Setting: ATF Universe
Page 10
Vin froze, trying to untangle the multiple images before him. They swam in and out, distant then close, nearly out of focus. The sharp summoning of his name sent a rippling wave of pain through his aching head. He winced and staggered back, clutching his damp curls with both hands, pressing his temples hard. Then a fierce pain attacked his stomach and his shoulders convulsed. He cried out and dropped to his knees in the hallway. The coke came back with an attitude.
Chris watched helplessly as the blue eyes blinked in confusion. Vin made no attempt to enter the room and seemed nearly unaware that he was there. Then Vin dropped out of sight beyond the doorframe, his bare feet the only thing Chris could still see. He heard the awful retching and flinched as Vin's cries of pain snuck out between coughs. Finally there was thump and Vin rolled onto his back in the hall. Chris pushed everything aside but getting Vin the hell out of there.
"Vin! Get your ass up... come on, Cowboy, I need you." He called out, only able to see Vin's knees and legs. He waited several tense seconds, the sweat pouring down his battered face, stinging the cuts on his face and lip. Finally a knee rose up and so did Chris's hope.
"That's it... come on Vin... get up..." Chris coached and watched the body roll sideways and a hand grip the door frame. Vin crawled into the doorway, his mouth and chin covered in vomit and phlegm. "Wipe your face..." Chris dictated and watched the puppet-like movements of Vin's trembling hand. That done, he kept encouraging the lost man until he was on his feet, clutching the doorframe, chest heaving. "Look at me, Vin," the blond said softly. Vin's head cocked and he rubbed his eyes. "You with me?"
Like the rays after a storm, the clouds parted and a face came into view clearly. Vin's eyes shot open in shock when he saw his best friend. His gaze went from the swollen, discolored flesh on Chris's face, the black eye, the cut and abrasions... down to the manacled leg. He licked his lips and studied the face again.
"Chris..."
It was barely a whisper, but to the anxious leader it sounded like the Hallelujah chorus. He released a painful breath and ran a hand through his short blond hair. He kept his eyes trained on Vin, hoping to appeal to him while he was lucid. "Listen Vin, we gotta get out of here..."
"Okay..." Vin nodded, turning away. "I'll go find a nurse..."
"No!" Chris screamed, causing Vin to jerk back and hit the wall in the hall. The Texan's eyebrows furrowed and the pale eyes narrowed. "This isn't a hospital Vin. We're prisoners here... You, me and J..."
"...don't like it here." Vin interrupted, "The one... she... it's a coat... she hurts me... I wanna go..." Vin rambled, watching the floor moving beneath his frantic eyes.
"I know you do, Vin..." Chris winced, watching Vin slip away. "Vin, listen to me... Vin look at me!" He hissed sharply and the head popped up.
"He hurt me Chris..." Vin blinked and began to shiver. He wrapped his arms around his chest, "... he said... ya told him... I didn't wanna bath... he hurt me, Chris..."
"Shit!" Chris swore, a wall of fire coursing through his veins at the thought of his dazed, disoriented and weak friend being abused by that animal. "Vin, look at me..." he directed and saw the wet mop of hair rise from the sweat-slick tee shirt. "He lied to you and I'm gonna hurt him for what he did to you. But right now, we gotta get out of here. Okay? Where is he?"
"Who?" Vin blinked, eyeing the strange place. "...kinda fucked up hospital is this?" He paused and the pain in his joints and back began to throb. His mind drew up an image of a stark room, a small bed and being alone and abandoned. He drew his head up and watched the blond man's lips moving. "I kept lookin' fer ya... ya never came..."
Bullets couldn't have done more damage than the soft, raspy plea and those torturous blue eyes. He swallowed hard and pushed his feelings away; right now they needed to get free. That started with unlocking the leg irons. "Vin, listen to me... where's Tony... the guard..."
"Guard?" Vin frowned, swaying and grabbing air.
"Get in here before you fall down!" Chris demanded.
Warning signals flashed without abandon in his fevered mind. Danger... deadly... stay away... He shook his head, trying to get rid of the overwhelming feeling.
"No! I can't..." he protested verbally without understanding why.
"You'll kill him if you get to close. Deadly disease... the plague... the plague... He'll die too..." his inner voice warned.
"Vin, I won't hurt you," Chris replied, misreading the fear in his friend's darting eyes. He was huddled on the floor, shaking violently and desperately confused. Chris thought up several different ways of killing the bitch who did this to his friend, something slow and painful...
