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Gone but not forgotten

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Present Day

Jensen looked at the small piece of paper he clutched in his hand. It was folded and unfolded so many times before and yet he found himself doing it each and every morning, before he placed it back into his wallet and started the day. There was no need for him to unfold it - the words written on it, although almost faded, were edged into his mind, as were the unanswered questions that came with that note. He sighed before he got up and swung his holster over his shoulder. It was time to start a new day.

"You ready, Ackles?" He was given a slap on the back that made him spill his coffee as he entered the conference room and some of the guys snickered as he cussed at his partner.

"Damn it, Carlson, one of these days I'm going to burn your fucking boots." Jensen walked away from his partner, but still smiled as he took his seat. Steve has been his partner for the past three years and he trusted his friend with his life - snake skin boots and all.

"Settle down, people." Jensen turned to face the front and wasn't surprised to see their boss, as well as other top agents from the FBI and also the Marshals lining up in the front.

Deputy Director Morgan looked over at the men and women seated before him. His eyes landed on Jensen and he couldn't help but to smile. His junior agent had an amazing career ahead of him; already he was up for a promotion that would make him a senior in the field - the youngest senior by almost a decade. Seeing that he had everyone's attention, he cleared his throat.

"As you're well aware, this is a joint operation between the FBI and the US Marshals. The local police will be assisting us as well. Today's raid is in the warehouse district. It's believed that the warehouse belongs to the Pellegrino family." Morgan held up his hands as some of the agents shifted in their seats. "If the Intel we have is correct, the warehouse contains not only a large quantity of various drugs, but there's supposed to be a meeting between the different heads of the family as well. It's also the home base for Pellegrino's prostitutes." He looked at the US marshal standing next to him. "But the main reason," he sighed. "There might be some sex slaves as well."

"What! I thought that part of Pellegrino's operation was shut down last year?" It was Jensen that spoke up. He was already on his feet, only to be grabbed by Steve and pulled down again.

"That's what we had thought, Agent Ackles, but with the new Intel it seems like it might still be in operation." Jim Beaver spoke up. He was conscious of the fact that the agents found this information disturbing. In an operation similar like this, last year, they had lost three agents while trying to free some people out of the crime family's clutches. In the end, none of the slaves were found. With no more rumors or Intel suggesting that side of the operation was still running, it was deemed closed down.

"We've managed to get an undercover agent who confirmed to us that there are at least twenty-five people being kept as slaves. There are more females than males and their ages range between seventeen and twenty-five. He did try to get us some photos of them, but due to their number and the limited time, it unfortunately did not pan out. We need to get them out. It's believed that there is one male that's being exclusively used by Pellegrino's son, Vincent. He might be the one that we could use to bring the whole cartel to its knees."

Jensen frowned. "If the male is so exclusively used, why is he? Wouldn't Vincent want him nearby?"

Morgan smiled. Jensen always asked the tough questions first. Even before Beaver could answer, he spoke up himself. "Intel suggested that he's being punished for something and has been 'demoted'."

"You mean he's now being shared by all of Vincent's friends." Jensen spat out the name. He held no love for the youngest Pellegrino.

Jim sighed. "It appears that way. We know very little of him, except to say that normally he's very well guarded, but with his current situation he seemed to have no extra protection around him." He didn't add that they had Intel that hinted that the young man was not only used by Pellegrino's son, or Vincent's friends, but that he's been used by their clientele as well.

"Do we have any idea of what he looks like?" Steve said.

Marshal Kane stepped forward. He smiled slightly as he looked straight at his two friends. "Very little is known of him. He's between twenty and twenty-four. He's taller than six feet, brown hair and skinny. No one knows his real name; he's referred to as Whoreboy." He remained quiet as a few comments were raised and then took a deep breath and continued. "As far as we know he was a gift from Vincent's godfather - and one that Vincent highly valued. However, it now seems like he has lost interest in him and since he can't just kill him without starting a family feud, he hopes that by keeping him with the other slaves that he might try to escape and then his men can kill him and no questions will be asked."

"Do we have any idea where in the warehouse they're being kept?" Steve asked. He still had an arm on Jensen, as he could feel the anger radiate from his friend's body.

