Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit.

"I want my mommy."

Ray Kowalski let his head fall back against the wall of the warehouse from which he was trying to extricate a six year old kidnapping victim. A noisy six year old kidnapping victim.

"Shi- I mean, shhh, kid, I want my mommy, too, but I don't see her around here either, do you? Now. You gotta be quiet for me."

There was a radio blaring, a bouncy song exhorting Ray and anyone else in the vicinity not to worry, to be happy. The damn song had been on the radio every day for months. At least it had the benefit of providing some cover for Ray, as long as he could keep the kid down below a wail.

"Why do I gotta be quiet? Are you a bad man like the other bad men? Why'd the other man fall over? Did you hurt him? You look like a bad man."

Six. Ray was sure he had never been that young. He felt, frankly, ancient. Two months under cover with a gang running a protection racket, gathering evidence, working his way up the food chain from nowhere, two months of living under someone else's name, and for nothing.

He shouldn't be here now. A reliable snitch came through with the news that his cover was shaky, if not completely undermined. Someone from the old neighborhood had passed the word up to one of the bosses running the street gangs. It was out there now, that Ray wasn't who he said he was, that he was a cop. Ray wouldn't be in the warehouse at all if word had trickled down yet, but the lookout on the door, Ramon, out of his mind and high as a kite, had waved him on in. Ray could only be thankful for the small window of opportunity.

Ray knew he shouldn't be in the warehouse, but when tiny Mrs. Perkins, the greengrocer's wife, had thrown him up against the wall, him, tough guy Kowalski, and yelled at him for taking her baby, hysterical with grief and fear, he'd known he had to come and see. He had to see if it was true that the gang stepped up to kidnapping the child of a local merchant.

Maybe Ray was getting soft, but the kid was tied to a chair, and just because he talked a mile a minute was no reason for Jaime, the gang member watching him, to hit the kid. So Ray hit Jaime first, while his hand was raised to slap the child. Ray had untied the small hostage and carried him out of sight to where they were now hidden among stacks of shipping pallets that formed part of an accidental maze, a fortunate arrangement of hazards that provided at least rudimentary cover.

"I'm not a bad man. I'm a cop. I'm going to get you home to your mommy, okay? But you have to be nice and quiet. You gotta sneak with me. What's your name, anyway?"

"Lawrence."

"Big name for a little kid. Okay, Lawrence, you like playing cowboys and Indians?"

Lawrence looked up at Ray with big, skeptical eyes.

"Why?"

"Why? Because we gotta be clever and the bad men will be looking for us. You like being a cowboy or an Indian?"

"Why?"

"Because you have to pick one, that's why."

"Indian."

"Great, kid. Good choice." Ray smiled crookedly at the child. "We're gonna be Indians and get out of here."

"You don't look like an Indian, mister. You look like a bad man."

"You said that. We're just pretending to be Indians. I'm really a cop, remember."

Reasoning with a six year old was not even remotely covered in hostage negotiation courses.

"I want my mommy."

And the kid could talk in circles. Thinking of his brother's young children, Ray supposed he was lucky they weren't still stuck in the dreaded 'why' loop.

"Look, kid, your mommy isn't here, I am. I want to get you to your mommy, she's waitin' for you, and I need you to be very quiet and crawl with me." Ray walked a fine line between friendly and stern in his command. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the gang came back, or the gang member he'd hit came around. There was a lookout at the doors at either end of the warehouse, and the only way out was past them, which meant getting Lawrence to shut his mouth long enough to sneak up on one of them.

Ramon, on the west door, was way too twitchy to sneak up on. That left Saul on the east door. Saul wasn't twitchy, but he was vicious, and he'd shoot the kid as soon as look at him.

The radio snapped off and Ray put his finger to Lawrence's mouth, watching the child's eyes go wide with fear. Crap. They had less time than he'd hoped. Jaime must have a hard head.

"Saul, Ramon, get your asses in here." Ray heard Jaime yell. "We got ourselves a pig."

Lawrence opened his mouth wide, as if to scream, and Ray grabbed him, slapping his hand across the open mouth. The kid would get them both killed. Not that Ray didn't understand the instinct to scream. He knew better than Lawrence that there was plenty to scream about. Three gang members versus one cop and one kid. The odds of getting out alive were not great. Ray heard footsteps. The oddly stacked pallets and crates were the only cover in the warehouse, so he figured Ramon, Jaime and Saul were converging on them. Ray pulled Lawrence deeper into the maze, playing for time. He should never have hit Jaime. He should have let Jaime slap Lawrence. He should have gone for backup. But it was too late for regrets.

Like, oh, like the big one. If he had listened to his father, someone else would be in this place, trying to rescue this kid. Ray would be somewhere in a suit, probably drinking the fancy wine Stella liked over lunch, doing deals, not covered in the literal filth of the warehouse floor and the figurative filth of two months of pretending to be a lowlife like these guys. Faking it when the pills or the joint were passed around. Breaking shop windows on order. Threatening to break kneecaps. If his dad could see him, not just unable to wash the stink of it off him, but rolling in it to pass for one of them, if his dad could see that it'd break his heart.

