A/N: Okay, so I lied, this is not a two part fic. Angst and death warning in this chapter. And I also lied when I said that this would be posted when I got back from my business trip; instead, you get it a week early. Well, enjoy and I'll hopefully be bringing a full note book back home with me.

The Dark Knight

Part Two of Two - Not!

I stepped out of the bonds office, drew my coat tight around me in an attempt to shield myself from the frigid March wind, and made my way over to my rusting Honda Civic. The Nova had gone to the great scrap yard in the sky just before Christmas; the fire ball had been spectacular, and was seen ten blocks away. I dug my car keys out of my pocket book with a mitten covered hand, and glanced up as I stuck the key in the door lock. A black Porsche Turbo was idling at the curb directly over the road, and I knew in an instant who the car belonged to.

The driver's window was powered down; Ricardo Manoso flashed me his one hundred watt smile, slid a pair of shade on, and pulled back out into the traffic. The conceited bastard! I shot him the bird before getting in the car, having to slam the door four times just to get the lock to catch. Damn Manoso, damn him to hell!

Last November he'd bribed, or should that be blackmailed me; he paid me $5,000 to drop his FTA case, and in exchange he wanted twelve hours of my time. It wasn't like I'd had much choice in the matter; had I refused then I'd have become very well acquainted with two of his thugs. In the end, after some difficult negotiations, I'd agreed, and since then I'd been waiting for him to call in his twelve hours.

I'd pretty much expected him to turn up a couple of days later to collect on his deal, but he never did. Then I figured out that he'd probably show once the speeding charges were dropped, but he didn't do that either. Instead, the bastard just kept popping up in the strangest of places. He was always in his Porsche, and his SOP was to let the window down, make eye contact with me and then drive off. He was playing with me, trying his best to keep me constantly off balance, never knowing just where he'd show up next and if he'd demand his payment, and you know what? It was damn well working. I'd seen him at the bonds office, in my parking lot, outside my parents and while picking up skips. I had no idea how he knew where to find me, and it left me feeling very freaked out. To be honest, I just wanted him to collect on his deal so I could get him out of my life.

I glanced over the files I'd picked up from Connie; two easy ones, and one that needed a little more work. The simple, quick buck ones were Dougie and Mooner, and the not so easy one was Sasha St. Claire, a hooker down on Stark Street. I'd picked up Sasha a number of times, and I wasn't worried about having to chase her through alleys; she'd come along easily enough if I swung thought McDonald's on the way to the cop shop. What I was worried about was running into her pimp, Lester Santos. Lester was Ricardo Manoso's cousin, and also the delightful gentleman who had thrown me into a wall and given me a concussion back in November. I really didn't want to bump into him again, or Manoso for that matter.

These days I tended to stay clear of Stark, but I was running out of cash; the Honda wiping out all of my reserves, so I couldn't afford to be choosy with what cases I picked. The chances of actually seeing Santos were slim, but I'd become so flipping paranoid these last few months. Problem was that Manoso was really out there, he was watching me, and he was coming to get me.

It was official, I was a wimp. I'd put Sasha off until later and go pick Dougie and Mooner up first. Maybe if I was lucky then I could spend the day watching a Star Trek marathon and get high off second hand pot smoke. The row house on Slater had changed color since my last visit; it was now a lurid purple with a lime green door and window frames. Jeez, these two got odder every time I picked them up. I parked the Honda at the curb, jogged up the steps and knocked on the front door. No answer, and no sound from the television either. Strange, the guys were always at home. I knocked again, louder this time; maybe they'd smoked too much and had passed out.

"They're not here, dear."

I looked over to the next house; Mrs Kowalski was standing on her front stoop. "Do you know where they are?" I asked.

"They said something about a trip to Disney Land, but I'm not exactly sure when they'll be back. They asked me to water their tomato plants while they're away."

Right, tomato plants… I rolled my eyes, and thanked Mrs Kowalski. Great, now what? I only had Sasha's file left and I so did not want to go down to Stark Street. I had no food in my fridge and my rent was due by the end of the week; I couldn't afford to take a chance on the boys coming back before then. I was going to have to go bring Sasha in. I got back in the car and dug through my pocket book; I had enough loose change to get her some food on the way across town and that was it. Suck it up, Steph. Besides, it was still early and most of the low lifes would be in bed.

I headed to the other side of town, cruised Stark for a couple of blocks, keeping an eye out for a black Porsche Turbo and an aggressive Latino pimp. When I didn't see either, I parked outside Sasha's building, loaded for bear, and dashed up the stairs to her third floor apartment. The whole building really was a shit hole; cracked and water stained plaster work, trash of all varieties all over the floor and a foul smell that made my skin crawl. I banged on Sasha's door, calling out her name, but there was no answer. What was it with me today? I just didn't seem to have any luck.

"Come on Sasha, open the door," I cajoled. "We can stop off at McDonalds and I'll get you some breakfast."