Jim nodded and moved to the side to examine the blue print pinned to the wall. "The warehouse covers the whole block between 6th Avenue and Stetson Street. It's a two story building, with the top story divided into separate offices. The ground level is one open floor." He continued to go through the blueprint in detail, making sure that each agent knew exactly what they could expect when they entered. "We suspect that the slaves are being kept here." He pointed to a sort of corner office. "As far as we know it's subdivided into two smaller rooms and a bathroom. There's only one exit and it's supposed to be guarded, but we know that that is not the case." He moved his finger to the opposite end of the map. "The meeting will take place here. Once again, only one exit, but this one will be heavily guarded." He outlined the number of guards that may be present as well as some of the heads they wanted to see rolling. He turned his attention back to the men and women in front of him. "We're certain that neither Vincent, nor his father will attend the meeting, but the fish there will be big enough for us to take down and place a serious dent in their operations. If we can get hold of Vincent's toy, we can bring them down forever."

"Who says he will know anything?" Jensen frowned. He hated building a case against someone with the knowledge that everything rested on the shoulders of one person.

"Our undercover says that Vincent normally takes him everywhere, from one on one meetings with his old man, to inspections at their different whore houses. We know Vincent's has a heavy trigger finger and the chance that his toy would've seen someone being snuffed is good." Morgan answered.

"Any other questions?" Jim asked and, when he was greeted with silence, he nodded his head. "Let's roll out."

Jensen stood up and turned as Steve grabbed him by the arm. "You gonna take it easy in there?"

Jensen rolled his eyes. "Yes, mom." He smiled, but then nodded seriously. "We need to get those people out of there. It's time that we bring the Pellegrino family down."

Steve slapped him on the shoulder again. "That's my boy." He grinned and side stepped his younger partner as Jensen took a swipe at him. "Let's get rolling." He grabbed his jacket and made his way out of the conference room. It was time to go and hunt down some gangsters.

"Fucking hell, I can't believe this! What sort of Intel was that?" Jensen yelled as he stripped off his Kevlar vest and dumped it on the ground. He was sweaty and dirt stuck to his face, the streaks made him look even fiercer. He stormed over to where Christian was standing together with Jeffrey and Jim. "What the fuck? I thought you said you guys had Intel, Chris? This was one huge fucking balls-up, and that's all. I can't fucking believe it."

"Agent Ackles." Jim cleared his throat.

Jensen shook his head. "No, don't start with Agent Ackles. One of my best friends is on his way to hospital with a fucking bullet wound to the thigh because of some lousy shitty Intel. It was more of a fucking trap than it was anything else. There were no signs of any slaves being kept at the warehouse. There was certainly no fucking meeting going on and the only thing we did manage to free was a fucking pair of rats!" He turned around and rammed his fist into the wall behind him.

"That's enough." Jeffrey snapped as he turned Jensen around and slammed him into the wall. "You have no right to talk to any senior agent of any agency in the manner you just did. I know you're upset about what happened today, but this behavior will not be tolerated. Get cleaned up, go and check on Carlson and report to my office tomorrow morning at seven sharp." He held Jensen against the wall. "Don't make it worse than what it is already, please." The final word was a mere whisper.

Jensen sighed and let his head slam back against the wall. He brought his hands tiredly up to his face and ran his hands across. "I'm sorry. I was out of line, Sir." He looked up and made eye contact with both Beaver and Kane as well. He sighed in relief as both men nodded their heads.

"Good, get out of here." Morgan released his hold over the younger man. He sighed himself as Jensen stepped away from the wall and began to walk off. "Jensen," he waited until Jensen turned back again before he continued. "Keep me up to date on Carlson's condition."

"Yes, Sir." Jensen nodded tiredly and then made his way through the crowd of police officers and other agents. He would bump a ride from a patrol car to get to the hospital.

"Thought you might need one." Chris pushed the cup of steaming coffee into Jensen's hands as he took up the seat next to Jensen.

"Thanks." Jensen smiled tiredly, but sighed contentedly as he took a sip of the scorching black coffee.

"Any word?" Chris took a sip of his own coffee as he stretched his legs out in front of him.

"Surgery went well, he's in recovery," Jensen replied softly.

"Will they let you see him?" Chris inquired.

Jensen nodded his head. "Sounds like it."

"That's good then." Chris looked at his hands and then looked back at Jensen. "Listen..."

Jensen shook his head. "No, before you start, I need to apologize again. I was out of line earlier, and I am sorry." He watched his friend and saw for the first time how tired Chris looked. He had a feeling they looked about the same.

