Weaving his way through the patrons of Zoro's Bar and Grill on Bradley Street, Jesse Ames headed for a booth located at the back of the room. Reaching his destination, he slid across the cold plastic seat, giving a curt nod to his friend and sometimes partner in their various nefarious undertakings, Lonnie Stevens.

"About time," muttered the other man.

"Hey, making contacts and gathering information takes time, Lon. You can't hurry those kinds of negotiations."

"Yeah, yeah, so what did you find out?"

"This is going to be a piece of cake."

"Like the last job? The one that landed us in lockup for six-months?"

"That was just bad luck. Our luck is about to change and in a big way. This job is going to put us on easy street. Not only is the payoff big, but it could lead to positions in Laureano's organization."

"Laureano is in jail! He is not likely to beat a wrap for trying to take out a cop, Jesse. And then, of course, there is the small matter of drugs and stolen cars?"

"I know it looks bad right now, but don't forget that Tony and Lionel have one of the most powerful mob lawyers in the country representing them. Big Al thinks they can beat the wrap. The only real threat is that cop. If he testifies against 'em, they'll go down for sure!"

"Yeah, well that's their problem and what makes you think we can do what they couldn't, anyway?"

"Because they won't be expecting another try, that's why. We have the element of surprise."

"Who is 'they'?"

"Marco says the cop is staying at his grandfather's place out at the Lake. That house belonged to the Patterson's until they sold it to the old man. The good news is, I've been inside that house!"

"You? When?"

"A few years back I crashed a party there. I remember the layout, too. I'm telling you, this is the perfect job. The house sits about a quarter of a mile off the main road not far from the lake and it is isolated. No close neighbors. It can't be seen at all from the main road."

"I don't know." Lonny shook his head, his face clouding over with doubt.

"Well maybe this will help convince you." Pulling an envelope from the inside pocket of his imitation leather jacket, Jesse slid the thick gray envelope across the table to his friend.

Reaching for it, Lonny gave him a questioning look.

"Go ahead, take a peek."

Raising the flap, he peered inside, his blunt features registering surprise. His eyes met those of the sandy-haired man watching from across the table. "How much is in here?"

"Five thousand, and we get another $15,000 when the job is done. What do you say? You in?"

Licking his lips, Lonny took another look at the money inside the envelope, his smile growing. "Yeah, I'm in. You got a plan?"

Grinning, Jesse answered, "Yeah, I got a plan. Let's go back to my place and I'll lay it out for you."

Both men slid out of the booth. Lonny Stevens held out the envelope to his partner. Taking the envelope, Jesse slipped it back into the inside pocket of his jacket. The two men headed for the nearest exit.

***

Sunlight flooded the terrace of Kwai Chang Caine's third story apartment. A small, deceptively frail Shambala Master stood just inside the terrace doors observing the younger priest vigorously grinding herbs. Knowing that his friend and sometimes student was fully aware of his presence, Lo Si waited patiently for acknowledgment.

Stopping, Caine gently placed the pestle next to the bowl containing herbs. Turning to face his mentor and friend, he bowed deeply in deference to the elderly priest's position. "You will join me in a refreshing cup of tea, Master?"

"I would be honored."

Caine walked over to an alcove that served as a kitchen while the Ancient, as he was often referred to by the inhabitants of Chinatown, shuffled over to a small round table in the middle of the room. Pulling out one of its two chairs, he lowered himself onto the cushioned seat with a contented sigh. A family he had treated a few days after Caine's return from his six-month absence to find his path had gifted him the attractive set. Since he had all the seating needed in his own cramped apartment, he had passed them on to the younger priest.

Leaving the alcove, Kwai Chang crossed the room and placed the tray he carried in the center of the small table. Filling the two ornate cups with tea, he placed one in front of the elder priest. Picking up the other cup, he gracefully lowered himself onto the chair opposite the Shambala Master. Silence reigned for several minutes as both priests partook of the hot beverage.

Setting his cup on the table, Lo Si stated, "You had a visitor."

"Yes, Rykker. My son does not wish to spend the coming week here with me."

Lo Si remained silent, waiting for the Shaolin father to gather his thoughts.

"I know that my long absence has created a deep chasm between us."

A whispered "Yes," was the elder priest's only response.

"I had hoped that the coming week spent together would provide us both the opportunity for healing." Looking down into the cup he held firmly between his hands, Caine fell silent.

Lo Si sat quietly scrutinizing the younger priest. In his heart Kwai Chang Caine was like a son to him and he thought of Peter as he would a grandson. Lo Si's line had, down through the ages, been entrusted with the guardianship of the Caine Line. It was a path fraught with unexpected twists and turns and pitfalls, with seldom a dull moment. Even so, Lo Si could not imagine his life without this father and son. Peter alone kept him on his priestly toes. The Line of Caine had always been a challenge and one he willingly embraced without reservation. Now, one of those challenges sat across from him staring intently into his cup as if there he would find his answers.

