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.
Who was it that said working helps you to forget your troubles? Doctor Gabrielle Marquette sighed and pushed away the lukewarm cup of coffee. Despite her heavy workload and the hectic pace at the hospital, her mind drifted. She closed her eyes, recalling those wonderful blue eyes of the Texan, she heard the soft drawl, saw the easy smile and felt the electical charge that ran through her when they kissed. God it felt so good... so right... to be in his arms. She blinked when a voice entered the phone at her ear.
"Hello?"
"It's me, Cait, anything yet?"
"No, Brie, I'm sorry," Caitlin heard the worry in her best friend's voice increasing by the hour. "He really got to you, didn't he?"
"I'm no schoolgirl, Cait," Brie waved to the impatient CT Tech, glaring at her, "but he's special... I felt something deep inside..." she bit off the rest, "I've got to go... please call me, if you hear anything."
"I will," she vowed, "Brie, we're gonna find him." She hung the phone up and turned, ducking back through the narrow corridor that led to the busy bar. It was a noisy, crowded room, business was good. She saw a tall man approaching and waved off the two employees who blocked him. "It's okay, guys, let him through. This way Buck," she moved back towards the private room in the back. "Where's Chris?"
"Gone," Buck spat out, clutching both hands to his hips.
"What!" She stopped in her tracks. "How? When? What happened? Did you find Vin?"
"Where's Ryan?" he returned, heading for the coffee pot and stack of mugs on the counter. "We have to talk."
"He's upstairs with Grace, I'll get him."
"Please Uncle Wyun...."
"Sorry, Buttons, it's past your bedtime."
"But this is my favowit part!" She protested, turning her face backwards. She was lying on her side, in front of him on his big bed. Several large pillows were stacked, so they could rest their heads and watch the movie.
"Honey, you've seen this movie twenty-five times!" he laughed, tickling her as Belle and the Beast waltzed across the floor in the Disney animated classic, Beauty and the Beast.
"I love you, Uncle Wyun," she nuzzled his neck and kissed his cheek.
"I love you, too, Sweetheart, but that won't work." He laughed, wondering if that endearing trait most females possessed was inborn. "Come on, Poppy's waiting for you. Where's your fuzzy?" He gazed across the large bed and spartan room, looking for her treasured blanket.
"Under your butt!" she shot back, wrinkling her face and pushing against him. "Move!" she ordered, tugging on the time worn, much loved blue collection of thread, bound by sky colored fuzz and memories.
"Oh yeah!" he growled, pouncing and tickling her until her high peals of laughter soared through the air. He rolled her up like a mummy, then lifted her onto his lap, as he sat up.
"Does my daddy miss me?"
The smile died then, taken too quickly from his face. He sighed, tucked the freshly washed unruly mop of black curls under his chin and pulled her closer. He inhaled that wonderous scent that only comes after a new bath.
"He watches over you every day, he's your own special angel."
"Weally?" Her eyes grew wide as they roamed the room. "I can't see him...."
"Sure you can," he reassured, "Close your eyes...go on," he waited until the trusting little face complied. He smiled ,then, drinking in every inch of her. God how he loved her. He drew up the image of Max's face, the day his daughter was christened. He never saw his brother cry, until that day. He caught him off guard, watching the new father, gazing on the white-lace dress that covered the sleeping baby. One finger gently touched the silken cheek, before capturing a stray black curl. It was then he saw the tears coming down Max's face. He backed away from the door, then, leaving the new father to his time. It was his favorite image of Max, a picture he would never lose. "You remember the picture Mommy has in your room, of your daddy?"
"The one with the cake?" She asked, without opening her eyes.
"Yeah, that one," he recalled of the photo Cait had of Grace on her first birthday with Max holding her over a huge cake. "Look real close... see him now... smiling..."
"Yeah..." She whispered breathlessly, "I do... I do see my daddy!"
Ryan swallowed hard then, lifting his anguished face over the child's head. He held onto her then, needing to feel comforted. That this wonderous child's only sight of her father, was through time and old photos; that she was robbed of the right to feel his guiding hand, embrace him and love him, was a crime that burned a hole in him.
"Can you see him too?" She asked.
"Yeah," he choked, "He's my little brother..." He didn't have time to dispell the cavalcade of images that spilled before him. The imp with reddish hair and his mother's mischievous eyes who tagged along after him everywhere. The mouth that never stopped chattering, not even at night when they were in bed. The prankster who's tricks were well planned and who was never caught. The proud brother who was the first to greet him as he ran off the football field. He blinked away tears then, still hearing Max's bragging to his friends. '....you just wait and see, my brother Ryan's gonna win the Superbowl one day!" The gifted writer whose words brought awards from around the world, and whose smile and charm won the heart of the fairest maiden in the land. The laughter that died forever, in an orange ball of fire on a deserted road. "I miss you, Max... I'm sorry." he choked, eyes burning.
She opened her eyes then, hearing the strange sound in her ear. She saw such pain in the blue eyes of her beloved uncle and it mad her sad. She lifted both hands up, turning his grief-stricken face and lifted her own up, kissing his cheek. "That's okay, Uncle Wyun, he can be your special angel too, okay?"
"Okay," he rasped, brushing his burning eyes and swallowing hard. "He loved you very much, Grace." He kissed the damp black curls and sighed, "He said the day you were born, he heard the angels sing."
