Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
Fowler adjusted the harness on the ceiling, waiting until the twin cords of rope were ready. He nodded to Trent who stood by Tanner. The leader knelt and undid the straps, knowing the victim would be compliant. By now, he was numb, unable to discern reality. He tugged the boots and mittens off, before taking the ear muffs off. That left the hood, which he lifted carefully. He smiled as the weak man tugged at the nozzle, like a rat in a cage. The eyes were last and he turned up the large lights he'd brought in.
"Good Afternoon, Mister Tanner," he said loudly, grinning as the weaken man tumbled from the chair. Deprived of activity and bound too long, his legs were useless. He watched amazed for several minutes as the prisoner curled up and uncurled, moaning in pain as the sharp pins and needles of circulation coming back, stabbed at every inch of his tender flesh. The eyes wouldn't stay open, the harsh light was too painful.
"Get up!" He hollered, kicking Tanner hard in the back.
Pain exploded in his lower back, he gasped and jerked, trying to find a way out. He was covered in sweat, his hair stuck to his head like a helmut. He couldn't see and his muscles were on fire. He was dizzy and disoriented; his head was throbbing and he felt weak. It was hard to breathe. He tried to get away, to crawl even, but his limbs wouldn't cooperate.
"Fowler! Strip him, it's time...."
Vin protested weakly as the clothes were taken from him. The jaws of the unforgiving, cold stone floor ripped into his flesh. He curled up defensively, but he was yanked upright, his hands pulled cruelly above his head and tied by a rough rope. The tight cords cut into his wrists and he felt his body rise, as a motor sounded. He was raised to a point where his feet were several inches above the floor. All his body weight was now supported by his overextended upper limbs, which screamed in agony. Each of the dungeon masters put on headphones. Trent moved over and turned on the recording device, turning the volume up. A disturbing combination of drums and chimes filled the room. The prisoner jerked and twisted his head, as his ears were violated.
"...fuck ...are... ya..." He croaked, his mouth dry. The lights were so bright and hitting him in the face, he couldn't see. His ears were pulsating from the pain the sounds were causing. He bit his lip against the pain, drawing blood.
"Proceed," Trent said to Fowler, the two were linked by microphones attached to the expensive headgear, "You know what to do." He waited until the other man was in front of the victim, who was blinking and struggling. He moved behind him, readying the baton. "Be careful..." he warned, knowing how easily the other got carried away.
His whole body tensed and he buckled, when a cold metal hand clamped onto his private parts. The pressure was just forceful enough to be painful and humiliating. Then a hard object traced a warning path up his backside.
"Who the hell are ya?" He screamed, twisting helplessly against the ropes, unsure of how to fight. "Whaddya want... What the fuck do ya want?" His only answer was the sounding of the drums and chimes and the lights changing color, from white to blue to red and back. He was left alone then and shut his eyes. That was short lived. The metal hand came back pressing something on his flesh again. Then another pressure on his big toes and the nipples on his chest. He twisted helplessly, tensing up for what he did not know. But nothing happened, so he sagged again, letting his head drop and shutting out the light. That's when he learned that he couldn't disobey. As soon as his eyes shut, his body exploded in pain, as electrical current was shot through the appointed areas. He screamed and jerked against the ropes, causing blood to run from his wrists and down his arms.
"The current uses the muscles as a conductor," Trent explained to Fowler, who watched the prisoner twitching and jumping, as different muscle groups spasmed at the same time. "This causes extreme pain, the inability to breath and sometimes," he noted with a smile, "the heart stops. But not to fear, we still have much more fun to come." He shut the power off and watched the prisoner's head droop, then turned on again, causing the eyes to shoot open and into the light.
"Don't..." Vin screamed, pulling against the ropes as the pain came again. "What do you want! What the..." His words were cut off as a nozzle was thrust into his mouth, and an ice cold stream of water shot in unrelenting force down his throat.
"Fire and ice," Fowler laughed, taking the hose out and watching the vomit follow. The shaggy head drooped and Trent hit the switch, sending a short wave of current. The body twitched again, like a puppet, the eyes jerked open as the scream came. Then the water followed and the vomiting.
As he choked up yet more bile, Vin's tender insides now joined the protest. The violent spasms shooting through him as the muscles in his abdomen were thrust backwards, even after the water and vomit left. He couldn't see anymore, the lights blinded him. His head was ripped in half by the screaming drums and chimes. His groin and chest were burning from the shock treatment and his arms were on fire from the pressure of bearing his weight. What did they want? What would happen when he couldn't fight anymore? What other tactics would they use? The pattern began again, the brutal shock, the icy water, the lights and drums. He screamed until he was hoarse and then there was no more. With the last burst of pain in his head, blessedly, he passed out, with one name on his lips. Chris...where are you?
Trent turned off the music and lights, while Fowler lowered the now unconscious man. He took the electodes off his body and waited for instructions.
"Put him in the hole," Trent said, dusting a piece of gravel off his coat. "I'm taking my fiancé out to dinner. I'd suggest you eat hearty, Fowler, when I return, we start phase three. Then we'll find out how much endurance he has... when the questioning starts."
Fowler knew part of phase three involved beating the answers out of the victim. Rubber hoses applied to the soles of the feet and lower back. Fists did the upper body and facial work. Then there was the cage. He smiled, lifted the unprotesting body and dumped him into the tiny cell under the floor. It was a dirt covered and barely three feet high, giving the victim little room to manuever. A small cloth sack was tossed in beside him. It contained a pair of sweat pants, a bottle of water and some candy bars. Fowler knelt over the hole, moving his good hand onto Tanner's cheek.
"That face of yours won't be so pretty by morning," he laughed cupped the slack jaw cruelly and eyed the cage nearby. He'd seen the photo's of Trent's earlier victims and couldn't wait to see a live demonstration. He was supposed to shut the door and lock it; sealing Tanner into a dark tomb. He hesitated, as the young man moaned and blinked. He moved his metal hand to the back of the wet curly hair, tugging it harshly. A cry of pain shot up at him, along with two bleary blue slits. Trent wouldn't be back for hours. Maybe he could have some fun after all.
