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"Given the amount of time that passed between the events of the collision and the alleged shooting, it was entirely likely that Mr. O'Flynn had not yet died. Given the extent of his injury, I have little doubt that he could possibly have survived, but given also the amount of time it would take to die from such a wound and the results of the autopsy, I concluded that the cause of death was a gunshot wound to the head."

"A gunshot wound to the head." District Attorney Peter Biggs said, loud enough for the entire courtroom to hear. "The cause of death was ruled as homicide." Mr. Biggs said, casting the kind of glance to Chief Medical Examiner Art Everett that implied he was soliciting clarification.

"Yes sir." He replied.

"No further questions, your Honor."

The defense stood.

"Mr. Everett, how long have you been working in LA County?"

"About twenty years."

"About twenty years." Defense Attorney Jeffrey Pyle echoed, "In the two decades you've been working with the deceased, how many wrecks like Mr. O'Flynn's have you seen?"

"It's hard to say. Maybe a few hundred."

"A few hundred. All of whom were impaled in some way or another?"

"Yes."

"Through the lungs?"

"Not all, no. Various parts of the trunk and neck, mostly."

"I see, and of those who were impaled through one of their lungs, about how long did you determine it took them to succumb to their injuries?"

"Anywhere from a few seconds to several minutes. It depends on a lot of factors."

"For instance?"

"It depends on what other injuries were sustained during the crash. Pulmonary edema is a common cause, thoracic or abdominal aortic aneurysms, general trauma sustained during a vehicular collision..."

"Which of these conditions were you able to ascertain as present during the autopsy?"

"Trauma to the head, and pulmonary edema."

"Would you explain what pulmonary edema is in layman's terms, please?"

"It's when the lungs fill with fluid, in Mr. O'Flynn's case, blood. Alone, it would have eventually caused him to suffocate."

"And how long would it have taken for that to have occurred?"

"A few minutes. Lack of oxygenated blood to the brain would have rendered him brain dead after roughly six minutes."

Mr. Pyle tightened his jaw muscles and wet his lips.

"Thank you, Mr. Everett. No further questions."

The judge turned to face the DA.

"Mr. Biggs?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, taking into account Mr. Everett's testimony, as well as the security camera footage from the steel yard, which clearly shows Mr. Washington firing a single round into the driver's side window of Mr. O'Flynn's car, note that the amount of time elapsed between the collision and the gunshot was less than one minute. Fifty-five seconds to be exact, not enough time for Mr. O'Flynn to have died from injuries sustained in the vehicle! Nothing further, your Honor."

Mr. Pyle stood once more.

"I call Deputy Sheriff Robert Boxhall to the stand."

The judge turned to Mr. Everett and dismissed him. As the old gent departed, the smooth, sly, orange tabby cat stepped up to the bailiff and raised his right hand.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

Bobby was an atheist.

"I do."

He took his seat, and Mr. Pyle, a tall, lanky stoat stepped forward to begin questioning.

"Deputy Boxhall, you were a friend of Aiden O'Flynn's, correct?"

"Yes sir."

"Were you aware that Mr. O'Flynn was involved in illegal, underground high-stakes poker games?"

"Objection!" Biggs called, standing up, "Your honor, there is no substantive evidence to support Mr. Pyle's claim."

"Sustained." Justice Gerald Wimberley said.

"All right, all right. Let me ask you this; were you the responding officer on the scene the night of the eighth when a drive-by shooting killed two men in Inglewood?"

"I was, yes."

"As I understand, you were patrolling that particular neighborhood when you heard the gunfire?"

"Yes."

"And you returned fire on the vehicle as it was fleeing, correct?"

"Yes."

"How many rounds did you fire?"

Bobby's eyes shifted. Both he and Aiden had fired two magazines' worth, but they'd both been carrying with a round chambered on a mag loaded to full capacity - something that doesn't happen when reloading from empty - bringing the total to thirty six-rounds. Had Bobby acted alone and reloaded once, it would have been one less.

"I don't remember."

"Do you know how many magazines you fired?"

"Two."

"Tell me, Deputy Boxhall, what make and model of sidearm do you carry on duty?"

"A Glock 17."

"A Glock 17, and refresh my memory, how many rounds does the magazine hold?"

"Seventeen."

"Aptly so."

"Objection, your Honor, what does this have to do with anything?" Biggs protested.

"Overruled." Justice Wimberley said with a lilting curiosity in his voice.

"Thirty-six nine millimeter casings were found at the scene!" Pyle announced to the courtroom prior to approaching a table where evidence was displayed, "And this was found in Mr. O'Flynn's vehicle!"

Everyone was silent as Pyle held up a plastic bag containing a Glock Model 17 - identical to the one on Bobby Boxhall's hip.

"The affidavit from the LA County Sheriff's Office reports that eighteen rounds were found inside this pistol. Eighteen!"

