened my jacket and said, "Not even a few minutes before the murder?"

Murray frowned and shook his head. "No," he said.

"That's all," I said.

The judge thanked Murray and looked at the ADA. "Anything else?"

The ADA stood and said, "In light of the eye witness testimony, physical evidence and the fact that Mrs. Ross was on the run, which proves guilt, the Commonwealth would like to proceed with trial."

The judge looked at me and said, "Do you have any evidence that you'd like to submit before I give my ruling?"

I stood and said, "Just one thing." I reached into my bag and pulled out the CD of the minutes leading up to the murder. "I'd like to submit this."

"What is it?" the judge said.

"It's the video of the hallway outside of Doctor Ross' office."

The ADA raised her hands and said, "We have that video."

"You have the video of what happened after the murder." I held up the CD and said, "This is the video before the murder."

The judge nodded his head and said, "I must admit. I'm curious." He gestured for the clerk to bring out a video player.

I looked over my shoulder at Murray and then towards Mal. When the video equipment was set up, the clerk took the CD and placed it into the player.

"Notice the time stamp." The time stamp read 5:44.23 A.M. Philip and Murray walked into his office. At 6:00.21 A.M. Murray walked out, stopped and looked at Mal. They had a conversation for about ten minutes. At 6:15:45 A.M. Mal walked into the office and a few seconds later, she walked out. At 6:50:33 A.M. Sarah walked into the office. At 7:01:23 A.M. Mal walked back into the office. About a minute later, Sarah opened the door, stopped, looked at herself and then ran into the fire exit. Mal followed, looked around and then screamed.

I turned and grinned as Murray ran out of the gallery. "Your Honor," I said. "In light of this video tape it's clear that the Commonwealth's key witnesses, the person who said she saw my client with a knife in her hand standing over the dead body of her husband, and the investigating detective, both lied," I raised my hands and said, "I must ask that the court dismiss this case."

The judge looked at the ADA and said, "This is egregious. I must side with the defense on this and rule there is not enough evidence to go to trial." He tapped his hammer on the bench and said, "That is my ruling."

Sarah looked at me and said, "What does that mean?"

"It means you're going home."

She hugged me and said, "I knew you'd do it."

As the court let out, I reached for my phone and called Bubs.

"Yeah," Bubs said.

"Your man in the police. I need to know his name."

"I can't do that, Bart."

"He fucked you over. Not only that, I'm almost certain that he set up that massacre."

"How you figure that?"

"Anthony was going to point him out to the cops."

"What?"

"Anthony was a rat. He made a deal with the district attorney. That's why he was on the drop. He was going to expose your man. He couldn't risk it, so he had Anthony killed and made it look like it was robbery. It was camouflage. If this guy was introduced to you by Nelson, you've got a problem."

There was silence on the other end.

"Did Nelson introduce you to him?"

"Yeah," Bubs said.

"Was it Nero Murray?"

Bubs said, "Yeah. He did this?"

"He did."

"I'm going to kill him."

"That might not be a good idea."

"You do what you got to do, and I'm going to do what I've got to do."

"Did you get everyone from the crew that knocked you off?"

"Naw, there's one more that's still on the loose."

"What's his name?"

"Paul," he said. "Paul Franklin."

"How did you find out who knocked you over?"

"Fucker." He said, "Murray told me. He said that he knew the guy on the investigation." He disconnected.

I called Waters. He picked up right away.

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks for that tip. That girl and her boyfriend are spilling their guts about a clinic on the West Side, murder, abortions and kidneys." He laughed. "What the fuck? You know how to find these whack jobs. Hope's place was raided,"

"I know. You're looking for one more guy on that massacre you're working."

"Who?"

"Paul Franklin."

Waters chuckled. "There's a guy beat half to death at Pennsylvania Hospital. While the doctors were trying to sedate him, he kept yelling that name."

"I'd suggest you find Paul before others do." Before I ended the call, I said, "Oh, and make sure Murray knows about him."

"Why?"

"Just do it as a favor."

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# Chapter One Hundred-four

Waters and Mack ran Alexander's name through the NCIC database and cross checked to see who he ran the streets with and if they might still be alive. Nothing came up. However, they did get a hit. Alexander was married and there was a chance his wife knew some the hoods that her husband knew.

Waters sat in front of the computer and punched in Alexander's name into the computer. In a few seconds, his name came back. Waters looked at his rap sheet and shook his head.

Mack leaned over and looked at the screen. "Who are you looking at?"

"Alexander Harrisons."

Mack sat at his desk and ran the name through the computer as well. "Not good," he said. There were 390 Alexander Harrisons in the system.

"I got something," he said to Mack. "I got an Alexander Harrison age 39." He shook his head and said, "Never mind. This guy died three years ago." Waters leaned closer and said, "This one might work. Alexander Harrison, age 45. He was convicted of armed robbery at the age of 15. He served time at Graterford Prison for attempted murder and best of all he worked for Bubs."