It was almost five p.m., when Buck and Chris stood in the street outside the restaurant.
"Okay, Chris, ready?" He inquired, begininning his journey. The other man remained behind, marking the exact spot from where he saw Vin's flight begin.
Buck walked down the street, while Chris mentally replayed the event. He passed the teeshirt store, the record store and a thrift shop. A window front painted with dark colors with garish images came next, then a bakery.
"Wait!" Chris screamed, "Go back... one..."
Buck turned back to the odd colored window. He peered at the words written in strange gilded lettering. It was shop that boasted both palm reading, tarot cards and aura reading. Also, there were potions and lotions and spells for sale. "Get your Mojo back..." he muttered, shaking his head at the crooked lettering. Unable to see through the dark glass, he walked to the doorway and peered through the window.
Chris was a few feet away, when he heard Buck scream his name. He wasted no time in getting to door.
"What?" the anxious agent asked, looking at the combination of shock, fear and anger on the other man's face.
"That!" he pointed to a silver object on the floor, a few feet inside the door.
"It's Vin's!" Chris hissed, spotting Tanner's St. Michael's medal. He heart sank a little, when he saw the crude altar a few feet away. Who owned this place? What had they done to his friend? Were they connected to Geoff Trent? He rattled the door hard, pounding on the glass, until a strong hand stopped him
"...the hell are you doing!" Buck screamed, seeing the dazed green eyes. "It's closed... see!" he pointed to the sign. "I'll go next store and ask about the owner. You just calm down!"
"Calm down!" Chris snapped, "When I get Vin back, then I calm the fuck down!" he shoved off the arm and stared into the store again, eyeing the candles, herb and other paraphenalia inside. Buck tapped his shoulder, while putting his phone away.
"It's owned by some old woman named Jessenia Broussard. She's some kind of voodoo queen or priestess or something. The night of the storm, when you saw Vin shoot out of here, she had a heart attack. She's in the hospital. I called Novelli, he's on his way."
"Voodoo," Chris screwed his face up, used his fingers to try to quell the pounding between his temples and trying to stop the pain ripping through. "What the hell did he stumble into?"
Nigel Bates pulled into the hotel, after a long day. He'd been tied up at the hospital, then forced to attend a meeting at city hall concerning a security measures for tourism. Finally, he could access the vacated ATF agent's rooms. With Tanner and Larabee gone, he could search their rooms and see if they uncovered anything. He checked in at his office, accessing his emails and voice mail messages. Then he went up the stairs, to the Sophia Suite. He had the key in the lock and was about to turn it, when the door opened. He didn't have time to mask his startled expression.
"Evening Brother, Something I can do for you?"
"Who are you and what are you doing in that room!"
"I'm Josiah Sanchez, Denver ATF, two friends of mine were staying here and one disappeared. I'm meeting my boss, Chris Larabee here. Now I believe I asked you a question, what can I do for you?"
"I was just checking to insure that the room was properly attended to in their absence."
"Were you now?" he said straightfaced, "It's fine, no cause for worry, Mister..."
"Bates, Nigel Bates, I'm the manager here. If you need anything..."
"You'll be the first to know, Nigel."
Bates was standing in the hall, staring at the back of the door. He frowned, knowing that Trent would be calling in for a progess report. He studied the clock for a moment and decided on an alternate plan. He returned to his office and got his car keys.
"It looks like you won't be dining alone tonight, dear Aunt," he murmured, just as his phone rang again. "Yes, this is Nigel Bates." Exasperation forced his eyes closed and he nodded. "Of course, I understand, I'll be right there."
Chris scowled, eyed the traffic in the street and resumed his pacing.
"What the hell is taking them so long?" He growled, as Buck handed a phone to him.
"It's only been ten minutes, Chris. Here, Josiah's on the horn."
"You okay, Boss?" The preacher inquired, "I heard you christened another ER."
"I'm fine," the blond returned, "You and Ezra turn up anything?"
"I met your Mister Bates," he sat on the patio and eyed the garden. "Charming fellow."
"What did he want?"
"I think he wanted to snoop around your room. I heard the lock turn and opened the door, shocked the shit out of him."
"He's tied to this somehow. Find out what kind of car he drives," the leader dictated, "The one that tried to run Vin down was a small dark two door, black or dark green maybe. See if J.D. can do a background on him."
"Already in the works, I just called him. He'll email us in the morning. Oh, did Buck explain about Lily's journal?"
"Yeah," Chris nodded. "That was smart." He noted of the decision to photocopy the journal and keep the original in the safety deposit box. "Did you bring it?"
"Yeah, I'm gonna download J.D.'s emails too, he's digging up associates of Trent. You coming back here? I'm gonna need to access your laptop."
"Yeah, did Buck fill you in about this shop we found?"
"He did," The eldest heard the worry in the other's voice. "We'll find him, Chris..." There was no reply and he heard Buck's voice in the background, before the team leader finally found his voice.
"I gotta go, Josiah, we'll check in later."
Chris shut the phone off as a middle-aged man wearing a veteran's face greeted him. "Larabee," he extended his hand.
"Chris, this is Captain Dominic Novelli, I spoke with him this morning about Vin." Buck moved over to the window and pointed inside. "That's Vin's medal. This place was where he ran from the night he collapsed. Hell, with all that shit in there... they could have drugged him or something."
"The real estate office listed two people on the rental agreement. Miss Broussard's partner is on his way over with the key," the detective replied.
"How long!" Chris spat out, annoyed and fighting a killer headache.
"As long as it takes," Novelli moved closer, "Look Pal, this is my town, don't get your nose out of joint."
"Who is her partner?" Buck intervened, giving Chris a look of stern warning.
"It's not Trent," the detective read the stormy eyes, "It's a relative, her nephew...."