"Do you hear them?"
"Every time you smile, Sweetheart!" He choked, hugging her tightly and standing. "I love you, Buttons."
"I love you too," she hugged him hard, pressing her tiny face into his neck. "Don't be sad, Uncle Wyun," she whispered in his ear. "It makes my insides hurt an awful lot." She yawned sleepily, patting his face tenderly and sighing as she rested her head on his shoulder.
"God," he choked, wondering how is was possible to love someone this much. Then he saw Caitlin in the doorway, tears running down her face. One look told him, she'd heard every word. He paused in the doorway, using his thumb to take her salty gift away and stroked her cheek. He inhaled sharply, when she captured his hand, kissing the palm and nuzzling her face there.
"Where the devil are ye, Lad? I'm not gettin' any younger!'
Seamus' crusty voice broke the tender moment, giving both a nervous chuckle. He moved past her to the room next, where the tall man waited. His face softened and he lifted his arms, when the gift was bestowed there. He sat in the old rocker, using his long legs to move it to and fro. "Ah... there's me jewel!" he boasted, cradling his beloved great-granddaughter. "Shall we have a wee song then, Lass?"
"Uh-huh," she yawned, her tired eyes closing. The safe haven found in the strong arms and the steady motion of the rocker allowed her to sleep. "The one about the whiskey..."
"What was that?" Ryan paused in the doorway, narrowing his eyes.
"Tis a slip o'the tongue!" Seamus countered, rocking faster, "The poor wee thing is all worn out... go on... yer on me time now...be gone with ye..." He hummed the Irish Lullaby, until the door closed. "Ye watch yer tongue, Lass, ye'll get us both in trouble!"
"I'm sorry Poppy!" She yawned, kissed the cranky cheek and smiled sleepily. "all better?"
"Ah, yer a wonder, me own precious jewel," he cooed, using his smooth voice to sing Toorah Loorah Lorrah. "That's it, Lamb, close yer eyes so the angels can sprinkle their dream dust."
"...dream... dush... st..." she slurred, already sleeping. "...love you Poppy..."
"Aye..." he nodded, "I love you too, Lamb"
They stood awkwardly in the hall, neither sure of what to do. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and let all the words that were stuck for all these years, deep in his chest, spring forth. She wanted those strong arms to hold her forever. Now, seeing the handsome man whose blue eyes were full of pain, she wondered how could she have been so blind. She made the first move, walking slowly to the brooding male. She lifted her arms and pulled his face down, kissing him slowly, gently suckling on his lower lip. She heard him groan and felt him crush her to his body then. The kiss grew stronger, deeper and she melted in his arms.
"I'm sorry, Cait... I've been such a fool!"
"Tell me again... how much..." she murmured, nipping his neck, before a group of fingers moved through her hair, tugging her head back. She sighed, her whole core shaken, when he kissed each closed eye lid and each cheek, before capturing her lips and claiming her forever. Breathless, they leaned against each other, fingers entwining. "Buck's downstairs... Chris is missing..."
"Oh God," he sagged, "This is an endless nightmare. Trent?"
"I don't know... he's waiting." She led him to the stairwell.
Something roused him from the cold, dark abyss he was floating in. A sharp cry brought his eyes open. A blinding light stabbed him mercilessly, causing him to curl up in pain. His concussed head was splitting wide open. Confusion rained over him. Where was he? What happened? Why was he half naked and cold? Another strangulated cry shot through him, causing his eye to open as the razor sharp talons of reality stabbed his chest. Vin was in trouble.
"Vin!" he screamed, watching an ugly man using his silver hand to hold his best friend up by the hair. The real hand lashed out, splitting the semi-conscious sniper's lip. "Leave him alone you sideshow freak!" he screamed. "You want a fight? How 'bout it?" he gestered, rising up on unsteady legs and making no attempt to quell the rage he felt inside. Silver hand... metal man... this was the murdering bastard who killed Sara and Adam. A beast who now held that which he valued most, in the grips of the metal claw. He eyed the other man's crotch and sneered, drawing his damp blond head back. "I bet that's man made too, huh? You don't have the balls to fight a real man. Picking on women and children and the helpless or unconscious is about all you can handle. Hell, you probably never had a real woman... you got a metal girl friend tucked away, or one of those inflatable kinds... or maybe that fuckin' claw is the only snatch you ever catch!"
His pale green eyes shone then and his lips curled up, as Vin was dropped and forgotten. He was out of harm's way. Fowler launched himself. Again, the leader thanked his father for forcing him to take and master the martial arts. With three swift moves, he had the guard down, hugging the stench of the prison floor. He dropped to Vin's side, tapping the cold fae. "Come on Vin...wake up." The slight body moved away, curling up and trying to hide. "Shit!" he swore, crawling back to check for a weapon. The other man had none. He tucked Vin onto his shoulder and stood up, nudging the door open. The outer room was bathed in inky blackness. He couldn't even see his own hand in front of him. His journey ended in three steps. Something long and hard, a wooden club of sorts, hit his midsection hard, taking his breath away. The next blow came to the back of his knees, sending him to the floor. Vin was dead weight on top of him. He gasped for breath, desperate to find air. A gag was shoved deep in his throat . He heard voices briefly before his hands were tied behind his back. He struck out with his legs, despite the blows that came down. He felt an iron manacle grip each ankle and bit the gag in frustration. Finally, a light was cast on, he blinked and turned, watching Trent string Vin up like a puppet.