"I can't Chris," Vin said with clarity. The clouds parted again and he began to recall a few things. He was infected with a deadly disease... one that could and would kill anyone who touched him. He stood up and grabbed the doorframe, eyeing his best friend's battered face. "I'll kill ya... she... she... Oh God..." he swallowed hard as the awful moment returned. He felt the straps on his body and his hand rubbed his sore throat, recalling the thing crawling on his face. "... it was a... a... fuckin' thing with a hundred legs... they's all over m'face... crawlin'... it stung me..."
"I know Vin, she made us watch. She'll pay for that, you got my word," Chris vowed. "How'd you get loose?"
"Hit 'im... he wasn't payin' attention... " Vin blinked, eyeing the leg irons. "... he got the keys?"
"Yeah..." Chris nodded, then reached both arms out when Vin lurched, nearly toppling over. "VIN!"
"No, I can't touch ya..." Vin coughed. God it hurt to swallow. "I'll be playin' poker with the devil soon enough. Don't need yer sorry ass hangin' on m'coattails." Vin coughed several times, swiped his mouth and saw the Larabee mask disappear briefly. A flash of an internal pain so intense radiated from the swollen green eyes and caused Vin to flinch. He felt it too... slashing his guts with wild abandon. "I'll kill ya Chris... I can't come near ya..."
"It's my decision Vin and I'll take my chances," Chris offered, watching Vin stagger and go to his knees.
"I won't..." Vin coughed. "I'll find the keys... he's out cold... I think... where'd I leave 'im? Damn..."
"The Lab?" Chris guessed, recalling her meeting.
"Where's that?" Vin gasped, pushing himself up and onto his feet.
"I"m not sure," Chris sighed, then recalled the sound of the footsteps. "I think maybe it's behind you, up the hall somewhere."
"Okay," Vin sighed, turning around and holding the doorway in a deathgrip. He watched the floor rising and falling and tried to catch the uneven surface. "Dammit... won't stay still."
"Shit," Chris muttered, watching Vin's right leg rising and dropping, as if trying to step on an escalator. "Vin, it's flat, it's not moving. That's your fever. Just hold on good and take small steps. Hurry now... " He watched as the body leveled and disappeared. He craned his neck and cocked his head, listening for a body to fall.
Vin took his time, holding the walls, doorknobs and anything else with dimension. "It's flat... ya can't fall... Chris needs ya..." he coached himself, as the floor rose and fell. Finally he spotted the body on the floor and bent over it. The man was all muscle and turning him over took all Vin's energy away. He sat hard on the tile floor in the bathroom and sucked in the fleeing air. Finally, he saw a glimmer of silver and snagged the keys. They wouldn't budge. He fumbled for several minutes, finally getting them off the leather belt. He felt around the hip and back, but found no weapon. He pulled himself up, using the sink and ran the cold water, dousing his face. He took a few small drinks and saw the bottle of penicillin. He shoved the bottle in his pocket and staggered back to find Chris.
It seemed like forever before Chris heard the uneven footfall to his right. He heard the ragged breathing and awful coughing, growing closer. Then it stopped. His eyes were burning a hole in the wall outside and he waited.
"Vin!"
"...ris..."
"Yeah, keep moving. You got the keys?"
"Huh?" Vin rasped, eyeing the strange hall. Where was he? Why was he on his hands and knees? Was that Chris's voice? Why didn't Chris help him? "Chris... there..." Vin's hand fumbled, rising to grasp the one that always responded. "Chris... are ya... can't get up..."
"Fuck!" Chris swore. The voice was close by. "VIN!" Chris hollered, putting a sharp, injured tone to his voice. He waited and sure enough he heard movement.
The painful echo of his best friend's voice drove him forward. He inched his way over the rising and falling of the floor. He pushed onward... Chris needed him... Chris... Chris... he kept telling himself, one hand slapping the floor.
Chris saw the sopping wet head and face appear in his doorway. Vin was on his hands and knees, crawling slowly, pain etched deep in his face. "That's my boy..." Chris applauded and saw Vin's head turn. His green eyes saw the glint of silver in Vin's hand. "Toss 'em... hurry... " Chris ordered.
"Huh?" Vin perplexed, curling up on his side in the hall. The cold cement floor felt good against his hot skin. He let his eyes droop. "... tired..."
"No!" Chris and saw the blue eyes jerk open. "Give me the keys, Vin. Now!" Chris bellowed, realizing that sharp tone was the lone light in Vin's delirium. Sure enough the hand fumbled and the keys were produced. He watched Vin eye the silver ring from an odd angle, the wet head was still on the floor. "Sit up," Chris said harshly and watched Vin's body jerking. He felt awful, he knew how hard Vin was trying. Finally the body was sitting up and facing him. The owlish eyes were fighting hard to stay open and Chris wiggled his fingers. "Toss' em..."