"Nigel Bates," a smooth voice joined the trio, his hand extended to the policeman. "Small world, isnt' it?" He eyed the irate blond who he'd last seen bleeding in an alley. "It would appear as if you had an accident of some kind," he eyed the bandage as the blond growled and leapt in one fluid motion, sending them both to the ground.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Chris seethed, gripping the man's collar and shaking him. "Where is he? I'll wipe that fuckin' grin off your face..."
"Chris! Chris!" Buck grabbed the out of control agent and forced him up. "Leave him go... step out... come on..." He shoved the struggling band of emotions against the car.
"Get off me!" Larabee fought back, despite the dizziness he now felt. "That bastard's up to his ass in this..."
"Not this way," Buck said in a low voice, catching the other's furious eyes. "You keep this up and you'll be responsible if we don't find him. Understand? Chris?"
"Yeah," he sagged against the car, grinding his hands into his throbbing eyes.
"You okay?" Novelli asked, his instincts telling him this man was a reptile. "Mister Bates..."
"Fine," he smiled, "The key you requested. As a law abiding citizen, I'm always glad to be of service to the law."
"You lying sac of shit!"
"Chris!" Buck shoved him back against the car.
"I assume my presence is not required, I have a rather urgent matter to attend to." Bates asked.
"You assumed wrong," Novelli unlocked the door and entered, "You stay there, I'll tell you when you can go. Wilmington, Larabee..."
"That's Vin's," Chris took the medal, which had Tanner's initials on the back. "What the hell was he doing in here?"
"Hey Captain!" Buck hollered, ducking his head from around the corner of the small room. "You better see this!"
Chris brushed past Buck and froze in shock. "What the fuck..." He moved closer to the small altar under an antique mirror. In the center, was a photo of Vin, taken while they were walking on Bourbon Street. Several candles were arranged around it, along with a small ceramic dish with a pungent gathering of herbs inside. On the wall beside the mirror, were more photo's of Vin and a small oil painting of a man with long dark curling hair.
"Hey, that's the guy in Lily's book... Dubonnet." Buck noted, studying the tiny colored image. "He looks a little like Vin. Maybe she's got something to do with those spells he was having."
"That gloating bastard's gonna answer my questions now!" Larabee growled, shoving his body back towards the door.
"Aw, hell!" Buck hissed, jogging to catch up, "I'm gettin' too old for this shit!"
"No!" Novelli blocked the blond's path. "I'll be asking the questions. You don't have authority here. If he is involved, you fuckin' this up could send him walking, understand?"
"He's right, Chris." Buck felt ever throbbing fiber of frustration pouring off his worried friend. Novelli stepped outside to talk to Bates and Buck launched himself, just as Chris's legs buckled. "That's it, you're going to the hotel. You damn near got your head caved this morning. You need to rest, or you'll end up back in the ER. I'll stick with Novelli. Okay?"
Chris wanted to argue, but the combination of the rising wall of nausea, the room beginning to spin and the jackhammer's blasting his skull, he couldn't form a word of protest. Then his abdomen rebelled.
"You gonna be sick?" Buck asked and grabbed the jerking body, shoving him over an empty trash can. He eyed a small bathroom door in the back and moved. He returned with damp towels and a mug of water. As soon as the pale, sweating blond was cleaned up, he hauled him upright. He felt Chris's legs buckle and helped him outside.
The street was swimming and he didn't regain his breath, until he was seated inside the car. He gulped air noisely, trying desperately not to pass out. He leaned his damp head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.
"Well?" Buck said, watching Novelli writing notes in a small book.
"He's got alibi's for both the day of the storm when your friend staggered out of here and last night."
"You're not buying that this is a coincidence?" Buck frowned, "That wacky witch has Vin's face plastered all over her damn shop. He's her nephew who just happens to work at the hotel where Vin had similiar spells? Hell, he could be practicing that shit too. This stinks, Novelli, you know it does. He's up to his balls in this..."
"Yeah, Wilmington, my gut tells me that," He shut the book and shook his head. "But I got no proof. He suggested that your friend was a client. That he paid Ms. Broussard for her services."
"That's bullshit!" the rogue roared, "Did you ask him about his car?"
"There it is," he nodded to the other man, who was adjusting the seat belt in a light blue Toyota. "It doesn't match the description."
"You can't let him go!" Buck growled, "He could have more than one car."
"Yes, he could and we'll check on that. I want to check over at that hotel, see if anyone there saw Bates with Trent. I know your upset, but until tomorrow, I don't have a missing person case. My hands are tied. I gotta get back, I've got three new homicides..."
"Yeah, okay," Buck paused, "Hey, Novelli, I'm sorry. Thanks for sticking your neck out."
The veteran detective paused and looked at the pale blond man in the car a few feet away. It wasn't hard to see how Tanner's absence affected him. He wondered about the smiling, long-haired youthful face he'd seen in the photo. "This friend of yours, Tanner, must be a helluva a guy, to get to a man like that."
"Hah!" the rogue chuckled, "He's a drawling, stubborn, long-haired Texas river rat, who addicted to chocolate, ice hockey and pratical jokes." He paused and sighed, "and he's the best sniper I've ever laid eyes on... he can read a crime scene like nobody else. He's one damn fine agent. Geoff Trent made the worst mistake of his life when he fucked with Chris Larabee."
"I'll lock up here," Novelli said, patting the other man's arm. "Ms. Broussard is in ICU and I'm going to check on when I can talk to her. In the meantime, keep an eye on that temper of his."
"It's what I do best," Buck noted, climbing into the car. It was a tense ride and by the time they got to the hotel, Chris Larabee was angry. Buck updated him and with every sentence, the jaw clenched tighter and the hand became a death grip on the door handle. Just as they pulled up, his cell phone rang. "Hello,"
"Wilmington, it's Novelli."
"What?" Buck said, keeping his voice level. Chris looked like death warmed over and he didn't want to upset him.