It was imperative that he guide father and son to reconciliation, for their paths were destined to be traveled together. Peter must forgive his father for abandoning him. Kwai Chang Caine must be made to understand and deal with the great damage he inflicted upon his only child when, almost seven months ago, he had turned his back and walked away. Peter not only harbored the bitter knowledge that his father fully intended to leave the city that day without so much as a simple goodbye, but now he also held the hurtful realization in his heart that his father would not have returned when he did had it not been for Caine's obligation to protect the author.

The power of the Caine Line had strengthened with each generation. This father and son would one day form a union to fight the dark forces. The strength of their combined abilities would rival any before seen on this plane of existence. At the moment, though, it was the present that so heartily demanded his full attention, extensive skills and great patience.

"You have not been back long, my friend. You must give your son time. His path remains hidden by his pain and insecurity."

"Perhaps I should leave. My presence only increases that pain."

"In this you error greatly, Kwai Chang Caine." His voice held rebuke. "You must exercise great patience, or you will lose your son forever!"

Lowering his head, the Shaolin father gave a deep sigh.

"Peter blames himself for your leaving. He believes that he drove you away by the work he does and he fears your judgment. He also sees your turning away as a rebuke of the family who raised him in your absence and he believes it causes you much pain that he did not follow in the Shaolin footsteps of the father he thought dead for fifteen years."

Startled eyes locked with the Ancient's. "But that is not true!"

"Are you sure, my friend? This chasm between you and your son cannot be bridged until the truth is acknowledged and accepted. Meditate, Kwai Chang Caine. Search your heart and soul. Only then can the truth be brought forth. It is the only way to save your son and yourself."

"Save? What do you mean?"

"You must reconcile with Peter. If you do not, both your destinies will be forever changed. That cannot be allowed to happen. Much stands to be lost."

"Peter refuses to enter my home. He does not wish to be in my presence."

"Then seek him out, my friend. Peter loves you. He has the heart of a Shaolin. You are his father. He will forgive you. It is your ultimate responsibility to see to it that your paths are once again joined."

The younger priest sat bathed in silence. Somewhere in his heart he heard the words of the Old One ringing true, but could he find the strength to face his son? More importantly, could he bear to face himself?

***

"Why couldn't we have just walked to the house?"

"Shhhh, quiet! Geezus, Lonny, stop your bellyaching. Somebody will hear you."

"Who? A squirrel? We're the only fools out here."

"There might be dogs around, or somethin'. Just keep rowing, we're almost there."

"Yeah, I'm sure the woods are just filled with dogs."

"The only reason you're complaining is because you're afraid of water."

"I can't swim, Jess!"

"Oh, for god sakes, Lonny, we are in a boat. You couldn't be safer if you were home in your own bed. Stop whining!"

"Yeah, well you know what I think? I think you didn't want to walk through the woods because you are afraid of dogs and don't want to admit it, that's what I think! Hell, you would soil yourself if we came across a Chihuahua!"

"Just shut the hell up and row!"

"Remind me one more time why I let you talk me into this boat?"

"I explained it all last night. It's part of our plan and we have to stick to the plan."

"Humor me!"

"We couldn't take a chance on somebody spotting the truck, remembering it later and calling the cops. The boat got us here in half the time and can't be traced back to us since we 'borrowed' it and the owners will be out of town for at least another week. This is the perfect time of day. It's not quite dark, so we'll be able to see what we're doing, but we won't be easily spotted when we leave the cover of the trees."

"Oh yeah, now I remember." Lonny's words dripped with sarcasm.

"Listen, all we have to do is row in, nice and quiet like, do the job and get back to the boat. We drop the outboard and we are out of here slick as snot."

"What about the grandfather you mentioned?"

"He's an old man! How much trouble can he be?" Pointing toward the shoreline, Jesse instructed, "Over there! Head for that sandy spot."

Gliding in and nosing up onto a small patch of sand, the boat came to a sudden stop. Jumping out onto dry land, Jess and Lonny began heaving the boat a little farther up onto shore.

"Shouldn't we tie it up? Maybe to one of these trees?" asked Lonny.

"Nah, it'll be fine where it is. We won't be gone that long."

Reaching into the boat to grab a small canvas bag slouched against the side; Jesse thrust his hand inside. Pulling out a black handgun, he handed it to his companion. "Here, take this and be sure the safety is off." Lonny took the gun. Reaching back into the bag, he drew out another gun identical to the first. Jesse gripped it tightly in his right hand, tossing the bag back into the boat.

"Okay, you ready, Lonny?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. Let's get this over with and collect the rest of our money."

"Remember, the porch runs all the way around the house. We go up the back steps together. At the top, you go right and I'll go to the left. We meet at the front door. Don't get spotted passing by any of the windows, but try to check out any rooms you can see into."

