This story has no connection to my other Dempsey and Makepeace stories, and they have not developed a romantic relationship yet. Dempsey left the UK not long after Guardian Angel. Just thought I'd try something different. Not sure how it will turn out as I haven't written any Dempsey and Makepeace stories for years, but here goes. Another chapter to post later tonight.

Point-Blank.

"You know there's a woman out here waitin' to see you Dempsey?" a scruffy, unshaven looking man in his late fifties said, popping his face around the office door.

Dempsey lifted his head and ran a weary hand through his hair. "Yeah, I know Sid."

The problem was, what was he going to say to Mrs Jackson this time? Sure, he needed the money she was prepared to pay him for finding that woman, but something wasn't right. She had been cagey about what she wanted with the woman. What was worse, he had strong suspicions that Mrs Jackson had previously been dealing with the Borelli's, the family that he had been trying to bring to justice for the last seven years! How ironic.

But what choice did he have? He had to bring down the Borelli's for Danny. He'd been like a younger brother to Dempsey. Dempsey had always looked out for him. And if only he had got back to New York quicker...before they got to him...who knows? But he hadn't got back in time, damn it, so now the least he could do was to stop the animals who had killed Danny, and scores of other men like him. It wasn't even so much the thought of taking money off Mrs Jackson ... money that was most probably tainted with blood if it had come via the Borelli's. After all, what better justice to have their money pay for their own downfall. But that wasn't it, it was the thought of what they were going to do to this poor woman once Dempsey had found her for them.

Taking on private clients like this was a profitable business, and he needed the money to fund his investigations into the Borelli's, but he hadn't bargained on having to deal with so many heartless lowlives in the process. Trying to bring down the most notorious family in New York was a costly business, but taking on the kind of private clients that reared their ugly heads in this part of town was taking it's toll on his conscience too.

Dempsey sighed again and swivelled on his chair to gaze out over the city below him. He leant back into the brown, worn out leather of his seat and threw his feet up onto the window ledge, letting the scene before him come into focus, like a polaroid photograph. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned them suspiciously across the city, as if hoping to uncover something there and then that would finally, once and for all, help him to bring down the Borelli's. It was useless. How was he to know whether Jackson was working with the Borelli's? Simply because the whole damn city were! It was a web of corruption that had spread so far, and become so entangled that Dempsey was seriously questioning his ability to untangle it.

A loud knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts and he swung around to see Mrs Jackson striding purposefully across his office.

"Noabody messes wid me Mr Dempsey. You wanna keep me waitin' again some more, eh?" she slurred, planting her hands on his desk and glowering angrily down at him.

A great waft of alcohol hit him as she swayed towards him. At close quarters, he could see more clearly the evidence of multiple plastic surgeries on her face: the overly taught skin distorting her features and the attempts to balance that out with Botox and God knows what other forms of plastic. He wondered whose lives had been ruined to provide the dough for those kinds of luxuries. And what a waste; she looked so incredibly fake: an ugly, brash contorted fake. A bitter and twisted woman hell bent on revenge. No integrity. Heartless... For a second, he became aware then of where his train of thought was heading yet again. To the woman who was the complete and utter polar opposite of this woman, or to anyone in that godforsaken place for that matter.

"I know some guys who would bust your cahonies jus' for makin' me wait. You don't know who you're messin' with," she added.

"Oh, don't I!" he snapped back, springing off his chair and creating a loud, uncomfortable screeching noise as the metal chair legs scraped across the floor. The sudden sound and commotion visibly shocked the woman for a second. Okay, so he had already made up his mind he was not taking on her case, but the last thing he needed now was some woman like her making trouble for him. He lightened his tone. "Look, sorry, I can't find anyone for you right now. I'm workin' on somethin' else. Sorry for wasting your time," he said, turning around dismissively.

"You what?" she screeched, before beginning to laugh, a loud and mocking sound. "No can do Mr Dempsey..."

He turned slowly, crossing his arms, observing her with distaste.

"Tony sent me. You got till Friday to find her. You're workin' for them now, or they'll come for you, and believe me, they know where you are." She looked satisfied with her parting shot and turned to leave.

Dempsey had her by the arm in seconds and swung her around, pinning her to the wall.

