OHANA
follows "Renewal"

Chapter 1

               ***April 22, 2023***

"We're here for our marching orders, Captain Eames," Robert Goren said smartly, executing a letter-perfect salute as he stood at attention, his silvering curls still in disarray from breakfast preparations. It appeared their adopted daughter Olivia had received coaching because she could now mirror his every motion, her shoulder-blade-length dark honey-blond hair restrained in a ponytail.

Standing before them in the living room, clad in a fleece jacket and light watch cap with her suitcase and toiletries case beside her in anticipation of an Uber arriving at any minute, Alexandra Eames Goren saw Bobby cue their stocky tricolor collie with his free hand. Sam stepped forward, then sat up on his hind legs, his forepaws dangling. The scene was complete when her white and grey budgie launched himself from his cage to perch on the head of the six-foot-four tower that was his male human. Bandit always figured out the best vantage point—curtain rods would also do.

"Come, little bug," and Alex extended her right hand. Instead, the bird flew to her head, digging in tiny claws as she glanced up. "Bandit. It's time for me to leave."

Now Bobby's carefully planned façade began to slip, as the smile with which he'd promised her he'd see her off faded.

"I didn't tell anyone to be 'at ease,'" she objected, feigning sternness to salvage the situation as she removed Bandit from her hat.

"Hi, sweetie!" the budgie replied brightly in her voice.

Bobby and Olivia laughed, and then he added soberly, "Any final orders, ma'am?"

"I shall be away four days," she responded as sternly as possible, arms crossed in front of her with Bandit resting on two fingers, "and when I get home, I don't want to see more than two books per person per day."

For these two, it was an impossible request. Bobby looked surprised while Olivia wailed, "But, Mama, Papa said he'd take me to the Book Barn–"

She'd expected this. "If you two keep bringing bags of books home, soon we won't have anywhere to sit."

Olivia said innocently, "We could use stacks of books for extra seating..." and Alex was about to reply when she noticed the mischievous look that accompanied it. The pair were trying as hard as she was not to make the departure difficult.

Bobby had already been away overnight for four lectures—two in Boston, one in Albany, and one in New York City—during which she and Olivia enjoyed three "girls' nights" of fast food and a film. This week would be the first time she would be the absent parent, attending the annual Active and Retired Woman Senior Officers Association (ARWSOA) conference where she and her friend and former colleague, NYPD Captain Olivia Benson, would conduct a presentation about alternative police methods, one that they had worked on since January on Zoom. Alex would be away from her little family for half the week, so she had hoped to maintain an upbeat farewell.

Her cell phone chirped, echoing the brief beep of a car horn outside. "That's my Uber," she said, and before Bandit realized it, she'd swooped him into his cage and latched the door, to which the budgie ruffled his feathers and clucked. "Sorry, little bug. Be good. I'll see you soon."

Ten-year-old Olivia pulled on her jacket and handed Bobby his coat, then stepped forward without faltering and gave her a hug and a kiss. "You behave too, Mama. Noah and I know how it is when you and his mom get together!" Then she snatched up the toiletries case. "I'll tell the Uber driver you'll be out presently," she announced in her most grown-up tones as Bobby donned his coat, "so you and Papa can say goodbye."

And off she went, leaving an amused Alex to gaze up into Bobby's pensive face. "You'll keep things shipshape for this former captain, Special Agent Goren?" she requested as she readjusted her hat, keeping up the pretense.

Bobby smiled as he regarded her caramel-colored eyes. "I believe you're mixing your captains' metaphors a bit."

"No, you see–" In the next moment, he'd enfolded her into a bear hug, then pulled her to her toes for a kiss that sent an erotic thrum down her spine.

"I'll finish that," he promised, bowing his head over hers, "when you get home."

She clung to him for one further second. "Damn...you'd better after that jumpstart."

With a grin, he hefted her suitcase and escorted her from their small Cape Cod home, down the sidewalk into chilly spring sunshine, to the curb where the Uber waited. Olivia was inside the chain-link fence chatting with the driver, a compact man with a traditional "Latin lover" look, complete with a pencil mustache, holding open the passenger-side door of his car. "This is Alonzo. His family's from Honduras!"

The man nodded solemnly. "And to confirm, we are going to Union Station in New Haven?"

"Yes, sir," Alex agreed as Alonzo accepted the transfer of the suitcase from Bobby and put it into his trunk with the toiletries case, then smiled at the man and the child left on the sidewalk after Bobby had helped Alex into the rear seat of an avocado green Kia Soul. "I will take good care of your lady, I promise."

