Another Day on the Job. (AutumnDreaming/Rekoj)

Dianna and Roxie sat mostly in silence, idly watching the television- or, rather, staring at the screen with blank expressions- or occasionally throwing out a sentence or two completely irrelevant to anything pertaining to the situation. Once, Roxie actually commented on the stormy weather outside, which was the ultimate curse in conversation. They were the closest of friends, the only family each other had, yet they had nothing to say to each other about the problem lingering in Dianna's bedroom. They both knew it was her fault for being greedy, for staying behind to steal the music box when she should have been well on her way when she broke the heart of her previous conquest. She could be on a beach somewhere having the time of her life, but. . . "Greece." Roxie said, interrupting her thoughts. "What?" The red-head asked, gazing over at her. "When this is over you're taking me to Greece. Then Ireland, then England. Hell, why not a whole European tour. I think I've earned it." Dianna would offer no complaint, only laughing uneasily. "Yeah, okay, sounds good. I should hop around for a while anyway once this is over."

"Yeah, once." Roxie replied, as if the word represented "if" instead.

"I guess I've tortured him long enough. I should go get the clothes Freddie brought." Lazily pulling herself up off the couch, she opened the front door and went outside. As always, whenever Freddie had something to give them and he thought they were still sleeping he would leave the package underneath the porch swing. Walking over to it, she picked up the bundle in a white grocery bag and went back inside. "It looks like sweats and t-shirts. So, that's good as it won't be anything to press on his injury. I'll take them-" As she was crossing over to her bedroom, she heard a crashing from inside followed by a shattering of some kind. Before she could get to the door, he came flying out and storming off in the opposite direction from them.

The girls exchanged looks while Roxie jumped off of the couch. "You go check on your room, Di. I got this one." With an exasperated sigh, Roxie followed behind him. "Hey, Detective, hold on a second. What's going on? Did you hurt yourself or something? Hey, are you bleeding? WHAT DID YOU DO?" She screamed, trying to get him to stop.

Dianna hurried into her room, flipping on the light. Searching the perimeter, she saw a heap on the floor. "Oh no no no no no!" There hanging on the wall and threatening to come out of its frame was not a poster, but an original painting by an exclusive artist. His style was modern, his drawings and paintings so realistic they looked like actual photographs. Roxie and Dianna had met him at an art gallery where his work was on exhibition and while the dark-haired girl charmed him about his work, Dianna had swiped Roxie's favorite piece. It was worth many thousands of dollars, but she gave it to her friend as a gift. Roxie put it in here, in the guest room Dianna used when she visited, as an homage to their friendship. Clapping her hands to her hair, she looked for the source. There in the floor, amidst the pile of glass, was his badge. "NO!" Throwing the clothes down, she swooped up the badge and stomped her way out of the room. "ROOKIE, YOU BETTER FUCKING HIDE BECAUSE I'M GOING TO KILL YOU WHEN I FIND YOU!!!!"

He was not oblivious of the voices behind him, he was not choosing to ignore them, but he couldn't cope with it right now. He could ignore the words of Roxie, they were minor concern, but when the shrill screech that came from Dianna's lips met his ears he ran out of room in the hallway. His fingers curled into fists and his arms went rigid down by his side, his teeth sunk into his lower lip in a failed attempt to contain the outburst that exploded out of him, "Rookie this- rookie that- how about you go fuck yourself, you petty thief? I dare you Dianna, I dare you to try and kill me- because I'm not hiding anywhere, I'm standing right here. I don't give a fuck about whatever mirror or poster that was in the room, and you shouldn't either. Don't you understand what we're up against? Don't either of you comprehend the amount of shit we're in? Don't bother with boots or hip-waders or anything because it's coming up to our throats!"

Patrick was coming off of the rails again, he was barely aware of the words that came out of his mouth. He had lost any inner dialog, the words he spoke was all he was capable of. "I'm not a cop anymore, you're not a thief anymore, what we are are two individuals who are absolutely fucked. I don't know what that was we stepped into last night, but it was a lot bigger than you and me. There are people out there who know that we were there, and what we saw. We are dealing with at least high-level corrupt police officers, but do we know why they were there and who the other bad guys shooting the guns were last night? You don't have to be a cop to know of the mafia presence in this damn town, most likely they've reviewed the tapes and know exactly who they're looking for, and have been working all night to find us and end our very existence on this planet with a well-placed bullet to the skull. Have either of you stopped and considered this? Am I going crazy or am I the only sane one in this room?!"

Dianna was anything but a petty thief. In fact, she despised when someone thought of her work as nothing more than petty. As much time and thought as she put into each detail that involved her craft and each clever plan to outwit her opponent defined as much more than a commoner who broke into houses for a television and some cash. No, she was a master at what she did, the best of the very best. If her work was widely known, the very best of the espionage world would be begging advice from her. And, to top it all off, that painting was highly significant to her. For him to write if off as merely more than nothing was unacceptable, no matter the bigger picture.

His dare would not be taken lightly. Sure, he was bigger than her, but he didn't have a fiery spirit. There was no passion burning him, no want or desire to even survive this mess. He was panicked while she was infuriated. In her mind, she was the more powerful one. Small hands balled into fists as she lunged at him, trying to knock him down. Her fist collided with his nose, but she didn't know what- if any- damage she had done to him because Roxie seemingly flew toward them, her arms wrapped around Dianna to pull her off of him. "Cam down, Di, let it go. Come on, calm down." Her lips were pressed to Dianna's ear, trying to whisper to her to create a calming effect. "He's disrespectful, but he's not the first one to be like that. Let it go, Dianna. Let it go."

Dianna's eyes were locked on him like a feline in a frenzy. It was obvious she was ready to pounce again, to throw her body weight down on him and never relent. She loathed him, wanted nothing more than to end his pathetic life herself. Reaching up to unlatch Roxie's arms from her, she shook her head at him. "You're lucky she is a rational person because I'm not. We're not looking out for you, you're on your own with this shit. Don't worry about Roxie and me, we're going to be fine. It's your funeral you should be planning." And with that, the red-head went into her room and slammed the door.

Roxie's face, however, held an expression of hurtfulness. Her mouth was twisted, her brows pulled down lowly as if he had just stabbed her in the chest. "How could you say that to me? Are you the only sane one? Yeah, I've worried about this for years. I've worried about her since the day I met her. Don't you think that every time she calls me about a new prospect, I think about how that could be the last time I speak to her? I know what's coming, I know what we're up against." She paused, lifting her hand to point into his chest. "But we took you in. SHE took you in. We saved your life and you disrespect me by calling me crazy? We might die, I understand this, but panicking only makes it worse. You have to have a clear head and stay calm in order to think this through. After all I've done for you, how can you even say that to me? I don't get it, but I think it's time you leave."

Patrick couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth, and he understood the impact of what he said even before Roxie spoke. When Roxie spoke, part of Patrick wanted her to smack him upside the head- he knew he deserved it. He looked down to the floor and swallowed down the lump in his throat. It was time to leave, he had crossed the line and spat in the face of their sympathy.