Bobby's cheeks burned. Pyle addressed the court.

"Residents of California are prohibited by law from owning a handgun with a capacity of more than ten rounds. Aiden O'Flynn was in possession of an illegal weapon at the time of his death! Is it unreasonable to assume that he carried this weapon on him at all times?"

He turned back to the officer.

"Witnesses say Mr. O'Flynn was friends with the two men who were killed that night. You were also a friend of his, weren't you?"

"I'm not the one on trial here, counselor."

"How good was Mr. O'Flynn at poker?"

"Objection, irrelevant!"

"Sustained."

"Are you insinuating that he was present the night of the shooting?"

"I'm insinuating that my client acted out of fear for his own life! He knew that Aiden O'Flynn was armed!"

"Objection! The defendant did not act in self defense the night Aiden O'Flynn was shot. We have neither proof that William Washington was present in the car the night of the drive-by nor proof that Mr. O'Flynn was even there to begin with!"

"Sustained. Mr. Pyle?"

Pyle was fuming.

"No further questions."

"Mr. Biggs?"

Biggs stood and approached the bench.

"Deputy Boxhall, the firearm in question was found in Mr. O'Flynn's car, is this true?"

"Yes."

"Where in the car was it located?"

"On the floorboard, just behind the passenger seat."

"Given Mr. O'Flynn's position in the car and his injury, would it have been possible for him to have retrieved the weapon?"

"It would have been next to impossible. Between the impalement and the racing harness, he was completely immobilized in the driver's seat."

Biggs nodded.

"No further questions, your Honor."

Pyle leaned in close to the pit bull he was trying his damndest to exonerate.

"Plea deal's the best you're going to get. I'll try to get you paroled in twenty but it's slim, either way, I can't keep you out of the pen at this point."

Had it not been for the security cameras in place at the steel yard, Billy may very well have gotten off, but with motive looming over his head, he wouldn't have gotten far. If only he'd had the foresight to know that Aiden had already died. Had he known that, he would be a free man still, but instead, he sat there still as a stone, quietly watching the jurors file into an adjacent room. The twelve men and women remained there for no more than a few minutes, and when they returned, their faces all read the same.

Guilty.

"We the jury find the defendant, William Kendrick Washington...guilty...of the charge of first degree murder."

The courtroom was silent.

"Will the defendant please rise?"

Billy stood up with his lawyer. Everyone was silent as the judge scanned a few court documents through his half-moon reading glasses.

"Mr. Washington, the pre-sentencing report recommends life imprisonment in the custody of the California Department of Corrections. While I would take great pleasure in sending you to the gas chamber, I don't believe that it would adequately punish you for the heinousness of your murderous actions. You see, Mr. Washington, you're a coward. You fatally shot a man who was not only unable to defend himself, but was trapped dying, wholly unable to move; and as if that wasn't bad enough, you sank to the level of petty theft, and stole his watch. While a cowardly and despicable thing to do, I can understand why you did it. It was the only fight you could have won. You hide behind an exterior of muscle, mean looks, and a reputation that I am sure will precede your entry into prison. You hide behind this wall because you're too afraid people will see you for what you truly are - a coward and a petty thief. I believe that a life spent behind bars in the company of hardened criminals will be a punishment far more fitting than any gas or injection."

He tapped the short stack of documents on the bench, set them down and picked up his gavel.

"For the charge of first degree murder, by the power vested in me by the state of California, I hereby sentence you to ninety-nine years in the custody of the Department of Corrections."

The_bang_ of the gavel resounded through the courtroom, and there was a palpable fear in Billy's eyes as he watched the rest of his life slip free of his grasp.

"Court is adjourned. Bailiff?"

An imposing bull stepped forward and grabbed the pit bull by his arm, leading him out of the courtroom where he would soon be shipped northward to the prison where he would spend the rest of his days.

Sunny San Quentin State.

***

Reid's sentence to a ward of Cedars Sinai had been involuntarily extended due to a nasty case of pneumonia he'd contracted from his episode at Aiden's funeral and exposure to the nasty weather that accompanied it. He hadn't been out there long, maybe a few minutes, but it had been enough to take a weighty toll on the canine in his weakened condition. Needless to say, Kelvin had had some serious explaining to do.

Reid would have some explaining of his own to do, and to more than one person. Paul would get an earful at some point, but somebody more important had yet to be graced with a phone call from the recovering dog.

Miles away, Cathy Travis set her cigarette down in a smoke-stained ashtray, standing up from the sofa to grab the cordless phone on the end table.

"Hello?"

"...Mom?"

She nearly dropped the phone when she heard the voice on the other end. Xavier wasn't on the other end of that phone, and if he was, he wasn't well. No, it couldn't be. She'd know his voice anywhere. It had to be her oldest; the son she hadn't spoken to in years.

"Reid?" She whispered.