"Thank you," Bobby said, shaking his hand. "She's very special to us."

The last words Alex called to them from the Uber were plaintive. "Please hold it under fifty books, okay?"

Sometimes she despaired with those two.

Yet she pivoted in her seat and watched them recede until the Uber turned right on Main Street, heading south.

With the Kia out of sight, Olivia slipped her hand into Bobby's, regarding him with enormous brown eyes. "Papa—it's school hols this week; we should have gone with her."

Bobby squatted so that they were face-to-face. "I wanted your mother to have some time off. We're both a little high-maintenance. She'll give her presentation with Captain Benson, see old friends, and come home with some great stories. Besides, I'm envious of those three 'girls' nights' since we haven't had our own–"

"Book-buying expedition?" was her eager response.

"Maybe-" he speculated.

"When do we leave?"

"You know the rules."

"You hate the rules sometimes, Papa," Olivia said conspiratorially.

Bobby smiled down at her. "And that's often been my downfall. Things usually work out better when you stick to them. So the rule now–"

"I know." She sighed deeply and repeated Alex's mantra: "First we do the chores, then we get to do the things."

Alex was pleasantly tired and slightly buzzed as the ARWSOA opening ceremonies ended; her day had continued to be busy as she arrived at the New Amsterdam Hotel in downtown Manhattan, checking in and depositing her luggage in the room before hurrying to the ballroom level, where she retrieved her badge and spent the remainder of the afternoon and evening reuniting with friends and former co-workers. Benson had been there to meet her, and, to her great joy, peppery, down-to-earth Anita Van Buren, formerly of the 27th precinct, had decided to attend. The three spent a lengthy lunch a block away at Chinatown Express, catching up. At dinner/opening ceremonies in the understated "banquet room," Benson introduced her to Antoinette ("Call me Toni") Bettany of the 64th Precinct in Brooklyn, and, for the rest of the evening, she, Benson, and Bettany made up a trio.

Eventually, she couldn't resist a yawn and apologized to her remaining table companions, "I'm beat, ladies. I had an early morning. Toni, it was great meeting you. We'll have to do this again tomorrow."

"Definitely." Bettany, a square-shouldered, stocky woman in her mid-60s with a cap of silver-and-white hair, stretched her arms before her. "I'm looking forward to what you two have in store."

"Don't expect Hemingway out of me," Alex advised wryly.

Benson chided, "Don't sell yourself short, Alex."

Bettany added, "I'm also looking forward to getting out of this torture chamber that's my best dress."

Benson smiled faintly, then stretched backward herself, clapping a hand over her yawn. "I need to move on, too. Noah's going to think I got lost."

Alex had not failed to observe the tired lines on her friend's face. She offered softly, "Speaking of Noah, would you like to come upstairs for a few minutes and say goodnight to 'Olivia Two'?"

During introductions earlier, Alex had explained to Bettany about the adoption and Olivia's use of her middle name; now Bettany asked, "Do you suppose I might meet your 'enfant terrible' as well?" to which Alex quipped, "Which one?"

Once they arrived at Alex's room, she called home via Zoom.

"Eames!" Bobby said happily as her face appeared on his cell phone, and even Benson crooked her lips at his affectionate use of his wife's last name. "Perfect timing! We've just finished with tonight's reading."

Benson inquired over Alex's shoulder, "What's the current book?"

"Hello, Liv! You two keeping out of trouble?"

"There are three of us," Alex told him in return.

"What, you managed to get Van Buren to go rogue?"

Alex introduced Toni Bettany—"Brooklyn!" he said with one half of a high-five at the screen—then Bobby turned the phone toward Olivia, who sat upright in her bed impatiently waiting to chime into the conversation. She had Captain the stuffed fox cuddled in her arms. "Papa's reading Treasure Island, Captain Benson. Jim Hawkins is trapped in the apple barrel!"

"That's one of Noah's favorites," Benson told her, then tilted her phone to her left. "This is a new friend, Toni."

"Good evening, ma'am," was the child's respectful response as Bettany waved. "Are you enjoying the conference so far?"

"Very much!" was the smiling reply.

"Captain Benson, how is Noah?" Olivia asked soberly. "He texted me—he said he let you know—after...after you told him about...his mom."

"He did, sweetheart," Benson said gratefully, "and told me what your brother said to you about seeds being nurtured. Thank you for telling him that story. He said it helped."

"You're welcome." Then Olivia brightened. "Oh, Mama, guess what! Mr. Volpe was outside when we took Sam for a walk. He says he's feeling much better."