He managed to bring his sorrowful eyes up to try and find Roxie's, and in a manner of broken speech you could barely call English, "Oh my Go.. Roxie... I'm sorry.. I-I'm so sorry. I'll leave, I'm so sorry Rox-and tell Dianna that I sai-"

There was a sudden realization partway through his sentence, and he closed his eyes. A wry smile came upon his lips, and he chuckled humorlessly while shaking his head. He was not looking at Roxie now, but seemingly talking to himself, "Who am I kidding? She doesn't care what I say- why should she?"

Another shake of his head and he took one good deep breath, before lumbering a heavy single step forwards. He walked by Roxie and gingerly took the bag with the clothing out of her hand. He wanted to beg for forgiveness, apologize for his stupidity, but he knew that words would never be able to express how he felt. He muttered a quiet, "I know it means nothing, but thank you for everything... and... good luck."

Roxie knew instantly that she should have stopped him. Where would he go? They were miles away from any civilization, let alone the main highway. Yet, she wanted him to go. He had more than worn out his welcome as far as she was concerned, which was a hard thing for a caring person like Roxie to recognize. His words would be ignored, the woman barely even registering that she had heard them. She'd let him have the bag, however, not being cruel enough to let him freeze outside. With a hand pressed firmly to his back, she shoved him out the door and slammed it behind him.

