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: The United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID) is real and located in Ft. Detrick in Frederick, MD. They do outstanding work. they are the leading lab for medical aspects of biological warfare defense and the medical countermeasures. They also travel extensively whenever an outbreak of a potentially contagious disease occurs and ramrod the efforts of containment. USAMRIID formulates strategies, information, procedures and training programs for medical defense against biological threats. they investigate any infectious disease outbreaks that require special containment. AMRIID is real, the army personnel listed within this story are fictional.
The gentle music that caressed his ears kept him in the comforting cocoon. The soft spray kissed his face like a graceful butterfly's wings. He inhaled deeply, the scent of the air was salty and combined with the breeze and the rhythmic tide, it left him in a hypnotic state. Gulls cried softly overhead and the rushing waves were stronger than a lullaby. He licked his dry lips and tasted sand and salt. Prying an eye open, he viewed the scene from an impossible angle. The foaming spray licked at his feet and rushed to his knees. Foam? Waves? Salt Air?
"Ocean..." he rasped, his dry throat protesting. He raised his head and regretted it immediately, as he was rewarded by a fierce pounding. His stomach rolled and he tried to catch his breath, totally confused by the presence of the alluring green sea.
"Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore..." he muttered, wincing and groping blindly with his left hand. His fingers touched fabric, then flesh. He jerked his head up and saw the open, unblinking gaze of a corpse, his throat slashed open.
"Shit!" he hissed, kneeling up and noticing the man wore a uniform and a badge. A nearby scream split the tranquil twilight sky and his head shot up. A group of middle-aged tourists and some teenagers were gawking at him. The roar of the ocean and the screaming pain in his head didn't quell the cries of horror from the onlookers. He blinked as a flashbulb caught him full face, blinding him for a few seconds. He raised his hand to shield his eyes and saw the bloody knife he held.
"Aw, fuck..." he dropped the knife and eyed the crowd again. They were on a boardwalk, raised above the sand. Several buildings dotted the landscape behind them and a pier jutted out in the distance to his right. It was lit up by a scheme of rainbow colored lights; a large ferris wheel and several other rides garishly assaulted his pained gaze. Where the hell was he? What happened? The roaring headache didn't supply any answers. A siren wailed in the distance and he quickly shook his head clear. He stood and staggered a few feet, attempting to seek aid. But before he could open his mouth, one of the now growing crowd shouted "Get the cops... that guy killed a cop... hurry!" Another flash of light jarred his aching eyes.
His legs took over and he fled under the safety of the network of pilings below the boardwalk. He knew not where he was going, only that it would be far away from the persecutors. He ran until his sweat-slicked skin stuck to his soaking wet clothes. He ran until his sides ached and his legs were rubberized. The pilings ended and the black night became his friend. He eyed a cluster of old, delapadated buildings, whose windows were covered with boards. He went past the first two and decided to enter the third. He managed to crawl up the steps to the second floor and over near the window. A board was unhinged and he pushed it aside.
He collapsed against the wall, raising his face long enough to see the distant lights of the ferris wheel. The whirling colors only aided his dizziness, creating a distorted kalidiscopic effect. Then the venomous fangs plunged into his burning brain, scaring a cry from his dry throat. The stifling room seem to shrink and he found it difficult to breathe. The darkness surrounded him, even the phantoms that lurked in the shadows scorned him. It was an agonizing pain, beyond the pounding jackhammers in his head and the throbbing ache all over his worn body. He clenched his fists and eyes, pushing against the wall of agony. Their faces haunted him; a grievous, horrid loss of two stellar federal agents... two good friends. Their presence seemed to surround him and his guilt drove them away. Exhaustion took over and the pain in his head reached a shrieking cresendo, sending his body through a black velvet void and onto the floor.
Soft folds of conversation fluttered around the two men. The quiet hum of the voices reflected the light and airy atmosphere in the large room. Cream walls were accented by pale pink and jade adornments and pictures. Large, flourishing plants displayed their leaves proudly from elaborate, ceramic planters. The tables were outfitted in crisp, pale pink linen cloths, bone china with delicate blossoms on the front and glistening crystal. A waitress bowed gracefully and left a new overladen plate, taking the empty one with her.