Alex filled them in quickly about their neighbor, Bruno Volpe, who would turn 92 in June, having been laid low with a head cold for the past week. "You two ought to take him some breakfast tomorrow."

"That would be fun, Papa!" Olivia brightened. "Buckwheat pancakes and real maple syrup?"

"And scrambled eggs," Bobby added.

Alex teased, "All right, 'fess up, you two. How many books?"

"Five," Olivia said instantly.

"Only five? That's doing well–"

"Five for me," Olivia clarified.

"Seven," Bobby confessed, "but two are for you. I found the two Hillermans you were missing."

"You both are hopeless," Alex smiled ruefully, shaking her head, "but I love you anyway. Good night, Min. Sweet dreams."

"You, too, Mama. Is someone filming your presentation?"

"Yes," Benson said from behind Alex.

"Good! Papa and I want to see it. Say 'hi' to Noah for me, Captain Benson!"

"I will."

When Bobby's face was back on screen, Alex mouthed, "Call me later," to him before she said goodnight.

"Don't worry, I'll keep everything well in hand," he told her solemnly, but with a playful undertone none of them could misinterpret. After he had hung up, Benson was biting her lip while Bettany laughed aloud.

"You're going to be busy Thursday night, girl," Toni teased.

Bruno Volpe was leaning back in a venerable wooden Adirondack chair next to a rustic table of the same vintage on his screened-in sun porch when they arrived with breakfast. It was still chilly in the shady structure at that time of the morning, so he'd bundled himself in a thick burgundy cable-knit sweater and black sweatpants, with lined moccasins on his feet and a knitted black cap on his head, looking relaxed.

"Out this early?" Bobby asked whimsically, setting down a plate covered in aluminum foil. Olivia carried an insulated mug, which she set next to the plate, adding a fork, knife, and paper napkins, and both were buttoned up against the cold, Olivia with a little scarlet beret on her head.

"I never want to miss a minute of spring," Bruno told him, a smile brightening his square, weathered face. "My favorite season—you know that. Something different every day. What's this?"

"Alex wanted you to have breakfast on her." Bobby uncovered the plate, revealing two buckwheat pancakes covered in a maple syrup glaze and a serving of scrambled eggs with chives and shaved ham.

"You two know I don't eat this much anymore," the elderly man protested.

"Eat what you please, Mr. Volpe," Olivia said, plumping herself into a folding wooden chair. "It's okay." She wiggled to get comfortable. "Mama and Captain Benson are giving their presentation this morning."

"That's what's got you all shiny, eh?" Bruno asked, cutting a wedge of pancake with his fork and sampling it. "Good stuff, Bobby. Thanks," he added, but searched Bobby's face, knowing the former detective had noted each detail of his aging body in the past three-and-a-half years: the less surefooted gait, the hollowing cheeks, the thinning hands ropy with veins and spotted with bruises.

"Old age ain't for sissies," he'd told Bobby once.

"It's about alternative policing," Olivia chattered as Bruno deliberately ate a little pancake, followed by a little egg in what seemed to Bobby like birdlike pecks. "Therapists helping out street officers, like that."

"How's the new book going, Bobby?" Bruno asked abruptly after several forkfuls of eggs.

"Slowly," Bobby admitted. Alex had suggested that he write a memoir around the postcards he'd mailed to his mother when he served in the Army, but they had yet to figure out the best way to structure it, and during the unsettled autumn and winter, the project had been set aside.

"I always wondered about those postcards of yours," Bruno began, and Bobby straightened. "Why didn't you say so? Min–"

Occasionally, Olivia understood how her parents communicated with their eyes. "I know where it is!"

She left at a trot to return with her arms full of the corrugated copier-paper box containing stacks of postcards and a stack of handwritten notes. Sam happily romped beside her.

At first, she leaned at Bruno's side as he thumbed through the postcards—black-and-white, Kodachrome-saturated, sometimes hand-colored missives, many oversized—that Frances Goren had treasured, sorted with rubber bands between Bobby's six-month stint in Korea—including several side trips to Japan while on leave—and his assignment in Germany, plus odd ones like those sent from his short excursion to Oxford, England. Bobby had preferred the oversized postcards so he could write more; each postcard's reverse side, whether large or small, was filled with untidy miniature print, so there was scarcely room for the more legible address squeezed in the spot provided.

