The characters of Tim Bayliss, Frank Pembleton, Meldrick Lewis,
Mike Kellerman, John Munch, Al Giardello, Stuart Gharty, Laura
Ballard, Paul Falsone, Julianna Cox, Dr. Scheiner, Lt. Jasper,
Roger Gaffney, George Barnfather, and Mary Pembleton are the
exclusive property of Paul Attanasio, NBC television and
Baltimore Productions. They are used in the following story
without permission, but with no intention for profit. We're just
borrowing them for our own amusement. No infringement is
intended.

Also, special thanks to the late Charles Dickens, whom we quoted
from "A Christmas Carol".

Title: "Avenging Angels"
Author: Wendi and Patricia
Email: WLJeff@aol.com
Rating: PG-13 (language and violence)

Summary: There's a cop killer lose on the streets of Baltimore.
Frank and Tim take on the case, which eventually hits close to
home. The entire squad eventually takes the case as it becomes a
personal vendetta when one of their own is gunned down.

Teaser: Can the homicide unit survive a shot to the heart?

This story begins in October of 1997, roughly the beginning of
season 6. It was written well before we knew of the Christmas
and post-Christmas storylines.

AVENGING ANGELS

PART 1/12

Tim Bayliss squinted through his glasses at Frank, who stared
down at the body on the wooden pier. "Frank, is it just me, or
are you starting to see a pattern here?"

Frank Pembleton grimaced at the dead officer at his feet. "No, I
think it's safe to say we have a pattern. We keep getting these
damn red balls. I also think it's safe to say this is the worst
possible crime scene I've ever had the misfortune to be called
onto."

He glanced around at the festive crowd behind them. Various
costumes could be spotted as far as the eye could see along the
inner harbor area, mingling with a great number of non-costumed
partiers as well. The common denominator among the masses seemed
to be their level of intoxication, which was just short of
falling down drunk for the most part. "Where the hell are we
going to find credible witnesses in this mess?"

Tim shrugged. "Beats me. You know, I've got a buddy who went to
college down in Louisiana. He used to describe Mardi Gras to me,
and I had it pictured just about like this." Confetti filled the
air periodically and loud music wafted through the night air from
a wailing jazz trio nearby.

Frank looked genuinely perplexed. "Shots went off just a few
minutes ago, and already they're back to the partying. This is
absurd."

Tim smiled wearily at his partner. "This is Halloween night in
Baltimore, Frank. It's supposed to be absurd." He glanced back
down at the badge he held in his hands. "Joe Davis...this was his
beat down here, right?"

Frank glanced down at the body. "Well, he's wearing his uniform.
That would be *my* guess."

Tim ignored the sarcasm. "Yep, I'm getting a bad feeling about
this one. This is the fifth cop since New Year's, isn't it?"

Frank nodded and frowned. "Four. Felton's was a completely
different MO. Not one of the other four put down, either. This
isn't the Year of the Cop." He shrugged. "Of course, two of those
don't surprise me. We had no say so in those cases. It's amazing
any headway was made at all considering the detectives assigned
to them."

Tim rolled his eyes at the blatant insinuation concerning the
worth of Lewis, Munch, Ballard and Gharty's detective skills.
"Save the insults for the breakroom, alright Frank? Right now
we've got the makings of a redball on our hands." He nudged his
glasses up and scribbled on his pad. "I *hate* redballs."

Frank smirked. "Speaking of which, do my eyes deceive me or is
that Lewis coming this way dressed as a basketball?"

Tim glanced up from his notes and grinned at Lewis, who was
indeed approaching them in some sort of orange-sphere type
costume.

"Meldrick, you've got to be drunk to be dressed like *that*,"
Frank laughed, his white teeth gleaming in the dark.

Meldrick Lewis responded with the most primitive form of sign
language, as he returned Frank's grin. "Kiss my ass, man. I ain't
drunk...just mellow."

Tim frowned and shook his pencil at him. "You didn't hit our
stock at the bar, did you?"

Meldrick looked offended. "What the hell..? You accusing me of
stealin' outta my own pocket, Timmy?"

Frank tugged at the blousy orange material of the costume, still
laughing. "What are you, a basketball?"

Meldrick jutted his chin out and knocked Frank's hand away. "I'm
the Great Pumpkin...you know, Charlie Brown?? Ah, forget it," he
muttered with a dark look.

Tim was chuckling as he stared down at Meldrick's legs. "Are
those green tights you're wearing?"

