As they prepared to depart Alhambra, Tommy pulled out his phone and called Sam. He wasn't sure what to tell his friend but knew he had to touch base. Weliver's few words had told him much, but he still was digesting them. In the end, he merely asked Sam to bring Celia to an all-night diner about two blocks from Alhambra—they might need her Gift—and informed him Lydia would be staying with them. To his surprise, Sam acquiesced without debate.

Their original plan would've had Tommy and Phil place Lydia in a cab home and continue to the South Lawndale building to give it a thorough search. Instead, the three left the bar and adjourned to a taco stand about a half block south of Alhambra and waited.

Thirty minutes already had elapsed since Lydia had kayoed Finch, and the two thugs still hadn't emerged from the Alhambra office. As they waited on their orders, the three discussed whether they should go immediately to South Lawndale or watch for the two men and follow them as they departed. The discussion was short. Given that the point would be immaterial if the two men went to South Lawndale, they opted to wait and to decide what to do on the fly.

"I got a couple of good pictures of the two," Philly said. "Should I send them to Camille?"

He thought for a moment. It hadn't escaped him this somehow was connected to Camille and Eric's investigation into human trafficking. "Let's wait on that 'til morning. She probably won't be able to act on anything this late, and, honestly, I don't know how all this adds up."

"Is it so ridiculous some Valhalla guys got into human trafficking?" Philly asked, nudging his thoughts further. "Wasn't that really their line of work all along?"

Tommy couldn't help but again chuckle. Was it possible that was all this mess was about? Garden-variety human trafficking? Might the girls' encounter with Fleener have been mere happenstance?

"You know, I hadn't looked at it in quite that way, but you're right." He took a bite of taco. "It does make sense. Finch had 'career criminal' written all over him, so ...," he continued more confidently, "... it makes sense in the biggest way."

"How so?" Philly appeared to sense she'd missed something.

"Well, how do you think the Sicilian mafia was formed? ..."

"... out-of-work mercenary soldiers trying to make their fortunes," mumbled Lydia from around a carne asada burrito. "What ... ?" she said in response to Philly and Tommy's looks "... Sam teaches us all sorts of stuff."

Philly gave a light snort. "Yeah, shit. That makes even more sense. These idiots are just free-lancing now, doing what they know best? What about your gorgeous little friend?"

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "My gut tells me she's a good kid. But I got no proof of that." He chewed some more, still looking at Philly. "There's just something about the way she behaves ... something I can't put my finger on. Her heart about stopped when the subject of Weliver came up. If she were a part of this, you'd think she wouldn't be so damned afraid. Even then ... that's an awful lot of fear."

"And her brother?" Philly asked gently.

"I don't know," he said again, shaking his head. "I haven't met him yet."

Lydia and Tommy continued to feast on what was very good Mexican food for some time, and Philly marveled in silence, occasionally filching a sliver of cheese or slice of meat from a sandwich. After another 20 or so minutes, she tapped a still-busy Tommy on the shoulder and pointed.

"There's your friend," the woman said.

Weliver and Finch, the latter sans eye-glasses and dabbing his now-swollen nose, emerged from Alhambra and made for a red pickup parked in front of the bar. Once in, they headed south for several blocks before turning east.

"It looks like they're headed to South Lawndale," he observed quietly. "It's only a 20- or 30-minute walk...."

Philly nodded, and Lydia stood, shoving the last of a burrito into her mouth.

"So, let's go," the younger woman said.

The walk was 23 minutes on the nose. As they rounded the last corner, Tommy caught sight of activity in the street ahead. The area in which the building was located was predominantly commercial, so the street otherwise was abandoned at that late hour. He pulled his companions into the shadows, where they continued moving forward.

When the three were less than a block away, they paused. In the faint light, it was obvious a large garage door was open on the building, but only Tommy's keen eyes could make out the four men who loitered around the entrance. One of them, who leaned inside the open doorway, was mostly obscured.

"I can see Weliver and two others pretty clearly," he told his companions in a hushed voice. "There's a fourth guy, but I can't quite make him out. He's doing all the talking. It doesn't sound like Finch." He paused and listened. "He's speaking English, neutral American accent ... he's talking about getting something cleaned up for the customers. He sounds mildly pissed."

The boss?

Philly had been waiting and listening patiently. To Tommy's eyes, she didn't seem nervous. But her heart was racing. Lydia was leaning against the wall, her face a mask and her heart beating at its regular, slow, strong pace.

"As long as the door is open," said Philly, "I'm gonna look around ... and get that look off of your face." The comment was directed at Tommy. "I'll be fine. Watch your phone, though. I'll text if there's anything worth relaying."

With that, she turned and stepped into the shadows, where she disappeared, even to Tommy's keen vision.

"Cool," he murmured.

He leaned against the wall next to Lydia and began looking for another vantagepoint that was less exposed. No one could see them from where Weliver and his crowd stood, but any passing car would catch them in the headlights, exposing them to all. Finally, he led Lydia over to a recess three doors down. It wasn't perfect, but the spot shrouded them from prying eyes.

The conversation among the men at the door, which was now only about 60 yards away, had shifted to meaningless banter about women and whiskey. About 10 minutes after Philly had left them, he heard a phone buzz in the distance.

"Okay," the half-hidden man told his companions, "they're about five minutes out."

Tommy promptly texted Philly. "We have incoming," was all he could think to write.

She responded moments later with a simple "K."

Lydia's reaction to his warning was blasé.

"You seem awfully calm at all this," he challenged her.

"Sam taught me to be brave," was all she said.

Scant minutes later, a 20-passenger mini-bus passed Tommy and Lydia's location and pulled up in front of the men assembled with Weliver. The smell told him everything. It was a mixture of the sweat, piss, and fear of a dozen or more women. Scant whispers and cries he heard as the bus came to a stop indicted there were women from at least two eastern European countries on board.

When the door came open, the screaming began. Weliver and two of his companions, as well as another two on the bus, began dragging the frightened women from the side door. Most were too terrified to protest, which didn't save them from the cuffs and slaps of the men, but at least two of the women fought savagely at what they no doubt had realized was great danger.

"Oh, I've had enough of this," Tommy muttered. He turned to Lydia. "Call Sam, have him send the police, and stay right here, out of sight."

He began to jog toward where the women had been pulled from the bus and were now being muscled into the building. Before Tommy could even open his mouth, though, two additional figures came into view. One of them was tall, hard, and strong, and Tommy without question knew the man was Gifted.

"Shit," he said aloud.

His eruption was unintentional, but it was loud enough that the eyes of all the men turned toward him. Tommy didn't hesitate; he long had known that fortune favors the bold. In one huge rush, he threw his left shoulder into the large man with such force that it knocked the man 50 feet, end over end, down the sidewalk. Before the fellow could even rise, Tommy scanned about in quick search for further opponents.

Unexpectedly, a wave of vertigo hit him, not unlike what he had experienced at Alhambra hours earlier. His vision shimmered in front of him. Philly, he thought, this is not .... Tommy felt the earth disappear beneath his feet, the air flee his lungs, and every sound, smell, and color twist into an indescribable, incoherent blob inside him. And then there was nothing.