After a quarter-hour of Sam nudging her, Olivia tossed her beret on the picnic table and abandoned the adults to play tag with the dog in Volpe's backyard. Often, Bruno permitted her, Ana, and Carlos to play soccer there since his yard was relatively flat rather than having a downward slope toward the Krentz yard as the Goren property did. The venerable sugar maple tree and a pair of English oaks made fine goalposts, and at the far end of the lot was a tangle of barberry and Virginia creeper over an old cedar arbor that made a "cave" they could rest in when out of breath. Volpe had told her that his sons had pretended all sorts of things in the leafy hollow: it had been at various times OSI headquarters for Steve Austin, the "six million dollar man," a pirate cave, and firehouse Station 51.

Once she was out of earshot, Bruno began to talk. Bobby had learned his life story in the past three years: his youth in Springfield, Massachusetts, his move to Connecticut after his Korean War service and college. He'd married a fellow teacher, Emma Lonardo, but Emma had passed away a few years after their youngest finished college. That younger son, Vincenzo ("Enzo"), had contracted muscular dystrophy in his 30s and died not long before Bobby had moved to Milbury. The elder son, Giacomo, known as "Jack," had "reinvented" himself as "Julian" when he moved to California after attending business college. Ever-pragmatic Julian had bided his time, then married a high-powered banking executive (at one time his supervisor's daughter); following their marriage, he entered small-town politics. His drive to succeed and a career change brought him to the vice-presidency of Globe Underwriters while earning him a place as a town council member. For the most part, however, he had seemingly forgotten his father and brother existed. Bobby knew Bruno had taken Julian's defection hard.

This time, however, Bruno tapped on the box, commenting gravely, "This brought back memories," and then spoke freely about his military service. He rarely recounted his Korean experience, save for humorous anecdotes, since he told Bobby once that he'd seen enough death to last him through the end times. Volpe had registered as a conscientious objector and gone overseas as a medic, and even M*A*S*H the film, he'd observed, couldn't adequately portray the wounds, the smell, the screams—and the terror. He'd been bullied mercilessly for taking his stand: a recruiting sergeant had chipped his incisor trying to provoke him into a fight to prove he wasn't so peaceful, and soldiers in the ranks had harassed him. But Volpe was proud of never having left a man in the field, despite having been wounded five times during his enlistment. Even his company commander had reluctantly admitted, Bruno chuckled, that even though he was a "damned conchie," he "still had brass balls."

He'd always wondered, he told Bobby that morning, if that was the problem with him and Jack—excuse him, Julian!—his son thought him a coward.

Bobby said grimly, "He can't judge that without having been in the same situation. It takes courage to walk into a war zone without a firearm. I'd better not ever hear him call you a coward to my face!"

A crooked smile lit Bruno's heavily lined face. "Thank you for being my friend, Bobby."

"I'm the one who should be saying thanks. I am proud to be your friend, Corpsman Volpe." Respectfully, Bobby saluted him.

Volpe laughed. "Don't you go giving me a big head, Goren, or next thing you know, I'll be telling your kid to get off my lawn."

Bobby's phone vibrated as he sat in bed reading, and he glanced automatically at the bedroom door to ensure it was closed. Then he answered it throatily, "What are you wearing, Captain Eames?"

He heard her smother a chuckle, followed by a hushed, "The usual, Agent Goren. But I can call you back on Zoom, and it can be less if you like."

"Mmmn," he considered. "Maybe tomorrow. Tell me more about the presentation."

"I covered it all when I talked to you and Min an hour ago," she objected, then sighed, knowing he wouldn't be easily dissuaded. "All right. I was surprised at how smoothly it went. Everything worked perfectly, even technically, down to the PowerPoint slides—and the audience was relieved that we knew how to use them properly! The ballroom was almost full, and we had a very positive question-and-answer session with excellent feedback. Liv and I did a high-five backstage afterward."

Bobby saw her face change and asked, "And how is Liv?"

"Coping...as always. But that kidnapping case this winter and spring has taken a lot out of her. She'd only planned to come for the presentation today, but her squad insisted they'd take care of things and would call her if there was an emergency."

"Maybe Fin will read the riot act to her again. She's lucky to have so much support at work." From the thoughtful look in his eyes, Alex wondered if he was thinking about their first unsteady months with Danny Ross or his final disastrous weeks with Harry Cavanaugh.

She shifted the conversation back to the conference. "I've been reading the comments left on the app about the presentation. They're ninety percent favorable. Of course, there's the usual cranky 'the old methods are good enough for me' messages, but that's to be expected."

"You and Liv worked hard on that project. I'm glad it was appreciated. So the speaker from India was your favorite?"

"Satya Morar's talk about police work in Mumbai? Definitely. I told you she served in their equivalent of Major Case, but I didn't mention she wrote a book about her experiences. And, yes, of course, I got you an autographed copy."