Frank toyed with an orange beret atop Meldrick's head. There was
a stick and a large green leaf attached to it, adding to his
comical air.

Meldrick slapped at his hands again. "Don't touch the twig, man!"
He glared at their burst of laughter. "Least I ain't a big enough
chump to be caught working on Halloween night in Baltimore. Looks
like you got just whatchu deserve, too. A cold, stiff one..." he
trailed off and frowned down at the body. "What the hell? A cop?"

"No! A vampire!!" came a wheedling voice from behind Tim. He
glanced up to see John Munch approaching along the pier that
jutted out from Thames Street. Munch held up his cape to reveal a
red satin lining. "Would you believe these used to be my favorite
sheets?"

Frank raised a brow. "A blood sucking member of the walking dead.
That's kind of appropriate, John."

Munch scowled. "We prefer to be called the *immortals* if you
please." He glanced over at Meldrick. "Good costume, Meldrick.
You can use it to trick-or-treat tonight, then scoop out the
insides and make a tasty dessert for your Thanksgiving feast."

Meldrick shook his head and scratched his chin. "Who's tending
the bar if you're out sucking blood, Munchkin?"

"*Sucking blood*?" Munch quipped, lowering his chin. "You think
we vampires are crazy enough to do that in this day and age? I'm
not out sucking blood, I'm out seducing and ravishing young
maidens, you bonehead. This Dracula get up is a babe *magnet*."
He shrugged. "Don't worry your precious *pumpkin* head about the
Waterfront, either. Mac came in for third shift. We're doing a
steady, hopping business, by the way. As we speak, our till
runneth over."

Meldrick clapped his hands together and rubbed them happily. "Ha-
ha!! God bless our drunken patrons!"

Munch peered over his shoulder at the sound of approaching
footsteps along the wooden planks. "Speaking of drunks, here's
one of our former favorites...Mike!! Come on over! Frank and
Timmy have a fresh one."

Mike Kellerman strolled up, chewing an even larger wad of gum
than normal. He was dressed in a vintage white baseball uniform
with an old fashioned NY along the front of the shirt. He glanced
around at the detectives managing to avoid looking directly at
Lewis. Their recent seperation was still too raw to deal with. He
finally gazed down at the body. "Dead, huh? That sucks on a night
like this."

Frank shook his head at the ever articulate Kellerman. "Another
cop."

"Where do you suppose the ME is Frank?" Tim asked absently, as he
peered closer at Davis' body.

"If it's Scheiner it's going to take him a while to shuffle down
here from the ME's office," Munch snidely commented.

"I *heard* that."

All heads turned at the sound of that unmistakeable gravelly
voice. Scheiner approached at his usual shuffle amid a hail of
catcalls and laughter.

"Look at that, man!"

"Uh...Scheiner, there's some sort of red fuzzy growth on your
face. You might want to see your doctor about that," Mike stated,
smirking at the outrageous costume.

"Thank you very much Neanderthal Man," he retorted, glaring
sharply up at the tall blonde. "It's a beard, you idiot." He took
in Mike's costume and shook his head. "Dumb jock, eh? That's not
much of a stretch for you."

Munch tapped him on a stooped shoulder. "*Who* are you supposed
to be and *what* are you doing with a store mannequin's head
under your arm?"

Scheiner shoved his glasses up with a choice finger as he glared
at Munch. "Who the hell do you think I am? I'm Henry the VIII,
you asshole."

Frank bit back another wave of laughter. "And the mannequin
head?"

"It's one of my wives." He frowned at Frank. "I'm surprised at
you Pembleton. I thought you were a learned man. Just a classier
breed of bozo, I guess."

Tim shook his head and gestured at the body. "While you're here
Good King Henry, would you mind taking a look at our victim?"

Scheiner shuffled closer and bent slightly. He raised back up.
"He's *dead*."

Mike, John and Meldrick choked back hearty guffaws while Frank
and Tim sighed at the old man's antics. "Thanks a lot...you
wouldn't care to *elaborate* on that would you?" Tim quipped.

Scheiner glared up at him. "No, I *wouldn't*. It's my night off.
You'll have to wait on Cox. I've gotta meet a date up at Kooper's
Tavern."

Munch placed a hand against his white tuxedo shirt front.
"Kooper's? Scheiner, how could you? I'm personally hurt that you
chose that *upstart* over our obviously superior
establishment..."

