“Sir . . . wakeup sir. We’ve arrived in Salem. Looks like you’re home,” the woman said, smiling down at him. John blinked rapidly, trying to figure out what the hell was going on..

“Where am I?”

“Salem, Illinois, straight in from the Paris to Chicago flight. You must have been tired, you’ve been asleep the whole time.”

“Wha… how’d I get on the plane?”

“Sir...?” The stewardess struggled to keep her practiced smile on her face, beginning to share John’s confusion.

“Did you see anyone with me? Did you see me board the plane?”

“Oh, your friend. Don’t worry, he just went to get a wheelchair. Too bad you banged your knee up skiing. Hope you have better luck next time!”

His knee? His knee was fine. Though now that he stopped to think about it, he realized he was sore from the battle in the warehouse. The memories came rushing back and John thrust himself stiffly to his feet. This smelled to high heaven of a setup and he headed down the aisle, intent on putting as much distance between himself and the airplane as possible.

As John emerged from the airway tunnel, he came facetoface with an all too familiar figure. “Bo?” he burst out.

Dressed in street clothes, his badge hanging from a chain around his neck, Bo flashed a grin of recognition that quickly faded. “Umm… John Black. What are you doing back in Salem?”

“Sightseeing,” John replied, feeling the trap starting to close around him. “No warrants currently out for me, I’ve been informed,” he said, mentally crossing his fingers.

“No, John. No warrants now what are you really doing here?”

“None of your business, Bo. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” Shouldering his way past the younger man, John focused on getting out. Salem. Dammit! He could not be back here.

“Hey, hold it!” The familiar voice rang in his ears like an alarm bell and John gave a silent cursed as Roman Brady jogged toward him, Abe Carver on his heels. At least now he knew who had set the trap.

“What is this? The airport having a donut sale? I would think you gentlemen would have better things to do than run around airports harassing tourists.” John snapped, barely able to control his anxiety, his urge to run.

“We had a tip on a smuggling ring,” Roman replied smugly. “A packet of diamonds being brought in from Paris today. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you?”

John smiled a threat by way of reply and indulged himself in a brief fantasy of snapping Brady’s neck. He considered a quick escape, but rejected the idea of being a fugitive. Running did not suit him. They had lawyers to handle things like this. About time to let them earn their fees.

“Come on, John. You just came in from Paris you don’t mind if we search you?”

Roman had a cocksure grin on his face that left John no doubts over whether he was carrying smuggled gems. He should have killed the little prick back in Paris. “I assume you have a warrant?”

“We can get one, I promise you that!” Roman snapped, his anger showing.

John smiled coldly back at him, unwilling to make this easy for anybody. “Well why don’t you get that warrant while I give my attorney a call. By coincidence, he happens to have a branch office right here in Salem.”

“So, where’d they find the diamonds?” John asked Jefferson, Dimera’s chief counsel, as the man sat down across from him in the small airport holding area.

“Sown into the lining of your jacket. It makes sense. If they had been in the luggage, they would have been found in customs at Chicago. This way, the bust goes down in Salem, where there is more than a little animosity towards both you and the Dimera syndicate and it’s harder for you to deny you knew the diamonds were there. Are you sure you don’t know who’s behind this? I’m telling you, it looks like any one of those cops out there would love to set you up.”

John shook his head. “No, it couldn’t be any of them. This brings the family too much pain. Besides, it’s not their style.” Roman’s involvement in the Paris operation was something he would keep to himself for the time being. There was no point in getting Dimera worried about Roman Brady John wanted those two kept as far apart as possible.

A rap on the door drew their attention and Roman walked into the room. There was a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he said, “John Black, you are under arrest for smuggling. You have the right to remain silent...”

Jefferson gave John a reassuring pat on the arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll meet you down at the station and you will be out on bail by tomorrow at the latest. I might even have a surprise for you. This business will all take care of itself, I promise.”

John ignored him, his eyes locked on Brady as he pulled the handcuffs from his belt. His throat was dry, the blood pounding in his ears drowning out all other sound in the room.

“Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

Fuck this. John shot from his chair, was halfway to the door before Roman caught him by a shoulder, twisting him towards the wall. Instinctively, John lashed out, grabbing the extended arm in a jointlock with one hand, Roman’s throat with the other. He dragged the struggling man into the hallway, used the momentum to smash Roman against the gray cement walls. The impact dropped him to his knees and John let him go, looking up to find Bo and Abe advancing down the corridor as the security men behind them drew weapons.

Jefferson had prudently remained in the small conference room and now he was trying to gain John’s attention. “John! John, listen to me. It’s going to be alright. I’ll have you out of there in a day. I promise you. There is no way they can hold you. Just don’t make it worse by assaulting the officers. You are going to end up in trouble I can’t get you out of if you don’t stop!”

Jefferson was right, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going back in a cell, he’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. Bo and Abe made their way toward him and he found himself in a fighting stance. “I will hurt you,” he warned.

Bo paused as he reached Roman’s slumped form and waved Abe back. John had been his brother for 14 years and now he could barely recognize the man. He looked strong, not like he had in the hospital. More than strong, he looked dangerous. Maybe it was the scars, the angry lines that criscrossed his wrists, curled across his cheek. The scars… damn.

“John, no handcuffs, okay?” Bo said. “We’ll just get in the car and go down to the station. There’s no sense in anybody getting hurt. Okay?”

John backed another step away, his hands still raised. Bo wasn’t sure whether his offer had been heard, but it didn’t matter as Roman struggled to his feet.

“The cuff’s go on, Bo. John Black is dangerous and he’s wearing handcuffs if I have to get 50 men down her to put them on.”

Bo turned to Roman, more angry than he should have been. “The last time he was chained up, Stefano almost beat him to death. Why don’t you give the guy a break!”

“I’ve seen what he’s capable of and there is no way I’m giving him a chance to kill one of my men, Bo! Now if you want this to end peacefully, you get him in cuffs before the riot gear gets here. If you don’t have him by then, I’m going to gas him right out of here!” With a last angry glance at John, Roman stalked away to check on the incoming equipment.

Gritting his teeth, Bo called softly to Abe, “See if you can’t stall Roman for a bit. Let me try and get John out of here without anyone getting hurt.”

As the hallway cleared out, John seemed to relax, managing a cynical grin. “You’ve mellowed in your old age, Bo.”

“You haven’t. You used to be smarter than this.”

“I used to be a lot of things, Bo. Don’t let the past trick you into thinking I won’t hurt you if I have to.”





Bo shook his head, took a cautious step forward. “John, you’re not thinking. Roman is going to gas you out and then half the force is going to jump on you. Why don’t you just let me just walk you out, nice and easy?”

Bo reached out, tried to make contact.. John twisted away from the touch and found he had run out of room, his shoulders pressed against the blank wall behind him. The only way out for him was straight ahead through Bo. “Bo, get the hell out of here,” he hissed.

“I know why you don’t want to wear the handcuffs,” Bo replied softly, his words meant only for John. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“You don’t know shit, Bo. Now get out of my way!”

Bo didn’t move. “What’s this going to do to Marlena and the kids? Did even you consider that? They’re going to see you on the news, coming out of the gas, fighting against the cops. What if you get lucky and kill one of us. Me, Roman, maybe Abe. You think about that, John?”

John’s face went pale. “Don’t you dare use her against me, you bastard.”

“If you cared about her at all, you’d have never come back to Salem.”

For an instance, Bo thought he’d pushed to far. Then John shook his head and uttered an ugly laugh. “Okay, Bo you win. Let’s do this thing.”

Moving slowly, Bo eased the cuffs from his belt. John simply stared at him, then turned to face the wall and put his hands behind his back. Up close, the damage was even worse than Bo had thought. Raised scars, still pink and angry looking, encircled the entire wrist and surgical scars disappeared beneath the rolledup shirt sleeve. Bo couldn’t help but stare. “Jesus!”

