Setting: ATF Universe
Page 3
It was a gray, chilly day and Buck pulled the wool collar of his coat up, his breath scoring the air in white puffs. He walked the familiar path and finally stopped, standing by the grave. He stood for several minutes, saying a few prayers, then blessed himself and kissed the cross on his neck, before slipping it back under his collar. It was his mother's celtic cross and he'd worn it every day since she died. He took a deep breath and felt the cruel wind slapping his windburned face.
"Hey Frank," he touched the icy cold, rounded marble marker and smiled. "Grace is doing great. You'd be so proud of her, I know I am. She put the house up for sale this week, she's moving back east to live with Mary," he said of her widowed sister. "Being around kids will be good for her," he thought on Mary's three small grandchildren who she babysat twice a week. "We're up to our asses in work, got three investigations going on. The Av's are having a helluva year, Sakic is playing out of his mind. They're gonna bring the Cup home, for sure," he noted of Colorado's outstanding hockey team. "You ought to see J.D. and Vin... they sure get a good workout," he thought on the two younger men, who played for an adult ice hockey league.
He paused and raised his head, glancing far back through the trees to the car. J.D.'s dark head was bouncing back and forth, a sure sign the radio station had been changed. The Kid was a heavy metal freak. He kicked some loose gravel by the edge of the grave and sighed again.
He almost heard Frank's gruff voice bellowing at him.
"I'm doing better," he answered the silent call. "It still hurts like hell, but the guys have made all the difference. I gotta tell you, Frank, I couldn't have gone through this without them. Sometimes I pinch myself, you know?" He paused again and thought of Vin Tanner and chuckled. "Vin's got a good bug in 'im and made the mistake of taking a sneezing fit Sunday at dinner. Before he could blink, Grace had him bundled up in the my guest room." He recalled Grace's Lasagna dinner for the gang. "His fussin' didn't fool anybody and she stayed for two days. The boy can eat like four linebackers... don't know where he puts it."
The wind picked up and he shivered, despite the wool garment and sweater he wore. His handsome face tightened and his cold fingers slid across the smooth marble.
"Grace gave me some stuff... a box... said you told her if... when you left..." Buck's voice broke. "Shit... I bet you're laughing your ass off, huh?" He choked, rubbing his eyes. "I didn't open it yet... I tried... but... it wasn't ever the right time, until today. Something feels different inside... Josiah's says it a 'healing pain'. Chris has been so solid, I never realized how strong he was... Jesus I'm babbling like a fool..." Buck remained silent for several more minutes and nodded, patting the stone again. "You rest easy, Frank, I'm doing fine."
J.D. jumped when the car was basked in silence again. "Hey, I was listening to that!"
"I'm surprised your ears aren't bleeding," Buck chastised, "You're gonna be deaf by the time you're thirty-five. How can you listen to that shit?"
"Rock and Roll, food for the soul..." J.D. crowed, pausing and waiting.
"If it's t'loud, yer t'old!" a croaking voice finished.
"I thought you were sleeping." Buck pulled out of the parking spot and eyed the shaggy head rising in the rear view mirror.
"...was doin' fine 'til some Old Man turned the music off." Vin complained.
"You two wouldn't know good music if it bit you in the ass."
"Don't go there, Buck," J.D. argued, "You'll never win that argument."
"I don't know Kid," Vin leaned forward, resting his face on his arms between the front seats. "There's a lot to be said about Lawrence Welk's Greatest Polka Hits on an Eight Track Player..."
"Fuck you, Tanner," Buck laughed, shoving the long-haired Texan backwards. "You sure, Vin?" he eyed the tired face in the mirror.
"Yeah, I'll take a raincheck. I'm beat..." Vin yawned and flopped back, dozing again. The car slowed down and he picked up his weary eyes as the corner of his street loomed ahead.
"You take your medicine?" Buck eyed the hand rubbing the throat in the mirror and the flinch of the cobalt eyes. He saw Vin screw his face up and mimic his words. "I heard that... go on and swallow them razor blades... don't make a damn bit of sense..."
"He took it," J.D. defended, "...with some Mountain Dew, a bag of Fritos and a bunch of chocolate cupcakes."
"How appetizing." Buck chuckled. "Okay Slick, here's your stop." Buck pulled over and slipped out, unlocking the trunk. He took the heavy equipment bag and slid it onto Tanner's leather-jacketed shoulder. The two younger men had hockey practice, which Buck caught the tail end of. They sure made a good team, Vin the speedy winger and J.D. a rushing defensemen.
Vin knew why Chris Larabee was coming to Buck's tonight. It was the right time and Buck would be with the two people he needed most. He wanted to say something, to let Buck know how he felt.
As if sensing the sudden stillness in the Texan's blue eyes, Buck rested a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm okay, Vin... really." He knew Vin was passing on dinner so he could be alone with Chris and J.D. Insight such as that was just one of the many reasons he admired Vin so much.
"Yeah..." Vin squinted and tried not to swallow. "Listen Buck, thanks fer askin'... it meant alot t'me."
"Me too, Tanner," Buck used a gentle tone and the emotion caught the younger man off guard. He gave a light squeeze to Vin's neck and walked back to the car, still seeing those large blue eyes. "Damn things are worse than lasers..." he muttered, sliding behind the wheel.