Scheiner was already shuffling away, waving a hand to shush
Munch. "It's a *cop* bar, for Christ's sake. Who wants to get
drunk *there*?"

"Hey, man!!" Lewis called after him. "That's *it* Scheiner. You
hear me?? No more bar tab for you, you ol' geezer!"

"Blow it out your ear, Meldrick!" came the squawked reply as he
eased past Ballard and Gharty.

Munch scowled at Meldrick. "You let Scheiner have a tab?? The
man's a sponge."

Lewis ignored him and whistled appreciatively at the approaching
sight. "Look at that pussy..."

Tim popped him solidly on the shoulder, frowning. "Meldrick, you
pig..."

Meldrick yelped and rubbed his upper arm. "What's amatter with
you, man? I was tryin' to say pussy *cat*. That's what you are,
ain't it Ballard?"

Laura Ballard grinned up at Meldrick, her applied whiskers
twitching in the breeze off the harbor. "You Baltimore Homicide
boys are so perceptive. I'm in awe."

Munch eyed the petite figure encased in a black leotard and
tights, appreciatively. "Here, kitty-kitty."

Laura glanced at Munch. "What have we here? Animal control?"

Gharty peered through a magnifying glass at Munch and clucked his
tongue. "Elementary, my dear Ballard," he quipped in a terrible
attempt at a British accent. "We appear to have a pervert on our
hands."

Munch grinned. "Thank you. On behalf of all lecherous vampire-
types, I humbly accept that title."

Mike craned his neck to glance at the back of Ballard's costume.
"Nice tail."

She glared at him, and checked to see that the long black velvet
tail was still attached. It had been yanked on by several drunks
during the course of the evening's festivities.

Tim was grinning at her. "I actually like those little ears.
They're cute..."

She rewarded him with a rare smile, causing him to glance back
down at his notes awkwardly.

"I'm sure there are sheathed claws, as well," Frank dryly stated,
nodding at his two least favorite co-workers. He eyed Gharty's
plaid cap and cape. "Well Sherlock, any idea who killed this
cop?"

Gharty removed a pipe from between his teeth and peered at the
body. "Damn. Another one?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah, another one. Where the hell's Juliana?"

"Speak of the devil," Munch said, grinning at his pun.
"*Literally*."

The detectives glanced around to see Juliana Cox approaching,
decked out in a tight fitting red shirt and matching red jeans.
She wore a set of red satin horns on a headband in her hair. Mike
glared as he recognized her escort, despite his black blousy
shirt, trousers, and black bandana eye mask.

Juliana stepped amidst the detectives offering smiles to everyone
but Mike. "Well, if it isn't the Monster Mash. Sorry it took me a
while to get here. Traffic's a bitch." She perused the body and
turned it over so that he lay face up. "Would've been a mess if
Falsone here hadn't parted the masses for me."

Paul Falsone doffed his wide-brimmed black hat and bent gallantly
from the waist. "Anytime, Dr. Cox."

Meldrick elbowed him. "Snazzy outfit, bro. Is that sword there
the real thing?"

Falsone lept back and unsheathed the weapon, brandishing it in a
quick trio of movements forming a Z in the air in front of
Ballard and Lewis. "Of course it ees real!" he pronounced in a
heavy, rolling Spanish accent. "I am Zorro!! I avenge the
innocent weeth my blade, Senior Lewis."

Ballard laughed in delight, and Falsone grinned as he replaced
the sword with a flourish. "Gracias, Senorita."

Mike chewed the huge wad of gum and glared. "Zorro, huh? Looks
more like Speedy Gonzales dressed in black to me."

Falsone ignored the remark and instead bent to observe the body.
"Whoa. Another cop. How many's this make?"

"Four," Tim sighed, stepping aside as Juliana moved around the
body.

Falsone glanced up at Frank. "A cop killed on his beat? This is
gonna make waves with the press."

Juliana stood and stripped her surgical gloves off. "Two gunshot
wounds to the chest cavity. One definitely hit the heart. The
other is cutting pretty damn close if it didn't. Shot in the
back...death was almost instantaneous."

"You've got witnesses?" Ballard asked. Frank refrained from
rolling his eyes at what he considered an obvious insult.

"The uniforms have a few we managed to keep around. Everyone
scattered when the shots went off," Tim stated.

"And then promptly resumed their partying," Frank added with a
curled lip.