"Awful nice o'ya, Ma'am," the blue-eyed man drawled, giving the blushing girl his best smile.
"Hey, now," Buck Wilmington warned, kicking his partner under the table, "button up that killer smile, Slick, you're on duty."
"Pays t'advertise," Vin Tanner beamed, cocking an eyebrow at the older man. He tugged at his collar and made a face, scowling at his partner across the table. "Yer just lovin' the hell outta this..."
"Why can't you relax?" Buck chuckled, eyeing the squirming body, "You clean up real pretty." He winked at the sharpshooter, who was outfitted in a gray designer suit, white shirt and a gray and mauve tie.
"If I didn't know better," Vin scowled, tugging at the tie and wincing as Buck kicked him. "I'd swear Ezra did this on purpose," he noted of Wilmington's usual partner in crime. The two were highly successful when working as a duo undercover, but Standish was on vacation. The meet wasn't scheduled for two more weeks. Then a rumor circulated that the much-sought-after Asian Mob Lord was arriving from Beijing early. Vin was recruited to stick with Buck for this afternoon's detail.
"Quit playin' with that tie," Buck chastised, "You're supposed to be a successful businessman."
"Feel like I'm wearin' two sets o'skin..." the Texan muffled, stuffing another dumpling in his mouth, "... just don't set right."
"Yeah," Buck said with a straight face, "I can see how it's affecting your appetite. Jesus Vin, you're gonna put this place out of business."
"I'm a growing boy," Vin crowed, eyeing the dazzling display of oriental delicacies.
"You keep eatin' like that and your gonna grow right out of that shirt."
"Please... help... me... I'm dying... please..."
"Aw, hell Kid," Vin responded to the message that both he and Buck heard through their micro-sized earpiece. "...it ain't been but a few hours."
"Yeah," Buck agreed, plucking an eggroll, dumpling, a skewer of chicken, two stuffed shrimps and a bunch of chicken wings from the large tray. "You should be in here doing real work. This is life and death stuff." He winked at Vin, as both smiled, hearing the string of curses that the youngest spilled into the comm-link.
"Ya watch yer mouth, J.D.," Vin teased, "Hey Buck, did ya try these bitty chicken legs?"
"Delicious Vin," the other replied, his mind whirling, "Here, have the last jumbo shrimp wrapped in bacon, I insist."
"Nah, ya keep that one, Bucklin," Vin caught on, smirking. He could just imagine J.D.'s stomach growling. "I got plenty o'these mongolian steak pieces, egg rolls, dumplin's and a pile o'bitty critter legs."
"...bitty critter legs?" Josiah boomed, trying not to laugh at J.D. Dunne getting more furious with the antics of the two other men. He and the youngest were outside the gourmet Oriental restaurant. They were housed in the surveillance van, eating would-be hamburgers. Nathan was battling a stomach virus at home. The blond leader of the group, Chris Larabee had jury duty. The buy wasn't supposed to take place for three more days, which would mean both Chris and Nathan would be able to join them. This was preliminary stuff, staking out the best known gathering spot for Xun Chang and his contingent. The Asian mob lord was a major player in the international arms game. The F.B.I. heard from their overseas operative that Chang was looking to score big in the Denver market.
"Yeah, 'siah," Vin responded, picking one up and squinting. "Ain't quite sure what the hell it is... ain't as big as m'little finger."
"Frog's legs," Buck said somberly, then grinned broadly as Vin paled.
"Aw, hell..." Vin dropped the tiny morsel and glared at Buck. "Yer shittin' me!"
"You can clean him up but you can't take him out," Josiah winced at the tracker's colorful assessment.
"How's your lunch, Kid?" Buck inquired, craning his neck to see the van across the street. As if he knew he was being watched, the youngest flipped an irreverant salute to his best friend.