The pizza was long gone and the beer bottles stood in a row, like steadfast soldiers. J.D. eyed the clock on the wall and raised his eyebrows at Chris. The blond's face never changed, he was drinking coffee, having stopped after two beers. As the hour of eleven p.m. approached, Buck was sitting on the sofa next to Chris Larabee. The box was on the floor at his feet. J.D. saw across from them, on the loveseat.
"You don't have to do this, Buck." Chris finally broke the silence.
"Yeah... I do." Buck replied, "I'm sorry, I didn't think it would take this long."
"s'okay Buck," J.D. relayed, catching the blue eyes with his own. "You take all the time you need. We're not going anywhere."
Buck sighed and lifted the lid, taking it off and setting it to the side. He picked up a letter and inhaled sharply, seeing Frank's handwriting. He eyed the objects beneath and opened the envelope. He started to read, but felt the pain surging.
"Damn the light in here is bad," he rasped, rubbing his eyes.
"That's cause you're old..." J.D. joked and saw Chris slide his hand over, resting it on Buck's shoulder.
"I'm the designated reader, only two beers..." Chris decided, taking the letter.
Buck smiled at the familiar tone of Chris Larabee's voice, one he never got tired of hearing. He chuckled, recalling their first day together. Chris with his short hair and GQ looks and him with long hair and a mustache. It didn't take long for him to come to respect his new partner and care for him like a brother.
"Buck?" Chris waved a hand in front of the frozen face, until the eyes blinked. "Where were you?"
"In Mattleman's warehouse on a cold day in January, twelve years ago." Buck smiled.
"The day you met?" J.D. asked, watching both men wearing identical grins.
"The day we got assigned our first case together, without knowing it." Chris supplied, "Frank had just retired and Buck was riding solo for a few months. It was an arson case, a bad one."
"As I recall, I saved your sorry ass..." Buck touted.
"Like hell you did!" Chris retorted, "Denver's finest was ready to haul your hippie ass to jail..."
"Hippie?" J.D. laughed, "Buck?"
"Had hair longer than Vin's...." Chris grinned.
"No way..." J.D. shook his head. "Like Vin's?"
"Nah," Buck cocked his head, thinking on the sharpshooter, "Vin's a whole lot prettier..."
"I'm gonna tell him you said that," J.D. noted.
"Not if you want to live to see your next birthday, you won't." Buck warned then sighed. "McKenzie was the head of Team Two, Chris was one of his men. I'd been assigned to them on paper, while I was undercover."
"So, you met at a bust?" J.D. inquired.
"Chris persuaded the cops that I was their collar. I was in cuffs and he had his knee on my back, when McKenzie showed up." Buck laughed, recalling the look on Chris's face. "You damn near shit a brick..." Buck remembered, "I'm not working with that hippie..." he mimicked Chris's voice.
"Best decision that doughnut guzzling bastard ever made," Chris's green eyes twinkled as Buck smacked his leg.
"That's for damn sure." Buck replied, pulling out Frank's shield. "Shit..." he traced the numbers on the metal and sighed. Several citations were next, along with Frank's college ring, a Denver Bronco's jersey with Delassi on the back and a large book. "What the hell?" Buck eyed the dark green eight-by-ten photo album and took it out.
"Wow..." J.D. exclaimed, "Are they all about you?"
"I can't believe it... these go back to our first summer." Buck's voice was almost hushed as he turned the pages of the scrapbook. Photo's of a young Buck Wilmington, fresh out of college appeared.
"Why'd you join?" J.D. asked.
"I majored in Sociology and in my junior year, I got a job for the summer at the Federal Building. I started reading up on the jobs and decided it was for me. The summer after I graduated, I passed the test and went through the training. Then I got assigned to the office in Baltimore, Frank was my training officer."
"I'm glad you joined..." J.D. said quietly.
"Me too Kid," Buck replied, smiling warmly at his young friend. "Who'd be here to keep you butt in line? Teach you the fine ways of romancing a woman."
"Yo Buck," Chris pleaded, "Some of us don't have a strong stomach."
Buck continued to turn the pages, J.D moved over to his other side, so the mourning agent was between his two closest friends. With every page, more years passed, countless articles on Buck and Frank's sucessful busts.
"Oh My God!" J.D. grabbed a photo of a much younger Buck. Clad in skin tight jeans, sandals an oversized white shirt and long dark hair, cascading down past his shoulders, it didn't resemble the man next to him. "Wait until I show Vin..."
"Like hell you will." Buck took the photo back. "Damn, I was good looking..."
"'Was' being the key word there," Chris grinned, watching J.D.'s face light up. He continued to watch the pages turn, full of articles and photo's of the two of them. "Oh My God, Buck, get rid of that one..."
"Is that you?" J.D. howled, grabbing the photo. "You look like a reject from Dance Fever. Wait until Vin sees this... he'll bust every stitch." He eyed the photo again of a very young Chris Larabee with a red shirt and tight white pants. "How drunk were you?"
"First of all, Vin's never gonna see that," Chris warned, already hearing Tanner's evil laugh. Somehow, in Vin's hands, the photo would end up blown up as a poster, displayed in the lobby."Second, we were on duty..."
"As what, Danny Terrio look-alikes?" He noted of the host of the disco show, which his cable company featured in reruns.
"No, we were staking out a disco that was importin' liquor illegally over the border." Buck said, "Jesus, Chris, how did you get in those pants?"
"It wasn't easy..." Chris winced, still seeing Vin's devilish grin. "How much?"