"Does that add to my book limit for the day?" he asked flippantly, and she laughed. "Thank you."

"Oh, Van Buren's retrospective on female leadership at the NYPD will be posted on one of the other video sites, Dailymotion, I think. It's in my notes. And the other thing—Toni treated us to lunch at Café Brasilia!"

Bobby grinned, recalling a Polaroid photo taken so long ago. "I had no idea they were still in business. How's the food?"

"Not bad." She paused, then, taking her cue from his earlier joke, asked, "So...how many books today?"

"Alex–" A sigh. "We went to Mystic Seaport this afternoon."

"A large influx of historical books then," she deduced.

"The juvenile versions of Philbrick's Heart of the Sea and Mayflower, 1621: A New Look at Thanksgiving, a book on Sybil Ludington and another about Sacajawea, a reprint of Lois Lenski's Ocean-Born Mary—it was fiction, but she wanted it anyway—and one about Titanic."

"I get the picture," Alex laughed. "So I won't ask you how many you bought." She noticed, with amusement, that he looked relieved.

"Min and I decided this morning was so much fun that we'll take breakfast to Bruno again tomorrow." He paused, troubled. "He eats so little, Alex. I put up half his breakfast in the fridge—and his full serving was a portion the size of Min's. He said he'd have it for lunch."

"My dad ate like that as he got older—Liz and I asked the gerontologist. Smaller portions and more frequent meals. Besides, if Bruno's just getting over a cold, he may not be able to taste well yet." She had a great yearning to somehow reach outside the telephone signal and kiss his forehead and eyebrows as she had the first night they'd made love.

He said softly, "I miss you, Princess Ozma."

She said softly, "I miss you, Oscar Diggs."

On Wednesday morning, father and daughter squelched across damp grass to find Bruno waiting on the porch in the same outfit as the previous day—only later did Bobby wonder if the aged man had changed clothing at all, although nothing he wore appeared soiled. The elderly man was dozing, head pillowed on his crossed arms, in the moist spring breeze that made the new, pale green maple and oak leaves sway under cloudy skies.

Olivia gave Bobby a questioning look, then padded forward to kiss Volpe's forehead, which had the desired effect: Bruno's eyes popped open and immediately focused on the covered plate several inches from his nose. He lifted his head, sniffing and smiling appreciatively. "Mnnnnn! Breakfast in bed again? I feel like I'm at the Ritz."

"Why are you sleeping here?" Olivia asked. "Are you ill?"

"It's what I get for staying up late reading." Volpe sat up, then tapped Bobby's box of postcards. "Enjoyed it, though. What have you got for me this morning, James Beard?"

Bobby grinned. "Ham and eggs. Apple compote. Hash browns."

Olivia parked herself in the same chair from the previous day while Bobby dragged up the other battered Adirondack. "The hash browns are smashing!"

"And why not?" Bruno joked. "You smash them to cook them, after all."

Olivia giggled.

Volpe tackled this breakfast more enthusiastically than the previous day as they chatted about the postcards. Sometime later, Bobby hurried to the house for his Zoom appointment with his therapist, Dr. Chaudry, and carried the box away. Olivia remained behind to ask the latest questions in her never-ending curiosity about what Milbury was like when Bruno's sons were growing up. Before she knew it, it was time for a light lunch before they left for Big Brothers/Big Sisters, where Bobby and Alex volunteered on Wednesday afternoons.

As they arrived, they saw thirteen-year-old Luciana Serrano crouched, crying, on the still-damp, worn concrete steps of the old brick grammar school that served as headquarters, just inside the Southbury town line. Bobby had scarcely shifted his Camaro into park before Olivia unbuckled her seat belt and bolted for her best friend. "Ana, what's wrong? Is Abi-Abi sick?"

"It's not mi abuela, it's Carlos," Ana sniffled, swiping at her eyes, and now Olivia and Bobby could see that her tears were partially from anger. She was no longer the skinny ten-year-old Bobby and Alex had met for the first time the day they announced their engagement in 2021; she was taller than Alex, and her dark pigtails had given way to a neat French braid at the back of her head. Even simple jeans and a loose, thick-knit long-sleeved jersey accented her figure; Bobby recalled Alex wondering if there might be "trouble" soon.

"What's happened to Carlos?" demanded Bobby, and Ana tossed her head as she arose and said, "Come and see!"