"Now you listen lady," he said, jabbing a finger into her shoulder, "You can tell Tony and Roberto from me, and quote, even if every gang in New York is lookin' to tear me to shreds before, after or in-between, I don't care, because you see, I've made a lifetime obsession out of bringing the Borelli's down, and I ain't afraid to die to do it!" he hollered.

Jackson became silent, for once. Her eyes shot resentment into Dempsey's, but she was too wary to voice it.

He let go of his grip suddenly and turned from her once more.

"Get outta here," he shouted, over his shoulder.

She turned and darted to the office door, opening it, but pausing before she left.

"You're making a big mistake Mr Dempsey," she said.

Then he heard the door slam and she was gone.

He spent the next fifteen or so minutes trashing his office. At some point he was vaguely aware of the door opening and Sid cautiously peering into the room. He said something to Dempsey, what, he wasn't sure, for he was so enraged that the sound of furniture crashing around the room drowned out Sid's voice. Seconds later, the door closed and no one bothered him after that.

Finally, exhausted, both physically and emotionally, he waded through the carnage, sought out his office chair, upturned it and sunk into its leather. He sat amongst the wreckage, in darkness; all the light bulbs had been smashed. Swirling around in his chair, he flung his feet up onto the window ledge and stared out at the city below him.

x

An hour later, after half a bottle of whisky and a lot of soul searching, Dempsey had made a decision, one which he had been contemplating more and more over the last few months: he was going back. He had to, or he would be dead in days. Besides, it was about time he found Harry once and for all and had it out with her about what had happened when he'd left.

He had to make her realise it was a mistake. How was he to know that leaving for just a few weeks, would mean that by the time he went back, there'd be no job for him at SI10? He'd told Spikings about Danny, and how Danny was a dead man if he hadn't gone to New York to help him. Boy had he been right about that! Okay, so he should have made that phone call to Spikings, and to Harry, before he'd left, rather then two days after, but his mind had only been on getting back before they got to Danny. He'd thought they would understand once they knew the situation. But Harry had refused to even speak to him when Spikings had tried to pass the phone to her, so how could he explain if she wouldn't let him?

Then had come the sickening realisation of just what a mistake he had made. He'd found that out when he'd flown back to the UK two weeks later.

Just one phone call before he had left, one lousy phone call, and the bureaucrats would have had no authority to send him back for good. It would have been down to Spikings to grant him leave. But he hadn't made that phone call, from the right place, at the right time, and so it was out of Spikings's hands. That was what had come between him and his life in the UK, a life he was more than happy with, a life he was not ready to give up. Then the second bomb had dropped. Harry had gone... left SI10. Spikings had said something dumb about her saying she'd made the right decision when she'd left SI10 the first time. He knew she was fuming at him, but he'd tried to find her to explain. She'd done a great job of dropping off the map! Where the hell had she gone?

Then Spikings had been on his back about him having to get on a plane pronto before he was arrested for being illegal, but Spikings had promised he would explain to Harry...get her to phone him. By about the end of the first year in New York, he had finally stopped hoping for a call. Besides, he was far to deeply involved in the whole Borelli mess by then to hope for anything else. By that time, the Borelli's were everything in his life; what else did he have?

Still, there had been many times late at night in that dismal office of his, when he'd looked out over the city and drifted back to the SI10 years. He'd see Harry in his head and drive himself nuts wondering what she was doing at that very moment. Then he'd remember some of their conversations, the jokes, the teasing, even the shouting matches. But the good memories had been tainted with regret. He'd never even got to kiss her, not properly anyway, not the way he'd imagined over and over for years since he'd first met her. And his imaginings had grown in those days, and become more detailed as time went by. During long sleepless nights, on cases that had eaten away at him, he'd picture her in bed across town... and him with her... and what he would do and say, and how she would give in to him completely...and he'd burned with frustration which had continued well into the morning, and simmered as he'd sat at his desk across from her. But everything had been so cruelly and suddenly cut short, and any opportunity he'd had was, without warning, taken away from him. He'd always truly believed that somehow, someday he'd know what it would be like to be in that bed with her, to wake up with her, and in between, to make all his imaginings a reality.

Maybe he'd always been kidding himself. Still, if he was going back, he was going to find her. He just had to.