"What?" Vin coughed, body flopping sideways. He caught himself and righted his body, remaining upright, but swaying.
"The keys, Vin..." Chris exasperated, gritting his teeth in frustration.
"Oh..." Vin nodded, cocking his head at the silver object. "..okay..."
"Thank God," Chris muttered when they hit the floor near his feet. He grabbed a discarded end of a towel nearby, still covered with J.D's blood and used it to handle the keys. There were several of them and it took time to find the right one. He stole several glances at Vin and frowned as the body curled up again. "Vin, wake up... Vin..." he kept at it until the head moved. Finally, one leg was freed. Vin was on his hands and knees, moving forward. Chris only saw his butt disappearing. "Vin, where are..." he was about to inquire on the journey when a body appeared, all muscle and menacing. "Shit..." he tugged at the stubborn lock as Tony Kennedy appeared and kicked Vin visciously in the gut. He broke free just as Tony's gloved hand grabbed and pulled Vin up by the hair with his left hand.
"You're gonna pay for that, Pretty Boy. I'm gonna carve you up like a fuckin' Halloween pumpkin..." Tony warned, raising his right arm.
Chris saw the glint of silver and slid the keys in his pocket. He drove forward, slamming the large man into the wall. The knife arched, narrowly missing Vin's neck. Chris covered Vin's body with his own, using his hands and knees, and careful not to touch the sharpshooter. The back of Vin's head was just inches below his own. He pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them ahead of Vin. "Go get J.D. Vin... Find J.D..."
"...D?" Vin coughed, eyes trained on the silver on the floor ahead.
"Yeah," Chris grunted as Tony's meaty fist hit his back. "Get out of here Vin... J.D's hurt bad..."
"...hurt?" Vin repeated, as a fog bank rolled in. Chris's words propelled him forward. He crawled from beneath... beneath what? Where was he? He saw keys and an image of J.D's lying bleeding . J.D. needed help. He kept moving, following the command to get J.D... help J.D.
Tony watched Vin crawling away without any interest. Bastard had one foot in the grave and couldn't even stand. He'd find him later. Right now, Larabee needed a lesson. He grunted as an elbow was thrust sharply in his gut and a fist found his jaw.
Chris watched Vin crawl away and turn the corner. He elbowed the soft area under Tony's ribcage hard and then shot a right, clipping his chin. The first round came on their knees, both exchanging several blows. Then Chris slammed Tony's head into the wall and the larger man crumpled. Chris staggered like a drunk, the forceful beating left him breathless, dizzy and barely conscious. He turned the corner where Vin had gone, but the next corridor was empty. Where did he go?
Vin collapsed against a wall and felt it move. He tumbled backwards into an empty room. It was cold in here and felt good to his hot skin. He'd just rest a minute, his heavy eyes could no longer stay upright. He kept breathing raggedly through his open mouth, letting his aching body rest. His hand relaxed and the keys slid out.
Chris's head went left and right, eyeing the two paths his lost friend could have taken. Before he could make a decision, a bullet hit the wall near his head. That got his rubbery legs moving and he staggered forward. He moved towards the large area at the end of one of the corridors. It was pitch black and he was forcing his blurry eyes to work, when another shot was fired. This one didn't miss.
Vin heard a noise and his eyes jerked open. He paused and swallowed hard, wincing at the razors that now seemed to have taken residence in hit throat. The noise was followed by another one, louder and all too familiar. Words drifted into his head about finding J.D. and getting help. Another image appeared more a feeling than a picture. Chris shielding him from harm, a glint of silver above his head. A knife. What happened to Chris? What had he done?
"I didn't help... " Vin feared, moving his leaden limbs. Had he left his friend at the enemy's hands? "Chris?" He muttered, rising to his feet, then another name forcefully entered his hot brain. "... no J.D..." he jerked his body in the dark hall. Which way to go? He staggered ahead, letting the floor rise and fall beneath his bare feet. He paused and found himself kissing the floor again. He tried to push the black curtain away but sighed instead and closed his eyes.
Chris was on his back, the force of the small explosion near him had sent him flying backwards. He felt a flow of warm, sticky fluid on his face and absentmindedly swiped a flow of blood. His back hurt, having come in contact with something hard. His eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and he jerked backwards, when his hand touched hair and skin.