She led them inside through the old Doric-styled entrance marked "Girls" to the all-purpose activities room, originally the lunchroom with ancient kitchen equipment still in an alcove at the rear. Paint- and glue-daubed, ink-marked tables used for various arts and crafts projects dotted the scuffed and patched brown vinyl floor; battered folding chairs lined the wall—except for the one Carlos had just leaped from as he protested to Jenkins, the retiree who supervised the facility full time, "For fuck's sake, Mr. J, I don't need you babying me!"

"Carlos!" Bobby rebuked, while Olivia stopped in surprise. She was not unfamiliar with obscenities—she could say the word in French and German, too—but had never heard laid-back Carlos utter one. Like his younger sister, he had grown in the previous months; their parents had been tall, so he was well on his way to reaching six feet. Built more sturdily than Ana, Carlos was already teamed with older boys for high school soccer games.

"Mierda, not both of you," Carlos growled, but Bobby's further remonstrance died when he saw the boy's face: his lower lip split and bleeding, his right eye swollen and purplish.

"It's those damn boys–" Ana began.

Russell Jenkins, a slight powerhouse of a man, drew himself up to full height, and his dark eyes flashed in his olive-complexioned face. "There is no cursing here, both of you. You know the rules. Now sit down and let me fix you up, Carlos, so you won't scare your grandmother this evening. There's no shame in getting medical help after you've been playing Galahad!"

"What's up, compañero?" Bobby inquired mildly, reining in his concern.

"It's the boys–"

"Ana, let Carlos tell his own story, please."

Carlos winced as Jenkins dabbed the scraped skin around his black eye with peroxide. "Like Ana says, some boys at our apartment complex–"

"They want him in their gang–" Ana interjected. Hastily, Olivia moved to her side and tapped her shoulder in warning, shaking her head. Bobby tilted his gaze to meet Ana's eyes until she was silent.

"They do, but that's not why this happened," Carlos said roughly.

"Then why did this happen?" Bobby persisted.

Carlos' glance fell on Olivia, then shifted away. "I don't want to say it in front of Min."

"She's a girl; she already understands," Ana said hotly, then looked up at Bobby, coloring. "They said...things about me. About my...body."

Bobby flushed angrily. "Sexual remarks?"

"Yes, Mr. G."

"They won't get away with it, either!" returned Carlos angrily.

The other teens in Carlos and Ana's age group who attended on Wednesday's early-release day began to filter into the room, and Bobby's inquiry ceased. Carmelita, the eldest of the girls, her round face usually wreathed in a sunny smile, saw Ana's scowl, frowned, and immediately pulled her aside; slight, whippet-thin Rafe and his two husky cousins frankly admired Carlos' black eye and started providing advice at once, most of which Russ and Bobby hastily put a kibosh on.

The rest of the boys—Roy, Buzzy, Felix, brothers Don and Jack, and Jamal—now having appeared as well, the group decided they wanted to play dodgeball—a civilized version, Russ warned them—and Olivia, Ana, wiry and freckled Denise, and pigtailed Melora joined them. Carmelita sat in the bleachers to watch. She'd taken up knitting when Viola Perrino, Alex's former neighbor in Southbury and now a volunteer with the younger children, had shown them needlecrafts almost a year earlier. Her needles clicked and flashed as she worked a blanket for her elder sister's new baby. Bobby noted its progress to tell Alex, then stood beside Russ, silently observing the game.

"This pisses me off, Bobby," Russ said finally. "Carlos tells me these kids weren't previously a problem—according to him, it's a combination of a new boy and bad influence from older male family members. The gang thing is mostly posturing—what bothers me most is their hounding Ana. Too much of that going on. I worry about her."

"I know," Bobby said tersely, already disturbed by Ana's implication that ten-year-old Olivia was familiar with sexual harassment. He excused himself briefly, then rejoined Russ in the bleachers, where they both refereed since Rafe's cousins often didn't realize how roughly they played. Most of the checks were against Hector or Felipe, but Rafe was admonished, too; Bobby was startled when he had to call out Olivia, who had become quite competitive.

Later, it was Olivia's turn to be surprised when Bobby directed her to stay at Big Brothers with Russ while he took Ana and Carlos home. The chorus of objections was immediate: Carlos said savagely, "I can take care of Ana!" Ana protested, "I don't need you to take care of me!" Olivia demanded, "Why can't I come?"

"It's better if no one sees you," Bobby told Olivia gravely. "Just read or talk to Russ for a while. I'm not staying long, and I'll swing back to pick you up."

Carlos and Ana ganged up on him on the way out, Carlos pleading, "Mr. G, you can't chew out those guys! They'll turn on us–"

Bobby looked sideways at him. "You know I wouldn't do that, but I have to try something. What's the deal with these dudes anyway? You've never mentioned them before. How long have they been pulling this crap?"

