Bridge Burning
Disclaimer: Any thoughts I ever entertained of owning the boys were immediately killed by the realization that I could never afford to feed, clothe, and bandage all seven of them. Plus, where would I keep them? And then there's the cost of repairing the bullet holes in the walls... ... I'll settle for taking them out to play once in a while.
There are some bridges you don't even realize can burn, until you're standing there -- matchbook in hand, as smoke curls around your feet. JD had the sickening feeling that he was standing smack in the middle of one while the blaze really worked up some steam.
"A cop?" Rory's voice squeaked slightly. "Not just a cop, but a fed? How could you do this to me, JD? You couldn't have at least said something to me?"
JD pulled the makeshift icepack away from the side of his face to glare at his friend. "I was a cop back in Boston remember?"
"But we all figured it was a phase," Rory said, indignation still coloring his tone.
"A phase?" JD's voice was flat. He wasn't at all amused to hear his life's work brushed off like a passing infatuation. Being an ATF agent was serious business . . . well, most of the time.
"Yeah. Like that whole hockey thing."
"Hey. That could've happened!"
"Right. With your size? You'd 've lasted all of five minutes." Rory drew himself up to his full 6'3". An old habit he'd acquired when they were growing up, and fell back into, whenever he wanted to try and overcome JD's confidence and exuberant personality.
JD let the comment slip by, and they lapsed back into the brooding silence that had marked their confinement. JD returned to nursing his blackened and still swelling eye. Next time, Rory was on his own. He'd just worry about himself . . . and ducking, JD decided crossly.
Rory started pacing off the seconds, circling the study in an effort to burn off nervous energy. After the tenth circuit, JD was beginning to understand why the guys always threatened to tie him down when faced with a forced period of inactivity.
"How could you do this to me?" Rory was working his anger back up. Distancing himself from JD, preparing for an eventuality that JD didn't really want to consider.
"Like you're one to talk. You didn't exactly come right out and say, 'Hey, guess what! I've gone and become a gun-for-hire. And by the way, my boss? Great guy that he is, made the FBI's Christmas wish list 7 years running.' What the hell happened to you, Rory? You're not a thug." JD wasn't so much angry as he was tired. The waiting was wearing at him and he wished that things would just happen, one way or another. Actually, there was definitely one way he'd prefer over the others.
Rory flopped into one of the leather reading chairs, looking more like the lanky teen JD remembered and less the hired gunman he'd become. "This is who I am now. We don't all get out of the neighborhood, JD. Some of us were born to die there."
There was such resignation in that quiet statement that JD found himself at a loss to reply. Finally he managed to say, "But this? McNeil? Don't you remember what he did to the neighborhood? What about Tommy? He was your friend too." JD felt his face heating up as old rage reasserted itself. "You want to know why I became a cop? Because I can still hear Tommy begging for his life, when that bastard pulled the trigger. JD's voice was rough with long cherished hatred. "He was a kid. He didn't deserve that. None of us did. I joined the force to put a stop to McNeil's kind. The way we both swore we would."
"Very touching, Johnny." A new voice from the doorway called. "I'm honored that you credit me with such influence over your life. I must admit it was quite a shock to discover that little Johnny Dunne, from back home, grew up to be the JD Dunne of ATF fame. Your name comes up frequently within certain circles. I'm impressed. So where are your friends, Johnny?"
Years had done nothing to make James McNeil less imposing. In fact, the steel glints of gray that threaded through his dark hair, and etched lines of his face gave him a hard look; harder than JD remembered. Despite that, it took everything JD had to stay in his chair. He wanted nothing more than to fly, fists first into the smirking man in the doorway.
McNeil still dressed to the nines, and from what JD'd seen of this place- he was living right too. It irritated JD that McNeil was still profiting off of other people's pain. Just the same as he had done back home.
With his fancy clothes, fast cars, and endless supply of ready cash- McNeil had been an impressive figure in JD's childhood. Many of his friends had been blinded by the easy wealth they'd seen being tossed around. They'd gone into the organization early. Several had left it the same way. Though the exit had been considerably harder than the entrance.