Both arms were tied by rough cord, causing caustic reaction on the already raw wrists. Two sharp turns of a crank on the wall, brought the Texan's arms above his head and moved his prone body to his knees. Vin moaned and blinked, as the pain bit hard. The long hair was pulled back and tied, allowing access to the marred, dirty face. Through the hazy cloud of pain and confusion, he saw Chris on floor. He was tied up and gagged, his face bruised and his eyes hot with rage. They came back then, the one with the metal hand and the other one, with the wicked smile. Something bitter was sprayed in his face, causing him to instantely awaken. "...the hell away... stinks..."
"Ah, Mister Tanner, welcome back," Trent said, walking in front of the dazed man. "It would appear we each have something the other wants. I need a certain book that you can provide and you need your friend Larabee back alive. So, I'll make it simple. You tell me where Isabella's journal is and I'll be merciful."
Vin lifted his face and frowned. "What journal? I don't know what yer..."
"Tsk tsk..." Trent nodded turning sideways before unleashing a brutal punch to the victim's right cheek. The brass enhancement on his knuckles added damage. A cut opened under the Texan's eyebrow, spilling crimson over the rapidly swelling eye. He laughed as Chris Larabee strained against the bonds that held him. "Shall we try again. Where is the book?"
"What... book..." Vin gasped, before the fist caught his lip, chin and jaw. More blood flowed.
"Again?" Trent hissed, nodding as Fowler used a rubber hose, smacking the tender area above the tied man's waist. He smiled again as Tanner's screams of pain, caused the irate blond to bellow under his gag. "Feeling left out?" He turned, squatted and used his brass knuckles hard against Larabee's chest. Standing, he turned back to the marred man. Blood covered most of Tanner's face, which was rapidly swelling and bruising. He walked over and turned the crank, lifting the coughing man several feet off the floor. "Where is it?"
"Fuck... yer... murderin' ass t'hell!" Vin lashed out, too tired to care.
"Foolish boy!" Trent spat out, "You and your friends have ruined my plans." He thought of his broken hopes of marrying the soon-to-be wealthy widow and inheriting all that lovely money. "However, all is not lost. I must have that book to insure noone every sees it," he noted. Plan B was now in effect. With the book gone, Cait had no proof and he could proceed with his multi-million dollar lawsuit against his late father, Louis Moreau. "I'll have that book and however much of your worthless skin and broken bones that it takes!" He clenched, nodding to his partner. Fowler used the rubber hose several times, visciously beating the lower back and soles of the prisoner's feet. He turned back to Larabee then, who was foaming over his gag like a rapid dog. "You have a short temper, Mister Larabee. I think you and Barney will get along quite well." That caused the frantic motion of the helpless spectator to halt. "Curious?" He squatted down, gripping the wet blond hair and yanking the head up. He flipped a knife from his belt , teasing the soft part of the very exposed throat. He left a long red line, feeling the body twitch as blade met flesh. "You'll have the chance to meet Barney later," he flicked the knife again, taking pleasure in the muffled cry of pain as a cut formed on the lean man's ribcage.
Chris winced as his sweat ran into the new cuts, biting him painfully. He watched as Trent walked to a table and selected an all too familiar object. He shook his head in denial, as the leering brute approached his dazed, bloodied friend.
"Wake up!" Trent whispered, shoving the cattle prod down the front of the bound victim's loose pants. He laughed again as Tanner screamed and his whole body went rigid as the electrical charge seared his tender flesh. The twin scream emerging from the blond on the floor, caused him more delight. "Good, now that I have your attention," he put a mesh glove on, covered with sharp edges. He slapped the naked chest and neck of the prisoner, repeating the question. The small metal edges brought tiny beads of blood to the surface. The sky eyes were wide in pain and every chord on his neck was straining. "Where is it?"
"..here..." Vin mumbled, spitting a large mouthful of blood in Trent's face. "...eat... shit... and... die..."
Trent turned back then, as Larabee snickered under his gag. "Very well... it looks like Barney will be having a late snack." He kept his cold eyes on Chris Larabee's hot ones, as he grabbed Tanner visciously between the legs, squeezing hard. "Texas prime... Fowler... get him ready!"
Chris's heart began to pound when Vin was cut free. He was no longer moving and that worried him. His hands were tied behind his back and his legs placed in strange leather cuffs with hooks. Both men lifted Vin, hooking his legs to a chain. His heart nearly stopped, when in one swift motion a motor sounded and Vin was hoisted and turned upside down inside a oval metal cage. Only his head and shoulders were visible. His muffled cries of rage brought Trent over.
"Not to worry, you have an important part in the show." He unlocked the manacles and kicked the struggling man hard between the legs, paralyzing him. "Fowler."
Through the multitude of stars and slashes of color that danced before his eyes, Chris felt himself being dragged across the rough stone floor. The air got damp and cool and he smelled the river close by, as they moved through a tunnel. His eyes jerked open as the motor sounded again, taking the caged Vin over the murky water.