"You remember I mentioned three new homicides? Well I stopped at the scene for one of them on my way back. "I hope to God I'm wrong..." He stood over the battered body of a young man, semi-nude and bloodied. "I got a male caucasian, mid-twenties, long brown hair, slim a few inches under six foot. Somebody really worked him over, before he died. I don't think Larabee is up to an idenfication."
Buck's mouth dropped open in muted horror and a knife ripped into his guts. Blood rushed to his brain, giving him a headache and his stomach rebelled.
"Buck?" Chris peeled a eye open painfully, seeing a blurry profile on the phone.
"Yeah, I can come," he managed to keep his voice calm. He listened to the instructions on the location and "Okay, yeah... thanks... I'm fine... okay." He shut the phone off and pressed his face against the window. He hid the burning eyes and horrific face from his oldest friend. He managed to climb out and shut his door. He rested his face in his hands over the hood, dispelling several long breaths. So many images of Vin tumbled out at once, he nearly drowned in blue -eyed whimsey. He took a settling breath and made his way around the car.
"I'm fine.." Chris shoved off the arm and squinted at the hotel. "You coming?"
"No, Novelli's waiting for me, he has something he thinks might tie Trent to Vin."
"Well, let's go," Chris turned to get back in the car, only to be propelled towards the door.
"You can barely stand. You heard what that doctor said. This is a grade 4 concussion and that's serious, Chris. You're sick as a dog. Go inside, take a hot shower, take some Tylenol and get some sleep. I won't be long. Go on..."
He sighed and eyed the car, then the hotel. He would be lucky if he made it to the door, without collapsing. Buck was right, he did feel sick as a dog. He was very lightheaded and nausious, his vision was blurry as well. Finally, he nodded, clapped Buck's shoulders and struggled to keep one foot in front of the other. He paused at the front entrace, spotting a short path to the garden. He didn't realize he was moving that way, until he was near a bench. He sat down, leaned his aching head back and inhaled the aroma. The name of the old woman from the store kept going through his mind. She was the one person who knew what was going on. She might know where Vin is.
"Seek her out... she has the key... find her... Chris... she'll lead you to him... Seek her out..."
He must have dozed for a few minutes, for he woke with a start.
"What?" He choked, rubbing his eyes. The voice was so loud and clear, he would have sworn...He shook his head again. The dizziness was gone and his stomach was better. The words kept replaying, driving him to a new mission. He stopped by the water fountain and doused his face and neck, before taking a huge drink. He eyed the backstairs leading to his room and then turned the other way. He pulled out his car keys and found his rental parked in the drive. The soft words propelled him the hospital and to Jessanie Broussard's bedside.
"I've been expecting you," she whispered, reaching her hand out. "You must go to him... he is crying out for your. Hear his call... see him... feel him... touch his soul. Only you can save him..."
He wanted to scream at her, ask her about Vin, the shrine in the shop and Bates. But once he took the gnarled hand, all his thoughts were swept away. He felt an almost electrical current shooting from her hand right to his brain. The room faded away and his eyes went wide with horror, when he saw Vin Tanner.
The sun is often strongest at sunset and as Buck turned the ignition off, he felt like the garish light was taunting him. The cruel rays stabbed his eyes, as he slid out of the car. He took two deep breaths, trying to pull himself together. Several yards ahead were a smattering of policemen, detectives, the folks from the lab and gawkers of course. It was a poor section of town, the houses and inhabitants looked rough. A cluster of cops stood in the doorway of an abandoned house, talking shop. A young patrolman put both hands up to prevent him from going further.
"I'm sorry, this is a homicide scene, you'll have to wait..."
"I'm Wilmington," he replied flatly, flashing his badge, "Novelli's expecting me."
"Hold on," the young man replied, tapping the button on the radio he wore, "Captain Novelli? There's a Fed named Wilmington out here."
"Send him down," the gruff voice replied.
Buck nodded and walked past the group by the door, pausing inside the debris filled building. He walked across the dirty floor, past used syringes, garbage and human waste. He spotted the lab crew, the photographer and Novelli, along with a few other detectives. Then he saw the bloodied bare feet and legs of the corpse. He was lying on his stomach, hands tied behind his back. A gaping wound in his side left entrails dripping on the sticky floor. Buck's stomach rebelled then and he slammed his eyes shut, clenched his fists and sucked his breath in. He felt a hand on his shoulder and exhaled slowly.
"I'm sorry as hell about this," Novelli muttered, seeing the agony on the young man's features.
"Yeah," Buck managed in a shadow of a voice. "In all the years I've been wearing a shield, I never had to ID a fr...friend. God..." He took a deep breath and walked forward. There was a horrid indentation on the spot where the back of the dead man's head should have been. The skull was crushed, leaving the brown, curly hair a sticky crimson mess. Gray matter oozed through cracks of white skull. This time the bile got to his throat, before he swallowed it down.
"Fuck..." he whispered, gripping his hips under his jacket. His chest was so tight, he felt like he was wearing a second skin. The roar in his ears did not diminish, as his heart began to jackhammer. He forced his leaden legs to move, cold sweat running down his face.
"You ready? There isn't much left of his face..."
"Get it done," Buck rasped, sucking in the fleeing air. All of a sudden the dank warehouse with a fetid odor seemed to have dropped about thirty degrees in temperature. He'd seen crime scenes and corpses before, hundreds of them. But he wasn't prepared when they tipped the body's head back. The nose and mouth were obliterated, jagged gaps in the cheek were spliced by a broken jawbone. A bullet or some other object had taken most of the right eye and socket.
"Thanks Mike," Novelli sighed, jumped to grab the vomiting visitor, guiding him to a pile of crates several feet away. "I'm sorry..." He kept his hand on the heaving man's shoulder, turning towards another stranger strolling towards them. With a pat of reassurance to the shocked agent's back, he approached the man.
"This isn't a fashion show, Hollywood," he eyed the designer clothes, sunglasses and Italian leather shoes. "Take that pretty face the other way."
