The shades were drawn, and the lights were dim, candles on every table. Opera music was lightly playing, and the smells of tomato and basil infused the air. Frank walked into Mangiare Tutto and scanned the room. It was too early for the dinner crowd, but there were a few elderly couples throughout the dining room. Frank had checked up on the Italian restaurant, and smiled as he read it was under new ownership. Yeah, no kidding, he thought. He spotted a man sitting by himself in one of the corner booths.

The man had a thin goatee, and jet black hair, cut short on the sides, but longer down the middle. He was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, black jeans, and black shoes. Frank walked past the maitre d' and sat across from the man in black. He looked up as Frank sat down, and smiled.

"Hey Franko! Man, what have you gotten yourself into?" He smiled as he shook Frank's hand, but then his look turned somber. "Seriously, man, you are in some deep sh**." He slid a folded paper across the table.

Frank took it and opened it. He stared at a picture of himself, with some of his previously used aliases, as well as a list of his skills, warning those that might be after him, what they were up against. At the bottom was a dollar figure, much higher than he imagined, $300,000. That was enough to get any hit man motivated to find him. Frank also knew the only reason P.B.D. had that paper, was because he was offered this same deal. Frank was suddenly hoping that this man that he had related to, had not agreed to the hit. Frank was in a very vulnerable position, he needed supplies, which meant trusting the only person who could get him to come out of hiding, which could end up very badly for him. Before he could say anything, the man across from him spoke softly.

"Hey, Frank, no worries, man. I'm not here for the money. You and me, we're like blood brothers, or something, I decided to meet with you to help you, not take you out. So, put your gun away, yes, I know you are pointing it at me under the table. I got a bag of stuff for you in the trunk of a used car outside. But, hey, you gotta tell me what's going on, I never saw you pissing them all off, you were always about getting the job done and getting paid. What happened?"

Frank ran through the job description that Carl had given him, which was going to be a piece of cake, then he talked about Trina, everything that had happened until he got her back to her mother.

"That was stupid, but yeah, okay, I get it. But, why are you still here? Why not just walk away, I'm sure you have enough to make a nice new life somewhere else, right?"

Frank shook his head, he didn't know if he could explain why he felt compelled to go after Carl Russo and his crew, but something in him had changed since knowing that little girl.

"I don't really know, but I feel like I have to put an end to it." He looked around the restaurant, and suddenly his pride in his job faded away as he took stock of all the lives lost at his hand.

"You're right, it is stupid, but I have to do this, I can't walk away. I have to make things right. Besides, if I don't then I will always be on the run. Carl does not give up, and he would make sure I was found."

"Even if it means dying, because you know this is like wicked crazy, right? There is practically no chance of coming out of this thing, once you start it. Which is why I am going to help you."

"No, I can't let you do that, this is my decision, my battle, like you said it's crazy and risky, and if you do this with me, you'll be black-listed, too." Frank already knew that P.B.D. was relentless, and he was actually glad to have a partner for such a large undertaking, but he had to at least give him the opportunity to back out.

"Nope, sorry. You're stuck with me." The man in black smiled deviously.

"Okay. What kind of equipment did you bring?"

"Hold on, the smell in here is driving me crazy, let's order some food, then we can go over everything."

They ordered the food, and after it arrived they discussed death and mayhem over spaghetti and meatballs and lasagna, planning their attack.

It was nearing 5:30, and Peters and Friedman had just visited their fifth site for the day. They were working there way alphabetically through the list they compiled of construction sites, and lumber companies. So far, they hadn't seen any signs of a room like Trina described, and hadn't found anything suspicious. They each had so much sawdust and concrete dust in their noses, that was all they could smell. They had decided to call it a day, since all the construction sites were shutting down for the day.

They got into Rich Friedman's car, and he started it up. Before they drove off the lot, Peters' phone rang.

"Peters." He said, as he flipped the phone open.

"Hey, Peters, Normandy here. I just got a call from EPU about the dust found on the Williams kid. It's basically sawdust." Peters groaned. "But it's dust from douglas-fir wood. So, it could most likely have come from a construction site, or a Christmas tree lot."

"I'd say your DB is definitely connected, you can forget about the Christmas tree lot, though. We have been following a couple of leads and have been checking out construction sites all day. There are six more to check, but they are all closing right now. We are going to call it a day, too, but we will hit the rest tomorrow. Do you want me to tag you in the morning so you can join us?"

"Dang! Okay, yeah, sounds good. I hear those guys start early, so wanna jumpstart like around 7?"

"Sure, thanks for the heads up, we'll bring coffee. Later." Peters snapped his phone closed, and told Friedman, "Give you one guess as to what kind of dust was in the kid's hair."

"Aww, Crap! Don't tell me...sawdust." Friedman pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose, he still tasted the particles of wood.

"Ding, ding, ding, we've got a winner! It's from douglas-fir wood. But, that means we are on the right track. Normandy's going to meet us at oh seven hundred, and check out the rest of the sites with us."

"Sure, the more, the merrier." Sarcasm in Rich's voice.