Chris shook his head. "You had every right to get pissed. Hell, every agent and police officer there had the right to be pissed. We’re still unsure about what had happened, but one thing is clear - we did receive bad Intel." He dragged his hands through his hair. "You didn't hear this from me." He waited until Jensen nodded his head before he continued. "Our undercover was found about an hour ago - throat slit."

Jensen groaned. "Shit. So it was bad Intel."

"Seems like it. Both the agencies are up in arms. Everyone wants heads to roll. It's going to be a tough few days." He took another sip of his coffee and looked over at Jensen.

"Your head going to stay on your shoulders?" Jensen asked concerned.

Chris nodded. "I'm safe - for now."

Jensen snorted. "Always told you that going Marshal was not a good idea."

Chris grinned. "Rather a Marshal than a Fed, you know I don't look good in black."

Jensen laughed and he could feel the tension draining from his shoulders. "You and your strange sense of fashion." He looked up as someone approached them and got to his feet as he saw that it was the doctor he spoke to earlier.

"Doc?"

"Agent Ackles." He nodded to Chris. "Agent Carlson is settled in his room. He's awake, so you can go and see him."

"Thanks, Doc." Jensen grinned and slapped Chris on the back as the doctor walked away. "Let's go."

Chris couldn't help but to smile back. Knowing that Steve was going to be all right, made this whole shitty day a lot more manageable.

Steve turned his head as there was a knock on his door and smiled when the doorway filled up with two of his friends. "You all right, Jen?" He had to ask. The last thing he remembered was Jensen's yelling in his ears before he blacked out.

"I'm fine. I'm not the one who got shot." Jensen indicated to Steve's raised leg.

Steve huffed. "It was a lucky shot. That's all." He looked over at Chris. "You okay?" He had no idea where Chris was situated when the fire fight broke out.

"I'm good. We were not even properly in position when the shooting started. By the time we got through, you guys nearly had everything wrapped up," he replied with a shrug of the shoulders.

"What happened, or should I ask what went wrong?" Steve looked in Chris' direction.

Chris sighed. He knew he could trust his two friends with his life. "As I told Jensen, our undercover was discovered with his throat slit about an hour back. The apartment that was set up for him as part of his cover was ransacked. At this stage, it doesn't seem if there was anything missing, but we do not even know. Clarence wasn't supposed to keep anything on him that could link him to us, but at this stage it looks like we would have to back down again from them."

"Fuck," Jensen cursed. "Can't believe that Pellegrino is getting away again."

"His day will come. You know the wheel turns, Jensen, and his wheel is turning as well." Chris slapped Jensen on the shoulder. He felt the same as his friend, and he knew Steve felt exactly the same, but until a break came their way there was not a thing they could do. They could only hope, pray and wait.

Doctor Misha Collins sighed as he stood spread-eagled against the wall and waited for the burly guard to finish searching him. It was the same routine that was followed each and every time he was called out, and it seemed that the call outs had become more frequent. He would've bet his life that he was called out for only one of the house guests, Jared. He declined to call him by the name everyone else referred to him. Jared was not a toy, he was not 'Whoreboy'. He hated what was happening to Jared, to everyone else in this mansion, but his hands were bound. He was just as caught up in this fucked up situation as they were, but he was also more blessed than they were - at least he still had his freedom - sort of.

Misha nodded at the guard standing at the separate entrance to where the toys were kept. It was still strange for him to come to this part of the massive property. Normally he only cared for Jared at the main house and Pellegrino used another doctor for the rest of the slaves, but that changed when Jared was moved over to this side. Misha did try to inquire about what had happened to the other doctor, but the guards only growled at him to keep his nose out of things.

"David," Misha greeted the guard on the inside. It was this man's sole responsibility to keep an eye on the slaves' health. He was the one who called Misha and told him who needed his attention.

"Misha," David Paetkau greeted back as he held the door open for the doctor to step through. "He's in his room." He indicated with his head to the last door on the right side of the long hallway.

The fact that David referred to his patient as he, confirmed Misha's suspicion. Jared was the sole male slave kept here. "You want to search me again?" He held his arms away from his body.

David grinned and stepped closer. "If I didn't know better, doc, I'd say you starting to love this." He patted Misha down and then nodded for him to go on. "Ten minutes, doc."