"I'll refrain from matching your witty repartee," the conman replied, grateful his sunglasses hid the naked horror in his eyes. He clearly understood his partner's raw response. He was unprepared for the grisley sight that tore at his heart.
"Who the fuck are you?" Novelli wrinkled his nose, eyeing the monogrammed hankerchief, pressed to perfection and standing at attention in the thousand dollar suit. "Fuckin' suit cost more than my paycheck."
"Yes, well maybe you should have a word with your tailor. May I?" He nodded to the body and moved to kneel down, only to have a swarmy hand hit his chest.
"Somethin' wrong with your ears, Hollywood?" The gruff Captain stood his ground.
"I doubt if you can afford my drycleaning bill," the ATF man declared, "Please remove your paw from my shirt. The silk is imported, the garment is custom made."
Through the haze of the pain in his gut and the dizziness that filled his pounding head, a welcomed ranting trickster gave him relief. He pulled himself free of his own vomit, which mingled with the urine, feces and filth on the floor beneath him. "Ezra?" He croaked, reaching his dazed face upwards.
"...P Standish," The undercover man completed, peeling the detective's fingers from his pale green shirt. "Denver ATF, Captain Vermicelli?" He offered, with a purposeful bite.
"Novelli!" the irate man barked, "I don't care if your J. Edgar Fuckin' Hoover. This is a crime scene, not a parade ground."
"It doesn't appear as if it stained," Ezra managed to keep his voice level, brushing his shirt.
"Stain? I'll give you a stain you cocky son-of-a..."
"It's okay, Captain, it's only Ezra..."
"Thank you," Standish huffed, "I'll forgive you that, seeing your disstressed state of mind." He saw the ashen complexion of the large-hearted man, complete with cold sweats and trembling hands. He was trying to stand up and the quick conman stopped him, with a gentle tug on the shoulder. "Remain where you are, I'll take care of it..." He squatted down and eyed the bloody bare skin on the corpse's back carefully. He scrutinzied the left side and eyed the technician by the body. "Turn him, please." He waited until the body was tilted and looked at the chest, concentrating on the naval. Then he tipped the jaw up with a pen and studied the few inches of remaining flesh by the left ear. "Thank you, that is not Mister Tanner."
"God!" Buck dropped his body again, having just stood up. The air left his lungs in such a rush, it took his balance away. Now he was halved, both hands on his knees, his body bent forward. He slide his hand through the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt and pulled out his cross. He kissed it once, closed his eyes and said a prayer of thanks. "Thank you.." he whispered, clutching the silver hope, still shaken.
"We'll get a positive when we runs his prints." Novelli eyed the calm man who had a distinctive southern accent. "You don't know him well?" He noted of the missing ATF man.
"Better than most," Ezra replied quietly, his nerves raw and jangled. The body did bear a close resemblence to his friend and it tore him to the core. Vin was the one he felt closest to in the group and seeing this tortured body rocked him.
"Christ you're a cold fish!" the detective replied, watching the face void of any emotion. That is, until he spoke those words.
"You would be best advised to choose your words more carefully," Standish spat back, eyes burning a hole in the discount rack special, "You don't know a damn thing about me, how dare you be so presumptuous."
"Sorry!" he put both hands up defensively, "You okay?" He turned to the shaken Wilmington who nodded slightly.
"How'd you know, Ez?" Buck managed, finally bringing his head up.
"Scars in all the wrong places and missing tokens."
"Tokens?" Buck frowned.
"Vin has a tatoo of an eagle on his lower back, also he had his appendix removed as a young child. Neither mark is there. That man has a horrid scar tissue from a burn under his ear, our fearless Texan did not. I defer to your fingerprinting confirmation, but that is not our missing colleague.
"I'm glad," he replied, helping Buck straighten up. "Go on and get some air, I'll be in touch."
"Thanks, Captain," Buck nodded, letting Ezra guide him from the rancid room. This time, he embraced the daylight, letting the sun bake his skin. He didn't hear the questions of the reporters or Erza's sharp rebuff. He followed the other man's lead, letting the strong grip guide him. Then there was shade and he was gently sat on a bench. He blinked and looked around, they were in the front of a boarded up house. The cement bench stood by the curb, marking a bust stop. "...sorry..." he choked, still tasting the acid in his mouth.
"For what?" Ezra replied, "Stay here, I'll be right back."
Buck did just that, trying to get the image of the Vin-look-alike from his tortured mind. So close... too close. He took several more breaths, ran his hand through his dark hair and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes. A few moment later, he felt a cold plastic bottle pressed to his hand.
"Courtesy of the lab," Ezra thought to sit, but saw the bird droppings and other debris on the bench and thought better of it.
"Never again," Buck said, after rinsing his mouth, spitting out twice and then taking two long sips of cold water. His hands still trembled and he couldn't shake the nausea. "Christ, I don't want to have to do that..."
"It never changes," Ezra replied, thinking back.
"You've had to do that before?"
"Twice, many years ago." the former F.B.I. agent replied, "My first partner and a good friend who I made the mistake of confiding in. But this time... was different... it was Vin."
Buck's head jerked up then, hearing the first crack in the Standish armor. The Texan's name broke in half when it slid past the tense lips. From the brief inch of eye visible beneath the dark glasses, he saw a glimmer of emotion cresting on the lid. Now, he appreciated just how much guts it took in that grisley mess to remain so calm. "You got balls, Ezra P.," he said with admiration.
"Coming from the expert," Ezra smiled, "and our resident rogue, I take that as a compliment. Shall we?" he nodded to the cars nearby. "I have not wasted my time this afternoon. I have information on Detective Trent..."
"How'd you get here" Buck paused, key in hand at the door to his car.
"Brilliant detective work on my part," he replied with an exagerated drawl.
"No really, how'd you find me?" Buck waited.
"I was approaching the street of the hotel and saw you drive past. Your face did the rest." He noted of the look of raw agony he saw through the glass. "I feared the worst."