After he left, Roxie and Dianna never spoke of him again. They both recognized the mistakes that had been made, but silent apologies were exchanged, both knowing they had been forgiven. They took it one day at a time, barely leaving the house. It was the practice of being low-key, something Dianna was extremely familiar with doing. Freddie assisted the women with groceries and whatever they needed, but even he tended to keep a healthy distance between himself and the girls.

~~~

The black town car rolled down the darkened streets, easily blending in with the shadows of the night. Five husky men in suits were piled into the vehicle, each one of them packing more than enough weapons to bring down a small village. They said not a word to each other, only listened to the Italian opera music booming in the car. They tapped their feet along to the rhythm, but that was the extent of their movements. They had quite the job to complete tonight or else it would be their own heads on a platter.

Turning into the quiet driveway, they noticed no lights inside the house. They each had been given specific orders, which they relayed in their heads repeatedly. The driver would remain just that, the driver. His job was to sit in the car and watch for any sign of trouble. The passenger in the front seat was the most prized of all of them; he was the boss of the operation, the one who would ensure everything was carried out according to plan. The three in the back were the ones who were actually setting the plan in motion: two of them would capture Dianna to interrogate her later while the other would simply dispose of Roxie. She was expendable, just a deadweight to them. The red-head, however, they needed her alive. At least, that is, long enough to question and torture her. As quiet as mice, they crept up to the front door. Then, kicking it in, they burst into the house.

Roxie woke first, rising from the bed. She ran out of the room, straight into a solid mass. Nearly being knocked out, she barely had time to scream before a hand was wrapped around her mouth. Pushing her into the bedroom, he closed the door behind him as his opposite hand pointed a gun at her temple. "Oh, come now, surely you know who I am and why I'm here, Roxanna. Shhhhhh, don't cry." He placed his cheek to hers, sliding his hand upward from her mouth to tangle into her hair. Grabbing the short locks, he pushed her down on her knees into the floor. "Boss gave the orders. It's not your lucky day, I'm afraid."

Dianna woke to two men hovering over her. Eyes grew wide, the woman reacting by rolling over to the opposite side of the bed. She bolted from it, running straight out of the room. "Frank! She's getting away!" But Frank was ready, his gun aimed straight at her face. "Dianna is it? I'm afraid we're going to need to take you in." He grinned a maniacal grin, his teeth shimmering in the darkness of the room. The other two apprehended her then, but she wasn't going to give up. Her foot jutted behind her, colliding with the groin of the biggest one. He let go of her while she tried to turn to hit the other. However, this one was too quick. His powerful arm wrapped around her throat, choking off her air. Easily, he lifted her until her feet were kicking at air, suspending her above the floor. She scratched and clawed at his arms, but he wasn't relenting. Her eyes felt so heavy, her brain becoming hazy. The other rose from the floor, one hand still grasping his pants. Letting go, he picked up her feet and the two began to carry her outside.

Patrick hiked the miles it took to return to civilization, and relied on the only thing he had left. Himself, and his training. He had taken a physically and mentally exhausting course in learning how to stay invisible. He had a sharp mind, when it was able to think clearly- and once he was out of the proximity of Dianna it seemed to be a lot easier to think clearly. It had been a few hours of walking to return to the dirty city he had fled, and he returned to the streets he knew so well.

The man simply had nothing, not a cent to his name, and he knew he would have to get street smart very quick to survive. It started off one night, pickpocketing a gentleman in a crowd and finding a wallet with less than a hundred dollars in it. Using the cash, he lured a crack dealer into a shady alley and managed to outsmart and overpower the criminal. The dealer had just been expecting another run-of-the-mill junkie, and once Patrick had managed to take the man's gun and a little more cash, he was back to the dirty streets.

Minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, Patrick gained a little more to his inventory. Every day he used the streets and his smarts to cheat, lie, and steal his way to more wealth. He was no longer clad in plain sweat-clothes, but instead had acquired a proper outfit, complete with a comfortable jacket and a baseball cap. He refused to return to the police station where he knew they would be waiting for him. He wasn't as stupid as they thought, he wasn't about to return right into their hands. He had become what he'd hunted, a criminal of the streets, and now that he had a respectable amount of cash, a pistol, some proper clothing and some more bandages for his wound; he knew there was only one more thing he needed.

If he was to return to the house where he had left the two ladies that had saved his life behind, he knew he must do it invisibly. And in order to keep surveillance on the place, silently, he couldn't exactly do it by foot. He needed a vehicle, and there was only one way to get one. He quietly snuck into the parking lot of a shopping center, and felt the cold pistol within his jacket. Patrick had to assure himself as he waited within the shadows that he was doing the right thing- that he was thinking of the greater good of the city. But still, somewhere deep within him, he knew it didn't matter whether it was for the greater good or not, he was still going to do something that was inherently wrong.

One pistol pointed at the face of somebody who just parked, a whole hell of a lot of screaming, and a quick wrestling match later- Mr. Adair, (for he was no longer Detective) found himself behind the wheel of a new vehicle. A cool blue family car, with not a lot of kick and less flashiness- but he couldn't exactly be choosy. He drove the car out of the town he had just used to get back on his feet, and went off to find a place he could keep an eye on the house that he had walked away from only a few short days ago.

---

Patrick had found a place where he could keep tabs on Roxie's paradise in the middle of nowhere. He had been sleeping in the car he had stolen, and buying meals from the gas-station, when he dared to take his eyes off of the humble abode. He watched every car that went by with a raised eye, trying to determine if he'd seen it before. Even though a few days passed in silence, besides the occasional delivery run from Freddy, Patrick wasn't about to lie to himself and think the mob had given up on all of them.

He rarely slept at night, instead choosing to get a few hours here, a few hours there, during the day. He couldn't sleep, his body wouldn't allow him to rest, and it was one of those nights where his mind wouldn't shut up with its 'what ifs' and 'maybes' and hypothetical actions and conversations all run through his head. He'd been trying to get himself prepared for when they attacked Roxie and Di, but when he saw the pair of headlights rolling up to the house- he knew he wasn't ready. But more importantly, he knew it didn't matter if he was ready or not- this was going to happen, and it was going to happen now. Before the car even came to a stop, he had grabbed his equipment out of the backseat of the car. He chose to use stealth, going by foot, sprinting across the open field instead of turning the headlights on the car and driving to the house. He hurried across the field, withdrawing his pistol as he drew close to the house, and turning the safety off.

He reached the house and stopped to listen to the situation, peeking in on the window. He saw the quartet of men split up into one group of three, and one single man going into Roxanna's bedroom. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what that meant, it took three men to apprehend, and only one to kill. Sneaking into the open door, he moved low in the house, staying crouched and hidden in the shadows. He reached the outside of Roxanna's door to hear the man telling Roxanna it wasn't her lucky day.

Patrick had no time for drop a one-liner, it wasn't an action movie. He aimed the .32 caliber pistol down the sights at the man's head, and felt no hesitation in pulling the trigger. One shot, a clean kill, as they'd expect. Before the man had hit the floor, he had dove and almost tackled Roxanna, his palm covering her mouth. He couldn't afford to have her make a noise, they needed to think she was dead.

He did not check to see if Roxanna was okay, not yet, his eyes were already looking at the door. He was worried about Dianna, thinking about what to do next. As soon as he heard nothing against his palm anymore, he turned and looked to Roxanna, whispering to her harshly, "Don't. Make. A. Sound."

He pressed his back up against the doorway where outside the chaotic footsteps came down the hall. They were not the rhythmic footsteps of organized men, dragging along a helpless victim, but rather the footsteps of men struggling to carry a writhing, wriggling, fighting body. He waited until they passed, before he stepped out behind them. He quickly looked at the back of each of their heads, and at the struggling body of Dianna.