Munch craned his neck at the retained witnesses and snickered.
"Good luck getting anything useful out of *them*. I personally
remember Frankenstein and his bride from the Waterfront. That
genie looks familiar too. I may have dated her..."

Gharty glanced at the group. "Need some help interviewing them?"

Tim began to reply, but Frank quickly cut him off. "Thanks, but
this is our case."

Tim frowned at him, but knew better than to argue. Instead he
smiled in gratitude at his co-workers. "You all should go back
and enjoy yourself. We're the two idiots who volunteered to work
Halloween, so we'll take care of things."

The detectives began to drift away, while Juliana called the lab
technicians over to search for evidence. She glanced at Tim and
Frank. "You can bag this guy, now. I'm heading back to the
office."

Falsone whipped off his hat and bowed at the waist again.
"Seniorita Cox, may I have the great honor of escorting you back
through these villanous masses?"

She grinned at him and took his offered arm. "Sure, Zorro. Lead
on."

Mike watched them go, his jaw clenched tightly. "What does she
see in that guy? He's not exactly the most enlightened man, you
know? He's a punk."

Meldrick raised his brows and shook his head at Mike. "Reckon
Jules must have a thing for dumb punks, then." He stutted off
back to the crowd towards the live band area where the next jazz
set was warming up.

Mike tossed his wad of gum into the harbor and punched his left
hand into his gloved right. "Asshole...you don't see *me*
strutting around dressed as a damned pumpkin," he muttered to
Lewis's retreating form. "I think I'm gonna go back to my boat
and hide from trick-or-treaters."

Munch stared up the pier towards the street front of bars. "Me,
I'm going to find Scheiner and harass him for going to Koopers.
See you guys later."

Ballard shook her head at Tim. "What's the matter with you
anyway, Bayliss? Working Halloween is like missing Mardi Gras or
something. You're *not* one of those bachelors who works every
holiday to fight off the loneliness, are you?"

Tim frowned inwardly, realizing that was exactly what he did.
Frank saved him, though.

"Not that it's any of your business Ballard, but Tim and I are
working tonight so that we get Thanksgiving off. He's coming to
my place for dinner."

Tim glanced at his partner in surprise. *I am*, his eyes clearly
stated.

Gharty laughed. "Well, well, well. You've got a heart after all,
don't you Frank?"

"I wouldn't bet on it Stu," Ballard retorted, grinning at Frank.

He refused to return the gesture. "Don't let us keep you from
your festivities."

Ballard winked at Tim and blew a kiss at Frank, just to piss him
off. "Night fellas," she quipped as she followed Gharty away.

Tim smiled after her, taking in the swaying black velvet tail, a
bit dazed. "Night Laura."

Frank scowled at him.

Tim glanced over and seeing his thunderous expression, frowned
back. "What?"

"*Night Laura*," he mocked in a simpering voice, curling his lip
in distaste at the remark. "How pathetic."

Tim sighed. "Don't start, Frank."

"You've got a thing for *Ballard*," he accused, waving his hands
dramatically.

Tim's brows knit. "I do not."

Frank nodded, still perturbed. "Yes you do."

"Because I'm civil to her?" Tim demanded, adjusting his glasses.
"Did it ever occur to you that I might be trying to compensate
for *your* rude behavior?"

Frank waved him off. "Oh, no. Don't blame your little infatuation
on me. If I'm less than warm to Ballard it's because I refuse to
be a hypocrite. Ballard and I are like oil and water."

Tim snorted. "I don't think so. You're a lot *alike*, that's your
problem. You finally met a female version of Frank Pembleton, and
it's driving you as nuts as you've driven the rest of us all
these years."

Frank's brows shot up. "That pint-sized know-it-all is supposed
to have something in common with *me*?"

Tim nodded. "She has *a lot* in common with you--"

"I meant what I said, by the way. You are invited to my house for
Thanksgiving. If you don't have any other plans, that is," Frank
interruped him to say.

Tim snapped his mouth shut and drew back his chin. He smiled
hesitantly. "You mean that?"

Frank rolled his eyes and watched as Davis' body was bagged.
"Don't make this into something more than it is. It's an
invitation to dinner."

Tim smiled broadly. "Not just any dinner, though. *Thanksgiving*
dinner, Frank. A time when family and loved ones gather near..."

Frank frowned. "Loved ones?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah, loved ones. Admit it. I'm wearing you down,
aren't I Frank?"