"I didn't tell Chris... the call came in just as we drove up. He's in a bad way... damn near passed out a couple times. Let's get to the hotel and compare notes."
The first sensation brought memories of a bad trip he suffered while undercover once. Hallucination was the word that came to mind. The hospital room faded away and he was pulled into a harsh vortex. He felt a hot rush of electric-like current rip through his lean body. The pace was so face, it took his breath away. He saw the interstate, an exit and a turnoff, an old ruin and a trap door. Then a horrid scream ripped his guts. The blue eyes he knew so well were riddled in agony. Blood ran from the lips that were bitten through in pain. The wet curly brown hair was plastered to the anguished face, the crimson lips parted and his best friend's scream cut him like a knife.
"Vin!"
"Yes... see him... strong one... feel him... find him... you... must..." She fell back against the pillows, the effort draining her. With the little strength she had left, she forced him to the summit, realizing he was their last hope.
The hot green eyes took in the damp cell, where Vin was hanging from a rope. He felt the burning pain scorch him as Vin's naked body jerked from the electical shock being forced upon him. He felt the sensation of drowning as water was forced into his lungs, taking his breath away. He felt the abusive hands as finally Vin surrendered. He saw a metal hand... silver hand... killer's hand roll Vin into a hole, cruelly pinching him. Then the blue eyes parted a sliver and the pale, crimson-tinged lips parted, speaking his name. It was then all feeling left his body and he followed his friend into the black void.
"Foolish woman," Nigel Bates spat, stepping over Chris Larabee's prone body. He knew she was dying, that last trip she took the blond on, was too much for her weakened heart. "Did you think you could win? You are not hounan," the powerful priest emitted tapping the cane on the floor. The red eyes of the silver serpent on the head of the cane glowed. "You used your powers on the wrong side... you could have had so much more. You were weak, you turned to the light." He leaned in then, seeing the aged woman's eyes fading. He spoke low, only for her ears. "Go to your God, Jessenia, I will see to it that your blue-eyed savior meets your there."
He knelt down, turned Larabee over and opened the head of the cane. He blew the fine powder over the young victims' nose. "Breathe Mister Larabee... that's it... awaken... hear my voice only." The green eyes opened in dazed compliance and he stood back up. "Rise and follow." He commanded, watching the lean body rise and meekly follow. They got to the door as a nurse came in, with a dinner tray.
"She's asleep," Bates stated.
"Are you alright?" The nurse asked the pale blond man.
"He's been ill, he needs some air." Bates's eyes took on an unearthly glow as the nurse's face went lax. "You came in the room and found Ms. Broussard alone."
"Yes," she said turning her back and entering the room.
"Come, my little puppet," Bates oozed, counting his bonus money. They took the elevator down to the garage and made their way to the light blue car. Once the blond man was strapped in, he got behind the wheel. He leaned over and squeezed the firm jaw. "Not to worry, soon you will see your friend. Maybe, you will swim with him in the bayou, the alligators like sweet meat. Would you like that?" He asked the dull, blank wide eyes. "Yes, I think you would... sleep!" He commanded and the head dropped. He flipped the phone open and dialed Trent. "I have a playmate for Mister Tanner. Yes, a blond one. I know the place, fifteen minutes. I'll expect a generous amount of zero's on that bonus check." He turned the engine on and drove toward the designated meeting area in the bayou.
Josiah used Chris's large, pristine bed to display the photo's, files and other material he brought on the plane. He had the phone in one hand, talking to J.D.
"Yeah, everything came through fine. I'll find a printer, you did great, J.D." He paused, scratched his neck and shook his head, "No, we didn't find him yet. As soon as we get any news...I'll call." He flipped the phone shut as voices loomed outside. "Ezra?" He opened the door and saw Buck's ashen face and felt his stomach lurch. "What happened?"
"A near miss..." The southerner moved aside, letting Buck stagger inside. He moved quickly to his suitcase, taking out a bottle of brandy.
"Jesus, Ezra, that's shit's fifty dollars a bottle," Josiah eyed the label and guided Buck to a chair on the patio.
"I didn't have time to shop around, I had to make do with 'off the shelf'," he noted tartly, taking a glass from the bathroom. He poured it halfway and handed it to the still silent Wilmington.
"Thanks," Buck finally spoke, taking a small sip.
"What the hell happened?" Josiah demanded, eyeing Buck's face.
"I got a call, just before I dropped Chris off. Captain Novelli... they found a body... long brown hair... slim... mid twenties... mutilated to hell..."
"Vin?" the preacher shook his head, "I'm sorry, Brother, helluva thing to bear."
"Thank God Ezra showed up," Wilmington admitted, sipping the liquor and feeling some warmth course through his freezing body. "He knew the missing scars and tatoos and shit. How's Chris?"
"I don't know," the eldest replied, "He's not here."
"What!" Buck choked, coughing up his drink. Even Ezra's hand pounding his back, didn't take the pain away. "Where is he? I dropped him off outside the door over an hour ago. What do mean he isn't here? He has to be."
"I haven't left and he never got here."
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Buck vented, jumping up and pulling out his phone. He dialed Chris's cell phone, but the call didn't go through. "It's turned off..." he jammed his fingers into his pained eyes and dialed again. "Ryan? Is Chris there by any chance. Shit... no I can't find him. Dammit... okay, thanks, let me know." He's not at the Saloon. Ryan's gonna check with the others. Let's have a look around."
Thirty minutes later, having scoured the grounds, they met in the back of the garden. Glum and gloomy would be an apt description of the trio of long faces. Buck slumped at the chair on the end of a table, dejection chisled into his handsome face. "I should have never left him... he wasn't feeling good."
"You trip down culpability boulevard is not warranted." The Southerner snapped.
"Culpability boulevard?" Josiah frowned, "Ezra you've been watching too many old movies." He dropped his smokey eyes on the slumped mustached agent and rested a hand on the downcast shoulder. "He's right Buck, it ain't your fault."