He had to be perfect, if he wasn't, one stray bullet would hit her, not his targets. He aimed at the furthest left target, and fired one shot into the back of his head. His arms swiveled to the next target, he fired one bullet through the back of his head, and he lined up the final target. He pulled the trigger quickly, and all four of the bodies dropped to the floor. All three of the shots had come within a period of two seconds; he couldn't miss, and he didn't. The three men were all dead, and Dianna had come through it- unscathed. There was blood upon her, but it wasn't hers. He quickly leaned down and grabbed her arm, pulling her up into his arms. He felt up and down her arms, followed by her back, as if to assure she was okay. He knew he hadn't missed, he knew it, but he had to make sure. He asked, in a rushed voice, his arms going to her back and pulling her to him, "Are you hurt? Are you okay?"

With the cold metal pressed to her temple and her mobility impaired, she knew his threat to be very real. There would be no struggling, no chance to get away from him. Roxie knew she was about to die. And death was something she could not escape. Eyes closed to him, and when the shot was fired she knew her life had just ended. Only, she could still feel her palms sweating. Her breath was coming in rapidly, her heart pounding in her chest. Before her eyes could reopen, she was tackled down to the floor with a warm hand pressed firmly to her mouth. Eyes opened to a surprisingly familiar face. Patrick had come back for her, had just saved her. Tilting her head, she saw the man slumped to the ground, his body completely motionless. When Patrick warned her not to make a sound, she nodded her agreement. But Dianna, where was she?

In the living room, Dianna was having almost the same thoughts as Roxie. Almost. She couldn't breathe; she could feel her skin turning a tint of blue from a lack of oxygen. Her head was buzzing, throbbing with an intense pain. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open while clouds of black invaded her vision. She was dying, that she knew. Except, unlike Roxie, Dianna was mad as all hell. Her feet were still thrashing, trying to connect with the man holding them. She was growing weaker by the second, almost unconscious, but the red-head was fighting against him as much as she could. Her vocal chords were no longer able to produce a raspy, gasping sound as there was absolutely no intake of air available to her. She was surviving on literally the last bit of inflation in her lungs.

Just before her motions completely ceased, Dianna felt a heavy shift in her body. Her head dropped down to the ground, bending at an awkward angle while it landed on something hard and rigid like a thigh. The arm about her neck loosened, the woman finally able to gasp for air. In a second, the rest of her body was on the ground, somewhat crushed by a heavy object. The spots in her eyes were blinding her and her loud intakes of air had deafened her. Thus, she could neither hear nor see the reason for her release. But, oh god, how she could finally breathe.

She tried to turn over onto her stomach to crawl away, but someone jerked her up out of the floor. Someone else's arms were supporting her, but whoever it was wasn't hurting her. Yet, she fought him. Her palms collided with what she thought was a face, her weakened body straining to break free from his grip. She tried to tell the person to let her go, but she could not speak. Hands relented in their assault going to grab at her burning throat. Water, she needed water desperately.

At last her sight adjusted, finding her skin and t-shirt to be slathered in a bright coat of red paint. Only, the dark, thick matter suggested it was blood. Was she bleeding? Had she been shot? Someone was feeling of her, testing her arms and back to see if they were still attached? Or maybe he- yes, this had to be a he- was looking for a wound. A voice entered her ears, barely registering to her. Eyes drifted up to his face, slowly recognizing him. Patrick? Her rookie? Why was he here, what was he doing? But, she didn't care. Arms looped around his neck, her small frame melding against his. For the first time she had met him, she wanted him to hold her. Squeezing him slightly, she tucked her cheek in beneath his chin, listening to the steady rhythm of her heart to regulate hers.

He stopped checking for a wound, but he still did not trust that she had come through unscathed, with her erratic breathing and weak attempt at fighting him. He had never seen Dianna so... vulnerable; of course she had just literally been fighting for her life through a vicious choke-hold, but it still caught Patrick off guard. He had expected the scrappy palms smacking against his face, he had even been expecting to take a knee or a kick or two, but what happened after her eyes met his, he had not been expecting in the slightest. There was a moment of comfort in the eye contact, she was okay, alive, still shaken but okay. He finally accepted this, and he felt her arms loop around his neck, while his hands gripped her back and pulled her small form tight up against him.

There was a little voice going off in the back of Patrick's head, that was shouting at him, trying to remind him of the man still outside in the car, trying to remind him that he did not have the time for this embrace. He ignored the little voice though, and rested his cheek softly against the top of her head. The little voice could wait, everything else could wait one fucking second, while he stood there with Dianna in the soft moonlight that trickled through the windows of the home in the middle of nowhere. As he'd been trying to ignore the little voice, it had been growing louder and louder, until finally Patrick knew he had to pull away.

It was in the moment where his arms slowly slumped down from her back, where he knew he could not live in the denial anymore. This was more than trying to make amends to the small red-headed woman and her companion, this was about making sure Dianna was okay. He doubted the presence of the same connection in Dianna, and resisted the urge to plant a small, soft peck upon her lips as they broke apart. The next time his lips met hers, he knew it would have to be her to kiss him. He was tied to the woman now, and not just because of their similar plight- but because of something else. He would never speak of it, for she would never understand. He tried to underrate the moment as much as possible, as his chest slowly peeled away from hers. It was much more difficult than it should've been, and he tried to remind himself that she had merely been looking for anyone or anything to hold onto in that moment. Jason in his hockey-mask and chainsaw glory could've come into the room, and she probably would've clung- looking for anything to keep her standing.

As quickly as it had came, in a matter of seconds, the moment had passed, and they stood there separately again, and the voice shouting at the top of it's lungs in Patrick's mind finally won the battle. Patrick snapped into action and looked to Roxanna, "Check the body in the bedroom for a weapon, Dianna, if you know of any weapon within the house I'd suggest going and grabbing it- or check the bodies on the floor. There's still another one out there, and the mafia always has a plan B. And plan B usually just involves a lot more- or bigger guns."

Roxie waited in the stillness of the room, trying to keep her eyes peeled from the corpse beside her. Still, she had the gumption to reach for the weapon the floor, biting her lip to keep from screaming as her hands curled around it. As if he could come back from the dead, she held aimed toward him for a few moments before slowly crawling out of the bedroom. Eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeing two figures standing in the middle of the living room floor. Dianna she knew immediately for even in the blackness of night her fiery red hair was noticeable. She was gasping for air, suffocating or something.

Staying low to the ground, she raced out of the room and ran toward the kitchen. The gun was tucked into the waistline of her shorts, not knowing if the safety was on or off. Grabbing a glass, she quickly filled it with water before heading back toward her friend. That was, until her eyes recognized what was happening. Skidding to a halt, she watched as two arms looped around Patrick. The woman must have been delirious or unable to stand for Roxie knew how Dianna felt about the man she deemed The Rookie. Or, did she?

Clearing her throat, she came to stand beside them. When he pulled away from Dianna, Roxie lifted her hand to smooth through her hair. "Di, are you okay?" She asked, pushing the glass up to her lips. "Drink." Dianna followed instructions, slowly sipping the cool liquid. Eyes scanned her frame, looking for any wounds. Seeing the blood, she nearly dropped the glass. "You're bleeding! Are you bleeding?" But no one seemed alarmed so she took it to be the blood and matter from the would-be murderers. When he instructed her to check the body for a gun, she retrieved the one from her shorts and handed it to him. "Check and check."

When he pulled from her, it was like a cold slap in the face. Brought back to reality, she was suddenly aware of what she had done. She wasn't the desperate, clingy emotional type nor did she ever embrace anyone, no matter how difficult the circumstance. For her to let her guard down long enough to reach out to him was greatly significant to her, but she certainly didn't want to address that. He was still Patrick, still her Rookie. Only, she knew he wasn't hers to claim in any way, shape, or form. Still, he had come back for them, had saved her from death. The thought caused her knees to buckle, her hand reaching out to grasp his shoulder to keep from tumbling to the ground. As soon as she stabilized herself, she let go of him as if she was suddenly overstepping her boundary. Hadn't it been nice to be in his arms for that single moment? The answer was weighing heavily on her mind, but she would die before she ever acknowledged it. Literally.