"Mister Tanner?" Trent shouted, watching the lithe body struggling upside down inside the narrow metal barred cage. "Can you hear me?"
Hear him? Vin frowned, nearly choking on the horrid stench of the foul-water just inches below his face. He was hanging upside down in a metal cage, trussed up like a turkey. He turned his head only inches, spotting Chris's horrified face. He nodded, indicating he could hear.
"Good, you're awake. I want you to think carefully about my question. Take a deep breath now, Barney is anxious to meet you. He does so love the taste of blood..."
Chris growled and tried to move his still crippled legs, then he froze when 'Barney' arrived. His heart clenched, his chest tightened and his eyes bulged. He screamed against the gag so hard, he dislodged it. "Nooooo...." he hollered hoarsly. "You fuckin' bastard, I'm gonna baste your balls and fuckin' skewer you up the ass and out your mouth."
Few men knew Chris Larabee as well as Vin Tanner did. It was the fear he alone heard crystal clear in the sharp edict, that caused him to panic. He saw Trent's fist fly out, sending Chris back hard against the tunnel wall. Time seemed to be suspended, for a brief moment. He locked eyes with his best friend, just before he gulped air and saw the massive alligator slide into the water as his upper body was shoved underneath the beast's pool.
"Noooo!" Chris Larabee's screams of horror mixed with Trent's evil laughter and Fowler's mad dance, as Barney's tail slapped the water, propelling the body towards 'fresh meat'.
"Dammit to hell, Novelli, that ain't good enough!"
Josiah flinched and moved his large body in front of the raging, wall of muscle known as Wilmington. He paused for a few seconds, choosing his words carefully. Nobody hurt deeper than Buck when one of his brother's were hurting. When it was Chris Larabee, it was well into the danger zone.
"Easy, Brother," he soothed, resting a hand on the tense shoulder. "You know he's right, Buck."
"I'll tell you what I know," the enraged man turned, fists clenched. He pointed a finger at the screen, showing the gray images. It was taken from the surveillance cameras in the parking level in the garage of the hospital. "That bastard kidnapped Chris, I don't care what you say. He's up to his balls in this shit and he knows where Vin is and I'm gonna find out what else he knows."
"You're gonna cool that hot head of yours and stay clear of a police investigation. You got that?" Captain Dominick Novelli moved to confront the frustrated federal agent. "I know how bad you want this hump, but you go charging in there and you're signing their death order. That badge of yours is real impressive, but it's not a NOPD," He noted of his police force, "You're a civilian, stay that way."
"He's right, Buck," Standish noted, feeling every bit of the other man's pain. "Whatever Bates did to Chris, it worked. He's walking next to him of his own accord and climbs into that car without being forced. At no time did the mysterious man use a gun or any other object of force. "
"I got eyes, Ezra!" the rogue growled, slamming his fist into the wall. "If I only would have seen him inside..."
"So that's what this is?" Novelli shoved his face in front of the downcast younger man's. He bounced his index finger off the other's chest. "Get your head outta your ass, Son, your friends need you. This isn't your fault, so stop the fuckin' self pity."
Josiah and Ezra exchanged a sharp look, then saw Buck's head lift, as a sigh escaped. The dark head nodded and he turned back towards those gathered in the room. Cait and Ryan were sitting close, the pretty woman's head on the other's shoulder. Josiah and Ezra were behind Novelli, each wearing a pained look. The old man was at the head of the table, his eyes bright blue with hostility.
"I'm sorry," he sighed, rubbed his neck and kicked the wall. "Okay, what's our next move."
"I got the Sauville House under surveillance, and Trent's place as well. I got APB's out on both of them. Until six a.m. tomorrow, I can't classify Tanner as missing," he saw the quartet of younger men exchanging looks. "No, I don't need the four fuckin' Hardy boys runnin' around my city. You let me handle this. I'm gonna bring Trent in to question him, I'll let you sit in, but that's as far as it goes. Tomorrow, if Tanner doesn't show up, the F.B.I's got jurisdiction, missing federal agent's motivate them. I'll be in touch. I'm sorry," He paused, catching the anguished man's eyes, "I know that bastard's guilty as hell, but I got no proof ... yet."
"Okay, Captain, thanks, we'll be in touch." Josiah nodded as the other one left. He turned back, eyeing the others. "Okay, he has to surface eventually, and we'll be there."
"Most likely he's hidden our companions in a remote area, not far from the city." the Southerner noted, "It stands to reason, he could move freely, without being seen. Yet, be close enough to maintain appearance. Does he have real estate in the area?"
"No, just an apartment in town." Josiah recalled of the profile. "Let's see if the folks at the hotel who know Bates, can help." He nodded to Erza, "Where you two going to be?" His smokey eyes rested on Buck and then slid to Ryan McKenna.
"I got regulars who know this area and that animal," the handsome ex-NFL star assessed, feeling Cait's small hand in his own under the table. "He's got 'snitches' he uses and I know where they hang out."
"Let's go," Buck moved, only to meet a six foot plus wall of resistance.
"Whoa!" Josiah shook his head, "You're not carrying a badge, Ryan and Buck you're already skating on thin ice with Novelli."
"Well now the last time I checked," Wilmington tugged his jacket on, "This was a free country and I can go where I damn well please. If I should happen to meet someone who is easily persuaded into discussing that bastard, that's just a lucky coincidence."