"Hah!" Vin rasped, shaking his head and taking another eggroll, "and ya say I need cleanin' up. That's real Ivy League." He saw Buck fidget and smiled. "Ya gotta go again? Damn yer worse than an old man."
"Shut up," Buck scowled, "I drank a lot of water."
"Go on," Vin nodded, "there ain't nuthing goin' on here."
Buck dropped his napkin and made his way to the men's room. He was washing his hands, when his beeper went off. He frowned and pulled it out, then his concern rose as he read the numbers. He exited the bathroom and quickly found the payphone in the corner.
Vin eyed his watch and nodded as the waitress removed the empty tray. She smiled at him, her delicate features were perfectly suited for the tiny face.
"Would you care for some dessert?"
"Whatcha got?"
"Pineapple, almond cookies, ice cream..."
"Ice Cream," Vin declared, pouring another cup of tea.
"Vanilla, Chocolate or Orange?"
"Yes, yes and yes." Vin grinned boyishly, giving her another deep blush. He sat up and drained a glass of water and watched her leave. "Vin, yer a handsome devil," he cooed, eyeing his reflection in the mirror on the adjoining wall. He straightened his tie and heard J.D. and Josiah laughing. "Somethin' funny?" he snarled.
"Aside from you talking to yourself and preening..." J.D. chuckled, "No... not much, Vin..."
"Jealous, Kid?" Vin egged, then his smile faded when he saw Buck's pale image reflected in the mirror. He whipped around and stared openly at the colorless face and hand gripping the railing on the small steps that led into the Dining Room. He covered the mic on the tie clip he wore and caught Buck's eye.
"What?" he mouthed, his face a mask of concern. "Aw, hell... Chris was in an accident... Ez..." he watched the head shaking negative. "Nate? Who then? Talk to me Buck..." he implored of the tall man who was now in front of him. His posture left his back to the surveillance van.
"Everything okay?" Josiah asked.
"Fine," Vin replied and covered the mic again. "What the hell is it?" he tugged on Buck's sleeve, not liking the solemn face at all.
"Frank... Frank..." Buck swallowed, still in shock.
"Sit down, before ya keel over," Vin ordered, but Buck shook his head. He handed Buck a full glass of water and saw his hand trembling as he took it. The motion sent the water onto the table, before Buck got the glass under control.
"Dammit Buck! What the hell happened?" Vin hissed, his eyes frantic. He gripped Wilmington's navy blue sleeve hard.
"Frank's dead," Buck said flatly, eyes dark and dull. "I can't believe it, Vin. He's gone... Jesus..."
"Aw, hell, Bucklin," Vin whispered, swallowing hard, "I'm sorry... he was a helluva guy," he noted of Buck's first partner. He broke in a very young Buck Wilmington, and they were partnered for six years, until Frank Delassi retired That was when Buck was assigned a new partner, a brooding blond named Larabee. But in the dozen years since, they'd grown very close. The Delassi's had no children and unless he was on assignment or in the hospital, Buck went to the Delassi's every Tuesday night for dinner. More often than not, he took J.D. or Vin with him; they all had been adopted by the gregarious couple. Vin knew how deeply Buck felt about the older man, who was like a father to him. "His heart?"
"No... he was murdered..." Buck rasped, the harsh pain increasing with every moment. His mind was numb and his senses dulled.
"What!" Vin hit the back of the booth hard, "How? When?"
"I don't know..." Buck stammered, running a shaking hand through his hair. "...all the details... the cop said they tortured him first... made her... watch... Fuck..." he choked, wiping his moist eyes. He'd taken his comm-link and mic off at the telephone and they were still in his trembling hand.
"Vin, something going on?" Josiah demanded, not liking Buck's back to his vision.
"No," Vin hissed, peeling his fingers off the mic, "...we're jus' talkin' 'bout the kichen and back door, in case we gotta run," he replied, then covered the mic again.