"Vin" he guessed, seeking a pulse, "Jesus..." he hissed, sitting up despite the agonizing pain in his back as his sticky fingers retracted. They'd sought a warm throat and a pulse, instead they met a cold floor. The head was severed. He swallowed the bile in his throat and forced his eyes to stare harder. Short hair... not long... he sighed in relief. Then he saw whose face it was and curled his features in disgust. "What the fuck?" he cringed as the light came on and his own image looked back at him. It was real... too real... he saw a scattering of limbs... and J.D's sizzling torso on a chair. The maze... he was at the very edge. He managed to stagger a few feet, before a sharp pain in his right thigh sent him to his knees.
"Not so fast, Tough Guy," Tony panted, trotting over to where the bloodied Larabee was on his hands and knees. He slammed his fist into the area on the gasping blond's lower back. He'd seen the box Larabee made contact with and the harsh blow sent the prisoner sprawling. He watched the pain-hazed green eyes glaring at him through swollen, discolored lids. He bent over and let his hand rest on the hilt of the knife that was buried in Larabee's upper thigh. He twisted it and ripped it free, enjoying the agonizing scream that was followed by the jerking body lying limp and defenseless.
He stood up and kicked at Larabee with his boot, satisfied that he was down for the count. The damage to the room was slight, contained to one set of dummies. Without the keys, he couldn't put Larabee back in his cell. He frowned for a moment, then smiled, thinking of the metal table Tanner had been belted to. He could leave Larabee there and find Tanner and the keys. He hoped that raghead was fuckin' that crazy bitch good. He needed time to find Tanner and clean up before she got back. He got the unconscious man in a fireman's hold and moved out of the room, flipping the lights off. The light in the hall ahead was enough and he quickly made his way to the Lab, dropping the body to the table. He cut the pants leg away and eyed his handiwork. Just bad enough to bleed alot and cause pain. He eyed the bottle of perioxide nearby and smiled evilly.
"Later, Tough Guy," he promised, letting his hand cup the supine figure's groin. The wound was high on the thigh, right under his right cheek. He turned the blond over over and wrapped it quickly with a bunch of gauze from the cart near the wall behind him. Tying a knot, the bandage quickly began to grow sodden with Larabee's blood. He flopped him on his back and secured the wrists, throat and feet. With one final caress, he left to find Tanner.
Vin woke up and sat up. How much time had passed? Minutes or hours? Chris said J.D. was hurt. Was he hurt bad? Chris said to get J.D and get help. He crawled forward and saw a light ahead. With every movement, his body protested, seeking the black void that took the pain away. But J.D. needed him and Chris was depending on him. Chris? A sick feeling washed over him as that feeling of dread returned. That somehow Chris had saved him. He found a doorway and hoisted himself up. His eyes were out of focus and the room was blurry, but then he saw something so vile and horrid that it stole his words. Chris' head was lying about four feet away. Vin's jaw dropped in muted horror and a pain like he'd never felt ripped through him. His jaw trembled and he backed up; his heart wouldn't and couldn't accept was his eyes told him. Then he saw the chair and J.D's body tied to what was left of Chris. The youth's left arm and leg were gone and a gaping hole was where his chest should be. The face was gone... charred and smoldering. "
"No... No... Oh God... What did I do?" Vin whispered as the reality set in. He backed up quickly and hit a lever on the wall. It pinched between his shoulder blades and the mangled bodies of his friends drove him from the room. His fevered brain couldn't adjust and the pain that throbbed in his head and every limb was taking it's toll. He staggered back into the hallway, dropping to his knees as his stomach rebelled. The vomiting left him weak and weary, but a bullet hitting the wall over his head, ended that. He staggered forward, made three turns and fumbled in the dark, hitting a series of buttons. Voices blasted his ears... causing him to jerk as daylight seared his anguished features.
"Buck... Buck...."
"J.D.?" Vin hushed, hearing his dead friend's voice. The voice was calling over and over in his head. Was J.D. telling him to get Buck? To get help? To find Buck? "Find Buck..." he mumbled, listening to his delirious mind. He staggered outside and saw a car, the back door was open. He fell into the back, falling onto the floor of the vehicle. The images of the mangled corpses of his friends brought the chills back with a vengeance. He pulled the blanket on the seat over him and curled up, letting the darkness lure him away.
Jafar's jaunt to the nearby beach ended with a lively discussion with two blonde's in thongs. They were staying in a nearby hotel and he'd agreed to meet them later. He loved having sex with American women. They were so uninhibited. He finally made his way to the car, closing the open door and making his way to the front seat. He turned the air conditioner on full blast and waited for the American to deliver the tape. It was almost six o'clock and he didn't want to waste more time. Just as he was about to go back inside, he saw the tip of the box. He pulled it out from under the seat and flipped it open. Everything was in order, so he turned on the ignition and pulled away.