"Yeah, Mom. It's me."

Cathy sat back down on the sofa. She'd gone weak in the knees. Reaching for her cigarette, she took a liberal drag on it before extinguishing it by dropping it into a two-thirds empty can of Pabst.

"Reid, honey. It's been so long."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Where are you now? Are you still living in LA?"

"Yeah, still living in LA."

"You don't sound good. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah Mom. Everything's fine. Everything's fine now. Xavier wanted me to call you."

"We really need to get together again soon, the three of us. I miss my boys." She said, smiling. Reid smiled weakly.

"I miss you too, Mom."

There was a sniffle on the other end of the line. Reid looked down at himself in his hospital gown, an IV line connected to his right arm. He'd lost weight. He didn't want his mom to see him as he was. He wanted her to see him as he was going to be.

"So. Tell me about your life, how have things been going in California? Should I be expecting a wedding invitation any time soon?"

"Maybe from Xavier..." He muttered.

"Ohh, you know Xavier. He's married to the Corps!" Cathy joked, casting a glace out to the Marine Corps flag that hung outside her home. "Well, jokes aside, have you met a nice girl yet?"

"I've been occupying myself with the...stronger sex."

"Oh. Well, I can't say I'm surprised. Ever since you were little I always thought you might have a little sugar in your tank."

"Mom!"

"What? You think I don't know my own son? I raised you, you know. Wasn't easy, but I did the best I could."

"You did good, Mom."

In Texas, Cathy was swallowing the lump in her throat.

"I could have done better. I'm just sorry you had to grow up without a father. It wasn't fair to you, having to be one for your brother."

Reid simply shrugged. Cathy laughed through her tears.

"You were a better parent than I was. Look how Xavier turned out."

"Mom, it's not your fault. Xavier just made better decisions than I did. Who even knows if having a father would have made things any different?"

"God only knows..."

"Maybe I would have been a better one myself." Reid said quietly, staring through the ceiling tiles above him. Several seconds passed while they simply enjoyed knowing that on the other end of the phone call, the other one was there.

"You still think about them, huh?"

"Every damn day of my life."

"I saw Josie at the grocery store last week."

Reid went quiet.

Josie.

She'd been his everything. From the first date they'd been on, he'd known she was the girl with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his waking days. Six months from their first date, they'd married. Nine months and three days later, she gave birth to a healthy, beautiful little girl. They'd named her after Reid's grandmother, Lucille. Lucy had been the compromise with Josie's insistence that Lucille was far too dated.

With the exception of the present, it was the only time in Reid's life when the future looked brighter than the past.

"Lucy was with her. She's all grown up. Sixteen years old now."

"Grew up never knowing my Dad and I did the same thing to her..." He closed his eyes.

"You did the right thing." Cathy said quietly, but with conviction. "I just wish I could have better prepared you to be a father."

"Don't blame yourself, Mom. You worked so hard to feed Xavier and me and keep a roof over our heads and clothes on our backs. You did better than you give yourself credit for."

There was that sniffle again.

"You don't know how much it means to hear you say that."

Reid's lip quivered. His eyes were shut tight. At that moment, he just wanted to pour his soul out to her. She would listen. She would understand. That he knew, but what he did not know was how she would react to the fact that he'd nearly killed himself. That he'd been in love for the first time in years, only to have it ripped away from him. That he'd just had a liver transplant. As far as he was concerned, it could all be swept under the rug, where it belonged.

"Here's to looking forward, right?"

"Mhmm. So, on a happier note, does any lucky guy have your heart right now?"

Reid's thoughts flicked from Josie to Kelvin, and memories of recent events played on loop. Everything the Shiba Inu had said at Aiden's funeral came hurtling back.

"No."

"Well, I hope that when you do find someone, whatever their gender, they'll make you happy. You deserve to be happy. I think you've been sad for far too long."

"I hope so, Mom. I hope."

A moment's silence accompanied Cathy's smile, and Reid's frown.

"I have to get going, Mom."

"Okay. Promise me you'll call more often? Maybe visit?"

"Sure."

"Okay sweetie. I love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

Reid pulled the phone away from his ear and tapped the button to end a call that should have been made years ago. Just as he did, a nurse entered, bringing with her some medication.

"All right Mr. Travis, time for your immunosuppressants. How are you feeling this afternoon?"

He watched her inject the medication into the gate on the IV line and wet his chapped lips.

"I'm okay."

***

Paul walked into the room after a short knock with a brown bag in hand and a grin that appeared on his face only after the relieved look on the heeler's face became apparent.

"Thank you. God, this hospital food is killing me." Reid began to tear into the bag, and the pervasive scent of wing sauce began to fill the suite. He began shoveling, and Paul pulled up a chair.

"How're things going at the shop?"