"...they uh... someone... a Detective Baker... beeped me..." Buck swallowed hard, taking a breath to settle his quaking nerves. "...she... Grace... couldn't... they found my numbers on the fridge... damn." He paused, covering his burning eyes with his shaking hand. He then took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. "They think it might be one of our old cases, someone looking to settle a score. They want me to come over..."
Vin saw how hard Buck was struggling and realized the older man would be no good to him in this state. He glanced at his watch and noted the approaching hour of three p.m., when their detail was ended.
"At the house?" Vin guessed and saw the dark head dip. "Go on... I got this."
"Chris'll shit a brick." Buck managed, thinking of how adament the leader was about the rules. Breaking cover was taboo and Buck hesistated, drawing his pained eyes at Vin. "I can't just leave you... what if..."
"Yer a liability, Buck," Vin insisted sharply, gripping Buck's arm, "Yer head ain't here. Our relief'll be here in fifteen minutes," He noted of the F.B.I. agents they were working with. "J.D. and Josiah are right outside. Ya look awful sick t'me," Vin eyed the rapid swallowing and gray complexion. "I'm thinkin' yer about t'heave, best get t'the bathroom..." he opened his palm and Buck dropped his equipment into the outstretched hand. Vin slid his free hand into his pocket and dropped his keys in Buck's palm.
Buck took the keys and blinked, before gripping Vin's hand. His strong grip was full, and his eyes reflected the heartfelt gratitude at what the young agent offered. He caught the emotive stare and nodded once, before retracing his steps. He walked past the bathrooms and out the side entrance of the large restaurant.
"Where's Buck going?" J.D. demanded.
"Bathroom."
J.D. and Josiah exchanged a curious glance at the sharp tone, not usually found in a Tanner voice. Josiah peered through the binoculars, through a swirl of snow and saw the waitress reappear, putting what appeared to be a mountain of ice cream before Vin.
"Holy Shit!" J.D. exclaimed. "Vin you dog... Vin?" J.D. cocked his head as the sharpshooter never made a move to lift a spoon. His arms were at his sides and his head bowed. "Is he praying over his ice cream?" J.D.'s voice rose and Josiah shrugged.
Vin watched the ice cream melt and thought of the last time he'd seen Frank. It was just two weeks ago. He and J.D. stopped over after their hockey game. Grace immediately plied food into them, clucking her tongue at Vin for being so thin. He smiled, recalling how the small things the couple shared said so much of their love. Her hand on his shoulder every time she passed him. His 'thank you, Cara Mia' after every meal and the little stolen kisses in the kitchen. How they took a walk every night and held hands. What a tragedy... he couldn't imagine how horrible Buck must feel.
His mouth suddenly became as dry as the desert and his glass was empty. He rose and walked over to the stand by the kitchen, where a large, icy pitcher of water stood. He lifted the pitcher and saw a blur of suits through the small glass window over the kitchen door. He bent lower and whispered into the mic.
"Josiah... Buck's sick... I need ya in here... Josiah?"
"What the hell?" Josiah pulled his headphones off and adjusted the balance. The burst of static caused him to jump. "Vin... copy?" He eyed the back of the gray suit, standing rigid by a group of plants.
A group of men in dark coats crossing through the entrance caused the eldest agent on the team to sit up straight. Josiah frowned and pushed the expensive goggles against his face. "What the hell's the matter with that boy? Where's Buck? Vin didn't see 'em yet." He pulled his mic up and hollered, "Vin! You got company... four jacks all packin'..."
"Vin, snap out of it!" J.D. barked, eyeing the quartet enter the restaurant.
"Damn!" Vin rasped, grabbing his ear at the loud static that bit it hard. He pulled the piece out and moved closer to the door.
"Buck!" J.D. shouted, "Buck, get out of the bathroom, Vin's got company. Buck?"
"Where the hell is Buck?" Josiah growled, pushing the buttons on the recorder of the expensive camera. It was tiny, but effective, hidden inside the plant by the kitchen doorway.
Vin put the pitcher down and turned, just as the kitchen door opened a bit. It was just enough for him to see who was in the back. "Shit!" he whispered. "Chang's here... it's going down... I..."