Misha arched his brow. A time limit meant that Jared was scheduled for work and he could only grunt as he walked away. He hated the time limit placed on him; he was rushed and was always afraid that he might look something serious. At the last door, Misha knocked once and then entered. He sighed as he saw Jared's lanky body curled up in the corner of the room. His body was once again covered in bruises and by the marks on his wrists and ankles. Misha knew that Vincent was responsible for this round of injuries.

"Jared?" he asked softly, but stayed away from Jared, knowing from experience that should he try to touch Jared, the younger man would lash out and he would end up on his backside, courtesy of Jared's right hook. "Jared, I need you to get on the bed for me, so that I can have a look at you." When he received no answer he tried again. "Please, Jared. They've only given me ten minutes. I don't want to see you hurt."

Jared shivered but didn't move. There wasn't a spot on his body that didn't ache. Even his nails ached. He looked up, but never lifted his gaze high enough to make eye contact as the doctor addressed him again. He loved looking at Misha's eyes. The intense blue eyes always reminded him of the pair of emerald green eyes that he never could get out of his mind. He shuddered and immediately pushed the thought into the back of his mind. It was in the past. It will always be in the past and it wouldn't do him any good to dwell on it.

"Jared, please." Misha had to ask again. He could leave, but that would mean more trouble for Jared, and that's not what he wanted.

Jared sighed and then gingerly got up and limped over to the bed. "Sorry."

"No need to be sorry, Jared." Misha remarked and helped Jared to lie down. He grimaced at the sight of Jared's body. His torso was covered in angry red dark bruises and he didn't even have to be a doctor to know that Jared's ribs were bruised. One or two might have been fractured. "You breathing all right?"

Jared nodded his head and tried not to whimper as Misha ran his hands over Jared's body. He hated being touched, and despite the fact that the doc never touched him in any sexual way he still felt violated and the mere thought of someone else's hands on him.

"Let me look at your wrists." Misha waited patiently for Jared to stretch out his arm so that he could look at the injured limb. It was swollen and badly bruised, but Jared still had some mobility in the joint which meant that it wasn't broken - not this time in any case. His ankles were also severely bruised, but with time the bruises would fade away. Misha sighed. "Do I have to ask, Jared?" It still amazed him that even after all this time, Jared could still blush.

Jared shook his head. "No, he only used me as a punching bag. Still angry at me."

Misha nodded his head. Vincent being furious with Jared meant that he himself would only beat Jared, but not have any sexual intercourse with him. Vincent did however have no qualms in letting any other man use Jared's body in whichever way he pleased. Jared explained that Vincent felt that Jared needed to redeem himself before he'd allow him back in his bed. In private, Misha hoped that Vincent would never take Jared back to his bed, but being beaten on a daily basis in the way Jared was, was in some instances only worse. What bothered him was the fact that Jared seemed to have been placed on the working roster.

"Do you know who your client will be?" Misha asked as he took out the cold spray to treat Jared's wrists and ankles.

Jared hissed as the cold numbed the injuries and then shook his head. He didn't even want to think about who it could be. "Don't want to know."

Misha only sighed and then helped Jared to turn onto his stomach. He hissed as he saw the deep bruises that decorated the young man's back. It never failed to amaze him how Vincent had the ability to beat Jared to a stage of near death, but not once did he draw blood. "Have you used the bathroom yet?"

"Burns when I pee." Jared answered and tried not to whimper as the doctor pressed over his kidneys.

"Any blood?" Misha wanted to scream out in anger. He's warned Mark before, hell he's cautioned Vincent before, but no one listened. Vincent said that if Jared started knowing his place, punishment wouldn't be required.

Jared shook his head. "Just burns."

"Okay." Misha sighed as he helped Jared to get up from the bed. "You've been worked over well, and fortunately it's just deep tissue bruising. Drink lots of water, and if there's any blood, let them call me."

Jared didn't answer, but just looked at the doctor that stood in front of him. "You still afraid." He didn't mean to get nasty, but stated it as a mere fact.

Misha's head snapped back at Jared's words. He could feel himself blush. "You don't understand."

Jared snorted. "Yes, you’re right, I fail to understand. You can get out of this, you can get all of us out of here, but you don't even try." He felt helpless.

Misha shook his head. "It's not that simple." He tried to explain.

"It is that simple. You just don't want to do it." Jared growled and then sighed. His shoulders sagged. "Just go. There's nothing you can do for me here and what you can do, you're too much of a coward to do." He turned back and busied himself at his dresser.