For several seconds, neither man gave an inch, until the grayhead of Sancheze shook. "Be careful, Buck," He slide a sideways glance to Ryan, who was talking to his grandfather. "He's all that old man's got, don't do something, stupid."
"Yeah," Buck nodded, heading outside into the cold winter day.
Despite the blood that ran from the cuts on his torso and the throbbing aftereffects of his concussion, the blond knew the roar in his ears was not due to his injuries. His tormented eyes watched the 12 foot long reptile approach the area where Vin Tanner was submerged upside down to his shoulders. His heart was pounding so hard, it felt like a heart attack. He was sweating profusely, the salt laced flow mingled freely with the blood on his body, causing tiny stings. His throat was dry and his muscles ached from straining against the ropes that held him back. Carrying a badge, you prepare yourself for losing a comrade in the line of duty. Nothing prepares you for the slashing of razors in your gut, as you watch your best friend be eaten alive by a prehistoric reptile. He had to think fast; Vin had only seconds to live. Casting his eyes sideways and watching the almost orgasmic glow on Trent's face, he felt his blood churn and boil. Then he began to laugh.
Trent's brows furrowed and he turned, watching his blond captive carefully. The bound, bleeding victim was laughing and the batterred face looked right at him. Confused, he signaled Fowler.
"Get him up," he commanded.
The burning pain in his lungs finally gave way, his breath ran out. Vin sucked in foul water and through stinging eyes, saw the short stubby feet of the animal peddling furiously. He jerked and twitched, the water was filling his lungs. Just as he felt the hand of the grim reaper, he was yanked upright. As air hit his face, he tossed back the part of the murky water he'd consumed. Being suspended by his feet, the blood rushed to his head, making him very dizzy and disoriented. The bitter bile continued to spew, runnig into his nose and eyes. Through blurry slits, he saw Chris's face and relaxed.
It took all of Chris Larabee's strength not to sigh audibly in relief. Continuing his game, he laughed sarcastically, his eyes not missing the vomit and water coming from Vin's mouth. The Texan was gagging, his rolling eyes were confused.
"You fucked up good," the ATF leader rasped, working the ropes that bound him. His left hand was nearly free. The sweat on his wrists, coupled with the hasty job done tying him and the sharp rocks behind him, all added to his drama. While Fowler and Trent were watching the water, Chris's keen eyed didn't miss the narrow tunnel. Undoubtedly, it was how the beast was brought in. He also noted the cage, the metal rim barely visible under the water. Trent wanted it to appear that the animal was free, but he wasn't. There was enough clearance to get over that wire and swim through the dark tunnel through the moat. That, however, was a lot of 'if's. First, he had to get them to release Vin from his upside down suspension.
"I'm sure Mister Fowler is as curious as I am as to what humor you find in this situation." Trent squatted down, grabbing the short blond hair and tugging the head back painfully. He pressed the blade of a knife against the pink skin. "Well?"
"Cut him loose," he choked, his eyes shooting to where the sharpshooter hung limply. "I'll give you what you want."
"I don't think so," the captor denied, "Do you think I'm a fool?"
"Think..." Chris grunted, "...fool ... no ... you're a fuckin' lunatic with a whore for a mother." He hissed when the knife bit the tender flesh above his collarbone. "Go ahead, do it!" He snarled, glariing openly. "You'll never see Isabella's journals." The dark eyes narrowed and he continued to work his ropes. "He don't know what the hell's going on." he noted of Tanner. "I'm the one she contacted, I know where it's buried in that maze." He coughed, watched Vin struggling and continued. "I know about Max McKenna's notes ... he found that book and I know where."
"You play a dangerous game, Mister Larabee," Trent stood and eyed the semiconscious captive, moaning and sputtering. "But I'm a fair man," he stroked his chin, "Cut him down," he ordered Fowler.
Vin's quivering, moisture filled lungs sucked in air and he hissed painfully as his hair was yanked up. His weak body tried to fight, but the effort was too much. As his legs hit the damp ground, the black curtain fell and he went limp.
Chris's wheels were spinning, as his ropes broke. Fowler's hand snaked through the bars of the cage, and pressed a button. The cage popped open and the metal hand yanked the semiconscious prisoner halfway up. His other hand pushed another button, releasing the leather cuffs that bound his ankles. With a dull thud, his legs hit the cave floor. His wet head lolled on his chest, soft moans forced their way through his marred lips.
"Tanner has just become expendable, dispose of him," He turned his back, nodding to Fowler.
"Get that fuckin' metal hand off of him," Chris warned, noting that the gleam in Fowler's eye matched the one on his wrist.
"I'm not playing games, Larabee!" the irate detective growled, watching Fowler. Holding Tanner in a kneeling position by his hair, the metal hand clamped on the tracker's throat and began to squeeze.
Somewhere from far beneath where he'd fallen, urgency forced his eyes open. Air, or the lack thereof, forced him to rouse painfully. Like an airborne fish, his mouth worked, seeking oxygen. His eyes shot wide and he moved his body feebly. The pain intensified, sending blood from his swollen lips.
"You can't win," Chris panted, his rage far beyond the boiling point. Lethal green eyes burned a hole in the dirty cop's face. "You kill him, you'll never see that book."