JD himself had felt his head being turned a time or two. The lifestyle hadn't been without its attractions. Especially after his mother had gotten sick. McNeil had offered to cover her medical expenses in exchange for JD's loyalty. That had almost been the price of JD's soul.
But the doctors had started using terms like malignant and hospice. After that, there had been only time for good-byes. Thoughts of joining anything had dissolved into the feverish pattern of school, work, and caring for his mother.
The summer before his sixteenth birthday had blurred into a long series of snapshot memories. Disjointed and run together, there weren't many that stood out clearly. Those that he could recall would likely stay with him forever.
Some were fond memories that he kept close to his heart. Like the last trip his mother had made to the shore, just a few short weeks before her death. The way they'd sat out all night, just to see the sun break over the edge of the world.
Others were bitter, painful images that burned into his mind. Thomas Patrick Malloy was one of those. Tommy, Rory, and JD had grown up together. Grade school, sandlot baseball, girls and cars. They'd been inseparable. Until Tommy had gotten the call.
He had never told the other two what his price had been. With two little sisters at home, an alcoholic mother, and an absentee father, it had probably been rent--maybe groceries. Whatever it had been, Tommy had been lost to JD and Rory . . .
Boston, early summer 1994
It was warm, with the promise to get hot. For once, JD didn't have anywhere in particular to be. School was out for the summer. A neighbor had taken his mother to her doctor appointment earlier that morning; he didn't expect her back until late afternoon. The stable he worked in had gone to half hours for a few weeks while the horses were boarded out during renovations. All of that added up to one of life's rare joys for JD . . . a day off.
He was lounging on the bottom step of the cement front-stoop of his building, half-heartedly debating with Rory Daniels about how they would take advantage of the free time. JD was all for sneaking into Fenway Park to see the Red Sox play, but the rising temperature was making a strong case for Rory's idea of swimming.
"C'mon, JD. Jenny Cruikshank is lifeguarding at the pool on 138th this summer. She had a crush on you all last year, bet if you just--"
JD never got to hear what he'd have to do to finagle a free swim out of Jenny. Rory broke off suddenly, straightening as he took great interest in someone over JD's shoulder. "Will you look at this," he murmured, before continuing at a shout, "Hey, Tommy!" Rory jumped from the stair he'd been resting on to the street below.
Only one 'Tommy' warranted that particular tone of voice from Rory. Without turning around, JD grinned and said in a stage whisper that carried easily, "Tommy? Tommy who? Only Tommy I know is some stuck-up shit who's too good to be seen associatin' with the riffraff."
"Just like to come back every once in a while. Remind myself why I left. How's 'bout it, Rory? You still runnin' with this bum?" came the easy reply.
"This 'bum'," JD said, finally standing and turning to face the newcomer, "can still kick your ass."
His words were belied by the fact that even standing on the bottom step, he was barely the same height as the sturdy redhead approaching. JD stepped off the cement curb to meet him halfway. Oblivious to the obvious advantage the other boy had, JD squared off with him. Standing toe-to-toe, looking for all the world like they were about to swap blows.
They measured each other up, assessing the subtle changes they found in each other. Tommy looked better than JD had ever seen him. He no longer had the drawn look of hunger to him. The clothes he wore were new, and of a fine quality that made JD feel absurdly self-conscious. Despite that, there was a gaunt, haunted look in Tommy's eyes that had never been there before.
Just as suddenly as the tension was there, it drained from their stances. JD caught Tommy's hand in a warm grasp as Tommy clapped him fondly on the shoulder. "JD, how's Mamma?"
JD looked down for a long minute. For as long as either of them could remember, JD's mother had simply been 'Mamma' to them both. He sorted through the words the doctors had given him without finding any that eased his news. "I-it's not so good. They. . . they started her on some program called Hospice." He took a steadying breath before continuing. "They stopped her chemo sessions."
"Oh man. I'm sorry. I had no idea she was so sick." Tommy put his hand on JD's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye. "Do you need money?" he asked earnestly.
JD jerked away like he'd been bit. "We don't need any of McNeil's money."
"Not from McNeil. From me."
"Is there a difference?" JD's words carried an edge.
"Hey," Rory broke in; trying to head off the fight he saw brewing. "Listen, Tommy, me and JD were gonna go swimming. You wanna come too?"