"Vin..." J.D. hissed, pulling off the headpiece as another burst of static erupted. "I can't hear him, Josiah. He must be near a transmitter or they're blocking it from the other side. BUCK! Buck, can you hear me?"
"Come on, J.D." Josiah tossed his equipment down and bolted, "We're outta time, call it in."
J.D. radioed for backup and then picked up his gun, before sliding from the seat. He squinted through the harsh sunlight and snow and paused for traffic. He held up his badge, halting the vehicles and followed Sanchez across the street.
Vin pulled out his gun and laid it against his hip. He shifted the plant and slid the camera out, hugging the wall with his lean body. He eased into the alcove and peered inside the door. He saw Chang and one of his men, talking to another well dressed man, with a trio of tough characters behind him. Vin couldn't be sure, but he thought it was Lee Danning, who ran most of the cocaine trade in southwest quandrant. Vin's brow furrowed, wondering what the two had cooked up. They were on the far side of the room, leaving a solo guard at the door. Vin slid his gun into his waistband and the camera into his pocket. He slipped through the door and was glad his blackbelt training was up to date. With a slip of his wrist to the other's neck, he incapacitated him. He lowered the man quietly to the floor and took his weapon. He placed the camera on top of the utility cart, where it would record all the action. He tossed the felon's gun and clip into a bowl of flour, as the door behind the enemy opened. Two burly guards carried a large crate up from the cellar. They waited for Chang to nod and set the box down, before popping the lid. Danning moved in and selected a rifle, taking several minutes to inspect it. The sample that Change provided at their first meet, across the Pacific, had passed every test. The Asian lord then nodded to Danning, who opened a smaller crate and moved away. Chang gave the signal, and his right hand man bent and tasted the white powder. After sampling, he nodded, and Chang shook hands with Danning.
"We have a deal, Mr. Danning. Your merchandise is ready. I trust you have made the proper transportation arrangements?" the Asian inquired.
Once Danning gave his consent, Vin eyed the doorway, waiting on backup. Where were they? The guards began to leave and Chang and Danning turned to follow. With a final glance, Vin had no choice and sprang into action.
"ATF Freeze!"
"Shit!" J.D. hollered, hearing Vin's call to arms. He raced through the dining room, "Get down, everybody on the floor," he ordered to the half dozen diners. The rapport of gunfire had the women screaming and the agents worried, as the sped through the room.
The world class sniper's catlike reflexes took over and he eliminated the three guards flanking Chang. Danning was trapped, knowing he had to get by Vin to escape. Chang pulled out a gun, which went flying, when Vin shot the mobster's hand.
"Get on the floor, before I blow yer balls off!" the irate agent hollered at the mobster, keeping himself well hidden. The graying import, began to babble in Chinese. Vin caught parts of it and bristled at the use of the word 'diplomat'. "Understand this ya maggot, ya ain't never seein' them rice pattie's ya like s'much again. Now hit the floor!" Vin fired again, shattering his kneecap. The motion sent the elderly millioniare down in a heap. Danning used that distraction to charge, hitting Vin hard in the side and sending his gun skittering across the tile floor.
The two men grabbled and Vin felt a flash of pain in his side. He poked both of Danning's eyes and then flipped him over. He straddled the struggling man from behind, yanking him up by the hair. He picked up the knife near Danning's hand and grit his teeth. His blue eyes were bulging and his teeth were clenched, when the felon eyed a gun nearby.
"Try it... I'd love t'make sushi outta ya..." Vin raged, pressing the blade against the man's throat hard enough to draw blood.
"Vin down!" a deep voice boomed and the younger agent dropped. He heard the bullet fly past and a groan. Turning, he spotted Chang's body prone against the wall. The older man was holding his shoulder.
"Thanks, Preacher." Vin nodded, "tough old bastard, I plugged 'im twice."
"You okay?" J.D. asked, motioning the wounded guards to move into the corner.
