McCullough staggered down the dark, narrow street, his surroundings only occasionally illuminated by the flickering light of a street lamp. He was flanked on both sides by rows of derelict warehouses, and the noisy sloshing of ocean water could be heard nearby. In one hand he carried a half empty bottle that sloshed as he teetered along. In the other, he carried a revolver. In the distance he could barely make out some figures loitering on a street corner just by the water’s edge. They were just blurry splotches in the lamplight to Mac, but he knew they were who he was looking for.

Mac made his way unsteadily to them, and several of them turned to face him as he approached. One of them raised a gun and pointed it menacingly at Mac, but a large hand from the man next to him stayed it.

“I was wondering how long we’d have to wait until you showed.” The man said. He had the deep baritone of Donahue, and he seemed to be in a very pleasant mood.

“Did you now?” McCullough replied. His speech was slow and slurred.

“Hey Mac, I know I told you I’ve got good news, but you didn’t need to celebrate yet. What are you doing with that bottle out in the open like that anyways, are you trying to get in trouble?”

McCullough didn’t respond at first. Instead, he raised his revolver, slowly thumbing back the hammer. His hand shook as he took aim, and his blurry eyes bore the fierceness of scarcely controlled rage.

Donahue, gazing down the barrel that was now aimed at him, frowned slightly. Any other sign of fear was well masked by a natural calm in his face and demeanor.

“You really do have a funny way of taking good news.” He muttered calmly. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Why’d you do it?” McCullough growled. “Why’d you kill him?”

Donahue allowed himself a slight smile.

“I kill a lot of people. You’re going to have to be a little more specific.” He replied.

“The Doc!” McCullough shouted. “You know. The one you had gunned down in the streets. Why!?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking abou-”

“Yes you do!” McCullough interjected. “And I want to know why you did it.”

“Listen Mac, it’s clear you’re upset. How about you put that thing down and we can talk this thing out, but if I’ve done something wrong, I can’t make it up unless I know what I’ve done.”

“Don’t patronize me!” McCullough sneered. “You know full well what you did last night. I just want to know why you did it.”

“I think he’s talking about that hit in front of the police station last night, boss.” One of the men beside Donahue suddenly chimed in.

“Yeah. That one.” McCullough slurred. “I didn’t know random killings were your thing, Don.”

“They’re not.” Donahue retorted, frowning. “I didn’t order that hit.”

“Yeah, and you expect me to believe that? Who else could it have been?”

“Mac, you already know the answer to that. I’m not stupid enough to order a hit on someone in front of a police precinct unless it would really benefit me. Doc Rivers never stood in my way. In fact, he told my men everything I wanted to know about Taylor’s death. Besides, if I wanted someone like Doc Rivers killed, I would’ve had it done at his home where no one else could see. Whoever did this wanted to make a spectacle, and to send a message.”

McCullough raised his bottle to his lips and took a deep swig. His gun was still pointed at Donahue as he drank.

“Alright, if it wasn’t you who ordered the hit, then who did?” He asked at last as he wiped his mouth clumsily with his sleeve.

“I think you already know who I’m going to say Mac. The Syndicate are the only ones who had any reason to send a message like that. Every day we’re finding that they’ve won more and more people over. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if they knew that the Doc had provided us with information we’d wanted. It’s simple, take out someone who might be of use, and send the message that they’re coming for us.” Donahue replied.

Despite the gun that was still being aimed his way, and the grim conclusion he just drew, Donahue was grinning broadly.

“Why do you look so happy about that?” McCullough inquired.

“Because they don’t know what I know.” Donahue replied ecstatically. “Here, listen. They’re right on time.”

McCullough cupped a hand to his ear and was greeted with the low rumble of an engine getting gradually closer. Soon, the place was alight with the glow of headlights that were followed by a long, black vehicle.

“You guys really like black, don’t you?” McCullough muttered to Donahue.

“You know what they say,” Donahue chuckled. “You can have whatever color you want…”

He trailed off as men began to pile out of the car. Two of them carried a gray mass of rags covered in dark splotches that twisted and squirmed in their grasps.

“What is that?” McCullough inquired, staring at the twisting thing.

“That,” Donahue replied. “Is our good friend, Officer Jones.”

“I thought you said he’d disappeared.”

“I also told you that I’d find him, and squeeze every drop of information out of him I can. A process which I undertook personally, much to my own pleasure. Show him, boys.”

The two men carrying Jones unceremoniously dropped him to the ground and hastily began to unwrap him. Underneath the rags was a shapeless mass of blood and gore, that writhed in incessant agony. Accompanying his squirming was a continuous groan that could be heard in spite of a tightly tied gag that was placed over what Mac assumed was his mouth.

“Alright, you boys know what to do with this traitor.” Donahue said to the men. “And don’t forget to slit his belly. I don’t want to have to clean up any messes like last time, so don’t let him float back up. That is, unless you want the same thing done to you.”

McCullough watched wordlessly, a smile running across his face, as one of the men drew a stiletto and ran it across Jones’s abdomen. Jones screamed in muffled agony, but his cries were ignored. The men worked with practiced efficiency wrapping Jones with thick chains, each of which was secured to a heavy cinder block.

“Here comes the good part.” Donahue whispered, nudging McCullough.

The men suddenly grabbed the still screaming Jones and hauled him to the edge of the water. Together they flung him out into the water, where he landed with a crash; disappearing unceremoniously in a spray of water droplets.

“And that’s another traitorous scumbag gone!” Donahue cheered, clapping McCullough on the back. “Alright everyone, get some rest. You earned it.”

McCullough turned to go, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Not you Mac, I need to talk to you about something.” Donahue said, his tone serious.

“What about?” McCullough inquired.

“Jones may have been a traitor, but it seems he knew how to ask questions. Typical cop. Anyways, it seems he knew more about the Syndicate than most. He’s given us enough info for us to crack this thing open. It’s not going to take us long, and there’ll be war.”

“How does that involve me?”

“It’s time for you to earn your keep, Mac. You don’t honestly think that Jones is the only cop on their payroll, do you? But it’s not just cops. We need to wipe them all out. I’m going to give you a list of names; it’s your job to make sure they’re all dead when the time comes. Don’t hesitate to pull the trigger, no matter who it is. Do you understand?”

Slowly, McCullough nodded.

“Good.” Donahue continued, “Don’t let me down, Mac. I’m counting on you.”