Tommy gave Rory a strangely regretful smile and shook his head. "Nah. I got an appointment to keep."
"You on McNeil's business?" JD's question came out like an accusation. "Tommy, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
The flash of pain in Tommy's eyes made JD regret his hasty words. "Stay out of it, JD. You don't know nothin' about this."
The bite in Tommy's answer stirred JD's anger again. "I know this ain't like you."
"Yeah, well maybe you don't know me as well as you thought." Tommy started to add something, but thought better of it. He covered the slip poorly. "Tell Mamma I'll be by on Sunday."
"Don't do us any favors," JD said gruffly.
Tommy said good-bye to Rory and shot JD a parting, pleading look. JD pretended not to notice.
Once Tommy was out of sight, JD nodded to Rory. "C'mon. Let's go."
"Hang on, I need to go get my swim trunks," Rory said, deliberately misunderstanding JD.
JD shot him a blank look, confused by his reply for a second. "We're not going swimming. We're gonna follow him."
"JD, just stop and think for a minute." Rory grabbed JD's shoulder in a bruising hold, stopping the shorter boy's forward motion. "This is McNeil you're talkin' about. You do not want to go screwing around in his business."
"We aren't screwing around in his business," JD said, shaking off the cautioning hand. He was fairly dancing with the need to do something, and Rory's reluctance irritated him. "This ain't got nothin' to do with McNeil. It's about Tommy."
"Who belongs to McNeil," Rory pointed out glumly. "I'm not going with you." His protests fell on deaf ears, JD was already trotting down the street after Tommy. "You hear me, JD! You're on your own!" he shouted at JD's back.
JD turned around without stopping and shrugged gamely at him. "That's fine," he hollered back. "Maybe Jenny Cruikshank'll let you sneak in ta the pool."
Rory stood in the street staring at JD's retreating form. He glanced around, as if he expected the answers to be there. They may have been, but normally JD or Tommy was there to point them out for him. With a self-mocking sigh, he started down the street after JD; resigned to being swept along with JD's plans as usual.
The boys knew Tommy wasn't concerned with being followed. No one in their right mind would bother one of McNeil's men, so it was easy to trail him long enough to guess his destination. In their effort to get ahead of him, the two took to the alleys. Ducking in and out of traffic, they left a wake of angry drivers and chaos.
They reached the warehouse district ahead of Tommy, but just. It wasn't hard to figure out which quad he was heading for. All but one teemed with activity in the mid-morning sun. Whatever was about to happen wasn't unexpected. And nobody wanted to witness it. JD felt the fine hairs on his arm bristle in warning, but ignored the gnawing unease.
JD lead Rory on a twisting path that kept them out of sight until they eventually reached the mouth of the open-ended box formed by three squat, ugly buildings. Skirting the open area, they made their way cautiously along the shadows, finally stopping behind a forklift someone had abandoned in their haste to vacate the area.
Tommy entered only a moment behind them. He looked around expectantly, as though someone were supposed to be there waiting for him. His eyes locked almost immediately on a crumpled tarp half in the shadows. Tommy blanched, glancing anxiously over his shoulder.
JD shifted, trying for a better vantage point to see the object beneath the tarp. Rory was still behind him and craning to see as well. "Wha--?" he started, but fell silent under JD's scathing glare.
Satisfied that his companion would keep quiet, JD turned back in time to see Tommy lift the edge of the tarp gingerly. The color drained from Tommy's face and he dropped the cloth like it scalded his fingers. He staggered away, dropping to his knees on the rough concrete and retching violently before he'd made it three full steps.
Tearing his focus from Tommy, JD looked back to the bundle with morbid curiosity. Tommy's investigation had shifted the covering slightly, and now JD could make out the mangled shape of a human hand. Bloodied fingers twisted at angles human bone wasn't meant to; dark bruises mottled the flesh of both hand and arm to where it disappeared beneath the heavy tarp. There was no movement.
JD had to fight back his own growing nausea. Eyes pressed tightly shut, as he drew in several frantic breaths. Rory was watching him curiously and started to take a look for himself. JD caught his arm, shaking his head adamantly.
