<em>One of the hardest things about this job is learning how to turn away the sob cases.  Learning how to say no.  You can't help everyone, Traci</em>my father had told in this very office, bouncing his smiling girl on his broad knee.<br/><br/>It was a lesson I'd tried to take to heart, tried to make my code.  And one that I failed miserably at keeping.<br/><br/>Smiling softly at the man I kept my eyes away from the pitifully thin wad of cash he'd placed on the desk and rose out of my rickety but comfortable chair.  Taking his bony hand into mine I led him over to one of the more comfortable chairs of the office, the shop owner trying to hide his sigh of relief as he sank into the soft leather.  Pulling up a chair of my own in front of him I leaned forward, resting my hands on his as I spoke.<br/><br/>"Sir, I'm not sure what you've heard I do here." -<em>At least, I </em>hope<em>you haven't</em>- "But gang suppression is police work.  Or hell, if you're desperate, the Mob.  I can collect info on them, even hand it over anonymously to the police but the chances of something coming of it are pretty slim."<br/><br/>I saw the light go out of his eyes, the cold wave of reason snuffing out that small fire of hope in his breast and hurried on "<em>But</em>, I can see what I can do.  What's the name of the particular gang bothering you?  How many do they normally bring to the store, and have they asked for anything from you?" another deep breath before plunging into the question that no one ever answers honestly "And have you done anything to them that might have pissed them off?"