"Yeah Kid, I'm fine." Vin muttered, as two patrolman ran into the room.
"Dining out today, Danning?" one of the cops said, shaking his head.
"Tanner, ATF," Vin flipped out his badge. "Ya hold this piece o'garbage outside, 'til our backup gets here... thanks," he nodded and walked to stand by Josiah. "Damn..." he whistled.
"You read my mind," Josiah returned, eyeing the cache, "...millions on the street, easy. You're gonna be famous, Son."
"No I ain't," Vin muttered, wincing and bending to examine the expensive, imported rifles.
"Hey, Vin, " Josiah said somberly, catching the younger agent's elbow, "You mind not bleedin' all over the evidence. I hate extra paperwork."
"Huh?" Vin blinked and straightened up. His brows creased as Josiah pulled the expensive gray jacket to the side. "Shit... shit... Chris is gonna kill me."
"New shirt?"
"Yeah..." Vin winced, eyeing the large bloodstain spreading all over the Larabee custom made garment, "...cost more than all the shirts I got put together..."
"Fainting might work," J.D. suggested, tossing a towel to Vin. "...just blink and be incoherent... moan and stagger a lot." The youth grinned at the Texan, "You know, just like you do every day."
"Thanks, Kid." Vin shook his head, swayed and staggered.
"Yeah, that looked pretty good," the youthful agent clamored, motioning for the backup agents, who just appeared in the room.
"Vin, sit down," Josiah ordered, shoving the blinking man onto a stool. He ripped the shirt open and heard Vin's audible hiss. "Sorry, didn't mean to hurt you."
"Didn't hurt..." Vin returned, annoyed that he'd become so lightheaded, "it's all them buttons flyin' the hell all over. Chris is gonna..."
"Whoa!" Josiah grabbed the Texan who fell forward into his arms. "J.D. get a wagon!"
"I'm fine, 'siah..." Vin protested, as two strong hands forced him onto the floor. "I can walk... I..."
"Take it easy, Vin," Josiah pressed the cloth against the slash Vin's left side, under his ribcage. "Where's Buck? Chris is going to blow a gasket."
"He's uh... he went... he... sick... he... was..." Vin paused as Josiah's voice seemed far away.
"Vin... Vin..." The eldest tapped the pale face, whose eyes were drooping. He saw the mobster grinning and the filthy slurs that came out of his mouth. Unlike his partner, Josiah understood the foreign dialect and pulled his gun. "You say one more word about him and I'll blow your head clean off."
"Ambulance is here." J.D. dropped to Vin's side and eyed his friend carefully. His hazel eyes grew large when he saw the amount of blood saturating the towel. "I was only kidding... I didn't think it was this bad."
"It's not... just bleedin' alot. He'll be okay," the experienced veteran replied and looked at the glazed blue eyes, "Vin, I'm gonna get that jacket off you, okay?" He saw the short bob of the tangled head and eased him forward. He handed the jacket to J.D., who kept gazing at the back door.
"Josiah, where's Buck? He's not outside..." J.D. worried. "What if they had somebody out back? What if they took him?"
"He's sick... ya leave 'im be... my decision... mine... fault... ya tell Chris... my call..." Vin slurred, "...water..."
"Sure Vin," J.D. hopped up and got a glass of water, but by the time he returned, Vin was passed out. He moved aside as the paramedic's entered and began working on the wounded agent.
"You call Chris?" J.D. asked Josiah, who was washing Vin's blood from his hands.
"Do I look like a fool?" Josiah replied, as he tossed a towel aside and sighed.
"You're older," J.D. decided, "You should call him."
"Coward." Josiah muttered and eyed the clock. "He said last night that closing arguments were done, all they had to do today was get a verdict. I'll wait a little while, until Vin gets checked out. We'll know more then anyhow. I'll stay here and get the tapes and wait for the CS team. You keep Vin company... and J.D..."
"Yeah?"
"Find Buck."