Tony flipped the sound system off and locked the maze, before following Tanner outside. How the bastard was still on his feet amazed him. Even the shot didn't phase him. He saw the car pull away and panicked. He eyed the new, bare footprints in the sandy dirt that lead a clear path from the door to where the car was parked. They ended at the very spot where the door had been opened.
"Shit!" he ran to his van and put the wheels in motion.
It was lazy time of day, the sun was going into a low mode, the stragglers were still on the beach and the boardwalk traffic wouldn't kick up for a couple more hours. All in all, being on Smuggler's Road this time of day was an easy gig. Officially, it was known as Route 9, but for as long as anyone could remember, this long stretch of road leading up to the Donnelly's was known as Smuggler's Road. It was said that several hundred years ago, pirates used the area to hide their loot. Every now and again, some fool got themselves into trouble out this way, digging for gold.
Calvin Sanford's meaty right hand drifted into the bag of pretzels on the empty seat next to him. A local cop for over thirty years, the fifty-five year old veteran was on his last tour of duty. The end of the busy tourist season would spell his retirement. A nice pension, time to travel and see some of the world, maybe even visit his brother down in Mississippi. At six-foot three and two-hundred and thirty pounds, the African American patrolman was imposing. He eyed the outline of Donnelly's in the distance and thought on how much the dinner theater/shopping complex meant to the seaside resort town. The tour buses that spilled in from as far north as New England, for three day jaunts and neighboring towns for just a matinee show and time to shop. All those buses and blue-haired ladies put money in the community. A car flew past doing well over the speed limit and Sanford shook his head.
"Damn fools will never learn," he muttered, flipping on the sirens and pulling out from behind the large brush that covered either side of the road.
Jafar looked in the mirror when he heard the sirens and cursed in his native tongue. He pulled the car over and reached for his wallet. Amahl would have his head if he caused any trouble. He eyed the large, dark-skinned policeman approaching and put on his best tourist face.
"License, registration and insurance," Calvin said, peering at the foreigner through dark sunglasses.
"Certainly Officer," Jafar complied, "I am very sorry, I got carried away. I guess I was speeding a little bit."
"Just a bit," Calvin replied shaking his head, "How long are you staying?"
"Only a few more days," Jafar replied.
"You realize that you were doing close to seventy in a thirty-five mile an hour zone?"
"No, Sir, if I did, of course I would have slowed down," Jafar emphasized with his gleaming white teeth.
"Yeah..." Calvin sighed, shaking his head as he walked back to his patrol car to call it in.
Tony slowed down as soon as he saw the flashing blue and red lights ahead of him. He pulled into the overbrush and cut his engine off. He quietly opened his car door and eased his long body from the vehicle, jogging closer to hear what was going on.
Jafar eyed the flashing lights in the rear view mirror and shook his head. What was taking so long? Finally, he saw the cop leave his car and walk back, writing a ticket. Good, that meant no hassle. He'd sign it and leave. Just to be on the safe side, he eased his hand to the gun concealed beneath the fast food bag on the seat next to him.
Calvin finished the ticket and was writing the date on the bottom, when his eyes flipped to something in the back seat. At first glance, it looked like a blanket covering beach paraphenalia on the floor of the car. But then he spotted a scalp, a good-sized line of flesh and a thatch of dark, curly hair. It was a body covered in a blanket. He kept his distance from the car, slid the ticket book into his waistband and drew his weapon. His keen eye didn't miss the hand shifting towards the passenger seat.
"Sir, please step out of the vehicle."
"Is there a problem?" Jafar's eyes narrowed when he spotted the gun aimed at the door.
"I'm not gonna ask you again," Sanford's voice lowered, "Put your hands on the doorframe and ease it open." He ordered and watched the body reacting slowly, a little to slowly. He saw the slightest hesitation and pulled his weapon up. "Don't try it, Dirtbag... Outta the car, now!"
Jafar's father always said he was impetuous; he was right. The foolish Iranian pulled his gun and fumbled, sending a shot into the doorframe. Sanford fired almost at the same time, his aim was true. Jafar's lifeless body spilled out over the doorframe.
Calvin was reaching for the victim's neck, confirming what he already knew to be true, when the 'body' sat up. "Shit!" he hissed, jumping back and drawing his weapon. "Police, freeze!"
Vin didn't realize he'd drifted off until a loud burst of gunfire jerked him back into the land of the living. He sat up and blinked, vaguely hearing a voice screaming at him. He didn't move, rather he collapsed weakly against the bottom of the back door. A car... he pondered rubbing his aching eyes. What was doing in a car? Then it came back to him, the bullets and the bodies of his two friends. Lifeless limbs strewn about a warehouse floor and J.D.'s features and flesh burnt off his face.