"You showed you hand too early," Trent replied, "I have sodium penathol with me, which I had intended to use on Tanner. I'll find how just what you know." Turning to Fowler, "It's dinner time, feed our guest. We have work to do."
With a sadistic gleam in his eye, the torturer lifted the dying man and slammed him hard into the wall. More blood poured out, as he tossed the now unconscious man into the water.
"No!" Chris jumped up, throwing his body visciously into Trent. The large detective was caught off balance and went face first into the moat. He dove over the sputtering warden, who was trying to escape the hungry alligator. "Vin! Vin!" He grabbed a handful of brown curls and then snaked his arm around his friend's neck. He turned him over, slapped him as hard as he could, until two blue cracks appeared. "Wake up!"
"Get me out of here!" Trent bellowed, his feet slipping on the slick mud under the water. Fowler left the pair of captives, running to the other side of the cave pool and dropping on his knees. From the corner of his eye, he saw the pair escaping. "Shoot, you fool, they're getting away!"
The echo of the command bounced off every wall in the dank cavern. Chris didn't have time to inquire on his young friend's state. "Breathe!" he hollered, shoving the stuperous man out of harm's way. The first shot buzzed his his ear, giving him no option. He sucked in a breath and went under, taking Vin with him. He grimaced and swore under the dark water, as the tearing pain in his arm told him he'd been hit.
Chris propelled them both towards where he saw the waterway narrow. Finally, with his lungs burning, he brought his head up. Peering into the darkness, he saw Fowler struggling to get Trent. Then, when it was safe, he brought Vin's head up. The sputtering sound and weak body fighting him, gave him a release. "Vin you with me?" He saw the mouth work and the eyes full of pain. Seeing the image of the metal hand on the other man's throat, he feared a crushed larynx. "Can you breathe okay?" The head dropped down and he slapped the face again. "Answer me!" The eyes jerked open and nodded apologetically. "Get a good breath," he whispered, using his left hand to manuever them and holding Tanner to his chest with his right. His eyes never left the animal, not deciding who to eat for dinner. Fowler had Trent half out of the water, when the other man's feet slipped and he fell back down. That bought them some time. The cave pool was narrowing and it was dark, hard to see. He saw the fenceline approaching and in one motion, hollering instructions and hoisted the semiconscious body over the top. "Deep breath, Vin, now!"
Vin winced as the sharp edges of the fenceline ripped the skin his back as he went over. He inhaled water and his leaden limbs flopped spasmatically, as his brain surged into action. He pushed his head up, grabbed the air for a body, Chris's body. Chris? Chris? He tried to speak, but that only brought burning pain to his throat. The noises came out like muted squeaks, his fingers found the fenceline and he pulled his head up, until his nose was above the water line. His eyes widened in fright, when he saw his best friend face to face with the beast.
Chris was pulling himself up and over the fenceline, in the dark, when he felt the tail of the animal hit his back hard. Pain shot through his entire system, rendering him immobile for several seconds. He turned, just as the gator did. The two advesaries faced each other down, their faces separated by only a scant couple of feet. He didn't have time to turn around, to see where Vin was. He hoped his best friend had the strength to pull himself free. His chest heaved, his eyes never left he beast's, which moved closer. Then the sharp leader's mind snapped into action. He grabbed the head of the reptile under the snout and twisted the body around. Every muscle in his own body screamed in agony, his face was screwed up as he utilized every bit of strength he had, to maintain his hold. Once he was sure the animal was unconscious, he released it, quickly hoisting himself over the jagged fence. He sent a mental thanks to Billy Tremain, his college roomate, who was from the Everglades. For two summers, he worked with the Tremain's whose family business delved into swamp tours and gator wrestling.
"Jesus!" He exclaimed, grabbing both sides of the startled Texan's face. It was swollen, mostly blue and purple, one eye was nearly puffed shut, but the shock was there. "You scared the hell out of me." He saw the look of incredulation and the an old spark of cranky Tannerness, when the marred lips opened and a smattering of angry squeaks snuck out. The blue eye that was visible, was angry and indignant. A wavering hand shot out of the water, pointing to the floating gator. "Hell, you had a front row seat," he teased of the cause of the irate fuss, ruffling the wet curls.. "Most folks pay top dollar for a show like that. Come on, we gotta get outta here before they catch us. I don't know where this goes or how deep it is ... can you swim?" He'd been flexing his wounded left arm under the water, not wishing the younger man to notice.
Vin nodded, despite the fact Chris's voice was getting farther away. He knew Chris would be close by, so he never hesitated. The cavern was dark, murky and cold. He was shivering so bad, his bones were jumping. He could hear water splashing and tried to keep up, but his weakened body was no match. He tried to call out, but had no voice. He balled his fist up, swinging wide and striking flesh, before he sank below.
"Vin?" Chris shouted into the darkness. "Shit ... Vin!" He backpedalled and went underneath, his arms hitting something soft. He tugged Vin upwards and above the waterline. Tucking the unconscious man under his throbbing left arm and close to his shoulder, he fought on alone. Finally the water grew shallow, the underground cavern split into two sections. He knelt in the shallow pool, with water lapping at his thigh. His hot lungs screamed in protest at every breath taken. Vin's limp body was pressed to his left side. Every muscle in his taut body ached. His head was splitting in half and he was very dizzy and felt sick. He had to make a decision and opted for the right side. Finally, he was on mud and felt air coming from ahead somewhere. He lugged the dead weight of Tanner onto the bank and laid him down.