"That could be our guy," Mack said.

Waters nodded his head as he reached for his cell phone and called Murray. "Hey," he said. "I just wanted to let you know we got the name and address of the fourth shooter in the massacre."

"Go ahead," Murray said.

"Alexander Harrison."

"Good job," Murray said. "I'll put my boys on it. Do the paperwork," he said and disconnected.

Waters looked at the phone in his hand and said, "Fuck this guy." He stood and continued. "Paper work. This is our case," he said as he looked at Mack.

Mack nodded his head and grinned. "What's the address?"

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# Chapter One Hundred-five

Waters and Mack walked through the front door of the Blumberg projects and stopped at the security desk. Waters flashed his badge. "Detective Waters and this is Detective Mack. We need to talk to a Mrs. Gloria Williams."

The guard nodded his head towards the elevators. "12th floor."

Mack walked towards the elevator and pressed the up button. Just then, a young black girl pushing a stroller walked up and said, "That elevator is going to take forever. You might as well walk."

Mack looked over at Waters and took a deep breath. "I need the exercise," Mack said. "And so, do you."

"Fuck you," Waters said as he followed Mack.

When they opened the door to the emergency exit, the strong stench of urine, body odor and other unidentified smells rushed into their nostrils. They took three steps in. The door closed behind them and they looked up at the same time. The stairwell was littered with open, ripped and unopened black bags of trash. The walls were covered in gang markings and graffiti and the handrails were covered in grime.

Mack shook his head and quickly walked up the stairs. He looked over his right shoulder and watched Waters slowly make his way up. "I can't even imagine living here," Waters said.

Mack shook his head and said, "Neither can I." When they reached the twelfth floor, they both stopped and leaned over to catch their breath. Mack straightened and pushed open the door and weaved between a sofa that was in the middle of the hall, a card table and stereo sound system. A few seconds later, Mack knocked on apartment number 1203.

"Yes," she said.

Mack flashed his I.D. and said, "I'm Detective Mack and this is my partner Detective Waters. Do you know a Alexander Harrison?"

"He's my husband. What has he done now?"

"Can we come inside?" Mack said.

She opened the door and smiled. "Come inside. My name is Kim."

Mack walked in first and looked around. Three kids ran around dripping wet.

Kim picked up one of the boys and tapped his leg. "Dry off and go to bed," she said.

The little boy cried and ran into the bathroom.

Kim looked at Mack and Waters and said, "Now, what's this all about?"

"Mrs. Kimble, we need to ask you some questions about your husband."

"Sure," she said. "What kind of questions?"

"Was your husband friends with a Paul?" Mack said.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "He is."

"Where can we find him?"

"He works down in the lobby tonight."

Waters looked at Mack and took a deep breath. "Mrs. Kimble, were you and Alexander separated?"

She shook her head and stacked a few toys that were thrown around the small apartment. There was a fire truck, a transformer and a doll. She looked over at Mack and said, "Separated, no. He just found a place in South West Philly. He said he got a job." She smiled and said, "He found a good paying job and a place for us to live. We're moving next week."

Waters said, "Mrs. Kimble, I don't know how to say this, so I'm going to just say it."

Kim cut him off and said, "How'd he die?"

Waters nodded his head and said, "Fact of the matter is, he was..."

Mack cut him off and said, "Alexander was killed in a car accident. It was a hit and run."

Waters looked at Mack and frowned.

Gloria plopped onto an oversized chair and lowered her head. "Paul," she said. "I don't know his last name, but I do remember that he was in prison with Alexander. I think his last name was..."

Waters looked at Mack. He then looked back at Gloria and said, "Franklin? Was it Alexander Franklin?"

She paused for a moment and then said, "Franklin. That's it. Alexander Franklin."

Waters stood and held out his hand. "Thank you, Mrs. Kimble. You can collect his things at the 22nd precinct any time after noon tomorrow."

When Waters and Mack left the apartment, they heard a muffled scream and wail.

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# Chapter One Hundred-six

Murray ran his hand over Pamela's face and said, "Did you really think that you could hide from me?" He laughed.

Pamela shook her head and said, "I didn't say anything. I didn't tell them anything."

Murray looked at his cell phone and flipped to the news article about his crew. "A source close to the case." He looked at her. "That would be you."

She shook her head and said, "No, no."

"Who did you talk to?"

"It was the lawyer. The lawyer made me do it. I didn't want to talk. It was the lawyer."

He stepped back and said, "The lawyer? Fucking Bart."

She nodded her head. "I've got his card right here." She dug into her pocket and pulled out a business card.

Murray took the card, looked at it and walked towards his car. He opened the door and stopped.

Pamela lowered her head and took a deep breath.