"I've got Vance running the place as an ad interim manager; boy's just not cut out for it. One guy kept insisting he wanted long tubes with a turbo setup because he thought they sounded better. Vance looked like he was about to give him a haircut with a ball-peen hammer." Paul chuckled, the resulting mental image causing Reid to nearly choke on a wing from laughter.

"We need you to hurry up and get well enough to come to work. We've been pretty shorthanded ever since Kelvin left."

Had Paul not timed the news just right, the cattle dog may very well have choked on his next bite. Reid licked the residual hot sauce off the end of his muzzle and calmly set the container of wings on a nearby table.

"He quit?"

"About a week ago. Said he couldn't face you after what happened at the funeral."

Reid sighed and pressed his hands into his face, lying back and groaning aloud.

"Look, I think you both said some things you didn't mean. I know he did anyway; I don't put anything past you these days. I'd take him back in a heartbeat if he wanted to come back, he's a good kid, but he just needs some guidance."

"You want me to apologize."

"Don't you think you should?"

Reid appeared to mull it over.

"At the very least for leading him on if you don't want to be with him. Hell, he's had a crush on you since he started. So why'd you take it so far?"

"I don't know, Paul! I was still grieving, and I didn't have my head on straight, I..." He trailed off, his muzzle open, his hand in the air. He dropped it to his lap and looked plaintively at the bear. "Even if he does come back, it's going to be awkward."

"I figured as much. I'm not saying do it for me. I'm not even saying do it for him. Do it for you. You've got a new shot at life here, son, and it starts with making the right decisions. You have _got_to find your peace somehow, because if you don't, you're going to end up right back where you started."

He paused. On the TV, the audience laughed at something someone was saying on a sitcom.

"I need you, first and foremost. I need you to be well, and not just because I need you around at the shop. No one there cares about you more than I do."

Reid nodded.

"Remember that. That's why I need you to pull through. Can you promise me that?"

"Yeah Paul. I promise."

"Look at me."

Reid turned his head and stared straight into the old bear's brown eyes with his own ghostly blue orbs.

"I promise."

***

Three weeks later, Reid was well enough to be discharged from the hospital, along with a stack of literature on post-op care, and prescriptions for everything from immunosuppressants to painkillers. Paul waited outside in the truck while Reid shook hands with Dr. Hamad.

Paul looked over when the passenger side door opened. He reached over to help the heeler with the bags of pamphlets and medication he held. It was almost funny watching the dog's frustration at trying to get into the vehicle - he justified it by knowing that for the first time in a long time, Reid was going to be fine.

"Mista Reid! Where on God's green earth you been?" Mrs. Widener said, appearing out of nowhere, her bowlegged stride carrying her all the way up to the truck.

"Oh, I've been around, I was just having my liver swapped out for a new one." Reid said with the kind of sardonic, tongue-in-cheek drawl that suggested liver transplants were a procedure one often endures.

It had been so long since Reid had been home that his apartment didn't even feel like it at first. It was cold, like a hotel room upon checking in, and dark. It was a bit dusty from not having been maintained in almost a month, but the apartment itself was tidy, as though Kelvin had picked up around the place before his departure. The kitchen was spotless, as was the living room. While these creature comforts were calling out to him, nothing sounded better than a good, long nap in his own bed.

Reid entered his bedroom to find it equally as neat as the rest of the apartment. The carpet had been vacuumed, and the bed was made with the kind of precision fit for a military bunk. There on his pillow, illuminated by sunlight, was an envelope bearing his name. He took a seat on the bed and picked it up, using a claw to tear it open. A thrice folded letter was contained within, hand written and concise.

Reid,

_ _

_ Let me begin by saying how sorry I am for what I said to you at Aiden's funeral. I lost my cool, and I said some things I didn't mean. I would like to think that you did not mean the things you said, but given the circumstances, I am afraid that any further attempts to be with you will only be met with hostility and rejection. I also want to thank you for everything you've done for me, at both Doghouse and elsewhere. You gave me confidence in myself, and the courage to reconcile with my parents. They're still not thrilled about me being gay, but what can you do? I'm heading north in search of a fresh start. I wish you the best of luck in your new chance at life._

_ _

_ Love,_

_ Kelvin_

Reid scanned the letter no less than six times, and he couldn't figure out what to make of it. He wasn't sure why, it was about as cut and dried as letters come, but for some reason or another, he found it difficult to process yet another loss in his life. Gently folding the letter back up, he slid it back into the envelope and set it down on his dresser. He wanted to call, but something told him that he wouldn't answer if he did.

In bed, his mind drifted back to fate. What was it trying to tell him? Why had yet another person been removed from his life? Fortunately, for Reid, he was far too tired to contemplate the particulars, so he let himself slip into the clutches of the best sleep he'd ever gotten in his rickety old bed. Like the bed, he'd seen better days, but unlike it, better days were all he had ahead of him.

Or so he hoped.