Slamming car doors ended their silent argument. A sleek black car was now parked across the entryway, cutting off Tommy who had obviously made a run for it. A second joined it. Several roughnecks piled out. Even from this distance, JD could see Tommy wanted to be sick again. JD didn't blame him.
McNeil was easy to pick out. His quiet menace marked him as the real threat, even amid the promised violence of his thugs. He approached Tommy, his manner mild--even friendly. His words were too low for JD to make out, but their meaning was obvious in Tommy's reaction. The gun was in his hand so fast JD couldn't follow the motion.
Tommy's hair caught the sunlight as he scrambled backward, casting a deep red color over it. Almost like blood, JD realized with a sickening lurch. He was denying everything McNeil said emphatically, the panic in his over-loud tone carrying straight to JD.
Denials turned into out-and-out pleas. Tommy was still backing up, looking frantically from side to side for a way out. There wasn't one.
Leaning forward, JD's hands curled around the grease-stained metal of the forklift so tightly they ached. He wanted to dash out there and stop McNeil, create a distraction, anything to rescue his friend. Rory seemed to guess his thoughts and grabbed hold of him.
"Christ, JD. Those ain't toy guns they've got there. You want us all dead?" he hissed frantically.
The fight drained from JD as Rory's words sank in. He turned stricken eyes back to the scene he couldn't prevent.
McNeil's finger tightened around the trigger . . .
+ + + + + + +
JD came to his feet with a rush that shattered the memory into a thousand mirrored pieces, blending the past with the present. "You can't have Denver." The words were out before JD had a chance to screen them. "I won't let you."
"Won't let? I don't recall asking your permission." McNeil seemed amused by the outburst.
"Been a long time since Boston. I'm not a kid anymore, and I'm not afraid of you." As if by saying so he made it true, JD discovered that he wasn't. This wasn't the nightmare lurking in every shadow that he remembered. This was an old man who'd cause more heartache than any human had a right to. He was a predator, feeding off despair. And no worse than any of the monsters Team 7 dealt with on a regular basis.
"You should be. But I suppose once a hero, always a hero. It doesn't matter if you are or not. " McNeil signaled to the two bodyguards who stood flanking him. "Escort Johnny here to the car. He and Mr. Daniels will be joining me on a short trip."
At his name, Rory straightened up, eager to get back in good graces with his boss.
JD glared at him, trying not to point out that McNeil hadn't said he wouldn't kill both of them. Poor Rory -- a step behind as usual. JD didn't fight as the thug du jour took his arm in a tight hold. Fighting got him hurt, and hurt slowed him down. The way he figured it, there was going be exactly one shot at getting away. He had to be able to press the full advantage when it came.
He wouldn't worry about Rory. Couldn't. He'd have too much to do saving his own neck and taking down McNeil. 'Sides, Josiah'd once told him that life was just a long series of choices, and Rory had definitely made his. That didn't help the unpleasant taste his decision left in his mouth, though. Somehow Josiah's advice always sounded better coming from Josiah.
Nathan took a sip of his coffee and winced. Vin's brew was toxic, fresh from the pot. But after cooling and congealing for the majority of an eight-hour shift in the surveillance van, the murky concoction was damned near lethal. He set the cup aside and focused gritty eyes back on the monitors.
Nothing.
Ramon Ortega was still parked on the same spot in front of his television that he'd occupied when Nathan and Vin had relieved Chris and Buck earlier that morning. In all that time, Ortega had moved a grand total of four times--Nathan knew because he was paid to know that sort of thing.
Once the minor fence and arms middleman had gone to use the facilities. His next excursion had been to the kitchen to retrieve a beer. Apparently it was happy hour somewhere in the world, and Ramon was loath to let it pass unmarked. The final two incidents were the only ones of real interest.
The phone had rung twice. Each time, Nathan checked their trace and came up with public pay phones on opposite ends of town. Neither caller spoke. Ortega seemed to expect that.
Nathan had held out hope that something would happen following each of the calls, but Ortega was content to go back to the worn couch that seemed to be sofa and bed both. A heavy sigh slipped past Nathan's guard before he could swallow it. His companion opened one eye lazily, and regarded Nathan with an knowing grin.