"You ain't got enough greenbacks, Pard!" Buck laughed, wiggling his eyebrows.
"You take credit cards?"
"I'll think on it," Buck promised.
"What's that?" J.D. nodded to a gray cloth sack.
"It can't be..." Buck lifted the item with great care and took out an antique revolver.
"That's a beauty," Chris commented, as a collector of antique firearms, he knew quality. "Late eighteenth century, French, I think."
"It's been in his family for generations... passed down from father to son... Jesus... he never mentioned... I thought he'd give it to Dave's boy Danny. My God..." Buck's voice broke and he held the prized item to his chest. He took a deep breath and swallowed the tears. "Go on, Chris..."
"You sure?" the blond asked, unfolding the letter. "It might be personal."
"I got no secrets from you two," he rasped, feeling J.D.'s arm around his shoulder.
"Okay," Chris eyed the short letter and began. "Well Buck-o, I guess if you're reading this, I got called home to supper. I know you'll take care of my Grace, I'll rest easier, knowing she has you by her side. You know I hate goodbyes, so I'll keep this short. I lived a full life, did a job I loved, served my country and married the best woman God ever so fit to put on this sweet earth. You were my crowning achievement, Son. I never was so proud as when I walked by your side. Take Care, Frank."
Buck took several heaving breaths, clenching his eyes shut. He pushed back the emotional tide, despite J.D.'s firm grip on his shoulder and Chris's words of encouragement.
"Let it out, Buck," Chris advised, watching the struggle.
"I'm okay," Buck choked, carefully replacing every object. He held the letter against his chest and pulled out his mother's cross. After a short prayer, he raised his eyes heavenward.
"You look out for Frank, Mom, he's new up there and don't know his way around yet." He concluded and kissed the cross, before slipping it beneath his shirt. He rose and embraced each friend briefly, before resting a hand on each shoulder.
"Thanks..."
"Wait until Vin sees these," J.D. chortled, waving the photos.
"Kid, you just made the sorriest mistake of your short life." Buck vowed, taking chase.
"You'll never catch me," J.D. jumped over a footstool and headed for the door. "Don't trip over your walkers... Isn't it past your bedtime?" He tripped and fell, the other two quickly captured the struggling hostage. "Buck, I was only kidding. Chris, can't you take a joke? Chris? Buck?"
"How do you want to do him?" Chris asked, grabbing the youth's arms and pinning them behind his back.
"Hey, I got an idea," Buck winked at his blond friend, "Pam left a box of blond hair dye here," he noted of an old flame, "What do you think? Might turn the Kid's luck around, we can even spike his hair, cut it like Rod Stewart's."
"Buck, that isn't funny!" J.D. muffled against the carpet as Buck grabbed his legs. "Buck... Buck..."
The balcony from the hotel room commanded a fine view onto the busy Baltimore Harbor. Throngs of tourists crowded the busy walkways, restaurants and attractions. Dinner had been wonderful, Phillip's Seafood had lived up to it's reputation. The hour of eight drew near and Delaney exited the room. The night air was chilly and forced a quick step. The ten minute walk led to a non-descript tavern called 'Jugs n Mugs'. Hardly a befitting place for a union such as theirs to be born.
It was dark and the heavily painted women who danced on the bar looked worn. Delaney's blue eyes worked their way around the room.
"Can I help you?"
The waitress was stuffed into a blouse two sizes too small and the snapping gum in her mouth didn't help.
"Coors Lite?"
"Yeah... anything else?" the tired voice asked.
"Tony Kennedy? Does he work here?"
"Never heard of him." the tired voice answered.
"I think if you try hard, you might remember him." the fifty dollar bill easily changed possession. Recognition sparked in the server's eyes. "Delaney. You let him know I'm here. I'll be in that back booth."
The beer was cold at least and it didn't take long for the body to appear. The careful blue eyes observed him as he approached. Anthony Michael Kennedy, thirty-nine years old and fresh out of Cumberland Federal Prison. He'd served eighteen years for a list of charges, including illegal possession of weapons, assault and battery and extortion. He stood three inches over six feet and in excellent condition. The body was lean, all muscle and the eyes were dark and mean. A head full of curly black hair sat well over the olive complexion and dark eyes on the man's face. He slid into the seat across the filmy table. The dark eyes were hooded and suspicious, something Delaney didn't like to see.
"You understood my intentions on the phone?"
"Yeah," Tony replied, "You don't look the type..."
"Killers come in all suits of clothing, Mr. Kennedy. I assure you, I'm quite serious. I've been planning this for over eighteen years."
"You got my parole moved up, I owe you." He nodded, acknowledging the dismissal nearly ten months ahead of time.
"It was worth every penny," Delaney mused of the large 'donation' the senior member of the parole board accepted. "We have a lot of work to do and only a few weeks to get it done. First, a job in Denver. I've cleared it with your parole officer..."
"Fuck!" Kennedy grinned, draining his beer, "You got balls..."
"You'd be surprised what people will do in the name of science. I've arranged for you, on paper, to become a part of a research project I'm conducting on biological toxicology."
"What the hell is that?" Kennedy's face twisted in disgust.
"Germ warfare..." Delaney sighed, "The warden at the prison, the parole board and your parole officer were all given a full report. Your unusual blood chemistry and DNA are essential in the program I've mapped out. I got you a job in the maintance department of the Federal Building, that way you will be able to move freely around the building. You'll have to report to the parole office in Denver, until we move into the final phase of the plan."