"Oh God..." he gasped, the waves of memory giving him a wicked pain in the chest. Then he saw a gun aimed at him through the window and an angry dark face.
When the man didn't answer, Calvin skirted the vehicle to get a better look. He a young, caucasian male, twenty-five to thirty, long brown hair and by the looks of him, high on something. He didn't see a weapon, but took no chances, he opened the door and peered inside, noting the barefeet nearby.
"Come on out of there, Son..." he ordered, aiming the gun again. He frowned, the kid either didn't or couldn't hear him. Then he looked closer at the flushed-face, covered in sweat. "Wait a minute... I know you," he murmured, "We got papers on you... I seen you on television. The F.B.I. is looking for you. You're..."
"Tanner... Vin... ATF..." Vin gasped, before dissolving into a coughing fit.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Calvin moved closer and the kid went nuts.
"No... no..." Vin screamed, fumbling with the doorhandle just above and to his right. "Don't come near me... she gave me... I got... some fuckin' plague... ye'll get sick... stay away... don't come any closer..."
"Alright, now just calm down, Tanner," Sanford said, pushing the button on the radio on his shoulder. "I'm gonna back up real slow and you slide outta there, okay?"
"...'kay..." Vin agreed, watching the large man ease his frame backwards towards the tall overbrush. By the time Vin got off the seat and stood up, the ground began to swirl around. He blinked and watched other man's mouth moving but couldn't hear the words.
"This is Sanford, I need backup out here. I got one of them missing ATF agents. Tanner, the one the F.B.I. is so hot on. Send..."
"No! Don't... No!" Vin's hoarse scream caused the officer to pause. He misinterpreted the raving voice and flailing arms. He mistook the wild eyes, not realizing they were aimed behind him. It would be the last mistake he made.
"Look, Son, I ain't gonna hurt you. Just..."
The words died in his throat as the blade severed it, killing him within seconds. Tony wiped the blade on the dead cop's back and eased him to the ground. He saw Tanner staggering like a drunk, trying to get away. He calmy strode behind him and struck him hard in the back with a large piece of driftwood he'd picked in the overgrowth. Tanner went to his knees and Tony's boot well delivered in his gut, forced the body into the dirt. His boot on the back kept the pressure up, listening to the wheezing breaths and waited for the darting blue eyes to shut. After several minutes of debating, he thought on the cop's words. He already reported in and they knew he found Tanner. Smiling, he saw a way to solve the germ-ridden problem. The sicker he got, the more nervous it made him handling the fevered body. He pulled his knife out and eyed the protective gloves he wore. He bent over and pressed Tanner's slack fingers over the hilt. He eyed the large blanket in the back seat of Jafar's car and quickly wrapped the body up in it. It took about twenty minutes, but he got Tanner and the dead cop in the back of his van.
He eyed Donnelly's Dinner Theater in the distance and recalled the nice piece of private beach behind it. It was just where the boardwalk started. The buses usually dropped off the tourists there and picked them up later. He started the car and slowly drove to the highgrass next to Donnelly's property. Twilight was falling, the sky was a brilliant dark blue. The buses would be spilling out soon, dumping the passengers for the eight p.m. show. In the meantime, his days as a busboy in the large dinner theater came back. There was an access road, off the main one, that trucks used for deliveries. It was deserted and lead right to a perfect stretch of beach.
"Pretty Boy," he called out to Vin's stilled body in the back, "You're gonna give them fat broads from the city something to talk about all the way home." He laughed as his ingenious plan. He'd seen the news earlier and Vin Tanner was at the top of the F.B.I's most wanted list. That additional pressure was something the bitch was worried about. Combined with the cop's report and what the tourists would see, the nails had all but sealed Tanner's coffin.
"You watch those moves, Lady, you're gonna get arrested and I ain't got any bail money."
"You don't have any pockets, either, Brown Sugar," she murmured, kissing him deeply and running her hands up his naked thigh.
"Rain... don't... do... that..." Nathan grunted, her deft moves had taken his breath away. "... it... ain't... right..."
"We're married..." she pressed her lips against his throat and caused a groan. Then her husband's hand came up and pushed her back. "What happened to the wild man who made love to me under the conference room table with his boss in the next room?"
"He got older and smarter," Nate chuckled, recalling how close Chris had come to catching them one Friday night late, soon after they married. He thought he was alone, Rain came to pick him up. She looked great, smelled better and it was after eleven p.m. Who thought Chris would stop in his office after dropping Mary off.