"They weren't always like that," Ana said glumly. "Tomas could be pretty funny."

"And sometimes Ramon and Emiliano and I ran the dozens, you know, just in fun," Carlos supplied. "Then Mateo showed up–"

"Mateo thinks he's Xolo Maridueña," Ana interjected with a roll of her eyes, "as well as God's gift to women. Trust me, he's not."

Bobby quirked his mouth at Ana's attitude, asking only, "These guys—especially this Mateo—what do they respect most?"

"What do you think?" Carlos retorted cynically. "Power."

"Especially Mateo," Ana said immediately. "The more badass the better. They all think it makes them look good in front of girls."

"Yeah," Carlos agreed. "Muscle. Attitude. Cojones. You know...um...like Schwarzenegger way, way, way back? Or...Mr. T?"

Bobby arched his eyebrows at the "way, way, way" qualifier but looked thoughtful as he drove them home.

"You okay with going upstairs first?" Bobby asked Ana as they paused at the foot of the stairway that accessed the faded, chipped-paint breezeway separating the apartments. Upon further questioning during the drive, he learned that the boys who harassed Ana loitered in the stairwell approaching their home. The siblings just looked at him, suppressing laughter.

When they had arrived at the Pequot Hills Apartments, Bobby had surprised the two teens by upending a portion of a water bottle over his hair and slicking it straight back with a comb. Then he'd fished in his pocket for the small items he'd retrieved from the storage closet at Big Brothers, chosen from a motley collection of costume jewelry he and Alex picked for a song at a flea market one Sunday, intended for the smaller kids to play dress-up with. This bounty had included cheap men's signet rings that wouldn't pass close inspection, but Bobby had no intention of staying so long or getting so close. He secreted his wedding ring in his pants pocket, placed the two showiest rings on his left hand and a third on the right, then flipped the thick medallion Alex had bought him at Christmas so that it showed its pewter back with circular engraving. Finally, he unbuttoned the collar of his plaid flannel shirt to give himself a slightly more raffish air; after a moment's debate with himself, he also rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, revealing the toned forearms he'd developed from lifting weights.

As he emerged from the Camaro, the attitude of his body completed the rest of the persona, and Carlos stepped back. "Man, you look like el matón."

Bobby had responded with his native Brooklyn accent dripping attitude onto the sidewalk, "That's kinda the idea, kid." Privately, he felt like a walking cliché, but if it worked, then so be it.

Now Ana answered his question about being first up the stairs with a toss of the head. "I'm not afraid of el patán."

"You oughta be," returned Carlos, but she only rolled her eyes and headed up. Bobby produced a thick, long stick of beef jerky he'd taken from the cupboard of snack supplies at Big Brothers just as the maturing voice of a teenage boy attempting to sound older asked arrogantly, "¡Hola, chica! ¿Cómo está mi niña linda?"

Bobby took the stairs two at a time, with Carlos close behind him as Ana's voice responded scornfully, "Your girl? As if, Mateo."

At the top of the stairs, Bobby sized them up instantly: a skinny, baby-faced fourteen-year-old with long black hair tied back with a strip of black leather, hands thrust in his jeans' pockets to make himself look tough; two youngsters he estimated at age fifteen with acne-pocked faces, one stocky and muscled, the second thin and wary-looking; and the tallest, a square-faced kid who wore his hair in a 50s ducktail, maybe fifteen or sixteen, who he marked as the pack leader. Son of a bitch, he's even chewing a toothpick, Bobby thought. All wore fake gang tattoos on their hands or lower arms and matching grey sweatshirts. He thought of himself at that age, tall and gangly, always out of place, and with a strong urge to belong.

"Hey," Bobby said coolly as he reached the top riser, "you dissin' my ahijada?"

Carlos and Ana both suppressed grins when Bobby reached the top of the stairs; at six foot four, he was tall enough to overwhelm the adolescents, but now, when he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, it seemed to make him even taller and broader. One of the fifteen-year-olds stepped backward until he bumped into the grimy, green-painted concrete wall, and his impact sent paint flakes cascading to the litter-scattered floor. Bobby quickly observed the unkempt area and could see where an unsuccessful attempt had been made to blot out a spray-painted penis. Water from an earlier rain shower was dripping through a gap in the breezeway roof, forming an oily puddle on the concrete walkway.

Bobby looked them up and down wordlessly, then smiled as he ripped open the jerky package with his teeth and studiously peeled back the wrapper. "Which one a ya is Mateo?"