Nothing, still no answer, and that was worrying; it was too early for her to be working. I stood up on tip toes and squinted through the peep hole, trying to see if she was just passed out on the couch. I couldn't be sure, but I thought that I saw someone on the sofa. I dug around in my bag and after a lot of hunting pulled out my lock picks. It was a handy skill to have; I had Tank to thank for that. The lock popped open relatively easily; I pulled my gun and slowly pushed the door open.

The smell of rotting meat made me gag, and I clamped my hand over my mouth and nose so I didn't lose my meager breakfast. Shit! Sasha was dead, very dead. I took a step closer and knew without a doubt that there was no point in looking for a pulse. Her skin was a sickly blue-green color, and if I didn't actually know her, I'd have struggled to recognize her; that meant that she'd been dead for around twenty four hours, no wonder she missed her court date.

She was slumped on her couch, but so far as I could tell, there was no obvious signs of how she died; no needles next to her or tell tale bullet wounds. But if my spidey sense was correct, I had a very strong feeling that she didn't die of natural causes. I crept slowly back across the room , relocked her door, wiped my prints from the handle and ran down the stairs like a bat out of hell. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the parking lot of McDonalds, shaking like a leaf. Think, Steph, think! Did I call the police and tell them I was in there and found her dead, or did I make an anonymous phone call? My money was on the anonymous call; I just didn't want to have to deal with this shit today.

I needed a phone booth that was away from cameras. There used to be one on the corner of Olden, but it got removed last year after it was involved in a collision with a speeding car – no it was nothing to do with me. I racked my brains and came up blank; there was no way on this earth that I wanted to get caught on some CCTV footage, showing me making the call to the TPD. There was only one other option, and it was going to leave me about a hundred bucks poorer, but I didn't think I had any choice. I could still collect the money on Sasha once the paperwork was done, but now some of that would be going to Tank.

I pulled my cell from my pocket and hit speed dial #1.

"Talk."

"Hey Tank, it's Steph. I need a favor."

Silence.

Would it kill him to say a damn word? "I went looking for Sasha this morning, and she's erm…"

"Dead?" he finished for me.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Just a guess. So you want me, in a roundabout sort of way to let the PD know about this then?"

"Yeah, if you wouldn't mind."

"What's her bond?"

"$2000," I responded.

I could almost hear Tank doing the math in his head. "You owe me $50, I'll take it out of your next paycheck. There's a stack of searches that need doing; couple of days work at least if you want it."

What else could I do? I had to eat, to pay my rent. "Sure, I'll be over shortly."

I never got the chance to say thank you, as he'd hung up. I thunked my head against the steering wheel and let out a long sigh. My life sucked. I sat there with my head pressed on the wheel, contemplating spending the last of my cash on a Big Mac and coke when the passenger door popped open, and Manoso's henchman with the cornrows slid into the car. He leveled a Glock at my chest and smiled wickedly, flashing a couple of gold teeth.

"Not seen you in a while, bitch," he growled.

I thought about asking how his balls were, and if he could still have children, but the gun aimed at me made me think better of it. Instead I simply shrugged.

"Boss wants to talk to you. Drive, I'll tell you where."

I really don't think so. "Excuse me?" I asked tartly.

"Drive, or I might decide to see if the bullets in my gun will go all the way through you, out the other side and hit that parked car over there."

"Fine," I muttered as I turned the engine over. I'd never prayed so much in my whole life for one of my POS cars to die on me, but it started like a dream. Fuck.

"You know where Comstock is?"

I nodded.

"Well, what are you waiting for, puta?" he sneered.

The drive was made in silence. I kept glancing over at Brown, but he said nothing more, just kept his gun pointed at me. We drove down Comstock and pulled up outside a large tenement. Somehow, this one looked in a lot better condition than its neighbors. I got out the car and was then dragged up the steps and up to the second floor. Brown tugged me down the hallway and knocked on the third door.

"Entre," a voice commanded, and I knew without a doubt it was Manoso.

Brown pushed the door open, shoved me inside and slammed the it shut behind me. I stood there in silence, taking in my surroundings and keeping half an eye on Manoso. He was sat behind a large desk, his long hair was loose and he looked very tired, vulnerable even.

"Well?" I asked finally; the silence was so oppressive.

He leaned back in his chair. "I see you found out about Sasha."

I nodded, wondering if it was Manoso or one of his men that killed her, and if so, why he didn't talk to me this morning.

He snorted and sat forward. "You think I kill my own whores? I only found out about it an hour ago."

What could I say? Instead I shrugged.

He shook his head sadly. "You shouldn't believe everything you hear on the street."

Just who was this man, really? "Okay," I responded. "So maybe you could explain why I was escorted across town at gun point instead?"

He clasped his hands in front of him, elbows propped on his desk, and face deadly serious. "I need your help."