She cleared her throat, her breathing starting to come more evenly now. Slowly, she peeled herself back until she could pivot around them. Stooping over the bodies, she retrieved three guns. One she held to him while the other two she kept for herself. Roxie was useless with a gun, that she knew, but she wasn't. "Roxie, stay in." She whispered, her voice strained. Turning to Patrick, she nodded toward the front door. "Let me kill him."

The tall figure slowly opened the door and peeked at the car in the front driveway, it's engine was still running, and Patrick didn't even want to think of the consequences if the driver were to get away. He'd already been running a plan through his head, trying to put himself in a good shooting position- until he heard Dianna's words. He froze up for a second, met with the internal conflict- Patrick had never been one to enjoy violence, but he knew he was a good shot. Could he trust Dianna to off the driver safely? If the driver got away, it was only one cell-phone call to chaos. However, he heard the tone in her voice, and knew it would be useless to fight her. With a look to her and a nod, he thought, she had better be a good shot.

"I'll run a diversion on the passenger side of the car, take out a few windows and tires- you move your way towards the driver's side once the gunfire opens up, and take him down," Patrick spoke in a low voice, looking directly at Dianna, before taking off outside. It hadn't been a request, it hadn't been an order, it was simply the plan. Patrick moved low beneath the cover of the hedge lining the driveway. He peeked his gun over the hedge, dropped to one knee and took aim. Drawing a sharp inhale through his nose, he picked his target and opened fire.

Loud gunshots rang out as Patrick first hit the back tire, before focusing his aim on the front tire until he heard the loud noise of the sudden deflation. Once both tires were deflated, he fired the rest of his clip into the back windows, trying to shatter and make as much noise as possible- giving Dianna what should be a clear shot. The clip was out, and Patrick went down behind the hedge again, closing his eyes and praying to hear the noise of gunshots from Dianna, instead of a car driving away.

It seemed Patrick was going to underestimate the stealth of this grand thief. This woman had a natural ability for sneaking into the most highly secured places and stealing their most valuable possessions, so why would he even question the level of ease this kill would be? Probably because he had been around Dianna long enough to understand the mechanics of her being. He should have known she wouldn't make a clean, easy kill. As her throat burned immensely, she wanted him to burn. As she had suffered and even resorted to showing her vulnerability to the former detective, she wanted the driver to suffer and feel vulnerable.

When Patrick ducked out to create his diversion, Dianna was already down on the ground to scramble toward the car. She hid by the trunk, keeping her frame tucked in to prevent the driver's detection of her. As soon as the shots started firing, she made haste to the driver's side door. Throwing it open, she aimed the gun at him. "Hello." She said sweetly, her voice sickening and saccharine. "I'm Dianna, the woman you're supposed to have in your trunk, I assume. Also, this blood belongs to your friends." She grinned, flicking her wrist to warn him not to reach for his weapon. "My friend wanted to kill you, but I wouldn't let him. You'll probably wish I did." And with that, she tilted the gun so it was aimed to his groin. Squeezing the trigger, she fired three bullets at his lap, smiling maniacally as he began to scream. Blood oozed from the holes in his trousers, staining them.

Taking a step back, she emptied another bullet into his stomach. That wound, she knew, would be intensely painful, but she didn't care. He was suffering, good. He continued to yell in agony, scrambling to take off his seatbelt. However, raising the gun to his temple, she silenced him with one more squeeze of her finger. Wiping off the weapon with the bottom of her shirt, she threw it into the car. Stomping her way back into the house, she leaned up against the wall by the entrance and sank down to the ground to think.

Patrick heard the gunshot, and went to stand up, until he heard another loud bang run out. He couldn't make out the words she was speaking, and he knew he was thankful for it. He showed no interest in the scene at the side of the car, even as a few more gunshots rang out- he was walking away. He was searching for something in the moonlight, and as he came around the side of the house he found it. A little shed, around the side, and he quickly walked up to it and opened the door. His eyes scanned the darkness inside the shed, ignoring the flickering and shining of the garden tools hanging around the top, until he saw what he was looking for.

Soon enough, he was walking back towards the car, with a red container in his hands. It was the typical red gasoline container you'd find with any gas lawnmower. He placed it beside the car out front, and knew it was the time for some dirty work. With a sigh, he made his way back to the entrance of the home, saving the container and the gasoline inside for later. He made his way silently through the entrance of the home, and flicked the lights on- truly revealing the macabre scene in the living room. The floor was littered with bodies and blood, and Patrick made his way over to the pile of bodies in the living room.

He had his back turned to the women, as he started to go through the pockets of each of the men on the floor, looking for something, anything to give him an indication of who they were. As he did his mindless searching, rolling over the still-warm lumps, he spoke directions to Roxie and Dianna, "We're leaving here tonight, you two shouldn't have stayed here as long as you did, it's not safe here. Both of you need to pack a bag, immediately. When whoever sent these guys doesn't get a phone call, saying everything went to plan, we're going to want to be as far away as possible."

Once he had pocketed the first body's wallet and cell phone, as well as a few stray dollars left in other pockets, Patrick went to dragging the first body outside toward the car. He was like a machine, consumed in his work, his mind always trying to stay three steps ahead of even his own actions. The light, when flicked on inside, revealed just how hellish Patrick looked. He hadn't shaved in days, the stubble on his face visibly coarse, while his eyes had tremendous bags underneath them. He looked as if he had aged decades in the week that had passed, as he struggled to drag the dead weight of the corpse. His clothes were stained with blood and were torn in various places, and his skin was terribly pale underneath hem. When he rested at the doorway, his green eyes, the only thing left that didn't seem beaten on Patrick searched for Roxie's eyes and then Dianna's to confirm they were on board with his plan.

Roxie had disappeared before Patrick even returned, coming back with a wet washcloth, a clean shirt, and hooded sweatshirt and sweatpants. Dropping to her knee beside of Dianna, she began to wash the dark stains from her friend's body, clearing her skin of the blood that tainted it. Without needing permission, she pulled the bloody article of clothing from the red-head's frame, tossing it aside. Handing her the clothes, she let Dianna dress herself as she left the living room to get rid of the ruined fabrics.

When she came back, the light was on, illuminating the scene for what it was. With the exception of the splays of blood, the scene was well-contained. However, it was in bringing her attention to Patrick struggling under the weight of the dead that she gasped. Not much time had passed since he had left, but he already didn't look to be the same man. He was rugged and aged, like he had just been through a great trauma in his life. Eyes then averted to Dianna, seeing nearly the same qualities in her friend. The woman looked tired, like she hadn't slept in weeks. And, truthfully, she probably hadn't.

Dianna flinched with the sudden brightness of the lights, her eyes drifting up to him carrying out the bodies. When he instructed them to pack a bag, she watched Roxie race off to her bedroom. Dianna knew Roxie was well-organized and would see to it they both have the basic necessities they needed. Rising to her feet, she bent to scoop up the feet of the man that had held hers, ironically helping Patrick to carry him out. When he paused, she shook her head. "Come on, keep going. I'll help, Rookie." The term should have been familiar to him, though the tone in which it was spoken was not. There was no hint of patronizing in her voice, no sign that she was being malicious. In her own way, she was showing him appreciation for saving her life.

Swinging the corpse around, she sidestepped Patrick and pushed herself through the doorway. "Or rest, I can do this. Oh, and you look horrible." She shrugged, yanking on the dead man. He was dreadfully heavy, but she managed to slowly tug him out the door. "We, uh, we have a few extra t-shirts that we bought after you left. You know, just in case. You should get one."