"As long as it ends with that bastard lying dead at my feet..." Kennedy loathed of Buck Wilmington. The years slipped away in his mind and he saw the young federal agent who used him. He still saw the gun coming out and the silver badge. He befriended an old High School buddy and gave him a job, or so he thought. Wilmington used him, set him up, worked next to him for months, all the time compiling evidence. That smug face in court as he was led away, was the one he saw every day since he went to prison. He wanted to see that face again, right before he killed Buck Wilmington. "I don't give a fuck about the phases of your plan."
"Understand this," Delaney leaned forward, blue eyes glowing, "I've been waiting eighteen years for this. You'll follow my plan to the letter..." the voice lowered and became feral. "You fuck with me, Mr. Kennedy and you'll end up next to Wilmington on a slab at the morgue or worse..."
"Worse?"
"Much worse..." Delaney warned, "I've got hundreds of little allies in vials... deadly allies... that will cause you indescribable pain. I know all about you, Mr. Kennedy; I know you can taste his blood... like I can. We do it my way, you'll watch him suffer in inches."
"...and after?"
"I have that arranged as well," Delaney thought on the deadly virus collection that would be worth millions in the right hands. The years working in Europe for many top secret Government projects had exposed all the right names. After careful study, a middle-eastern dictator had provided the right amount of zero's on a proposal to buy the collection of toxic chemicals. "While the rest of this Godforsaken country celebrates Independence Day, we'll be on a private jet, heading for the Mediterranean. Be ready at six a.m., I'll pick you up outside."
Kennedy watched the odd figure leave the room and frowned. He didn't trust Cameron Delaney, but if the quack led him to Wilmington, that's all that mattered. He departed for his room above the seedy dive and snagged a fleshy dancer going off duty. As he drove into her, he eyed the stars in the sky out the broken window and saw the bloody face of Buck Wilmington. He laughed and slapped the girl's backside hard, before grabbing her hips and sating himself.
Cameron Delaney pulled the car over by the harbor, watching the moon reflect on the water. Soon the fruits of the many years of labor would be ripe and the juice would be all the sweeter. The years away from the United States didn't change the feelings inside. Eighteen years peeled away and the bitterness returned. The lies that Wilmington and Delassi spewed in the hot courtroom. Emma's face the day when they heard the shot, that her husband would rather go to hell then to jail. The body slumped over a desk, blood pooling on the black and white lies in the paper. They'd moved because of the press hounding them, no relief for the poor widow. The illness got progressively worse, the cancer spread until Emma was dead. But Cameron had used the years in Europe well.
Majoring in biochemistry and attaining a PhD led to a lucrative job for the Euro-Center for Toxilogical Research. From the onset, as a microbiologist through the parade of awards as a top specialist in toxicology, Delaney never wasted a minute of work. Research that capitalized on scientific knowledge in the areas of biochemistry, organic chemistry, cellular and molecular biology, immunology, nutritional biochemistry, and pharmacology.
Attaining the job in Denver was easy. Once Emma died, there was no reason to stay in Switzerland. It didn't take long to track down Wilmington and Delassi there. Deep within the bowels of the Federal Building in the city, was a secret Government laboratory. It's sole purpose was to fight biological warfare. The research was specifically designed to define biological mechanisms of action underlying the toxicity of a multitude of drugs. This research was aimed at understanding critical biological events in the expression of toxicity and at developing methods to improve assessment of human exposure, susceptibility and risk.
More importantly, it allowed free rein in the realm of Buck Wilmington. Delassi's death still angered the scientist, but in the months since, a new plan emerged. Careful study of his haunts, likes, dislikes, friends, lovers and daily routine, had yielded a more painful demise. The plan evolved, to make him suffer... like they had.
"The time is near, Father." The wind lifted the auburn hair and Delaney eyed the heavens. "Your death will be avenged. He'll pay... and so will they... with their lives."
The seven were working on several major cases and that meant all of them were putting in extra hours. It wasn't even seven a.m. and the entire team was already busy at their desks. Chris paused just inside the door to the large wing that was home to team seven. Josiah was returning from the cantina in the back of the room, stirring a cup of coffee. Nate and J.D. were behind him, each clutching a mug; the youth had a large powdered doughnut in his mouth and a bagel in his hand. Buck and Ezra were huddled at the southerner's desk. The leader's eyes narrowed when he saw money in a pile under the stapler by Standish's computer. His green eyes followed the stares of the pair, over to Vin Tanner's desk, at the far edge of the room.
Vin was sitting sideways, his booted feet crossed and propped on an upside-down trashcan. The Texan loved hot weather, so the blast of air conditioning didn't set well with him. He was wearing a denim shirt over a harley davidson t-shirt. He was studying something of great interest in the newspaper on his lap. In his hands, was the object of the gambling pair's interest. Chris moved closer to Standish and Wilmington, keeping his ear to the discussion and his eyes on Tanner.
"...no way... you just lost yourself a bunch of dead presidents," Buck bragged.
"Ye of little faith," Standish countered, watching Tanner's hands work their magic.
"Come on Vin..." Buck prayed, watching the nimble fingers working. Then the object they were so intent on sailed through the air, making a perfect arch, before landing in a trash can.
"Shit!" Buck slammed his fist at the same time Ezra unleashed a cry of victory, snatching up the money.
