As soon as I spotted the cars, I knew what was going on. Dark sedans, dark windows, and seemingly coming from the shadows themselves. They caught speed to get around me, two in front, two in back, and a sudden stop, with no warning.

I had heard they were on the lookout for strangers, especially those that looked like we did. Fatigue jackets over hooded sweatshirts, burned out soldiers, just home from the war, looking for, or supplying drugs and weapons to the unsavory types. The guy riding with me, Big J as he was known on the streets lived up to his name. Big black guy, with a wide, flat nose, and a scar running from his scalp to his chin through one white eye. He fidgeted nervously in his seat, looking at the guys that started piling from the cars.
?Stay cool, man. Put your hands on the dash where they can see ?em. They are going to throw their weight around, and search us out.? I said, keeping my hands on the wheel, and watching them advance on the Cadillac we were driving. Plain clothes cops, all with guns drawn, and pointed our direction.

?Police! Don?t move, assholes! Keep your hands where we can see them!?

After a minute, two approached the car, one on the passenger side jerked Big J out by his collar, throwing him to the ground and screwing his pistol into the man?s ear. And the other was on my side, big, nasty looking tough, pointing a wheel gun at my head. He was taller than me, guessing I?d say six-three. Outweighed me by at least seventy-five pound, and looked closer to retirement than I even thought about.

?Hey man, just telling you, I am workin? here,? I said, keeping my hands on the steering wheel.

He stared at me like I had just told him that his mother was working the street corners, ?Hey guys, this jerk off says he?s on the job!? Then that pistol that was pointed at my head was pressed into my temple. ?Get outta the car, F**ker!?

I opened the door and raised my hands into the air as I stepped out slowly, only to be grabbed by the sweatshirt, spun around and slammed head first into the hood of the car. He pushed my face into the paint, and roughly kicked my feet apart.

?Listen officer, I am carrying.? I tried to remain calm, but my adrenaline was rushing like acid through my veins, and I wanted to turn on this cop and show him a thing or two about professional courtesy.

The cop shouted to the others, ?Now he?s carrying a weapon!? The guns that were divided between Big J and I were now all on me, and the cop through a couple of hard punches to the back of my head. After that, came a few more punches to my kidneys, causing flashes of light to appear before my eyes with the pain. He patted me down and found my Nine, which inspired him to work on the kidneys some more. I knew I?d be pissing blood for a few days.

I dropped James off at a local dive bar, deciding to look for his contact another night. Besides, if he?d gotten wind about what the cops had done, it?d make him question my credibility. The more I drove around the more angry I got. The pain in my kidneys also fueled my anger. I wasn?t blaming the cops for what they did, as far as I could tell, they did it right. But when I identified myself as an Agent, the big one really crossed the line, and the abuse was uncalled for.

I?d gotten in plenty of fights with the cops over the years, including once when I was Sixteen that nearly landed me in jail. I hated most cops. The way they threw their weight around, bullying civilians that couldn?t fight back, or were too scared to do so. Their loud mouth, big-shot bullying ways.

It wasn?t anything new. I grew up with that sort. The Bully God himself.

My dad.

I don?t know if it was his deep set, Southern pride, his long line of losers blood line, the years in the jungles of Viet Nam, or the ten years spent in Holman Correctional Center, dad was just a beast.

Cruising around after the beating, I thought about all of this and was seething with fury. I guess I was more like my old man than I really cared to admit. What really pissed me off was the way the loud mouth, muscle headed moron put the beating to me. I knew they had to work out of the Western office, so I made a few calls, I knew when I checked into my office later, after a little needed shut eye I would have files on everyone in that building. I?d find the bully, and if he was even suspected of being on the take, he was going down hard.

Two days later, I had the case worked up, and against Detective Gregorio Siciliani, under investigation from Internal Affairs for brutality, and extortion, as well as nephew of one Amalio Siciliani known gun for hire from the Piazza Family. I pulled into a spot across the street from the Western office, waiting until I saw the big goon walking down the steps, talking and laughing with his buddies, and that?s when I made my move. I knew that guys from the Agency were close so if there was more than a fast arrest, they?d move in and take him down.

He had reached his car before I did, and was opening the door so he hadn?t seen my approach.
?Hey Officer,? I said, happy I had startled him. He turned to face me, and a smile slid across his face.
?What brings you around here, Fed?? He sniffed indignantly, and reminded me of my dad.
?This!? I answered as I through a punch into the general area of his liver with all my body weight behind it, enough force to drop a horse. He fell to his knees, air rushing from his lungs, and holding his ribs and gasping. But still he looked up at me and smiled.