"Want me to take over?" Vin drawled slowly, stretching with a cat-like grace that Nathan suddenly envied. He just couldn't understand how the Texan could still move after so many hours in such cramped quarters.
He shrugged, the gesture turning into a full shoulder roll that sought to work out the knots. "Yeah. 'Else I'm gonna head up there and beat the buyer's name out of him. Just for somethin' to do."
Vin chuckled and moved to take Nathan's spot at the station. He reached out to snag his own cup of coffee.
Nathan glared at him as he downed it in one quick drink, then went searching for the thermos to pour another cup. Shuddering at the thought of drinking the bitter liquid in one set, he said sourly, "You do know that stuff's eating you from the inside out, don't you?"
"All gotta die of somethin'. I figure if the coffee gets ta me 'fore a bullet does, I'm in good shape."
Any further observations about Vin's skill as a barista were cut off as someone knocked resolutely on the blackened window of the van before yanking the cargo door open. Buck and Josiah climbed inside, stealing what little space there was to be had in the cramped quarters.
"Where's JD?" Nathan asked, surprised to see Buck again so soon. The mustached agent had taken the night watch with Chris, and wasn't due back for another eight hours. They had been on this schedule for a week now, all of them taking a watch in the van. All of them except Ezra--who couldn't afford to be spotted out of character. Nathan figured that while going undercover might put Ezra under extreme pressure most of the time, there were some definite perks.
Buck shrugged, reaching for the thermos of coffee. "A friend of his from back east is in town. I offered to trade him shifts, so they could catch up."
Josiah nodded absently; fine tuning the focus on one of the monitors. "Good. The boy needs some friends that aren't part of this world."
Vin swatted at his hand and re-adjusted the settings to where they had been all week. Personally, Nathan couldn't tell the difference, but he wasn't about to interrupt the ritualistic argument.
"Quiet shift?" Buck asked, turning their attention back to work.
"Yup. Too quiet," Nathan said, still irritated at their uncooperative suspect. "I don't think we're gonna get anything this way."
"Would you rather revisit the landfill?" Josiah asked in an amused tone.
Nathan glared daggers at him. "I didn't see you out there doing any digging," he said, referring to their previous case which had led himself, Buck and JD to spend one back-breaking weekend scouring the city landfill for evidence that had been discarded.
"We all have our roles to play, Brother Nate," Josiah answered mildly.
Adding his own glare to Nathan's, Buck said, "Remind me to hunt down the casting director then and give him a dose method acting. Took me days to scrub off that smell."
Vin wisely kept his mouth shut and his head down as he cleaned up. "It's all yours, boys."
Buck nodded and took a swig of coffee. He immediately began coughing as the vile brew struck his unbraced tongue. "Goddamnit. Vin, you make this?" he said around a strangled cough.
Affecting an air of great injury, Vin grabbed the thermos from Buck. "Hell, jus' cause the rest of ya don't appreciate real coffee, don't mean I have to suffer through that watered down swill y'all drink."
He turned to leave, but found his way blocked as Chris yanked open the back door. The team leader glanced appraisingly around the crowded interior of the van, then chose wisely to address them without climbing in.
"Pack it in, boys. Ezra just called, the buyer wants to meet early. He was told they have a gift for him, so he'd better bring an extra man."
"A gift? What kind of gift?" Buck wanted to know.
Chris shook his head, "Didn't say. You and Vin ride with Ezra. Wear your vests. Where's JD? I want a wire in place before everyone gets there."
"He took personal time."
"Page him. Until he shows, Josiah you handle communications. I don't like this sudden change in plans. Has Ortega done anything?"
"Other than waste what few brain cells he was granted?" Nathan said, shaking his head. "No."
Chris considered that for a moment, trying to puzzle out where the shift had come from. Something spooked their buyer, but not enough to make him call off the deal. Chris wished he knew more about this mystery man. Hell, knowing anything would be nice. At least then he'd have something to base his decisions off of. "We have enough to hold Ortega. I'll call for a black and white to take him into custody. For now we have to focus our attention on the buyer."