There were about a thousand different conversations and discussions that could have happened in that living room, but first there was a job to be done. Patrick quickly grasped the loose limbs and carried the corpse with Dianna to the car, swinging open the passenger door and tossing the body inside. Patrick ignored the blood pooling in the driver's seat, and the smell which was filling the car. Once the corpse hit the passenger's seat, he turned around to make his way inside. As he turned, a sharp jolt of pain went through his body and he winced as he clutched his wound from the incident in the museum and let out a quick gasp.

The pain seeping from deep within his chest was a very real, and very present reminder that he was still wounded. Letting out a quick curse under his breath he made his way back towards the house. He was completely worn out, he knew he looked like hell, but he couldn't rest yet. They weren't quite out of the woods, and he continued in his silence. When he had spent that first night with the women within the house, his mind had been filled with intrigue and curiousity about Dianna, and now there were no signs of it. He wasn't ignoring her, but he wasn't entranced with her.

He turned his back on her and made his way back towards the house, knowing they still had three bodies to search and move. If he'd noticed the way she spoke to him was any different than it was before, he made no comment or showed no recognition of it. He was focused on the job, and as he made his way back to the door he went straight to pile, and began to loot the next body. He nodded to the nearby one and said to Dianna, "Everything, even the stuff that doesn't seem important, take it. We need to find out who exactly is after us, so we can figure out just exactly how dead we all are."

Dianna heard the sharp gasp, watched as his hand flew up to his ribcage where he had been shot not so long ago. She thought to go to him, to tell him to take it easy, but she knew that was a pointless task. Why let her guard down again to him when he would ignore it? Besides, she knew if she was in that situation she wouldn't let a little pain deter her from her objective. They both needed to work together now to clean up a mess they both had caused, which, ultimately, could be pinned on her. After all, wasn't it her fascination with a music box that had started it all?

She followed in behind him, nodding as he bent to loot one of the bodies. Dropping down beside the other one, she plunged her hands into his pockets, pulling out all the contents. Then, she carefully ran her palms over his clothes to check for bulges that might indicate there was more information to be had. finding nothing else, she placed everything in a pile. Standing, the small woman grabbed his ankles, tugging on him in the same manner she had done to the other. She grunted under his weight, struggling to stay on her feet. "Too." She paused, catching her breath. "Many." She paused again, yanking on him. "Donuts!" Finally, she tugged him out into the grass where the wetness of the dew made it easier to maneuver him.

When she reached the car, she bent and grabbed him from beneath his back, hoisting him up with the other bodies. Slamming the door, she ran back into the house. "Let me help you with that one and we should all be ready to leave, right? We should sleep in shifts. Let Roxie sleep the first shift, you next, and me last."

Patrick nodded, and quickly hoisted the man up by his limp arms, carrying him out towards the car. Once the final body was piled up in the backseat, Patrick went to looting the car for information. He pulled all information out of glovebox, and out of the dead driver's pockets, (trying his best to ignore the brutality in the kill), and dropped it into the pile of wallets and cell phones they had collected from the corpses. He looked at the pile and looked around for something to put it all in, but decided to leave it up to Dianna.

He turned to her, and spoke, "Get a plastic bag for everything, we'll let Roxie sleep in the backseat of the car. I'll drive to start, I need you going through all of that stuff so we can figure out a plan," he then walked across the illuminated living room and found the t-shirts that Dianna had been referring to earlier. Grabbing one, he went into the nearest bathroom and closed the door quietly behind him.

Within the light of the bathroom, he had the first chance to look at himself in the mirror for days. Dianna had been polite earlier, he didn't look like hell, he looked like shit. Turning on the sink tap, he quickly gathered a handful of cool water and splashed himself in the face. He needed to refresh, he needed to keep going, he couldn't stop now. Ripping the jacket and the shirt off of his frame, he quickly tossed on the new shirt. He looked at the stained jacket and decided to go without it, it was covered in blood, and would only draw unnecessary attention to himself. Walking out of the bathroom he spoke to Dianna once again, "I'm going to go get my vehicle, you two get everything ready to go. I have got to switch the plates on the vehicle before we set it alight... but, you can douse it in the gasoline now if you wish. Or you can help Roxie finish getting ready, either way... I'll be back in just a few minutes."

When Patrick left to get his car, Dianna went into the kitchen to grab a grocery bag from the bag saver they had thumb tacked into the wall beside the refrigerator. She paused, taking a long look around the kitchen as if she had never seen it before. This had been the only real home she had ever known, but she had taken it away from both herself and Roxie. She knew what had to be done, but she hated the thought of doing it. Roxie would never forgive her, of that she knew, but there was a bank account somewhere in the world that had enough money to take care of her.

Reaching up into the cabinet for the candle lighter, she started to go into the living room when she heard a scream. Running into the room, she saw Roxie hovering over the spot where the men had been with two bags in her hand. "What's wrong?" She asked her, but Roxie just pointed at the floor with her foot. "There's blood all over my floor!" Dianna just shook her head, coming up behind her and pushing her out the front door. "When Patrick gets back with the car, get in the backseat. We're going to take turns driving, but you should sleep first, okay? Oh, and here-" She dropped down, picking up the collected items and putting them in the sack. "Give these to him."

When Roxie left, Dianna went in search for some newspaper, but found some old rags instead. Leaving the house, she went down to the car where the can of gasoline was waiting for her. Dousing it in the gas, she lit one of the rags and threw it onto the vehicle. It burst into flames immediately, the explosion loud. With a heavy heart, she trudged back to the house with the can. Going inside, she walked through all the rooms, leaving a trail of liquid behind her. Exiting through the front door, she lit several rags and threw them into the house. As soon as the flames ignited, she heard Roxie scream again. Turning, Dianna ran at her to catch her, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her in the direction of the car. "It had to be done, Rox. It had to."

Patrick had taken the plates off of the vehicle and was off on his way to the field, when he heard the explosion come from behind him. He knew it was going to happen, he had never discussed it with Dianna, but they both knew what had to happen. It was the only thing that could give them time, the police and investigators may be able to decipher the gunshot wounds on the burned corpses, or use whatever technology they had to find the blood on the charred remains of the carpet, but those things took time. Patrick didn't turn to see the house alight, he didn't want to face it yet. He had lost nothing with the loss of the house, but he knew that was only him. He didn't dare think of what the house meant to Dianna, or worse, Roxie.

Switching the front plates on his stolen car, he dropped the ones that came with the car in the middle of the field, and as he switched the back plates he was forced to look at the house for the first time. It was mostly smoking now, the occasional flicker of a flame visible through the windows, but he knew it was only a matter of time until the whole thing burned to the ground. He switched the ignition on and began his drive back towards the home, the fire of the burning car in the driveway growing brighter and brighter as he neared closer and closer.

When he reached the house, he pulled the car to a stop and wondered where the duo had disappeared to- until he saw it, the struggle. When he saw Roxanna struggling against Dianna to go back into her home, he winced and looked away. He couldn't face it, he couldn't bear to see Roxanna in such pain. He had come to acceptance with his growing attraction intrigue with Dianna, but Roxie... she was on a different level. When he was bleeding, she had patched him up, when he lost control, she remained calm, she had always been the calm mediator. She had always been there for him, after he had been dragged to her front doorstep.

Swinging open the door, he walked across the vehicle and opened the backseat for Roxie, before going and assisting Dianna in pulling her friend away from the home. They had done this to give themselves time to stay alive, and now that the smoke stack was rising further into the sky, time was becoming their enemy. Without a word, he pulled on both of the figures until, somehow, they managed to toss the wriggling and struggling body of the black-haired woman into the backseat. A few more car-door slams later, and Patrick was driving away from the home.

