Chapter 1

The windshield wiper blades passed rhythmically in front of their eyes as they drove to the police station. Bobby's stare seemed focused a thousand yards ahead of them, as Pete considered his options.

When the gun in his hand had wavered at the garage, Pete had been considering shooting Bobby, too. 'An accident in the heat of the battle, ' he could have claimed.

But with Raul, Harris, and Frank's group all seemingly dead, there was no one left that could put all the pieces together to implicate him. Bobby, left alive, would be useful to attest to Pete's faux heroism.

But he had to ensure Bobby would back up his version of events. He could tell the kid was in shock. What better time could there be to use fear to bring him in line?

He cleared his throat. "Hey ... when we get to the station, you're going to have to make a statement about what happened tonight. Alright?"

Bobby just nodded.

"I know you're shook up about what happened. But you did the right thing."

"Thanks."

"We don't have a lot of time before we get there. Listen ... you and I know it was the right thing to do, kid. But ... look, I've been through this kind of thing before. And you never know how someone who wasn't there will look at it."

Bobby turned to look at him, wide-eyed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean things that happen in a split second seem different when you have all the time in the world to sit around and talk about them. People can say you shouldn't have done something, that there were other alternatives if you'd only taken the time to consider them."

"But there was no time for that!"

"I know there wasn't, kid. You saved my ass. But when somebody dies, somebody's always going to say there was another option."

He let that sink in for a minute. "You saved my life, kid. You shouldn't have to get in any trouble for that. So I want you to let me take the heat for it."

"What do you mean?"

"When you make your statement, I want you to say that you kicked the guy just after I shot him."

"But..."

"They're going to figure out his neck's broken. But I'll say that you hit him as he was falling, and with my bullets in his heart he was already as good as dead. There's no way they'll be able to tell which happened first. So if we keep our stories straight, nobody will think twice about accusing you of manslaughter."

A chill went down Bobby's spine.

"Let me do this for you, Bobby. Nobody's going to question a cop shooting that scumbag, especially after Detective Harris was killed. Hell, they'll pin a medal on me. But civilians don't get the same slack. This way you'll be in the clear. It's the least I can do after you saved my life."

Bobby took a deep breath. It was hard to organize his thoughts with all that had happened - but it seemed to make sense. What would be the harm?

"Alright," he breathed. Pete smothered a smile of satisfaction.

Bobby didn't know that the chances of him being accused of wrongdoing were next to zero. But now Pete had leverage if Bobby ever thought about questioning his role that night. To cross Pete, he would risk revealing that he had struck first, and then lied about it.

Pete hadn't lied about likely getting a medal. 'Taking the rap' as Frank's killer would make him more valorous in the eyes of the police force.

All in all it had gone pretty well, Pete reflected. Ballistics would confirm his bullets were inside one of the crooks, and Bobby's account would convince everyone that he had acted heroically trying to save him, Harris, and Raul.

And soon there would be two grieving but hot-blooded women out there that were going to be very grateful to him.

But he hadn't counted on Raul stubbornly clinging to life.