By unspoken agreement, the impromptu briefing was over and they scattered to fulfill their various tasks. It was with a disgruntled sigh that Nathan realized they had left him the van to return to the yard. He glowered at the unwieldy vehicle before climbing in and starting the ignition.
+ + + + + + +
The limo ride passed in a heavy silence. Each occupant of the car immersed in his own thoughts. JD tried to keep his expression bland as he studied the passing scenery. They were headed to the warehouse district. If the situation had been a bit lighter, or his thoughts less brooding- he would have groaned at the badly cliched set-up.
As it was, he couldn't resist a comment. "Warehouses? I see your taste hasn't changed."
"Meaning?" McNeil raised an eyebrow.
"How old do you think Tommy Malloy was? Do you even remember him, or is he just another body left in your wake?" JD was wearing his anger like a shield, keeping his fear at bay.
"Malloy? Of course I remember. I never forget a traitor." McNeil pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Let's see. The lad would have been what? 16 . . . 17? He was a good kid, dependable. Until he betrayed my trust. The question is, how do you know about Malloy?"
"He was a friend of mine, and I was there," JD answered, ice in his voice. He wasn't sure why he protected Rory by omission, but he did. "What do you mean traitor?"
"He wasn't quite as agreeable to the generous courtesies I extended to his family as I thought he was. And he was prone to fits of conscience. I dealt with him the way I would any betrayal." He answered JD's question, but directed the last to Rory. "Why didn't you go to the police?" he asked JD as they swapped questions once more.
"Tried. Didn't get anywhere. They told me to go tell my lies to someone who had time. But that shouldn't surprise you, since you were 'extending courtesies' to them as well. And all I accomplished with an anonymous tip was bringing out the heavies. It didn't take a lot to make the connection. If I'd had half a brain, I'd 've called the FBI."
"You should have," McNeil agreed, almost too cheerfully. "They could have used the help finding their agent. Malloy did have 'half a brain.' He skipped the police and offered me straight to the Feds. Now, I'd love to continue this conversation, but we're here."
JD allowed himself to be shepherded out of the vehicle. He was docile and the guard was confident. A situation that reversed quickly as JD jerked away from the tight grip on his upper arm. He spun free, sidestepping grabbing hands as he turned in a half circle and drove his elbow into the base of the other man's neck. His opponent dropped limply to the ground and JD scrambled for his gun.
The driver was still trying to get untangled from his seatbelt and clear of the car to assist his accomplice, but the scuffle was over too quickly. He finally forced the door open and brought his gun up to bear on JD.
JD didn't hesitate, the double-tap lessons that had been drilled into his head from his academy days through lessons with Vin at the firing range served him well. The driver's shot went wide. JD's didn't.
The two blatant threats out of the way, JD went looking for McNeil. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rory taking cover. He disregarded his former friend in the need to find his nemesis. Stepping softly around the back of the car, JD found McNeil where he'd taken cover. "You didn't have to kill Tommy," he spat at the older man. "He was just a kid."
"He was old enough to play the game. Now put the gun down."
JD laughed. "You aren't exactly in a position to tell me what to do," JD said without wavering his aim.
"No, but I am," a soft, familiar voice reached his ears the same time his neck registered the chill of round steel against his skin.
JD turned shocked eyes toward his friend. "Rory?"
"You been gone a long time, JD. You don't know how things are. Now put the gun down."
With a defeated sigh, JD relaxed out of his firing stance and let his gun hand drop to his side. Rage and adrenaline still poured through him with every heartbeat. An endorphin spiked cocktail that left him dizzy. He was going to die -- at the hands of a friend. Somehow, that made things all the more bitter.
+ + + + + + +
The fall air seemed especially bitter to Ezra as he leaned against the door of the Jag and waited for Chris to begin the briefing. A few feet away, Buck shifted and tugged irritably at the tight collar of the mock turtleneck he wore under an expensive suit jacket. Ezra winced. "If Mr. 'Wilson'," he said, stressing the other man's assumed name, "would be so kind as to be gentle with the haberdashery, I would mark it as a personal favor. The garments are on loan only, and I gave my word as a gentlemen that they would come to no harm."
"Ya mean you pulled 'em off the rack an' wanna return them tomorrow," Buck countered without sounding the least bit contrite, though he did let his hand drop away from the offending collar.