"No, you're not. Mary always cooks too much food, and I figure
with you and that bottomless pit of a stomach of yours, I can get
rid of most of my turkey leftovers."

Tim frowned and shook his head. "You didn't think I'd notice, did
you?"

Frank arched a brow. "Notice what?"

"That you changed the subject. We were talking about you and
Ballard being so much alike, and you thought by getting me off on
some sentimental side trip, you would get me to drop it, didn't
you?"

Frank laughed. "We were talking about your *crush* on Laura
Ballard, if I remember correctly. It was *you* who changed the
subject. I must have hit a nerve."

Tim groaned and wearily covered his face with one hand. "I am
*not* going to get into this with you, Frank. Come on, we've got
witnesses to interview."

Frank grinned as he followed him over to the motley group. "I did
strike a nerve, didn't I? So...you've got the hots for Ballard.
God only knows *why*. You planning on asking her out anytime
soon?"

Tim glared at him. "Yeah, as my date to your house for
Thanksgiving if you don't shut up."

Frank winced, then seemed to give the matter some thought.
"Actually, the woman does seem to eat non-stop. That might not be
a bad idea...it could get rid of even more turkey. Of course, I'd
lose *my* appetite."

"No, Frank. That *is* a bad idea. Forget it. It was a joke."

"I'm not laughing," Frank quipped innocently.

Tim scowled. "Give it a rest. Do you want Frankenstein or his
bride?

END PART 1.

PART 2/12

Frank jotted down a note although he suspected it was as useless
as everything else he had learned by talking to these witnesses.
"Are you sure the shooter was dressed in black?"

The pirate shook his head. "I couldn't swear to it, no. It
could've been like a dark blue or a purple."

"Or a gray, or a green or a pink...you really didn't see much of
anything, did you Long John Silver?"

The man slowly shook his head. "It all happened so fast...and I'm
Blackbeard."

Frank nodded. "Of course."

Tim scratched the bridge of his nose with his pencil eraser.
"You're saying it was someone dressed as a hippie?"

The princess nodded. "Yeah, it reminded me of those old home
movies my parents had of Woodstock. Long hair, tie dyed shirt.
Those funky little round glasses."

"A man or a woman?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know. The hair was so long, and the
clothes were all loose and everything. It could've been either
one, I guess."

Tim sighed and dutifully noted on his note pad. 'Suspect possible
male or female, hippie, tie dyed clothing, long hair, Lennon
glasses.'

Frank sucked on his teeth and stared hard at Elvis. "A witch.
You're sure about that?"

Elvis nodded. "No doubt about it. A long haired hag...green face,
wart on her nose. The whole nine yards. She looked like that
witch in 'The Wizzard of Oz'."

Frank jotted down the quote. "So I should follow the yellow brick
road to find the killer," he muttered to himself. He glanced back
up. "Anything else you can remember?"

The man frowned and glanced over at a bride with an elaborate
black Sixties-style teased hairdo. "Hey honey? You remember
anything else about the witch?"

Tim glanced up from his interview with the woman, and took a
double-take at him. He smiled wearily at the bride. "Elvis?"

Frank shook his head and propped his hands on his hips in
annoyance. "Priscilla, right?"

The woman nodded and Tim couldn't help but chuckle. She frowned
at Elvis. "What witch? I don't remember anything about a witch. I
was just telling the detective about Merlin...or I guess it was
Merlin. He looked like an ancient magician."

"Merlin?" Elvis quipped incredulously. "I'd say you've had a
little too much to drink tonight, hon'. That was a witch."

Tim glanced from one to the other, trying to avoid Frank's
furious stare. "Which one was it?"

Frank glared at Elvis. "You said there was a green face. Merlin
never had a green face that I know of."

Priscilla giggled. "A green face?? And *I'm* the one who's had
too much to drink?"

Elvis frowned at Frank. "I saw a green face, I'm telling you. It
was a witch."

Tim noted on his pad: 'subjects are arguing over details of
suspect'. "Anything else you can tell us about what this person
looked like?"

"A big guy in a sheet," Priscilla stated, her eyes rounding.

Tim glanced up. "What? I thought we were talking about Merlin
here, not a ghost."

"No," she whispered, pointing behind him. "*That's* a really big
guy in a sheet."

Frank and Tim turned around to see a huge, hulking figure gliding
towards them, dressed in a long, white flowing sheet. A hood
quickly came off the top of the sheet revealing Al Giardello's
grinning face.