Vin lifted his face, shook his head at the pair and scowled, "I swear, Ezra, ye'll make money offa yer own funeral."
"You cheated!" Buck accused, taking the long, unbroken orange peel from the trash. His blue eyes narrowed, wondering about Ezra's all too cool suggestion of the bet. After all, he'd never seen Vin eat an orange, let alone peel one without a break.
"I beg your pardon," Ezra bruskly denied, heading for the cantina and a cup of coffee. Vin's booted leg appeared against the wall, blocked his path. The Texan's palm came out, the face still glued to the newspaper.
"Give it over..."
"Certainly not... as the victor..."
"Give it over or I'll tell Bucklin about ya riggin' his car so's we could hear him caterwallin' them Godawful Elvis songs..."
"What!" Buck launched himself at the the conman, who'd reluctantly handed over half the payoff. "What do mean rigging my car? Ezra!" Buck growled, chasing the fleet-footed undercover agent through the room.
Chris smiled and entered his office, dropping off his briefcase, laptop and a newspaper. He listened to his voicemail messages, flipped on his computer and then headed for the cantina. He paused at Vin's desk, wondering what had captured his friend's interest.
It was an article about the upcoming Fourth of July festivities. It listed the details of the celebrations, fireworks, concerts and other events in Denver and around the country. Vin loved history, Chris knew that much from the library of books at the Texan's house. He felt strongly about freedom and was quietly a true patriot.
"Sure would be somethin' t'see..." Vin mused, popping a slice of his orange into his mouth and flipping the paper in half. "Hey Cowboy..." he smiled up at his best friend, pulling his feet down. He lifted his large mug and rose. "Ya buyin'?"
"What's that?" Chris edged his head towards the paper and Tanner's comment.
"Oh... there was a bit in there 'bout the Inner Harbor at Baltimore havin' a huge fireworks show."
"We got some pretty decent fireworks around here."
"Yeah, I guess... but they's havin' a reenactment at Fort McHenry and they got all them Civil War battlefields in that neck o'the woods..."
"So what's stopping you?" Chris asked, pouring Vin some coffee. Vin frowned, sat down at the table and pulled a large danish from the box and a doughnut as well. He saw Chris wrinkle his nose at the sugary pile on the paper towel in front of him.
"Yer a snob, Larabee," he grunted, taking a bite and deliberately letting a wad of cream linger on his lips, before capturing it with his tongue. He left the powered sugar mustache in place and watched the green eyes crinkle and a soft smile form. Chris sipped his coffee as Vin devoured his stack of pastries.
"Well?"
"Oh..." Vin belched, giving Ezra cause to roll his eyes, before leaving the room. They were alone and Vin felt a compulsion to speak. This time of year always brought up painful memories. He turned to Chris, who saw the need reflected and gave his younger friend his undivided attention. "Ya know m'dad was in the army, stationed in Texas. I turned thirteen that spring and we planned t'get back east, see all the historic stuff, all the battlefields and such. I got maps and planned the whole trip. I did the gas, mileage, motels, all the battlefields... made red dots on the places we was gonna stop at and blue lines connectin' 'em. We was gonna finish up at Fort Sumter," Vin paused, still hearing his father's voice, "'We're gonna see the rocket's red glare, boy'..." he spoke his father's words from long ago. "I was real excited... school was almost out and I had the days counted. He come down t'breakfast that day and the phone rang. He took the call in the other room... I could hear him hollerin' and cussin', it wasn't often he got riled up like that. I finished and ran fer m'books, so's I could get t'school. He caught up t'me in the driveway and hugged me hard, nearly took m'breath away. It scared me Chris... I remember feelin' tingles all the way t'school. I got a bad feelin' that I'd never see him again..." Vin stopped and swallowed hard, exchanging a brief glance at his best friend.
Chris realized by the eyes and the voice - that damned quiet drawl, emotion catching on every word - that Vin had never spoken of this before. That his best friend, someone who could touch him deep inside with a single glance, was baring his soul, took the blond's breath away. "You okay?" Chris rested a hand on the tension riddled forearm and saw the shaggy head dip once.
"They was waitin' when I got home, spoutin' nonsense about an 'unfortunate incident on the firin' range'. Hah," he snorted, still angry after all these years. "Unfortunate my ass, I knew they was lyin' and they knew it... I hauled m'ass upstairs and ripped all the maps up... ripped them inta a thousand pieces. I busted his picture against the wall. I was so pissed off at him... stayed mad fer a good long while."
"God, I'm sorry, Vin." Chris winced, still feeling the simmering rage brewing in the sky eyes.
"He taught me everythin' Chris, from the time I was a little feller. Huntin', trackin', how to read the stars, all the stuff his father learned him. But shootin', that was somethin' he didn't count on. I was so good by the time I turned thirteen, it scared him. He'd take me out t'the desert and follow me, seein' if I could find m'way."
"You were lucky, Vin. Some people go through a whole life without a father like that."
"Thanks, Chris." Vin paused, finishing his lukewarm coffee. "I packed m'backpack the night before the funeral. I took off right after and headed north... back home t'New Mexico... back
t'Lone Wolf." He stopped and saw the grayhaired man who'd raised his father. "He didn't have no phone... he didn't know... he took it hard..." Vin recalled the painful first days. "But we did okay. That Old Man finished the job m'dad started. We went huntin', trackin', fishin', he knew more about history than any of them fussy teachers in them fancy colleges... he learned me good Chris."