J.D. saw the flash of anger in the stormy Sanchez eyes and swallowed hard. He put his gun in his shoulder holster and trotted outside to the van. Cell phones were taboo while undercover, but he dialed Buck, hoping the agent retrieved it from his car when he left. He flipped his own phone off, after nine rings. As he drove to the hospital, he wondered what happened to Buck. The team usually worked so well together, all seven seemingly able to sense the other's moves and work in unison. He pulled into the parking lot and wondered what would cause a highly decorated agent like Buck, who'd take a bullet for any of them, to desert his partner. He tried Buck's beeper and frowned as a beeping sound piped up from Vin's jacket. He shoved his hand in the pocket and pulled out Buck's earpiece, mic and his beeper.
"Fuck..." he hissed, pounding on the steering wheel, "Buck, what the hell did you do?"
Buck Wilmington stood up from the narrow, garish orange stall in the fast-food restaurant and flushed the toilet. Vin was right; his stomach rebelled loudly about ten minutes into his journey. He paused long enough to rinse his mouth, face, wash up and grab a coke on the way out. He gulped it greedily, his insides torn to ribbons. As he exited the main highway and turned onto the quiet street where the Delassi's lived, he remembered the day Frank retired. After thirty years of federal service and a wall full of citations, it was time. Grace was a wonderful woman and the two enjoyed their life. They traveled extensively, most recently returning from a safari in Africa. They were active in sports, gardening and their community. His coke threatened to reappear, when he saw the gathering of cars outside the pretty house. The flashing lights were a start contrast against the gray sky and swirling snow, they burned a hole in his brain. The meat wagon made him flinch.
"God..." he moaned, pulling up and pausing for a moment. Then a patrolman came over and he flashed his badge. "I'm Wilmington, I was called by Baker." He moved past the green rookie and entered the house. A large, lean black man approached, his close cropped dark hair touched with gray.
"I'm Lonnie Baker," he said, gripping Buck's hand and flashing a gold shield. "You're Wilmington?"
"Yeah, Buck... Wilmington." He licked his lips and eyed the normally neat living room, now littered with torn up furniture and broken glass. "Where's Grace?"
"Upstairs, the doctor just got here and her sister's on the way. He's back here..."
Buck nodded and followed the tall officer through the hallway and towards the cellar steps. He ducked down as the slope in the ceiling approached, and kept his numb legs moving. "Jesus..." he cried out painfully, backing up from the horrible sight. Frank was stripped to the waist and in a kneeling position. His arms were bent upwards, tied to a beam in the ceiling. His head drooped onto his chest, a crismson river covering the lean form. "How..." Buck managed, eyeing the lab crew gathering evidence.
"Slow..." the detective said bitterly, "... real slow. She said they busted in about nine o'clock this morning. They tied her up over there," He motioned to a lawnchair nearby. "then they tied him up and tortured him... used their fists first, then lots of stab wounds and slashes, burns, and his throat is bruised, looks like a garrot of some kind."
Buck eyed the powder room in the corner and bolted, leaving his soda in the toilet. After cleaning up again, he looked at himself hard in the mirror. "Get yourself together... for Frank. Grace is gonna need you," he berated his pale image and took a deep breath. Returning to the carnage, he saw that the body was now on the gurney, being zipped up inside a bag.
"Sorry," he managed.
"For what? Being human?" the detective replied, "Let's go back upstairs, where we can talk."
They sat at the kitchen table, Buck nursed a ginger ale and watched Baker flip out a notebook.
"You got any idea who might do something this violent? Had he gotten any threats... letters or calls?"
"No..." Buck sighed, "This is out of left field."
"Maybe he didn't want to worry you. Could be he didn't want whoever did this to find you."
"No, we had no secrets. He would have told me." Buck decided, "Did Grace get a look at them?"
"They wore ski caps, both male and white. One was stockier than the other. They were in dark green uniforms, like a mechanic wears. It took her awhile to get free and run to the neighbors. She was incoherent... the guy next store came over and found him... called 911."
"You said you thought this was tied to one of our old cases? Why? He had two partners before me."