Murray reached for his gun, aimed it at her and shot her in the head. He then dialed Bubs.

"What?" Bubs said.

"Tell them I know who's got the money. Tell them I want the reward."

"Yeah, sure. I'll call you back in a minute."

Bubs looked at Mark, Ford and Hank. "What was the number?"

Ford unfolded the piece of paper that was in Alexander's pocket and handed it over to Bubs.

Bubs looked at it and looked at the number Murray called from. He then glanced up and looked at Mark and said, "It's a match."

Mark chuckled and said, "Dumb motherfucker."

Bubs called Murray back and said, "Be at the Fairmount station in an hour."

"Alright," Murray said.

"Who's got the money?" Bubs said.

"Paul Franklin."

"How do you know for sure?"

"One of my snitches just told me."

"Yeah, ok. An hour."

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# Chapter One Hundred-seven

Paul packed a duffle bag with extra clothes, a hand gun and an Uzi with extra ammunition.

Zora sat on the side of the bed and shook her head. "You're leaving me? I thought we were going to go together?"

"I ain't leaving you. I'm leaving this place. It's not safe. It's not safe for us."

"Where you going to go?"

"I'm going to my hideout and stay there until things cool down. I got a place where nobody can find me." He kissed Zora on the cheek and ran his hands through her hair. "I'll call you. I don't know when, but I'll call you."

Zora gave him a hug and cried as he walked away. "Don't go," she said.

Alexander shook his head and said, "Got to."

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# Chapter One Hundred-eight

"Congratulations," Nicole said as Faith and I entered her hospital room.

"Aw, it was nothing," I said. I then looked at Faith. "She did all the hard work, which is why she gets all the money." My phone chimed. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone. "Yeah," I said. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. "Alright. Thank you."

"What?" Faith said.

"That was Chester Police."

"And?"

"Pamela."

Faith frowned and looked over at Nicole. "Murray's girlfriend?"

I nodded my head.

"What about her?" Faith said.

"She's dead. They found her body in MLK Park. She was shot once in the head. She had my business card on her."

"That fucker," Faith said. "Murray?"

I nodded. "No doubt."

Nicole said, "We can have him arrested."

I shook my head and said, "I think he's got other people to worry about."

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# Chapter One Hundred-nine

Waters and Mack knocked on Paul's apartment door, but no one answered. He took one step back and kicked the doorknob. The door flew open with splinters flying into the air. He walked in and looked around with his gun drawn. Once he realized no one was there, he holstered his gun and looked at Mack.

Mack walked over to the dresser and opened the drawer. "They're all empty. He's on the run."

"I'd be too with three million dollars."

Waters walked over to the refrigerator and took out a small plastic case. He opened it up and looked at Mack. "He's diabetic. He's not going very far without this."

Mack walked over to the night stand and looked at the picture. "This must be him."

Waters looked at it and said, "He's got a girl. We need to find her."

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# Chapter One Hundred-ten

Murray sat in his car on the corner of Fairmount and Broad Street. It was about midnight and it was dead silent, except for the occasional siren that blared by him. He looked at his watch and squirmed in his seat. "Where the fuck are they?" he mumbled. Just as he was about to drive off, two black Town cars blocked him. Hank, Mark, Christopher and Ford stepped out and walked towards him.

Murray opened the door and stumbled out. "Shit," he said he ran up the street while the four chased him on foot. Murray ran into a dilapidated house off Fairmount and rushed through it and hopped out the back door. He jumped over a cinder block and hopped over a gate and headed to the Fairmount train station. When he got to the station, he hopped over the turnstile and ran towards the far end of the platform.

Mark followed and hopped the turnstile. He laughed and lit a cigarette as Murray jumped onto the track. Mark looked at Ford and said, "Is this station active?"

"It is, but not too many people use it."

Mark nodded his head and yelled, "Hey, I just want to talk."

Murray stopped at the entrance of the tunnel and looked over his shoulder.

Mark jumped down and followed Murray.

Ford and Hank stayed on the platform and watched as Christopher followed.

Murray ran ahead. He was a few paces in front of them and stopped at the curve. He looked down at the third rail and stepped over and hid in an alcove.

Ford looked down the track and yelled at Mark and Christopher. "Train."

Mark stepped to the side. His foot barely missing the third rail.

Christopher walked ahead of him and stood on a small ledge while the train approached. Murray stepped out and pushed Christopher in front of the train.

Christopher screamed as the speeding train ran over him.

Ford looked at Hank and shook his head. "Fuck me," he said.

When the train went by, Mark stepped onto the track and yelled, "Come out come out wherever you are."

Murray jumped and punched Mark in the head. While on top of Mark, Murray punched him in the face.

Mark managed to roll Murray over and kicked him in the groin.

Murray kicked Mark and pushed him backward.