"That he did, Vin..." Chris agreed strongly, hearing the pride in Vin's voice.
"I just turned nineteen, was workin' two jobs. I was in town when they come. Time I got home, they was drivin' off. A bunch of redneck, drunken bikers. Sheriff said it was a Goddamn accident." Vin scoffed, "Accident my ass, they put four bullets in 'im... I took what that Old Man learned me and found every one o'them bastards..."
"I'd have ridden with you..." Chris said quietly and saw Vin's small smile.
"Thanks, Cowboy." Vin sent his gratitude easily, "I found out that the State o'Texas paid good money fer bringing in murderin' bastards like that bunch. Did okay fer awhile, until Eli Joe set me up... took t'ridin' solo again."
Chris nodded, feeling honored that Vin shared his brief history. He knew the rest, that fateful day in December when a wild bountyhunter chased a felon into a raid in Denver and Vin Tanner locked eyes with a green-eyed soldier whose soul shared the same demons.
"You got plenty of time now, Vin," Chris suggested, pouring himself and Vin a cup of fresh coffee. "Take a couple weeks..."
"We ain't never gonna get done in two weeks. We got t'much cookin'." He paused, reaching for the sugar jar. "I'll get there... gonna plan it right, hit as many places as I can. Maybe fly into Boston and head south through Philly, Gettysburg, Virginia, Charlston and Savananah." He frowned as the two reached the doorway. "I been hearin' his voice lately, Chris. I like t'finish the trip we planned."
"Funny thing," Chris read the silent invite in the stirring blue eyes bearing in on him. "I was thinking on a trip back east. Haven't been to Gettysburg in ten years. I wouldn't mind some company, strictly for splitting expenses of course."
"Of course..." Vin grinned, bouncing off his heels. His smile faded and he gazed hard at Chris Larabee. "Ya sure?"
"You bet," Chris smiled at the boyish gleam in Vin's eyes. "You tell Paul Tanner's boy, I'd be honored."
"Reckon I can do that."
"Reckon you better get your skinny ass to your desk and some work done." Chris sauntered off, feeling like the richest man in Colorado. He was talking on the phone to the Accounting Division about funding, and happened to walk to the fax machine. From the corner of his eye, he saw Vin hovered over a printed map from the internet. A red pen and a blue pen were next to his hand. He read the upside words of the map of Pennsylvania. Nearby were maps of Boston and Virginia. He smiled all the way back to his desk. He thought of the boy who'd dreamed of seeing the places where destiny made men heroes. He thought of another blue-eyed man named Tanner, who died before he got the chance to show his boy the untold wealth of history.
"You did a helluva job, Captain Tanner," he whispered, eyeing Vin's profile through the glass. "I'll take it from here."
It was almost eight a.m., when the six shuffled into the conference room, prepared to go over their pending cases and the upcoming week's activities. Chris also updated them on the Saving Bond drive, the Red Cross Blood Donation schedule and the Fire Safety film that was mandatory to attend.
"Oh Vin, you're on closeout." Chris ended the meeting, bracing for the explosion.
"Shit, hell and damn!" The Texan slammed his folder, scattering his neat pile of notes all over the table. Chris aside, the others all broke into laughter and hooted at the angry sharpshooter.
"You watch that fuckin' mouth of yours, Slick," Buck teased, "Some of us got delicate ears."
"Come on Chris," Vin begged, "I can't stay cooped up in that bitty room all day."
"You make it sound like a phone booth, Vin," Chris continued to make notes in his schedule without looking up. "It's your turn, you've been trading off with the others for months. It's got to be done, end of discussion." Chris never looked up from the papers in front on him. "Take those two boxes with you. You can come back for other one after lunch."
Vin kicked the legs on the chair, growled once and stacked the two boxes on a vacant chair, before wheeling it towards the door. Closeouts were something they all dreaded. A process that required the reviewing of closed cases, making sure the summary sheet on the front inside of the folder contained all the pertinant details of the case and finalizing the file. This was flipping through the folders to ensure that all the documents were secured property and that nothing was forgotten. It was time consuming and in a room without windows, which Vin hated. The Files Room was large, but the case review area wasn't.
Vin wheeled his chair off the elevator on the first floor and headed for the ATF File Storage Room. He shivered as the blast of cold air hit him. Upon entering the large room, he eyed the many aisles of file cabinets. He wheeled quickly into the smaller room, which had a long review table, and a desk with a computer. It was empty, which gave him a little more breathing room. He stacked the boxes on the long table, took out a pile of folders and sat down. After reviewing each folder carefully, signing the close-out form and attaching it, he date stamped each one and initialed it, before setting it aside. Once he had ten folders done, he moved to the computer to update them. Then he went back to the table and began the process all over again. The folder's that contained errors, were put to the side and sent back with notes attached, so the agent who prepared it could update it. Chris was so adament about their reports and red-penned each one over and over, until they were right, seldom did a folder of Team Seven get returned
The morning hours left finally, chased out by the hungry agent's growling stomach. The room was warm and Vin took off his denim shirt. He eyed the hour of twelve p.m., just as he phone extension on the wall rang. Vin shoved back the chair and padded over to the tan phone.
"ATF, Agent Tanner."
"Hey, Vin, It's J.D.. We're going to Milo's for roast pork sandwiches and ragin' cajun fries. You want in?"