"One dead and one in Florida, he's on vaction, we contacted him." Baker flipped through his notepad. "Mrs. Delassi mentioned that they were both young. She said the heavy set one acted crazy and when he started getting too carried away, the other one got nervous. She couldn't be sure, but she thinks the other one mentioned your name. She said they were wild, screaming and giggling."
"Stoned..." Buck sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. It still seemed so surreal. How could Frank be gone?
"Yeah," the dark head bobbed, "Now she was in bad shape when I talked to her, maybe she'll be clearer later. But she swears she heard him use your name... she was worried about you. She only let the doctor look at her, when I told her I spoke with you. How many cases did you work on together?"
"Hundreds..." Buck sighed, his body was completey numb. He was working on nerves. "Almost seven years worth. "They didn't come any finer than Frank Delassi."
Lonnie Baker heard the admiration in the younger man's voice and nodded. He'd been where Wilmington was, and like every cop, his partner was more than a brother. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wilmington. I buried my first partner too... Jack Summerfield. It's been ten years, but it never goes away."
Buck didn't say anything, but managed to nod his head. He couldn't believe Frank was gone. He studied the gray swirls in the white formica of Grace's kitchen table. He made a vow to find the bastards who'd killed his friend and sent them to hell... in small pieces.
"I'd like you to start reviewing your old cases, find the ones that stuck out... where the perp's made a threat. We'll check the prisons and see if any were parolled recently."
"I need to see Grace..." Buck said flatly, rising from the chair. He didn't hear Baker's words, or feel the card pressed into his hand with the detective's number on it. He trudged up the stairs and towards the large, sunny room at the end of the hall. He knocked on the door and a gray-haired man answered.
"I'm here to see Grace..." Buck said quietly.
"I'm sorry, she's not able to..."
"Buck?"
Buck clenched his eyes shut as her shaky voice tore into his heart. He took a deep breath and eyed the ceiling, trying to pull himself together. Finally, he exhaled and entered the room. She looked so frail and lost, not the confident, busy lady who endeared herself to all she met. His long legs covered the distance to the bed in three strides. He sat on the edge and wrapped her in his arms. She didn't say a word, she just sobbed hard and it broke his heart.
"I've given her a sedative," the doctor whispered to Buck, pointing to a bottle. "She shouldn't be left alone."
"She won't be." Buck said quietly, rocking the distraught woman.
"If you need anything..." the physican offered, leaving his card before slipping from the room.
He continued to rock her, using a gentle hand to brush the short, dark hair. At sixty, she looked much younger, and he saw their wedding picture on the wall nearby. Forty years together, a partnership forged on true love and bound by faith and hard work. Shattered in a few hours by a pair of animals.
"Why? Why Frank?" she choked through watery eyes, gazing up at the handsome young man she loved like a son.
"I don't know, Grace," he managed through a shaky voice. He felt her tiny hand come up and touch his cheek.
"You be careful." She whispered, eyes full of fear, "Don't let them... do..."
Then the tears started again and he gathered her close, rocking her and shushing her in a low voice. Finally he heard the even breathing and lowered her onto a bank of pillows. He pulled a light quilt up to cover her and kissed her forehead. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table, it was almost five p.m. He dialed Vin and left a message on his voicemail, then he dialed Chris Larabee's cell phone. It was busy and he tried to redial for several minutes. He finally left word on Chris's home phone, figuring the leader would be there by six p.m. He started to dial Josiah, when the phone rang. Grace jerked and Buck lifted it, speaking quietly to Frank's brother Dave in New York. He then took the phone off the hook, ensuring her the sleep she needed. As he crossed the room, he took down the photo on the chest of drawers. It was on the day Frank retired. Buck's hair was longer and he didn't have his trademark mustache. He took the photo to the chair by the window and slumped down, his heart aching and his mind numb.
"They're gonna pay, Frank..." he whispered, eyeing the rose trellis in the back yard. He winced at the small bench where Frank and Grace sat every evening, sipping their coffee. "You got my word."
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