Tim smiled back tenatively. No one really trusted Gee when he
smiled. "Well, Gee. What have we here? The ghost of Halloween
past?"

Gee shook his head and gave the crowd of witnesses a once over.
"No, I'm a Klansman."

Frank scowled. "This is a joke, right?"

Gee raised a brow at him. "Halloween is supposed to be the time
of year when we dress up as symbolic forms of evil, is it not?"

Frank shrugged. "It's all interpretation, I suppose."

Gee gestured at the crowd. "Word on the street is there's another
dead cop."

Tim nodded. "Yeah. Victim was Joe Davis, a beat cop that worked
Fell's Point. Shot twice in the back."

Gee pierced him with the stare that all his detectives dreaded.
"Witnesses?"

Frank readily spoke up. "Plenty, but they're a bunch of crack
pots and drunks."

Tim sighed. "They're pretty useless, Gee. I've gotten half a
dozen descriptions of the scene and none are the same."

Gee glared at Frank, who shrugged. "Same here. This is a waste of
time."

Gee grit his teeth and his voice became a low growl. "We've got a
dead cop on our hands, and thanks to you two working the
Halloween graveyard shift, you're going to bring this redball
right onto *my* nice, calm shift if you can't solve this thing by
Monday morning. I suggest you rethink that waste of time theory
you've developed, Frank."

He stepped back and began to smile again, the tempest having
past. "I'll see you men later. There's a party going on and I
need to be getting back to it while I'm still young enough to
enjoy it."

Tim nodded tightly, glancing down at his shoes. "Yeah...goodnight
Gee."

Giardello pulled his hood back on and began to whistle along with
a low blues tune that was wafting through the air as he glided
away. "Make me happy boys!"

Frank rubbed his head. "Sure thing, Gee."

Tim looked at his partner. "What do you say our odds are?"

Frank grimaced as he glanced at the witnesses. "At this point,
fifty to one."

Tim shook his head. "I never considered you an optimist before,
Frank."

***

Tim paced the confines of Giardello's office, his shirt sleeves
rolled up and his hands thrust in his pockets. Frank sat in a
chair, coolly returning his lieutenant's stare.

Gee toyed with a pencil on his desk as he leaned back in his
chair. "Two weeks, and nothing. You come into my office, and
*this* is the only news you bring me?"

Frank pursed his lips. "It's not exactly good news to us."

Tim shook his head. "No, it's not. But we haven't come up
completely empty handed."

A muscle twitched in Giardello's jaw and his brows lowered like
ominous black thunderclouds. "My best, most experienced pair of
detectives and you can't crack the murder of a beat cop...in a
crowded area...with over a dozen witnesses's testimony?"

Frank frowned and leaned forward in his chair. "Those witnesses
were all drunk, Gee. No two stories are the same out of the whole
group."

Gee glared up at Tim. "You've re-interviewed them all since that
night?"

Tim nodded. "They remember even less now. It's all a hazy,
drunken dream to them."

Gee rubbed his hand over his mouth. "One of your brothers in arms
has been murdered, and you can't even bring his killer to
justice?"

Frank sat back, content to sulk at Gee's accusation.

Tim's eyes were as guilt-stricken as Gee could have wished. "I
don't like it any more than you do, Gee but you don't
understand..."

"I don't understand what's happened to the two of you. You used
to bring down more cases than any of my other detectives. You
were the guardian angels of the murdered in this city. You
avenged their deaths by swiftly taking down their killers, and
guarded the gates of justice. Now you bump around like a couple
of novices, as though you've fallen from grace. Maybe I should
re-assign this case to Gharty and Ballard."

"NO."

The defiance in Frank's tone made Tim wince, as he hastily tried
to cover for the remark. "What Frank means is..."

Frank interrupted with a mutinous glare at Tim. "What I *mean* is
no. I don't want those two on my case. *We* were working
Halloween night. This case belongs to us."

Gee waved a hand. "Alright, I understand that you and Ballard
have some antagonism between you. I can assign it to Lewis and
Falsone. I've been impressed with Falsone's clearance rate this
year. Maybe his streak can--"

Frank stood, and Tim abruptly stopped his pacing, alarmed at the
sudden turn of events. Frank threw his hands out. "So what you're
trying to insinuate is that Bayliss and I can no longer handle a
case properly." He laughed as if he were amused. "Are we being
put out to pasture, Gee