Jared's words stung and Misha bowed his head in shame. Jared was right. He was in a position to take action, but Jared didn't understand, if he tried to contact the police, or let anyone know what was going on he would never see his wife again. Vicky had a drug and gambling problem and she managed to get into Pellegrino's clutches. He had paid her debt so many times, sent her to rehab over and over, but each and every time she went back on her vices and each time it became worst. Then, two years ago she failed to return home and he'd thought the worst. It was only after four days of frantically searching that he was contacted by Pellegrino himself. The man needed a medical doctor for his employees, and he was in need of a doctor that would keep his mouth shut. Misha had heard about the Pellegrino family and he refused, but then he was told that if he ever wanted to see his wife again, he should reconsider. The fact that they also sent one of Vicky's ears (with the earring still attached), to him gave him no other choice. In the past two years, he'd seen her only four times and only in photos. He's not heard her voice, touched her skin in all that time. Jared had no idea.

"Jared," Misha met Jared's stare as the younger man turned around. "I'm sorry."

Jared snorted again. "For what, doc, for being a lame asshole?" He shook his head. "Your time is up." He didn't turn back, but waited until the door closed softly behind the practitioner before he let his shoulders slump. "I wish I was dead." He whispered the words and bit hard into his bottom lip, hating to let the tears slip from his eyes.

As the door opened up behind him again, Jared squared his shoulders and turned to face the men he had come to hate. He blanched at what he saw and gave an involuntary step backwards. "No," he shook his head.

"You're in no position to say no to anything, Whoreboy." Timothy Olyphant sneered as he stepped forward and grinned as Jared tried to make a run for the bathroom. He enjoyed it when they resisted, especially if Jared resisted. "This is going to be fun." He nodded his head and the two heavily built men with him leaped forward and got hold of Jared even before he could close the bathroom door in their faces.

"NO!" Jared screamed again as the men got hold of him. He tried to fight against them, to get out of their strong hold, but as both men weighed at least thirty pounds each more than him, he was quickly overpowered. They pulled him from the bathroom, pressed him down onto the floor and removed his sweatpants.

"Please, don't. Please." Jared sobbed and once again tried to back away, but to no avail. The syringe got emptied into his body in a single motion and then he got lifted up to the bed and placed on his front. Already the drug spread through his veins, the edge of his vision turned hazy while his cock filled up with want. He could hear the men laugh as he tried to rub himself off on the bed. He whimpered as his legs were pushed up so that he got onto his hands and knees and moaned deeply as a finger slipped into his hole as they prepped him in haste before shoving the thick plug into him. He shivered as the plug scraped over the gland and then groaned as he was turned on his back and a cock cage was placed over his hardened shaft. He didn't even try to resist as heavy leather cuffs encircled his wrists and ankles.

"There, all nicely done up. Always so pretty." Timothy stroked over Jared's pecs and then nodded to the two guards. "Take him to playroom two. You can collect him in about an hour and half again." He looked on as the two men obeyed his orders and then stroked himself lazily. It was time that he got to the control room. He wanted to record this; his web followers will love this. Especially since he was planning on streaming the video live.

"I want to make a deal." Chad sniffed before he wiped his nose on his shoulder in an awkward manner. His knee bounced restlessly, making the handcuffs rattle against the steel table.

Detective Webber snorted. "You? You want to make a deal? You've got nothing to deal with, Murray. You're one fucked up addict, and nothing more."

"Don't say that, that's not true." Chad growled and slammed his fist onto the table. He was in so much trouble; he had to find a way out of here. He hadn’t meant to kill the man. It was an accident. He only wanted to take his money. He didn't know the guy would try to attack him.

"And what do you have to share that's so important?" The detective asked as he leaned against the wall. It was not the first time that he caught this low life drug addict and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time either. At least, on this occasion Murray was going to sit at least ten to fifteen years before seeing the sunshine again.

"Do you believe that I'm stupid? I'm not going to tell you. Call in the FBI; they'll make a deal with me." He nodded his head in anticipation.

"The FBI? Chad, you're fucking higher than what I thought. Do you for one moment think that the FBI will come down here and listen to whatever silly shit you've to tell them?" Webber shook his head.

"They will, they will!" Chad screamed and tried to get up from the chair. He knew they would listen to what he had to tell them.