But if Ray were in a suit somewhere, doing something clean, something above all this, who'd be here with the kid? There was no blindfold, there were no balaclavas. The gang, without question, would have killed Lawrence and put his body in the lake when they got the ransom. The ransom would have gone into their veins or up their noses in a matter of days. This kidnapping was anarchic free-enterprise, nothing to do with the chain of command Ray was supposed to be trying to infiltrate, the next guys up from these guys, dividing neighborhoods up for looting, ordering which business needed burning down to send a message. The gang members had more to fear from their bosses for this stunt than they did from the police. Even if Ray's cover hadn't been blown, the operation was shot. It was sure too late to regret anything.

Lawrence's heart was pounding under Ray's hand. "Steady, kid. We're gonna be sneaky, remember. Like Indians? Remember?"

He felt a shaky nod of Lawrence's head. Ray eased his hand off Lawrence's mouth.

"They got us covered on the ground. Those cowboys, there are too many of 'em for you an' me to take on, kemosabe." Ray whispered in Lawrence's ear. "I'm gonna give you a boost up, then we're going over the top."

Lawrence nodded again, his brown eyes wide in his dirt smudged face. Ray scooted over to the nearest intersection in the maze of pallets, making sure no one was close. When he was certain the coast was as clear as it was going to be, he stood and lifted Lawrence onto the top of the nearest pile, then reached up. It took all of his strength to pull himself on top of the stack, and he lay flat, breathing heavily and listening.

The footsteps were getting closer. "Come on out, little piggy." It was Saul's voice, full of glee. "We're gonna have fun. You and me and the kid."

Not on Ray's watch. He rolled over onto his stomach. He could see all three of the men stalking through the cluttered section of warehouse. The way toward the west door looked clearest. Rising to a crouch, Ray took Lawrence's hand and began to move quickly over the top of the pallets toward the open door. After about ten yards they ran out of pallet. There was a drop down onto some packing crates. Ray jumped down first and swung Lawrence down after him. The child stumbled as he landed, falling to his knee.

"I got an owie!"

Ray bit back a pointless curse. Six was little. It was still practically kindergarten. But the child had drawn the attention of the gang members.

"Okay, come on, your mom will kiss it better when we get to her. That's what moms do, right? But we gotta hurry, and be quiet." Ray comforted Lawrence. He slid off the crate onto the floor and lifted Lawrence down, carrying him in his arms for speed. The door was still twenty yards away and Ray sighed at the inconvenience of picking a large abandoned warehouse as the gang's general headquarters.

"Over here!" Ramon's voice sounded out, too close for comfort as Ray dashed for the exit. He heard gunfire, but Ramon's aim was terrible, his hands shaking from too much of whatever he was high on. Jaime came bolting over the packing cases and, resentful of the blow that had knocked him out, took the time to sight before he shot. Ray was a moving target, but not moving fast enough. He had his body angled, hunched to cover Lawrence. Like hell he was going to let the kid get shot this close to the exit. A bullet skimmed his left arm, and Ray felt it go numb and useless. He pressed Lawrence more tightly to his chest with his right arm. The second bullet nearly ended everything. Ray didn't even feel the impact as it tore through his hip. Sheer terror and adrenaline kept him stumbling forward, practically throwing Lawrence out the door.

"Go... find a cop. Go find a cop in a uniform. You know what that looks like, right? Run." Ray shoved Lawrence toward the street end of the alley and lay on his side. He felt the full force of everything now. That was going to be a hell of an exit wound. Hand shaking, Ray pulled his gun. Jaime was silhouetted in the doorway and Ray shot upward. Jaime hadn't time to see that Ray had fallen, didn't have time to do anything as Ray's bullet found its mark in his chest and he fell backward.

Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he was right to take mom away from all of this. The smell of blood, his, Jaime's, was thick, thicker than the slaughterhouse. Jaime was too young to drink legally and he was lying there bleeding to death. Ray wasn't sure anything was going to wash all the blood away. That wouldn't matter if Ramon and Saul finished things. They probably only held back because he'd shot Jaime. But all they had to do was wait, wait for Ray to pass out. At least Lawrence- at least Lawrence was going back to his mom. Someone'd kiss his owie better and take away the terror. Ray felt cold. His mouth fell slack and his eyes closed before he had the chance to hear a piercing little voice: "That's the man, he saved me, he said he was a cop like you." and the deeper voice of a frantic uniformed patrol man calling in to report shots fired, officer down.

Fraser: "In December 1988 a young boy was being held in a warehouse. You went in even though you knew your cover had been blown. You drew fire, you were wounded, yet you managed to rescue the boy. Your first citation."