In the near darkness, he lowered his face over Vin's nose and tugged his mouth open. "Shit..." He rolled the slack body sideways and clapped on his back. "Breathe, Goddammit!" He rolled him back and checked again. Nothing. Tilting the wet head back, he pinched the nostils off and began CPR. After every two good breaths, he stopped and then began a chest massage. "Come on ... " he gasped, nearly passing out himself. Twice more he did the breath of life and massage, then as he pressed his lips a third time, he felt the body beneath him convulse. He pulled up, flipped the younger man over his arm and waited until the water and vomit stopped. Coughing ensued and he felt Vin shivering in a combination of fear, shock and cold. "Easy, Cowboy, I gotcha," he soothed, gripping the back of he damp neck. He eased him upright and moved in front, squinting in the shadows. He saw the eyes, muddled and mixed, but half-pen. More importantly, the chest was rising and falling on it's own. "You okay, now? Vin, can you hear me?"
"Uh... uh ... ris ... hap ... e ... r..." Vin squeaked, blinking in the dark. He felt sick, his head hurt and his chest hurt. His throat was sore and it hurt to breath. He had deathgrip on Larabee's belt loop and didn't let go.
"Don't talk, we'll rest a minute and then ... we'll ... find..."
" ...is ... isss...." Vin hissed painfully, frightened when the voice died out. His fumbling, numb arms found a chest and snaked upwards. He moaned in relief when he felt the other man breathing good. He tugged him closer, freezing in the chilly damp atmosphere. He had no idea where they were, but he'd keep the blond safe. He wrapped his arms around Chris, lugging him backwards. When his own back pressed to a cold, hard cave wall, he increased his hold, feeling the wet hair hit below his chin. Twice his head bobbed and he jerked himself awake, fearing Trent, Fowler or another alligator. But the pain, dizziness and lack of food was wearing on the injured man; he surrendered to the darkness, maintaining his grip.
The evening came, sashaying her hips seductively for her hungry entourage. New Orleans, the city that never sleeps, whose beat pulses like no other was splayed at his feet. But he had no appetite and gently shoved the beguiling arms of the city away.
"...longest damn day of my life..." he murmured, eyeing the colorful throngs of partygoers filling the crowded streets of the French Quarter. "Hell, it' ain't even a day..." he shook his head at the flight he'd arrived on fifteen hours prior. He eyed the profiled of the driver and thought on Josiah's words. "Listen, Ryan, you don't have to do this..."
"The hell I don't!" the hot Irishman furied, "That son-of-a-bitch murdered my brother, that gives a damn good reason ... and Cait..." he lips pressed together. "Everytime I think of him pawing her ... Shit!"
For a few moments, they drove in silence, down to Canal Street. Modern, five-star hotels graced the avenue, but on the side streets, a darker clientele existed. Buck was glad he had a native showing him around. It was easy in a city like this for a stranger to get lost ... permantely.
"There it is," he pulled his car in front on a dark, seedy bar with a red neon sign blazing in front. Hot Cats screamed at him in live color, along with the profile of two full figured women. Buck slid from the car and immediately felt the unseen eyes of the dark side of the city peering at him. From high above in small, bug infested flats to the alleys and the streetposts, they lingered on the stranger. People in this city were very leery of those not family. He stayed close to Ryan as the tall man ducked nodded to the beefy trio out front and they were granted entry. It took Buck a few moments to adjust to the light, or lack thereof. A scattering of patrons sat at small, round tables, nursing warm beers, with shots of whiskey and old memories. On the stage, two painted women, with bare chests and tired eyes, danced with boas. A shapely waitress, her skin dark and here eyes inviting, moved slowly towards the pair. One hand was on her hip, the other went to McKenna's neck, pulling him in for a kiss.
"Where y'at, Sugah?" She cooed, "I miss yuh..." She stroked his face and undressed the man next to him with one long glance, "Um- um, ya hungry, Cher? Lola's got what yuh need..." she rubbed her hands over her gaping blouse and saw the mustached man blush.
"Sorry, Darlin'," Wilmington smiled apologetically, "on any other night..."
"Lola, is Carl working tonight?" Ryan asked, pressing a twenty into her cleavage.
"He is ... yuh stayin'? I got an old bottle and a warm bed..."
"Not tonight, Lola," Ryan sighed, gave her shoulder a squeeze and moved past. He nodded to the bartender, a man his own age, about six foot and stocky, with reddish hair and a beard. "Carl," he nodded, "I need some information." He paused when the barkeep's eyes narrowed, going to the man on his left. The large hand paused, cloth wrapping around a dry beer mug. "I'm talking to you, Wilkins, get your eyes over here!" When the gaze met his own, he continued, "We go back a long way, to High School. I set you up in this place, when you couldn't get work anywhere else. You owe me ... Is Snake Parker around?"
"He's in the back with one of the girls..." the bearded man replied and saw the blue eyes smoldering. "We're you gonna be?"
"My usual..." McKenna replied, "and Carl ... keep your mouth shut."