"How you doing, Baby?" she stroked his anxious face, not missing the worry lines.
"Lousy... feel like a damn fool. Stuck in the hospital... three friends missing. Shit... " he
"They'll find them..." She tried to coax a happier mood into her lover, but it failed.
"I don't know, Rain." Nate denied, wincing as his side pulled, "I got a bad feeling. Vin as much as shows his face and some trigger happy cop is gonna blow it off. He ain't got a chance."
"Not with talk like that he doesn't," a deep voice chastized. "Don't lose faith, Brother."
The theme song from Jeopardy was just starting when the door opened and two bodies entered.
"Josiah, don't preach, not tonight," Nate said crossly, "Where's Buck?"
"With Orin, I'm picking him up in an hour. Orin's orders were to see he got home and got some sleep. You look better, you're not that unpleasant shade of gray anymore. Your cheeks are actually flushed." Ezra noted and saw Rain giggle and cover her mouth. "Oh..." he smiled knowingly and winked at the pretty woman, "Well, no matter the cause, it's an improvement."
"How's he doing?" Nate asked of his missing friend.
"Horrid," Ezra answered, "He's lost weight, doesn't sleep much..."
"...when he does, he's troubled by bad nightmares." Josiah added, grinning at Rain, while Ezra extended a 'fatherly' hand on her slim shoulders.
"My Dear, have I ever told you how very enchanting you are?" the southerner purred and was rewarded with a soft slap on his wrist.
"You're full of shit, Ezra." She retorted, "Bribery?"
"I'm appalled that you would use such a term in my..."
"You plannin' a Pearl Harbor?" Nate interrupted, raising an eyebrow at the conman. "...on Buck?"
"We're just looking out for his best interests," Josiah noted, handing Nate a large container of Ice Cream. "Mocha chip..."
"You play dirty, Preacher," Jackson grumbled, taking the bait.
"We wouldn't ask if his appearance wasn't so dreadful." Ezra added, sliding a new copy of 'The Perfect Storm' video in front of the grinning patient.
"Am I that easy?" Nate turned to his wife.
"That's how I snagged you..." she winked, squeezing his hand. "I'll get you something. He'll get eight good hours. I'll be right back."
"To quote our missing Texan," Ezra eyed the pretty doctor as she left, "You my good Mr. Jackson, 'sleep in shit'."
"Thanks, I think..." Nate chuckled, taking a spoonful of his ice cream.
"Sure looks good," Josiah raised an eyebrow.
"Not on your life," Nate denied, pulling it away. "Any new leads?"
"Not since the call this morning. Orin show you the tape?" Josiah asked and saw Nate dip his head.
"Hit me like a bullet. Musta killed Buck." Nate shook his head. "What do we do now?"
"Well, we're running out of time," Josiah eyed the date on the corner of the television. "Brothers, we need a miracle.
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.
Buck strapped the helmet on and sat on the treasured object. He ran his hand along the chrome and sighed. He could almost hear the laughter that had become such a part of him. He clenched his eyes shut and saw the boyish grin, that damn lock of hair that always hung in his face. He eyed the tidy garage, all the shelves with the tools, spare parts, motor oil and other paraphenalia.
"Damn Kid..." he whispered painfully as J.D.'s voice bounced off every vacant wall.
How did one life-loving, enthusiastic, gutsy kid take such a huge bite out of his heart? Two years and it still seemed liked yesterday when the brash youth waltzed into the Team Seven office. Leather jacket, mirrored sunglasses and cocky attitude. He smiled when he remembered the Boston College grad's first encounter with his new team leader.
"I'm Chris Larabee," the blond offered with his hand.
"Cool!" J.D. boomed, eyes shining as he eyed his hero. Chris's reputation spread wide and far and J.D. was no different than the others. They'd all come to appreciate the difference between the man and the legend.
"Damn death traps," he muttered, climbing off Dunne's prize bike. He chuckled softly as he left the garage, pulling the door closed. How quickly J.D.'s boundless energy and need for competition had been harnessed when Vin Tanner joined the team. Vin was closest in age to the youth and the team's two youngest quickly became good friends. Ice hockey had been the beginning, but now they funneled that competitive edge into other sports. Everything from dirt biking to rock climbing to skydiving. The latter scared the rogue so bad, he couldn't watch the twin terrors.
He walked for awhile, needing the time to think about a plan. Orin dropped him off at J.D.'s, he needed to be near the youth. There was a coffee shop about six blocks away and he'd phoned Ezra to meet him there. He didn't want to go home... he dreaded the nights and wanted to avoid the inevitable terrors in the dark.