"Mister Larabee has a strong will and resists any form of hand holding," He noted, eyeing a woman folding linen cloths nearby. He saw her eyes flicker at the mention of Chris's name. "Madame?" he questioned that look and she came over.
"Did you say Larabee?" she asked.
"Have you seen him?" Buck rose, towering over the tiny dark woman.
"Lord, you're fine looking man!" She cocked her head and patted his arm. "Yeah, I seen him drive off ... oh an hour and a half or so... heading east."
"Where would he be going? Did he mention anything in the car Buck?" Ezra asked.
"East..." Buck murmured, shaking his head. "Stubborn jackass... that's why the phone is turned off!" He fished his keys out.
"What?" Josiah asked, grabbing the keys, "You're not steady enough, Brother."
"The hospital!" Buck stated, "You can't use cell phones in there." He paused, "When we found Vin's chain and they said the mystic or witch or whatever the hell she is was in the hospital, Chris wanted to grill her."
"Let's go," Ezra said, leading the way.
Fowler hauled Vin out of the hole and sat him up against the wall. The battered, dazed man immediately fell sideways, unable to support himself. The guard gripped the pale, tender flesh of his upper arm with the metal hand and squeezed hard, hauling him upright. Two blue eyes shot open and a weak cry split the dank air.
"Thought that would wake you up..." He cajoled, watching the flesh bruise easily. "Let's play." He knew the dazed man was hungry and opened a candy bar, leaving a piece of it several feet away. He left a bottle of water as well. Then he stood behind him and waited, watching the blinking eye focus.
Chocolate. Vin's nose lifted and he inhaled. The room was freezing and every inch of him ached. He had no energy, yet there it was, just a few feet away. Like an animal, he crawled, the sharp points of the loose gravel on the floor, cutting the skin on his abdomen, groin and thighs. He groaned in antipication when a blurry form rose up behind the chocolate. Water. He moaned again and inched closer, reaching his bloody, raw hand out. He touched the candy, already tasting the sweetness.
"Ahhhhhh!" He cried out as a boot came down on his hand. He curled up, rocking a little to take the pain away. He saw the bottle from the corner of his eye and reached for it, grabbing it. Then it was stolen as well." No.... mine..." he protested, having a hand shove his back hard, forcing him into the dirty, rocky floor.
"You want a drink, Pig?" Fowler baited, waiting for the tortured soul to lift his battered head. Several minutes passed as small grunts of effort got the head up. Blood ran down his face and from a cut on his lip. He started crawling again, only seeing the water. He laughed at the weak man's efforts and brushed the cold bottle against the fine features on the bruised face. He saw the swollen tongue dart out, trying to find a drink. He crushed the bottle then, sending the water into the dirt. "It looks like you're a pig after all..." he laughed again, watching the desperate soul licking up the mud, bugs and whatever else was beneath his mouth. He walked around the slim body and kicked the left buttock hard, feeling a rush as the weak cry came out. His metal fingers stretched out, clamping hard on the back of the wet skin at the base of the neck.
Pain shot through his back and shoulders. He jerked, his mouth like fish out of water. He flopped on the ground, his arms and legs jerking in spasms. He felt his body lifted and thrown hard, hitting the wall and then he knew nothing else.
"Dammit..." Fowler cursed, forgetting his strength. Tanner was out cold again, that was no fun. The phone rang and he listened, his eyes lighting up again. More toys were on the way. He opened the hatch and used the tip of his boot to press the soft underside of the victim's belly. He kicked hard, sending him back into the hole. "Two is more fun that one..." he laughed, shutting the door.
Josiah stopped the first nurse he met entering ICU. "Excuse me, Jessenia Broussard?" He flashed his badge. He followed her to the room and entered, frowning at the elderly, dark-skinned woman on the bed. The peaceful look on her face told him, before the nurse did.
"She's gone," The nurse said, "Just a few moments ago. We've notified her family."
"Did she have any visitors today?" Ezra asked, moving next to the bed. He saw Buck studying the gnarled brown hand on the sheet and frowned. "What is it?" He moved closer.
"No,' the nurse replied, eyeing the graying agent, "She's been sleeping all day, by rights it's a miracle she lived this long. It was a bad heart attack, it did massive damage."
"No visitors all day?" Buck said in a cold voice, towering over the petite nurse.
"No, none, why?" She replied, backing up.
"A friend of ours, another agent, disappeared from this hospital early this morning. Later this afternoon, we found this," he opened his palm and the St. Michael's medal gleamed in triumph, "in her shop," he jerked his head. "My partner, six foot, blond, green eyes, good looking, named Larabee, he has this less than two hours ago. I was with him. So you wanna think about that answer."
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She shrugged and thought hard, "No... noone... I didn't..."
"Wrong answer!" Buck roared, grabbing her wrist.
"Buck!" Josiah and Ezra spoke in unison, moving quickly and forcing them apart.
"Calm down, that won't solve anything!" the conman drilled, turning to the nurse. "The fact remains, Madame that we are now missing a second friend, the blond man who carried this. How did it get in her hand?"
"I don't now, honest to God..." she began to cry, "I'm sorry..."
"It's okay," Josiah took her out of the room.
"Maybe Chris dropped it," Ezra murmured, but Buck rebuffed that thought.
"That was Vin's, he'd sooner chop his hand off."
Ezra was very unnerved by the tiny woman in the bed. He shivered as a cold air caressed him. "I suggest we depart immediately and ask around. Someone must have seen him. Perhaps the parking lot has cameras?."
"Yeah, that's a good idea," Buck agreed, taking to the hallway.
Despite their best efforts, nobody recalled seeing Chris. They were at the elevators, when Ezra noticed a man moping the floor. It was a young black man, neatly groomed. "Excuse me, have you been cleaning the floors all day?"
"Yeah, why? You an inspector or somethin'?"