He was careful not to push the Brooklyn accent too far; it would sound fake. The reaction of the quartet told him Mateo was indeed the ringleader with the toothpick, who responded insolently, "That's me, man. Whatcha need?"

Bobby bit into the jerky, eyeing the teens thoughtfully as he chewed and swallowed. "I like that: honesty. Truth is good. Now answer my question: you dissin' my goddaughter?"

Mateo held his gaze. "I was just saying hello."

Bobby stepped forward again, pointing at him with the jerky stick. "Didn't sound like it to me, man. I don't like when mis ahijados get dissed, you get it? It ain't nice. You oughta be nice."

Mateo stood his ground but leaned back just slightly, signaling his discomfort.

Bobby calmly took a second bite from the jerky stick, chewing and swallowing with no outward intent to intimidate. He looked like a benign mastiff enjoying a treat, but as he finished, he chuckled, a sound Alex would have recognized immediately; he'd used it successfully in interrogations before—a sound of amusement that made people step back and look for straitjackets. "These are my kids, y'know," he said truthfully, "my family—I'm real fond of 'em. I like seein' them respected."

He took a final, deliberate bite from the jerky, arching an eyebrow. "Got things to do, man. See ya 'round. And be nice, okay?" then waved an arm at Carlos and Ana, barking out, "Ninos, vamanos. Got things to do after I talk with your abuela."

They trailed after him as if intimidated, Ana muttering, "Si, Padrino," as they passed Mateo, only laughing when they had gained the safety of the Diaz apartment. Ana fell into his arms. "O.M.G., Mr. G! You killed it."

"I can only hope I killed their obsession with you two," Bobby said dryly, finishing the jerky stick. "It may backfire."

"We'll be careful, Mr. G," Carlos promised before he left.

When Bobby returned to the stairwell, still wearing his swagger, the four teens had vanished.

His first regret was that Alex hadn't been there to see it.

His second was that he knew the deflection would not last long.

               ***April 25, 2024***

"What's on tap for breakfast today, ladies?" Alex asked as she finished her morning facial routine, then checked her reflection in the bathroom mirror. With a quick application of mascara and blush, she was ready for the last day of the conference.

Olivia Benson and Toni Bettany were waiting in her hotel room early the next morning: Benson on her phone re-checking the schedule for the day, while Bettany leaned against the bureau, watching Today. Alex had just finished telling them Bobby's story about his encounter with the teens, and Bettany still looked amused.

"I thought we–" Benson had just begun when Alex's cell phone played the mellow saxophone notes of Dave Brubeck's "Take Five."

"That's Bobby. But we just talked," she said, darting to the night table to pick up the phone, "less than two hours ago." Phone at her ear, she asked instantly, "Bobby? What's wrong?"

Benson abruptly set down her phone while Bettany turned away from the television in time to see Alex's previously upbeat expression disintegrate. "Oh, no!" A long pause ensued. "Bobby, I'm so sorry! How is she?" She bit her lip as he continued, her eyes grieving. "Tell her I'll be home soon...I'll take the next train–" A shorter pause, then a spirited, "No, I'm packing as soon as I get off the phone—not another word! I'll call you a half-hour out."

At Alex's initial "Oh, no!" Benson alerted and rose from her seat at the desk. Seconds into the conversation, she'd exchanged a look with Bettany, who nodded, then immediately crossed the room to pull Alex's suitcase and toiletries case from the closet. By the time Alex hung up, Benson was in the bathroom packing the latter, and Bettany was swiftly transferring Alex's clothing from the dresser into the suitcase.

Alex watched their methodical work with grateful eyes. "You two are the best."

"Sit," Benson ordered as she emerged from the bathroom, and Alex sank to the foot of the bed. Her friend handed her a glass of water. "Take a deep breath, then sip this. Bobby and Olivia are okay? Toni, could you check out the night table and the desk, please? I see a charge cord and an e-reader."

"On it," Bettany said briskly, closing the final dresser drawer. Finally, she packed Alex's previously worn clothing, already collected in the hotel laundry bag, and zipped up the suitcase.

"Thanks," Alex said with a sigh. "They're both fine. It's Bruno...next door. The Korean War vet? Bobby and Min took him breakfast again this morning and found him collapsed in the kitchen. He'd been there since last night. Bobby's upset thinking of him lying there all night, and Olivia is in pieces—she truly did think of him as an adopted grandfather."

"Did 911 respond?" Bettany asked.

"The paramedics came–" Alex expelled her breath. "But not in time."

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