It was only a few minutes down the road before things became uncomfortably silent, and Patrick didn't dare to check the rearview mirror, for fear of catching the look in Roxanna's eyes. Keeping one hand on the wheel, on a long straightaway, Patrick reached underneath his front seat and retrieved a paper bag, obviously containing some sort of booze inside. He knew it could bring unwanted attention to them on the road, if a passing police vehicle noticed it, but he also knew that if there was one person in that car who deserved a drink- it was her. Breaking the uncomfortable silence, he spoke, his voice as heavy as his heart, "I found this under my seat when I stole the car, I don't know what's inside... but Roxie, it's all yours. You drink, and get some well-earned rest."

"LET ME GO!" Roxie screamed at Dianna, nearly toppling the red-head over while she struggled to break free from the woman's grasp. Her house, her life- everything she had- it was going up in flames. There was time for her to put out the fire to, to save some of her possessions. Her arms were outstretched over Dianna's shoulders like a child in her mother's arms, reaching toward the house as if she wanted it to pull her inward. She was kicking at the other woman, stomping down on her foot, but Dianna's strong arms were unyielding. She remembered when she had held Dianna back from harming Patrick, but now this seemed so much more important.

Dianna was starting to struggle to keep both of them upright. When Roxie's knees buckled, they both started to collapse down to the ground. Just before she lost complete control, Patrick was there with his arms open to assist her. Somehow, together, they managed to carry Roxie to the car and safely shove her into the backseat. When the door was slammed, Dianna paused to breathe before climbing into the front seat. She looked back at the dark-haired woman, the pale moonlight just enough to illuminate the tears streaming down her cheeks. Roxie's hand was on the window, her nose smashed into the glass as her eyes stayed glued to the burning house while they started to drive away. "Roxie, I'm sorry." She whispered, reaching back to take her hand. But Roxie snatched it away, collapsing back on the seat. "Everything will be okay, Roxie. You're going to be fine."

There was a point when the silence between the three of them was only broken by the occasional sniff or sob from the woman in the backseat. It made Dianna's heart break intensely, but she could not have altered the outcome in any manner. Roxie had finally collapsed into the seat, her eyes pointed upward at the roof of the vehicle. When Patrick offered her the bag, she took it, dragging it across her body so the other hand could screw off the top. She didn't even look at the label before she poured the dark whiskey into her lips. Wincing, she chugged down a few gulps before replacing the top. Dropping it down into the floorboard, she turned over to face the back of the seat and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Dianna said not a word for a long time, her fair gaze pointed steadily out the windshield. When she was certain that Roxie was asleep, she glanced at him. "I made a mess of her life." She whispered, but that was all she wanted to say on the matter. Reaching down by her feet, she picked up the bag of collected items and began to rifle through it. But, she didn't care at the moment. Throwing it back into the floor, she turned her head to peer out the window.

Patrick brought a heavy hand up to rub his forehead quickly, before looking back up at the road. He had heard Dianna's whisper, and instantly his lips opened to try and tell her she was wrong. However, he could think of no words to speak and only offered a heavy sigh. He continued down the painfully straight road and took a deep inhale through his nose. What could he say? He knew it was true, but all of their lives were a mess. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, and racked his exhausted brain for some comforting words.

He spoke in a ragged whisper, "Look at all of our lives Dianna, I've become a murderer, I've got nothing but what I'm wearing... but I'm still alive. And you're still alive, and damnit Dianna, Roxie is still alive. Don't fault yourself for what happened in that museum, we were just... in the wrong place, at definitely the wrong time. We're all still breathing, and let's make sure all of this effort... all of this fighting and scrapping to stay alive... let's make sure it's not for nothing."

With another heavy sigh, he reset his hands upon the wheel, and dared to glance over to Dianna, to look into her eyes for only a moment, "In order to survive, and get through this, and give you a chance to pay Roxie back, we've got to figure out a plan. I don't know who it is that's after us, but they've already proven themselves relentless and brutal. We need to know who we're up against, so... start going through that bag, and we'll work our way through this, alright?"

He hesitated at first, to offer his hand across the front seat of the vehicle, but after a moment he kept his left hand upon the top of the wheel and offered his right to find hers. He didn't want to do it, at first, figuring it would be rejected. He understood Dianna, he doubted she'd accept the hand, as she would take it as a sign of weakness. But, when he offered it, he was not thinking of Dianna, he was thinking of himself. He was not only trying to convince Dianna everything could be fine with time, but he was trying to convince himself. And with the offer of his hand, he was solidifying the word he had used most in his attempt to get the redhead back to her strong self- "we." His fingers met hers, and he started to slowly slide his hand to grasp hers- but he made sure she had the ability to pull her hand back at anytime.

Dianna was still in a state of great vulnerability. She needed structure in her life, whether it was planning a heist or what she was eating for breakfast. Right now, she had no plan except to stay alive. But even she didn't know how to accomplish it. She felt as though she had nothing more than the two people in the car with her: a practical stranger and a long-time friend who probably both hated and blamed her for the entirety of this situation. When he pointed out the mistakes in their lives, she shook her head. "I'm a PETTY thief, like you said!" She yelled, instantly lowering her voice to a whisper so as to not wake Roxie. "That's where I went wrong right? I lived my entire life taking things that didn't belong to me, and I was good at it. More than good, you know this." She paused, turning her head to him. "I'm a murderer, too, now. I didn't just kill that guy, I made him suffer. At least you just shot them to protect us. I wanted him to hurt for what he did to us, for what they did to me."

"If I hadn't been trying to steal something, you wouldn't have been there either. Your job was to take me down. Now look at you, working as my accomplice. Giving up your life to save ours. There is an upside." She whispered, shifting in her seat. "I have a million different aliases and even more bank accounts. I'm a wealthy woman, Patrick. If I can just access some of those funds, that should help us at least a little." When he instructed her to reach for the bag again, she did so reluctantly. She pulled out a phone, scrolling through the menu. "I don't know who these people are. Lugio is a name mentioned in here a lot. Does that ring a bell to you?"

The hand reaching for hers surprised her, her eyes darting down to stare at it in disbelief. She hesitated, starting to recoil, but she stopped. The warmth of his hand was so comforting, so natural, that she let his fingers intertwine with her own. Even more than that, she curled her slender digits across the back of his hand so that they were palm to palm. Perhaps she was being weak by showing him a softer side of herself, but she figured the desperation of the situation allowed for it.

Perhaps it was hearing his first name come out of Dianna's lips, perhaps it was the comfort, but he didn't dislodge his hand from Dianna's as time passed, instead he gave it a little squeeze. His eyes remained blankly on the road, but the mind behind those eyes was frantic with activity. His thumb began to rub circles into her hand as finally, he found a tiny bit of a comfort zone. He licked his lips before speaking, "Lugio... it sounds familiar, but I can't put a face to the name. Look through the wallets, tell me who those guys were. Also, I need you to see if there is a pen and paper anywhere in the car."

Patrick continued on the long country road, every once in a while another car would pass, but time seemed to lose meaning and Patrick wondered how long he would be holding the wheel straight before running into the freeway. "Dianna, me and Roxie are going to need new identities for a while as well. There's only a few ways we can take down whoever's after us, even after we find out who they are. We can find evidence, hard evidence of the police officer's corruption and bring it to the media, because lord knows the newspapers and TV shows are already proclaiming the cop I shot dead a hero, and me, a horribly corrupt criminal wanted to be brought in for justice. Or... we can try to disappear, but where to? And for how long?"

Part of what Patrick spoke was a plan, the other part was simply thinking aloud, pointless questions he was asking nobody. He continued though, as the city's lights started to appear in the distance, "We could bring evidence to the authorities as well, but not anywhere local, I wouldn't trust any police station in this state- or even all surrounding ones. The mafia has always had a strong presence here, and it is impossible to tell how strong their pull is, and how far their reach is... hey look, Dianna-" he started, snapping out of his out-loud brainstorming, to turn and look at the redheaded woman, oblivious of the fact that his palm was still up against hers. "Just before we reach the freeway, I'm going to pull over and let you drive on there for a while. I need to look through all of the stuff myself, see if I recognize any names, and possibly... start calling contacts. Let's see who this Lugio guy is, right?"