"Aw, damn Kid, that's hittin' below the belt," Vin winced, his hunger pains increasing. "I'm runnin' behind. I still got t'get the last o'this batch done, if I'm gonna get the other box finished by quittin' time. I'll pass."
"Hey, I'll save you a trip, I'll bring the last box down."
"Thanks Kid..." Vin glanced at his watch, "Is Chris there?"
"Yeah," J.D. replied, noticing Josiah, Ezra and Nathan were already gone. The blond was at the door, ready to join them. "Chris!"
"Damn, J.D.!" Vin winced, grabbing his ringing ear.
"What's up?"
"I'm gonna push right through, get this done," Vin shifted the phone to the other hand, "Should be wrapped up by four or so, I'm gonna leave from here, got some errands t'do. Ya headin' t'the Saloon?"
"Not tonight," Chris replied, "Billy's overnight with the Cub Scouts at the Zoo and I'm cooking Mary dinner at her place."
"She's a brave lady," Vin imparted.
"I cook okay!" Chris defended.
"Let me guess?" Vin coughed, covering up his laughter, "Chicken and Dumplin's?"
"What's wrong with my Chicken and Dumplings?" Chris scowled, hearing Tanner laughing on the other end. "You seem to eat enough of them."
"I'm real good at nibblin' and shiftin', specially when it comes t'yer damn Chicken and Dumplin's. Face it, Cowboy, yer a one hit wonder and it's gettin' old fast..." Vin crowed, "I can fix a plate so's it looks like I cleaned up."
"Shift your ass back to work, Tanner," Chris growled, tossing a glare at Buck who was listening on the extension.
"You gonna meet us over there, Vin?" Buck laughed, eyeing Chris's stone-face.
"Yeah," Vin agreed, "Ya tell Ezra t'dust off that piece o'leather he calls a wallet, he's due."
"Will do, Slick," Buck agreed, hanging up the phone. "It's too late to change the menu now, Chef Larabee." Buck winked and met Chris in the hall outside their office. "Shiftin' and nibblin'..." he recalled aloud and laughed again.
"It's not that funny, Buck," Chris warned.
"The hell it isn't..." Buck patted Chris's back as they got on the elevator.
By the time one p.m. rolled around, Vin hit the enter key, securing the updated information for the last folder. He'd filed most of the folders in the outer room, and left the remaining couple dozen for later. He decided to get some Mexican takeout from Pablo's on the corner. The small eatery served spicy Mexican dishes and was one of Vin's favorites. He ordered the "Texas Grande" a large platter with a sampling of just about everything on the menu. He ate quickly and washed it down with a Corona, before making his way back. With any luck, he'd be on his way home by four o'clock. He patted his pocket and realized his I.D. badge was in his desk. He couldn't get out of the parking lot without it. He jogged up to the garage entrance of the Federal Building and caught the elevator. The office was empty and he quickly retrieved the laminated likeness and trotted back down the hall to the elevator.
He didn't look up right away when he got on, and suddenly noticed the paint splattered coveralls next to him. He glanced at the man's face and nodded, but then he saw the eyes so dark they were nearly black and the crescent shaped scar on the man's right cheekbone. The face was familiar but Vin couldn't place him. He didn't realize he was staring until the man moved back, clearly uncomfortable. The paint-splattered shirt reached forward to punch a button on the wall, and Vin's heart began to beat hard. There was a tatoo of a serpent, wrapped around the man's wrist. He swallowed hard and his mouth went dry. A 'danger' message flashed in his head, in red pulsating letters. Who was this stranger? He snuck a fast glance in the mirror in the corner and etched the rest of the features into memory .
Vin ducked off at the first floor and turned the other way, away from his destination. He paused at the box housing newspapers, fumbling for change. Carefully, he eyed the stranger, who was now talking with a well dressed Government employee. Vin flipped the box open and slowly bent down for a paper, eyeing the white Government I.D. badge, trimmed in light green.
"F.D.A?" he mumbled of the color code, staring at the odd pair. They walked slowly around the corner and Vin followed, chucking the paper in the trash. The cold grip in his gut was his instincts telling him that the man was bad news. He ducked behind a large truck and got a closer look. He got the first three letters on the badge, unaware that the pair knew they were being observed.
"How did you manage to pick up Tanner?" Delaney hissed, the blue eyes noticing the Team Seven sharpshooter several feet behind them.
"It was an accident, he got in the elevator. Take him out?" he guessed, thinking of the knife in his boot.
"No... not yet..." the scientist mused, "Let's find out what he knows. Follow him, see where he goes and report back to me."
Vin watched the pair disappear into the freight elevator at the back of the garage and frowned. He waited several minutes and went back to the file room. Maybe it was his imagination running wild. No... that tatoo was like a knife in his gut. He sat at the table and closed his eyes, concentrating on the tatoo. He slowed his breathing down and blanked out everything in his mind , but that tatoo.
Tony Kennedy saw the agent disappear into the room identified as the ATF File Storage Area and slid through the side door. He crept around the outer room, marking the large deserted file area. He noticed the room the agent was in, had only one entrance. He saw the long-haired agent from behind, sitting in front of a pile of folders. Smiling, he left the room as quietly as he entered.