Buck followed Ryan to a dark corner in the back. Before they even got settled, another waitress, appeared and set down a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.
"Good to see you, Stud," she said with a tired smile. "It's been awhile."
"You look good, Trish," he lied, she was using again, the tell tale signs were evident. But she had a good heart and they'd ridden through a lot of dark nights together. He saw Carl reappear and gave a nod.
"You're still a bad liar, McKenna," she smiled and gave his hand a pat, "but thanks for that, I got some good memories. You take care, here?"
"Yeah," he nodded as she left. "After Max died, I spent a lot of time ... years ... running from myself. I look at this now and thank God that Old Man saved my ass."
"He's quite a character," Buck agreed of Seamus McKenna.
"He's the reason, I'm breathing," the dark-haired Irishman paused, sipping his whiskey. "I do anything for that Old Man."
"Yeah," Buck smiled, seeing just how much Ryan loved his grandfather. "This uh ... Snake ... how's he fit into the picture?"
"My best friend, Calvin Johnson, runs a program here, for juvie's," he noted of young offenders. "He was a kid from the streets, ran with gangs, he knows the score..."
"Calvin Johnson," Buck poured another shot, "The Calvin Johnson?"
"Yeah, we played together, roomed together, he's seen me through alot," McKenna continued, "they listen to him, they respect him, he's changed a lot kids lives. Gets them interested in school and sports, keep them in class and off the street. Anyhow, he's been asking quietly about Trent, whose busted a few of the kids. Several of them mentioned that he uses Snake, pays him well for information."
"What makes you think he'll even talk to us?" Wilmington asked.
"He had a falling out with Trent," the other replied, nodding to another waitress who blew a kiss. "From what Cal told me, Parker gave Trent good info on a big drug deal. In exchange, he was supposed to get a cut of the action. Trent's busts have a history of coming up short..."
"...and..."
"...and Parker got picked up for dealing. He called Trent to bail him out and he turned him out cold. Parker did time and he's pissed."
"Nice," Buck winced, eyeing the tatooed body approaching. The man was about twenty-five, short hair cut like Caesar, with a goatee. Dark, skinny shades covered his eyes. He wore a sleeveless black leather vest over worn jeans. He paused by the table, eyeing the two men and extending his palm.
"Save your breath, Pal, only person crossin' my palm is your buddy Ben Franklin," Snake cut off the blue-eyed man.
"Half now, half after," Buck said, sliding two twenty dollar bills and a ten across the table.
The greasy head nodded and his fingers wiggled for the bottle. He took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his. "So ... whaddya need?"
"Trent's got a place he uses outside town, I need to know where..." McKenna inquired.
"Trent!" Parker's lips curled up in digust, " ... fucker used me and left me to rot in that stinkin' prison. " He paused and took another drink. "Before I went up the river," he noted of his recent jail term, " I heard him talkin' about a shack in the bayou ... off River Road. He used to brag about it ... a ruin in the middle nowhere ... some old pirate's hideout. He'd get what info he wanted from whoever he picked up and then dump them for gator food." He saw the mustached man's face pale and laughed. "Kiss it goodbye, Pal, whoever you're lookin' for is long gone. That place of his is like the fuckin' roach motel," he laughed again, "you know that commercial, they check in but they don't check out..."
"You got a big mouth, Loser, and a few too many teeth," Buck snarled, grabbing the wrist of the offender with lethal force. "You want to keep the three you got left, you better watch what you say."
"River Road? That goes clear up to Baton Rouge, you gotta do better than that!" Ryan pressed.
"It's not that far ... " Snake paused, "Hell, I ain't a fuckin' tour guide." He saw the twin pairs of blue eyes bearing down and the one with the mustache was pissed. "Uh ... about halfway ... maybe ... off the main road. I don't now, he only mentioned it once."
"Anybody else who might know?" Buck asked.
"Still alive? No. Is this tea party over?" Snake stood up, palm out, "Sweet cheeks is waitin' for me ... she likes it nasty and I'm in a foul mood." He nodded when the fifty dollar bill crossed his palm. "Nice doin' business with you."
"Well, what now?" Buck sighed, eager to get some fresh air.
"We do some homework. He said it was an 'old pirate's hideout'. If it's say, off River Road within maybe fifty miles of town, they're might be a record of it." He stood, leading the way to the door. "I know somebody who knows the history of this whole area. I'm sure she'd help..."
"She?" Buck snapped his seat belt on.
"Caitlin," He pulled the car out, "She majored in history in college."
Buck watched the blur of colors pass by as locals and tourist mingled in drunken euphoria. Music crushed against the air, the spicy aroma of Creole seasonings wafted through the car and partiers held their glasses high, celebrating. He sighed heavily, seeing the ghost-like images of his two missing friends. Only a week before, they had been among the revelers saluting the night. Despite the new information, he heart was heavy. Would they be too late to save the missing pair? Were Chris and Vin still alive? A mental image of the cruel games that the depraved detective would play with them filled his head. He shuddered and pushed it away, leaving a bloody red spilalge. He closed his eyes and saw Vin's lopsided grin as he teased Chris, as only he could. Then he saw the Larabee smile, clear up to his pale eyes. His heart ached and his fists balled up. Whatever the outcome, Geoff Trent would pay dearly for making the biggest mistake of his sorry life.
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