Fortunately for Dianna's analytical mind, she wasn't thinking about his hand. Otherwise, she would have been scrutinizing everything about it from the way his palm molded to hers to the way his thumb brushed little circles against her flesh. She would have been trying to discern the significance of it, to see if he was doing it because he needed to be comforted or if there was another underlying reason. She was the type of woman to need answers to everything, to need to have an understanding. But this was something she couldn't understand. There was no reason why a pair of individuals who fought against and loathed each other should be sharing any type of tender moment. He had been her enemy once. Now he was her ally. Irony, she hated.

With her free hand, she dumped out a wallet. The photo on the driver's license was of a big, bulky man with a shaved head. "Here we go. Antonio Ca-pre. . . lli. Antonio Caprelli. I've got an address, but it's not local. It's based out of the city." She put it down, cleaning out the bills in the billfold. "Whoa, there's almost a thousand bucks in here. That will buy us some time, right?" Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out an empty envelope and a pen one of them had looted from a corpse. "Will this do?"

When he spoke of needing new identities, she nodded. "No problem. I'll take care of that." He was spilling his thoughts to her, though she didn't know if they were really meant for her to answer or if he was just thinking out loud. She, too, mulled over the possibilities, thinking they needed to be safe and far enough away that they could work to bring down the situation. "Listen, okay? You and Roxie are totally innocent in this situation. You both deserve for us to solve this whole thing and take it to proper authorities to get your names cleared. We both know that can't happen so long as you keep aiding a criminal." Her voice was dead serious, her hand squeezing his. "I'm not innocent, Patrick. The police know about me to a certain extent. After all, you found me. No matter what happens, at the end of all this, I'm going to jail. But I can't do that, I can't live my life in a cage. At least not right now." She paused, hoping he understood the gravity to her tone. "I have a house in Ireland. We could go there for a while until this calms down. You know, try to work from afar. If we can't get any evidence, then we'll go from there but if we do, you have to notify someone. Surely there must be someone you trust. After that, promise me you'll bring Roxie home with you and see to it she's alright. I have enough money put away to take care of getting her a new home. Please, promise me you'll do that?" There was little emotion in her voice, but the internal pain she felt was more than enough to consume her. "When I know everyone is safe, I'll turn myself in. You know, make it right. There are a lot of wealthy men in the world who despise me, but I want to make sure that Roxie has a hold of my funds before I'm put away."

When she was finished speaking, she fell silent. Her head nodded when he said he wanted her to drive. "Yeah, that's good. I could use something to focus on. Plus, you might recognize something I can't. If you want to, go ahead and pull over." She pulled her hand from his, tucking it into her lap. And just like that, her moment of softness was over.

Patrick heard each word she spoke, and understood the gravity behind each one. He had so many objections to some of her plans, including turning herself in, but he didn't voice them. It was not the time for him to speak, to throw a wrench into her plans, it was a time for him to listen. He knew she was wrong though, he was no longer innocent in the situation. He had held an innocent man at gunpoint to steal his vehicle, stolen from another innocent man when he pick-pocketed him, and now most recently shot four men to death.

It wasn't long before they were near the freeway off-ramp, and Patrick slowly pulled the car over to the side of the road. Not bothering to shut the engine off, he hurriedly exited the car and walked around to the passenger side. This time, he did not slam the door behind him, instead shutting it firmly yet quietly. As he entered the passenger seat, he peeked back on the sleeping form of Roxanna in the backseat. Quietly, he took a small smile in the fact she seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep. He only took the one moment though, before he started rifling through the bag in front of him.

He quickly found the empty envelope and the pen beside them. Grabbing the pen, he started scribbling down the name of every contact from each phone onto a piece of paper. Half an hour and a lot of scribbling together, Patrick had found a few important names. Each phone shared the contact Lugio, as well as an Aldo, and a Doriano. Through a bit more rummaging, he had gathered all of the identities of the gunners, as well as crossing out the unimportant contacts from each phone. Despite the grumbling from his stomach, which hadn't been fed a nutritious meal in a while, he doubted he needed the number for pizza delivery.

All of the contacts, the names of the men with wallets, so many of them seemed so familiar, but Patrick couldn't put his finger on it. He racked his brain, trying to scrounge up the memories from his time in the department. So many overheard conversations, so many seemingly unimportant details he had overlooked... and then it hit him. He put together the first name of one of the phone contacts, with one of the last names on the wallets. That was the name that had stuck in his head, and as he realized just exactly who he was up against, three words escaped under his breath, "Oh... holy shit."

Aldo Caprelli, a man wanted on an international level, the king of the kingpins of the Italian mafia, the uncrowned king of the mafia's army. He had overheard the Chief talking about Caprelli once, and he remembered the exact words the Chief said to him. It was one of the final things he had learned in training, 'If you catch a Caprelli doing something illegal... just let him do it. Aldo Caprelli is a sleeping lion, one you don't touch with a thousand-foot long pole.'

Not only had Patrick already started the wrath of this mob leader, he was beginning to accept the gravity of the four kills earlier in the night. The four men had been some of his highest up muscle, including at least one member of his immediate family in Antonio. Patrick had taken down four of the highest respected, paid, and feared muscle that the mob used. His eyes grew wide as he stared at the name he had down on paper, and repeated those three words he had spoken many times, over and over again, under his breath. His eyes went up to Dianna in the driver's seat, as the blood drained from his face. He looked at Dianna with wide eyes and asked, "So... how quickly do you think you can get all of us passports to get us to Ireland?"

Dianna wordlessly traded places with him, jogging over to the driver's side so they could quickly resume their pace. His door had barely shut before the woman peeled out, her tires squealing on the road. Dianna was used to fast cars that had to get her from one place to another in a short, hasty amount of time. It bothered her that this one was a slower, more normal type of vehicle. It didn't matter how hard she pressed on the accelerator, it was going to top out speed long before she wanted it to. Driving used to be somewhat relaxing to her, like a reward for a job well done. Now it was a necessity to get the three of them as far away as possible.

Before he even spoke, she knew exactly where she was going. Shifting her body in the seat, she pulled out her phone from her pocket. Using her mouth to hold it, she adjusted her hands on the wheel so she could use one of them to make a call. "Freddie, hey- no, no. LISTEN!" She told him, glancing back at Roxie in the rearview mirror. "We're okay. We almost died and some really big men are dead, but we're okay. Yes, I know. Freddie!" Eyes rolled, the woman's hand tapping on the wheel as her patience was beginning to wear thin. "I need some favors, fast. I need a few fake I.D.s. For Roxie, myself, and. . . " she paused, glancing at the man in her passenger seat. "That Rookie that caused all this shit." She didn't mean her words, not really, but she had to retain some normalcy. "Yes, well, he saved our asses. Detective, yeah. Patrick something. Adair, right? Right. Yeah, get a photo. I want you to have these waiting for us at the concierge desk at the airport Hilton."

At that time, she heard Patrick curse. Canting her head toward him, she waited for him to tell her what was going on. Except he didn't. Instead, he looked like he had seen a ghost, but she understood that whatever he found had been bad information. When he asked how long it would take, she knew they were in trouble. "Freddie, book us three flights to Dublin. We'll take the first one out, alright? I'll pick everything up at concierge. Yeah. Brooklyn Mansfield. Thanks, Freddie."

Hanging up the phone, she pushed it back into her pocket. "He'll take care of it, don't worry. Freddie's pretty reliable, and he's kind of nuts about Roxie. If he thinks she's in danger- which she is- he'll speed it along a bit. He's about the only other person I can trust, really." Maneuvering into traffic, she fled over to the far left lane to ensure the easiest flow of traffic. "I doubt there will be a flight for another six or seven hours, but we'll rest in the hotel and take the first one out. We'll be okay, they'll be looking for me not Brooklyn Mansfield."