"I know the plan, Jess. We knock on the front door and tell them our car broke down and ask to use the phone."

"Right. We get inside, hold the one answering the door at gunpoint until we find the other one and shoot 'em both. We can't leave behind any witnesses. Once they are both dead, we can take our time getting back to the boat. Nobody is going to find them until sometime tomorrow, if that soon. Okay, let's go."

Moving off through the opening in the trees, the two men were soon swallowed by the gathering dusk of evening.

***

The Lincoln Town car rolled slowly across the gravel driveway. Slipping her foot off the brake pedal and popping the car into park, Abigail Von Morten cringed at the resulting jolt and loud clank resounding from somewhere beneath the floorboard, triggering a memory. Her third husband had given her many a lecture on the proper care of fine driving machines. Yes, Arthur Benton Von Morten had loved his cars. Upon his death, she had discovered that Arthur had left behind an entire warehouse filled with classic cars, which added a bundle to her bank account after she sold them at auction. "No doubt you are turning in your grave at this very moment, Artie dearest, but considering you've been pushing up daisies these past eight years, frankly my love, you can use the exercise."

Reaching across the seat to grab a square, rose-colored box off the passenger seat, yesterday's events once again came to mind. Try as she might, she had been unable to exorcise yesterday's cake fiasco. She liked to think of herself as a woman of action and one not easily intimidated. A woman alone could not afford to take any chances. She always made a point of reading every article she could find on the art of female self-defense. If that rude, disgusting little man who dared to call himself a chef thought for one single moment that he could possibly cower Abigail Von Morten, well she was about to show him a thing or two! Having made a special trip to Germaine's Bakery earlier in the day to purchase this cake as a replacement for her first destroyed offering, she would deliver this second welcoming gift and heaven help anyone who got in her way! Opening the car door, she slid out, carefully balancing the cake box. Rounding the front of the car, she began to attack the steps with determination.

Reaching the top of the back steps of P.T. Sinclair's home, Lonny Stevens and Jesse Ames split up; Lonny heading right, Jesse left.

Abigail was fast losing her patience. After ringing the doorbell three times and knocking twice, she was growing quite perturbed that no one was appearing to answer her summons. Surely, there must be at least one person home! Every light in the house seemed to be burning! Turning away from the door in a huff, her short hurried steps took her around the verandah. She was not leaving here without delivering her newly purchased gift and that was that! If they were not going to answer the front door, well then, she would simply go around to the back door. Rounding the corner of the house, she came to an abrupt halt, nearly colliding with Jesse Ames skulking along the side of the house. Spotting the gun in his right hand, Abigail let out a blood-curdling scream.

***

Peter, walking out of the bathroom into his bedroom, found himself being assailed by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Adjusting the white terry cloth towel around his slim hips, an iffy proposition with a cast on his right arm, he found it curious that nobody downstairs was picking up. Normally, he could expect Fredricco to answer the phone, but not tonight. His grandfather had given the man a few days off to recover from the trauma of the cake-tossing incident. It had taken some fast-talking on Rykker's part to convince their apologetic cook that he was not being fired. Oh well. Moving around the foot of the bed and stepping up to the small nightstand next to the headboard, he snatched up the receiver.

"Hello? Oh, hi Mom. Yeah, I'm doing just fine. How about you? Is your cold any better? Good. Have you been eating plenty of chicken soup?" Peter chuckled. Chicken soup was always the first thing Annie Blaisdell foisted upon her reluctant family as a cure-all for whatever ailed them. "Yeah, I saw Dr. Reider this morning. He said I'm doing great. Well, he may be a good doctor, Mom, but he also has a stubborn streak a mile wide. Excuse me? I hardly think we are related, but thanks for pointing that out. The good doctor refuses to give me an early medical release so I can return to the precinct and sit behind a desk, for crying out loud! I'm telling you, the man has control issues!"

A high-pitched scream shattered the early evening calm causing Peter to almost drop the phone. "What the hell? I'll call you right back, Mom!" Hanging up, he quickly moved to stand at the window just to his right. The angle and pitch of the roof blocked a portion of the driveway from his view. Seeing nothing suspicious, he stood listening for several seconds. He didn't hear a thing. Surely he wasn't the only one who had heard that scream. Leaving the door ajar, he walked out into the hallway and proceeded to the top of the stairs, again pausing to listen. Hearing nothing, Peter descended the stairs to the first floor. "Where did everybody go?" he mumbled. Opening the front door, he stuck his head out, looking up and down the verandah. Stepping out onto the porch, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the growing darkness. It was then that he spied the car parked near the bottom of the steps. Sighing, Peter shook his head. It was that Von Morten woman's car! "What is she doing here and where the hell is she?" he muttered. Strange scratching noises coming from somewhere near the left corner of the house drew his attention. "What the hell is that woman up to now?" Shaking his head, he headed for the corner of the house, bare feet and lack of clothing quickly forgotten.

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