"Get your fucking ass back in that chair, Murray!" the detective roared as he pushed the young man back into the chair, grateful for the fact that they cuffed the addict's ankles down to the floor, making it impossible for him to get free.

"NO!" Chad roared. "They'll listen to me, they will. Get them here; I want to make a deal!" he shouted again, turning his hands so that the cuffs cut deep into his wrists.

Morgan frowned as he heard the commotion coming from the interrogation room. "What's going on in there?" he asked, but kept on walking and then stopped as he heard the man shouting out for the FBI.

Commander Madison frowned as well. "Let me find out for you, Jeff." He turned towards the door and knocked once. When the door opened, he looked at the detective standing in front of him. "What the heck, Webber?"

"Sir?" Webber dragged his hand through his hair, looked back at where Murray sat and then stepped out. "Picked Murray up for the homicide over on Julies Street. He wants to make a deal with the FBI."

Jeffrey stepped closer. "Do you know about what?"

Webber shrugged. "Doesn't want to tell me, says if he tells me, he'll never get a deal."

"Do you think he might have some info?" Jeffrey asked.

Webber shook his head. "Nothing I can think of. He's a small time drug addict, nothing more."

Jeffrey nodded his head, but then turned towards the station commander. "Would you mind?"

Madison shook his head. "If my detective has no objection, then I don't mind." He looked at Webber.

Webber sighed. He knew it would be a complete waste of time, but he was only the detective here. "Sure, be my guest." He held the door open and stepped in behind Morgan and Madison, closing the door softly.

"Who're you?" Chad asked as the men stepped into the room that was now quickly starting to get smaller.

"I'm Deputy Director, Morgan. From the FBI." Jeffrey took out his badge and showed it to the stunned man.

"Shit, but you move fast." His voice was full of awe.

Jeffrey smiled, but didn't reply. Instead, he took the chair that was positioned on the opposite side of the table. "What do you have for us?"

"No," Chad shook his head. "Want the deal first, then I'll talk. Not before then."

"Okay," Jeffrey stood up and pushed the chair back in. "Madison, was good seeing you again." He said as he moved towards the door. "I do hope we'll be able to get together for a round of golf."

Chad's eyes grew wide as the agent stood up and started talking about golf and moving to the door. He licked his lips. "Wait!" He swallowed hard as the man came to a halt and turned to face him. "I'll tell you what I know."

Jeffrey smiled and nodded his head. "I'm listening."

Chad stared at the three men before him and then started stumbling through his story. "I know this guy, who knows a guy, whose cousin works at this posh restaurant who overheard someone saying something." He stopped talking as Jeffrey turned around and opened the door again.

"Okay, okay. Please." Chad pleaded and then licked at his lips again. "There's this doc, doc Collins. He comes around to the shelters every so often to help out." He swallowed hard. "One evening I followed him, you know just to talk to him." He continued as the three men stared at him. "He went to his car when this black limo pulled up next to him and stopped." Chad wiped his nose again. "I could hear them talking, but couldn't hear what they said, but the doc got upset and he started to yell and he started saying that he would go to the police and that he had enough." Chad looked at Jeffrey. "He said that he wanted proof that his wife was still alive or he would go to the police and tell the police all about the slaves." Chad twitched nervously. "Slaves? I mean, that's important, right?

Jeffrey blanched as he heard the word slaves. "Could you see to whom this Collins was talking to?"

Chad shook his head, "but the registration number of the car was a personalized one."

Jeffrey arched his brow. "What did it read?"

Chad frowned. "Something, like, Pelle..."

"Pellegrino?" Jeffrey asked.

"Yes, that's it. Pellegrino." He smiled.

"What can you tell me about the doctor?" Jeffrey asked.

"Not much. He does volunteer work over at the shelter on Broad Street. As I said, his last name is Collins. Now most of the people call him by his first name, Misha."

"When does he come to the shelter?"

"Almost every Tuesday, sometimes he skips one or two, but then he comes the following day."

"Was he there last week?" Jeffrey asked.

Chad nodded his head.

"Thank you," Jeffrey turned around and left the room, ignoring the young man that was screaming about his deal.

"Jeff?" Madison asked.

"We'll make a deal with him." He didn't say anything else, but just kept on walking, already reaching into his pocket to get out his phone. They had to find this doctor Misha Collins. This could be the breakthrough they needed to bring Pellegrino family to their knees.