Mark stumbled and then brushed himself off.

Murray stood.

"You're a greedy little pig," Mark said. "And you know what happens to pigs."

Murray lunged forward and grabbed Mark by the collar. When he punched him in the stomach he fell back on the third rail and screamed as he got electrocuted.

Ford looked at Hank and pointed to a dark corner where they waited for Murray to come up. When he did, Hank stepped out from the shadow and yelled, "Hey, officer."

Murray turned and looked as Ford raised his gun and fired. He fell back on the tracks and hit the third rail.

Ford looked at Hank and gestured for him to follow. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

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# Chapter One Hundred-eleven

Nicole stepped off the elevator and walked towards the nurse's station. Behind her was a homicide detective. She nodded to the nurse at the station and said, "I need to talk with Mal Miller."

The nurse pointed to a room across the hall.

Nicole and the homicide detective walked into the lounge and looked at Mal. "Mal Miller?"

Mal looked at the other nurses and stood. "Yes?"

"Mal Miller, you're under arrest for the murder of Philip Ross. You have the right to remain silent." As the detective cuffed her, Nicole looked her in the eyes and said, "Nero Murray is dead. Reina Anderson is dead. Pamela Wilson is dead. I have thirty five women who died while under your care. I will pin every last one of their deaths on you, if you do not cooperate."

"What do I need to do?"

"Tell me everything about Maximillian Hope."

Mal nodded her head. "I'll tell you everything."

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# Chapter One Hundred-twelve

Nicole walked into the visitor's room at RCF and sat across from Renee and me.

"My offer is..."

"No deal and here is why." Sarah leaned across the table and said, "I didn't do it." She turned to me and said, "Why am I still here? I thought we won."

"We did," I said.

"I know you won," Nicole said. "On the murder." She rocked her head back and forth and said, "Well technically the case is null processed."

"What the hell is that?" Sarah said.

I said, "They still think you did it, but they can't prove it and until they can the case remains open."

Nicole said, "Here's your deal. Two years' probation for the fugitive charge."

I looked at Sarah and said, "That's a good deal."

Sarah said, "Done." She then turned back to me and said, "Now get me the hell out of here."

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# Chapter One Hundred-thriteen

Paul and Gloria drove down 95 South. Gloria looked at Paul and said, "So where are we going?"

"Anywhere you want to go."

A Lincoln Town car followed Paul. The man in the driver's seat pressed the phone button.

"Yeah," the person on the other end said.

"I got him," the man in the driver's seat said.

"You know what to do."

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# Chapter One Hundred-fourteen

Hassan sat on the edge of his cot in the small cell at the county jail. He looked up when he saw a stocky man with slicked back hair walk in. He nodded and said, "Hey. I guess I'm your new cell mate."

Hassan nodded and said, "Yeah. I guess so."

The guy held out his hand and said, "Tyrone."

Hassan shook his hand and said, "Hassan."

As Tyron tossed a bag onto the top bunk, he said, "You wouldn't happen to know a good defense attorney."

Hassan looked at him and nodded. "What kind of case?"

Tyron wobbled his head from right to left and said, "It's kind of all over the place. They say murder is the lead charge." He took a deep breath and continued. "If you recommend someone good, I'll put a thousand bucks on your books."

Hassan raised his eyebrows and smiled. "I got just the guy for you."

A guard stood at the door and gestured for Hassan. "You made bail," he said.

Hassan looked at Tyron and nodded. "Good luck."

Hassan looked at me when he got into my car. "Did you find the bags?"

"I did." I pulled off and then took a deep breath. "You sure you want to do this?"

Hassan nodded. "I am."

"It's in a numbered account." I pointed to an envelope and continued. "All the information is in there. Your passport, the keys to your new place." When I stopped at the light, I turned toward him. "You can never come back."

"I know."

A half an hour later, I dropped Hassan off at the Philadelphia airport. He went to the gate for a non-stop flight to Rio. "Good luck," I said as he walked away.

Chuck Walker took the stand and looked at the cameras. "Let me say this first. What happened to Richie Foster is egregious. There is clear evidence that Mr. Foster did not do the crimes he was accused of ten years and therefore my office will seek to release him effective immediately as well as review all cases that detective Murray was involved with over the years. This is what my office will champion, and this is what we will do for the citizens of Philadelphia."

Richie closed his eyes as he felt the crisp air. He then slowly walked down Kensington from Oxford and stopped.

A blonde woman, wearing a faux leopard jacket walked up and smiled. "He big guy," she said. "I haven't seen you around here."

Richie smiled and looked around. "These were my old stopping grounds back int the day." He looked at her and nodded. "I used to have fun."

"Sounds like you're ready to relive the good old days."

Richie ran his hands through her hair and smiled. "You have no idea."

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# The End

 J. Reed Morgan

Copyrighted Material