“Dammit, Bo, it’s okay. Just hurry up.”

Bo steadied himself, his hand on John’s shoulder. The man was shaking and Bo wasn’t certain if it was with anger or fear. When he snapped the steel closed around the left wrist John flinched, his fingers curling into fists.

“You okay?”

“Yea, I’m fine. I’ve done this before,” was the ragged reply.

Reporters crowded around the police station, the word already out that the former police commander was being brought in on smuggling charges. As the police car pulled to the curb, they rushed toward the opening doors, eager to get a shot of the fallen hero.

Bo forced the door open against the mass of bodies, then leaned down to help John from the car. The guy was holding it together, but Bo wasn’t certain how long it could last. Draping his arm protectively around the John’s shoulders, Bo tried to hurry him past the mob of reporters. Fortunately, John seemed oblivious to the shouted questions as he walked stiffly next to Bo.

As soon as they made it through the station doors, Bo dug in his pocket for the keys. The sooner he got the handcuffs off, the better he’d feel about this mess.

“Leave ‘em on,” Roman ordered, brushing Bo aside and taking charge of the prisoner. With a rough shove, he sent John stumbling toward an interrogation room.

Bo’s protest was too little, too late. He watched helplessly as John swung around, his head lowered, his eyes bright. Roman responded to the challenge by ramming the man back against the wall. John sagged, trying to catch his breath, and Roman used his weight to force him into the small room. When John tried to twist away, Roman looped an arm around his neck and slammed his chest down against the pitted surface of the wooden table that occupied the center of the room. Panting harshly, he leaned over and whispered the words he’d been dying to say. “If you don’t want to spend the rest of your life locked in a tiny little cell, you are going to tell me everything you know about Dimera and his organization you got that, John?”

John’s only response was an ugly chuckle and then his leg smashed down, kicking hard against Roman’s instep. With a grunt of pain, Roman let go and John spun around, his knee taking Roman in the gut. Gagging, Roman dropped to his hands and knees.

“Shit,” Bo muttered, fighting his way past the wall of uniformed bodies that suddenly blocked the doorway. He broke free just in time to see Baker, advancing on John with his nightstick swinging. Damn rookies… “Baker! Back off!”

The kid ignored him, his stick flashing out to thunk solidly against John’s ribs. Snarling, John unleashed a kick that took the young man smack in the jaw. The officer fell, his head bouncing off the concrete floor with a sickening thud.

All movement stopped and behind him, Bo could hear the sound of weapons being cocked. The metallic ‘clicks’ seemed only to amuse the man who now dominated the small room and John’s glazed eyes looked through Bo as if he didn’t exist. Squaring his shoulders, John taunted the men with guns. “What are you cowards waiting for?”

Without pausing for thought, Bo stepped forward, putting himself directly between John and the leveled pistols. Ignoring Roman, who glared up from the floor, Bo tried to talk some sense into the dangerous man before him. “John, you don’t need to do this. You don’t want to hurt anybody. Think about it, John! This isn’t what you want.”

John blinked, focusing almost resentfully on Bo’s passive form. Shaking his head, his defensive posture eased. Intent on putting an end to it, Bo stepped forward and laid a cautious hand on John’s shoulder. The muscles bunched at his touch, but the only move John made was to offer a wry grin. Just as Bo began to relax, John jerked away from him. Confused, Bo jumped back and John ended up in a crumpled heap at his feet, Roman’s arms locked tight around his legs. The room exploded into movement and noise, uniformed officers swarming over the downed man. Screaming a curse, John tried to shake them off, but with his hands behind his back, he didn’t stand a chance.

Bo looked on in disgust as Roman pulled himself free of the pack and climbed to his feet. Crouching beside the pile of men, he reached out and yanked John’s head back, making certain the man was still conscious. “Hogtie him,” Roman said, his eyes never leaving John’s. “I don’t want this bastard able to move a muscle, you understand me? Throw him in a holding cell, I want to give him plenty of time to contemplate his future.”

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