"Damn..." Vin slapped the table. "I seen him before... in a picture... shit..." he thought hard and flipped through the pile of folders he was waiting to file. Buck's familiar scrawl appeared on the summary sheet and then he dawned on him, where he'd seen that image before. "Shit..." his face froze in time, locked on the blurry image in his head. He left the file and went to the computer, looking up Buck's file numbers. He raced into the larger room and plucked the thick folder from the shelf. He flipped through the pages, until he found what he was looking for. Dropping in front of the computer, he logged onto the Internet, calling up the newspaper archives. It took a few minutes and more searches and some police records, but there it was. He printed out the image and grabbed a legal pad and began to make notes. He downloaded other articles and printed them out, not bothering to read them, until a photo of a funeral caught his eye. It was the funeral for a cop who'd commited suicide, a Captain Newlander. But the face in the photo below the headline, was the one that jerked his heart. There, supporting the dead detective's widow, was the same face he'd seen downstairs, younger and thinner, but the same person. The green and white badge, indicated they worked for the F.D.A. The man with the serpent was Tony Kennedy, identified in the photo during the arrest in a Maryland warehouse. It was Buck's first case, Frank was his partner. It was no coincidence the two were here, but Kennedy wasn't due for parole until next year. Buck had checked that out himself.
He flew to the phone and then cursed, realizing that the wall extension didn't get outside lines. The rest of the team was scheduled to meet with the arson investigation unit of the Denver P.D. this afternoon, comparing notes on a series of bombings. Vin quickly punched in Buck's extension upstairs, deciding to leave word there and then get to a phone and find the team.
"Buck, I gotta find ya... Ya won't believe what I seen... it's about..." Vin frowned as the line went dead and the lights in the outer room went out. He ran to the table and gathered up his notes and the other information he'd compiled. He shoved it into the folder and bound it with rubber bands. Frantically, he eyed the room, which had nowhere to hide his valuable evidence. Then he made the only decision he could.
Kennedy changed into dark blue overalls and a ski mask. He held the gun against his hip and moved slowly in the darkness, towards where he'd seen the door. He already disconnected the phone line in the hall, at the power box and shut the lights off as he entered the room.
His file secure, Vin grabbed the only weapon he had available, a heavy, metal triple hole puncher. He eyed the dark room and crept through the doorway. He felt a sting, like a wasp or bee, on the back of his neck and whirled around, swinging the heavy object and making contact. His legs were like rubber and the floor turned to quicksand. He went to his knees, as a heavy weariness overwhelmed him. The loud sound he heard was his labored breathing and he slid to the floor. The last thing he saw was a heavy boot coming at his groin.
"That hurt, you little prick," Kennedy grunted, kicking the nearly sedated man several times. He knelt down and yanked the stuperous head up by the hair. The eyes were half-mast and a long line of drool ran from the slack agent's lip. "Sweet dreams, pig," he whispered, hauling the now inert man over his shoulder. The large canvas gurney was by the door and the slight body fit inside well. Tony dumped several boxes of recycled paper ontop of the drugged agent and tossed the ski cap under the paper as well. He made a trip back to the small room and searched it. He was careful to keep his gloves on and not to mess up the box of folders. Not finding anything crucial, he grabbed Tanner's denim shirt and headed back to his victim. He peered outside and pushed the cart through the corridor towards the freight elevator.
"One little piggie went to market..." Kennedy chirped, wheeling the cart into the back entrance of the large laboratory hidden underground. Dr. Delaney had the only key to the private lab in the back, so there was no fear of being seen. He lifted the lean body from the cart and laid him on the examining table.
"Excellent." Delaney said, eyeing the prize."What did you find out?"
"He was reading folders, old cases... the room was clean."
"He must have recognized you..."
"...or you..." Kennedy shot back, eyeing the syringes and bottles on a metal tray, "What are you going to do to him?"
"Mr. Tanner has now become a key member of the success of this operation." Delaney tied a small rubber hose around the slack agent's arm and tapped his pale skin, searching for a vein. "With a little help... he'll become a perfect little puppet."
"What's that stuff?" Kennedy watched the syringe filling with amber colored fluid.
"X-16... Something they've been using in Europe on prisoners... usually for questioning. Unfortunately, it has some rather nasty side effects and can't be approved for the general public. It's a chemical compound that wipes away short term memory, but that's for later. Now, I need to find out just what agent Tanner knows."
"Sodium penathol?" Kennedy guessed of the second syringe.
"Yes," Delaney eyed the clock as the long-haired patient began to moan and move his head. "That dart contained a very mild anesthetic." A fast swab on the arm and the needle slid inside, the only sound was a gasp from the unwilling patient. "Now, we'll find out just what Mr. Tanner knows. Then will see about his induction." Delaney eyed the amber fluid in the vial. "I'll have to dilute it, I don't want to lose him too soon."
Kennedy nodded and moved the limp body to a tall chair in the corner. It reclined slightly and Tanner seemed comfortable. The dark-haired man shook his head as the mad doctor took a seat next to the drugged agent.
"Can you hear me, Mr.Tanner?" the scientist watched the closed eyes furrow and a tongue lick the dry lips. His body was totally relaxed and he was completely under the power of the drug.
"Yes..." the raspy voice replied.
"Excellent... showtime, Mr. Kennedy..." Delaney called to her assistant, who picked up a tape recorder. The doctor eyed the nearby large vial full of X-16 and smiled evilly.
Page | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 |
Return to Deirdre's Fic Archive | Return to Lady Angel's Library