"...or something," the gambler noted, using his badge. "We seek a friend who may have been here today." He took the wallet shot of the seven he carried and held it out. "This man..."
"Oh yeah... the stoned dude.... creepy..." He shivered, wrung the mop out and continued.
"When!" Buck grabbed him.
"Back off, Kojak!" the kid snapped, "An hour ago maybe. He was wasted... I know that look he was floatin'. The other dude, he was scary... chill city."
"A man was with him?" Ezra pressed.
"Yeah, a creepy brother... dressed like a bone collector carrying a nasty-assed cane with a snake on the top. I'm telling you, Twilight Zone time..."
"Bates!" Josiah spat, "I'd bank on it. Didn't you say he was related to her?"
"Yeah..." Buck nodded in a fog, "Chris must have confronted her and Bates got a hold of him. Drugged him or something"
"The brother had a mean mojo... that's bad news... Lamont don't play that!" The mopper replied.
"Ezra, stay with him," Buck said, "I'll call Novelli and get him to run by the hotel and get a photo of Bates." He punched the elevator button.
"I'll go to security and look at the tapes from the parking lot." Josiah suggested. "Buck, where you going?"
"To the Saloon to update Ryan and the others. They don't know about Bates and I don't want him near them, especially that little girl. No telling what he might do. Here's the address," he wrote it down and thrust it in the other's hand. "You and Ezra meet me there." His blue eyes grew hard and hot. "I'm tired of waiting. We're gonna find Geoff Trent and he's gonna talk!"
Fowler just finished his second hamburger, when Trent's horn sounded. He met the dirty cop at the door, eyeing the unconscious blond man slung over his shoulder.
"Where to?" he asked, opening the wooden door, leading below.
"The cell." Trent grunted, walking through the room and dropping Larabee on the hard floor.
"Ouch!" Fowler laughed, "That had to hurt!"
"Get his shoes off, the jacket and shirt too. Then meet me in the cell. " He dropped over 'the hole' and opened the door, frowning at the collection of new cuts and bruises. "You fool! What have you done?"
"Nothin' just played with him a little..." Fowler took the boots, jacket and shirt to the corner of the room. "Now what?" He kicked the stilled blond in the back.
"Stop pretending you're Gestapo and get over here! We have work to do!" He pulled Tanner from the hole and dragged him into the cell. He eyed the manacles on the wall and decided against using them. He deposited the unopened bag he'd left prior and went back to help Fowler with Larabee.
"That's it? You're gonna leave them like that?"
"Just like that," Trent replied, turning on the small light switch that gave the cell a dim glow. Tanner looked awful. "Don't touch him again without my permission! I've worked too hard for this money."
"Yeah, yeah..." Fowler shut the door, sealing them inside.
Chris's first thought was that someone turned the air conditioner on. He was freezing. He rolled on his back and felt a cold stone floor biting his naked back. Naked back? Cold stones? He frowned and peeled an eye open. Dirty, dingy, narrow, freezing... he saw something with several legs walk by him and he rolled up, sitting with caution.
"What the hell?" he grimaced as a pain shot through his back. Then he saw another body curled up nearby. A naked body, the flesh marred by blue and purple bruises and burns; cuts and abrasions and dried blood. As if dazed, he was frozen in place, then moved in record time, crawling to his best friend's side.
"Vin!" he cried out, gently turning the body over and pulling him onto his legs. He tapped the stilled face, horrified at the condition his friend was in. "Vin, wake up..." he felt the icy flesh beneath his fingers and flinched. "Christ, you feel like a fuckin' corpse." He eyed the bag then and pulled it over. He saw the sweat pants inside and with great effort, tugged them onto the unconscious tracker's legs and hips. "Here," he opened a candy bar, waving the chocolate under the blood encrusted nostrils. The head moved, the nose twitched and a moan escaped the pale lips. "That's it." He grew impatient , "Open your eyes, Tanner!"
Vin's eyes snapped open as the voice assaulted him. He smelled the candy, saw it before him and opened his mouth.
"You with me Vin?" Chris asked, the recoiled in horror when he saw mud, dirt and worse inside the other man's mouth. "Jesus, Vin you got bugs in your mouth!" He shoved his fingers inside, pulling out the offensive matter. "Here," he nudged a small piece of candy onto the eager tongue. Small grunts of pleasure came out and he felt the hand batting weakly. "Okay, hold on..." he tried to break a piece off and the hand snatched it away.
"Mine... fuck off..." Vin whispered, turning away and huddling over his candy, shoving it in his mouth too fast.
"You're gonna get sick, slow down!" Chris commanded, moving his hand in to take it away.
"No!" Vin cried out, surrending the bar and curling up, covering his face. "...don't... don't..."
Chris's hand froze over the candy and his eyes locked in horror on the pathetic sight before him.
"What did those bastards do to you?" He moved to the other side, trying not to frighten him more. "Vin, it's Chris. Vin, look at me!"
Chris. His hammering heart slowed down. Chris. He felt the icy cold gripping him, lessen a bit. Chris. He felt their hands trying to grab him again and someone stopping them. Chris. He peeled an eye open, afraid it was a trick. He blinked hard watching the face become clearer. He reached a bloody, trembling hand up and touched the apparition's face. Flesh. "...real...ly... here... r...r...is...s?"
"Yeah, Cowboy, I'm here," Chris lifted the injured man, trying to give him warmth. "Here," he held the water bottle and waited until slowly some liquid was taken, then the mouth went slack. He moved his body, shifting the other and a cry of pain came out.
Vin was in the chair again and they were shooting the electricty through his groin and chest. It hurt worse than before and he couldn't bear the pain.
"....don't... please... hurts..."
"That bastard's gonna pay, Vin," Chris's voice was hard as the other man went limp in his arms. He saw too much then, the burns on his nipples and the boot marks on his chest and back. The anger that filled him was a slow, hot burn, glowing green through his eyes. He held onto to Vin and waited, vowing to make Geoff Trent's last moments on earth — pure hell.
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