He saw an black mustang cruise by and his heart clenched for a moment. Chris's prized possession, his classic mustang. It was a beauty and worth a fortune. He smiled warmly and recalled the afternoon Chris called and said to 'be outside in ten minutes'. So he waited and then laughed when the mustang pulled up with Sarah in the passenger side. The pair held up their wrists, bound by plastic handcuffs. Buck didn't miss the glint of the diamond on the pretty girl's finger, which matched the one in her husband-to-be's eyes. Wasn't too many times in your life when you get lucky enough to know a man as rare as Chris Larabee, let alone call him friend. He was so lost in thought, he didn't realize he wasn't walking alone anymore.
Ezra watched the emotions playing on Buck's face for several minutes. Finally, he got out of his car and approached the forlorn man. He stood abreast of him and waited, and then the tired eyes finally looked up.
"Hey Ez, didn't hear you."
"I didn't want to intrude," Ezra offered quietly. "Would you like to go inside?"
"I don't know... " Buck sighed, rubbing the back of his aching neck. "I feel like a stranger in my own skin. Does that make any sense?"
"Yes, very much so," Ezra agreed. He'd never met anyone with a heart the size of Wilmington's and couldn't imagine the pain it now housed. "A crowded establishment doens't fit the bill. How about a steak, caesar salad and chocolate mousse?"
"I'm sorry Ezra, I know you're trying." Buck sighed, "But I'm just not in the mood for eating out tonight."
"My Good Man, you've never dined at Chateau Standish," Ezra corrected and saw a small smile forming.
"No fancy sauces or wine older than me..." Buck warned.
"Commoner," Ezra dismayed, leading the way to the car.
Dinner was quiet but Buck appreciated Ezra's letting him settle into his mood. They didn't talk much, just about the case and Nathan's progress. Ezra cleaned up the dishes, glad that Buck had eaten. He'd denied the wine and served iced tea instead. Now the sleep aid was in Buck's coffee, which was going down easy with the chocolate mousse. He saw the mustached agent smile, then laugh.
"Did I miss something?" Ezra asked, bringing his own coffee out onto the patio of his home.
"Remember the time your next store neighbor dragged her visiting cousin over here?"
"My crystal stemware has yet to recover," Ezra stated of the high-pitched, annoying woman's voice. Constance Evans had long since moved out, but that Saturday night was a favorite story of Bucks. He'd conned the rogue into doubling and then paid for his generosity, when Wilmington refused to leave.
"Another wonderful double date..." Buck laughed, shaking his head.
It was good to hear Buck laugh, even if it was brief. He enjoyed Buck's company and envied the ease at which the tall man was in any given situation. He was charming to a fault, intelligent, extremely funny and well read.
"Hey, Ez... listen... I want to thank you... I know I haven't been myself..." Buck paused and thought on how protective the southerner had been with Vin. "You know, you're okay, Ace."
"I'll remind you of those words the next time I ask for my poker winnings." Ezra teased, watching how comfortable Buck had settled into the chair. "You are more than welcomed to stay here."
Buck nodded, "Thanks Ez... but it might be a rough night. I haven't slept through since... well the nights have been a bitch is all."
"Night terrors can be very troubling."
"I keep seein' Chris and J.D., dead in all different ways." Buck raked a hand through his hair and hunched forward, pushing the half empty cup of cofee away. "I get there just after they..." he paused and rubbed his weary eyes. "Then there's a stranger near the bodies and I fire... shit... all I see is his eyes... shocked and blue."
"Vin..." Ezra sighed, "That is a reflection of your subconscious dealing with the trauma of your last parting."
"Yeah," Buck agreed, "but that don't make it any easier." He lifted his head and stared hard at the conman, "What if... I don't get the chance to tell him..."
"You're putting the cart before the horse," Ezra snapped, not liking the melancholy that sat on Buck's chest. "Tomorrow is a new day, I'm sure..."
"I told Orin I'm taking annual leave the rest of the week," Buck interrupted, "I can concentrate and Mike deserves better," he said of the supportive team leader. "I'm gonna go over everything again, we missed something." Buck yawned, suddenly unable to keep his eyes open. "Listen Ezra, thanks..." He offered his hand and the other took it and hauled him upright. Buck saw a glint in the green eyes as Ezra spoke.
"Not a problem," Ezra paused, patting Buck's shoulder, "as long as you don't mistake me for Miss Salmon of 1999..."
"It was Miss Catfish and even sleep deprived, I wouldn't make that mistake." Buck yawned, following Ezra towards the guest room. "She had a set of teeth on her...and talk about acrobatic..."
"Please," Ezra waved his hand, "...spare me the details."
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