?I guess we are even now, huh??
?Not quite,? I said as I motioned the guys to come forward. ?You are under arrest for bribery, assault, and a whole list of shit I don?t feel like standing here repeating right now.? It was my turn to smile.
?You know who the hell I am?? His eyes were wild, and darted from me to the agents that were approaching him, as well as over his shoulder at the man who slapped the cuffs on his wrists.
?Of course we know, Gregorio,? I patted his cheek, ?Of course we know.? I turned and walked away, back to my car, leaving him as he cussed the other agents and pissed his pressed trousers. ?One down,? I sighed. ?A multitude to go.?

I took a stool at the bar, ordered a beer and made sure to sit facing the bar while drinking my beer from a glass. Customers that stood with their backs to the bar scanning the room and shunned the glass as if defending themselves from germs of the place and its clientele, could be made as undercover cops.

I finished my drink. I spoke to no one. Then I walked out the door.

The next time I came in, same thing. A few drinks, then I was out the door and down the road.

Third time, I said hello to a couple of familiar faces, but nothing more. Again, I finished my drink and headed back 'home.'

After that, I made it a point to stay away a little longer than usual before I came back. When I made my way into the dark, smoke filled place one of the regulars, a tough looking dude named Lester walked over. His nose was wide and crooked. His speech was coated with liquor and smoke. He looked like a boxer and a guy you'd call when you had problems.

"Ain't seen you around in a while," He waved the bartender over and pointed at my glass then tapped his own. "What ya been up to?"

"Little of this, little of that," I answered with a nod of thanks for the top off of the PBR. Street jargon, a code for telling him something about myself. If he picked up on it, he'd know I was dirty. I'd know that he was a well. In a time of politicians and bankers trying to convince the world they weren't crooks, Lester and I were trying to convince the other that we were.

He smiled and gave me a knowing wink. I just smiled. The bait worked.

"New in town, huh?"
"Not exactly," I watched him warily, keeping my cover in check.
He waited, watching me so I continued to lay it out, just as I practiced. "Just lookin' for a place to hang my hat. Last place I was hangin' it, well it had a problem that became mine."
Lester nodded and chuckled. "Hey, tell me about it! Amazin' how problems become ours when we hang out in certain spots, huh?" He clinked his glass to mine before he knocked back a good portion of the contents. "Where are ya from anyway?"
"Gravesend," I answered before I took a drink of the beer.
"Yeah? No shit?" He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder like we were old chums. "You know Crazy Carlos? You're from Gravesend, you gotta know Carlos! Fat, no good wetback with a scar from his hairline to his chin, through one eye? He was locked up at Ryker's with a guy that found out he was bangin' his old lady. Spooks are protective of their Puerto Rican girls."

It was a trap, I smelled it instantly. If I answered that I knew this Carlos guy, and there was no Carlos, or he got killed several years ago, I was f*cked. Lester would rat me out in the blink of an eye.
"You know, I knew this guy out there, but honestly, I'm not sure the guy I have in mind is him." I said a lot, but said nothing. It was enough to leave Les wondering.
"Yeah, sure," he said, as he continued to size me up. "Could be Carlos, could not be."

I'd given him a truthful answer, and he knew it. He started to relax. In his mind I'd passed the test, I was legit. For now.

I checked my watch, as if I had someplace to go. "Hey man, nice meetin' ya, and thanks for the brew huh? I'll catch ya later."
"Oh, yeah man, sure thing," He was nodding and smiling. I could feel his eyes burning into my back as I walked out. The game was afoot.

Lester lead us toward the men's room, and only looked back one time to be sure I was following, which I was. Once inside I was glad to have my .40 when he bolted the door behind us. He pulled out what looked like an ordinary ink pen, made of stainless steel and even embossed with some company's logo. He pulled back the head of the pen and dropped in a .22 bullet, smiling the whole time. He pushed the head back into position, wrapped the pen in part of his jacket to muffle the noise.

"Look, you press the head straight down and..." He fired the round into the toilet. Even a .22 bullet was nearly enough to deafen you for a couple hours when fired in a small space.
"Holy crap!"
"So I get about forty bucks a pop, you interested?"

I was still playing it cool, and put my hands up defensively. "Whoa man, not me. I am out of that line of work. Trying to keep things on the DL, you know?" Truth was, he'd given me an instant want, and desire to buy a bunch of them and set the trap for the bust. I strung him along a bit more, saying I'd ask around, and I thought I knew someone who was looking for just that sort of thing.