Vin chuckled appreciatively as Buck found himself on the receiving end of Ezra's well-rehearsed tirade against agency policy where wardrobe reimbursement was concerned. It was about time someone else had to hear it. Vin had long since learned that having his own set of undercover suits--no matter how alien he found them--helped avoid conversations just like this.
"Well hell," Buck got in as Ezra was forced to take a breath, "the least you coulda done was pick somethin' with a little style. What kinda wuss wears this sorta thing anyway? Sorry, Nathan," he added hastily as he caught a glare from the medic who favored the rather sophisticated style Buck was busily bad-mouthing.
Josiah decided to step in quickly before things got completely out of hand. The boys might need to blow off a little steam before they went under the gun, but things were about to get personal. And personal had a habit of getting ugly. Buck wasn't the only one who hated ugly.
"Brothers," he started, only to be cut-off by the angry click of Chris' cell phone as it slammed shut.
"Where the hell is JD?" Chris demanded, glaring at the remainder of his team as though suspecting them of deliberately hiding his communications expert. Getting no response, he changed tactics. "We're outta time. Josiah, you getting anything on the parabolic?"
Shrugging apologetically, Josiah shook his head. "Too much interference. I'm afraid I couldn't even pull anything out of the car before it entered the building."
Chris nodded. The news just seemed to fit with the rest of the day. "Okay. So we're going in blind. Damn." He checked his watch, then glanced toward Ezra questioningly.
"I was told they'd be in touch," Ezra said, gesturing to the pager he wore.
"Watch your backs. First sign of trouble get out of there. I don't want to tell Travis I need a new team, 'cause they're a damned sight harder to requisition than an Armani jacket."
"Obviously," Ezra said dryly, "you've never tried to requisition Armani."
They got down to business after that, quickly going over their plan of action. Ezra would meet with their mystery buyer, accompanied by his two bodyguards--Vin and Buck. Chris, Josiah and Nathan would hang back, ready to serve as cover; though they were only a last resort. This was a fishing expedition; just a small deal to test the waters before either side fully committed.
After a few moments of serious conversation, they splintered off to get into position. Chris held Ezra back for a moment, waving Buck and Vin to go on up to the sleek car they'd be taking to the meeting. "Keep your head up in there, Ez."
"You believe this to be an ambush?" Ezra asked, voicing his own growing suspicion with a slight hesitation.
Chris took a moment to reply, weighing his answer carefully. "I don't know what this is," he said truthfully. "Something's got our boy spooked enough that he's forcing the timeline ahead of schedule. I want to know why."
"Perhaps our mysterious buyer wishes to cut out the middle man," Ezra offered, though the explanation felt off, even as he voiced it.
"I don't think so. A double-cross isn't the best way to establish yourself in a new city. But something happened to change the rules on us." Chris frowned thoughtfully. "Or someone."
"Is it possible that young Mr. Dunne's disappearance is more sinister than we first suspected?"
Chris gave his friend a hard look for voicing the unsettled feeling he'd been valiantly ignoring. "He's not answering his cell. And when was the last time you saw JD get a page that he didn't pounce on. Damned kid is still as excited to be here as the day I hired him."
A pensive nod was the only answer Ezra had for his team leader. He'd asked the question in hopes that Larabee would assuage the growing coil of concern; not feed it. His pager went off. The text message scrolled across the screen, telling Ezra the gambit had begun.
He showed the small device to his team leader, who relayed the information to Nathan and Josiah. Ezra, sensing that Chris' thoughts had already turned to the other issues currently pressing him, touched two fingers to the brim of an invisible hat and moved to join the other two who would accompany him to the meeting with their buyer.
As Ezra climbed into the backseat, Buck twisted in the driver's seat to study him. Almost as though he suspected what Chris wanted to discuss in private with the undercover agent. Ducking his head, Ezra busied himself with his seatbelt.
"Problems, Ez?" Vin asked before Buck found the words he was searching for.
"No," Ezra lied as Buck started the car. "Our illustrious leader merely wished to speculate on the motive behind this abrupt rescheduling." Well, it was half true at any rate. Ezra felt guilty for the deception, no matter how slight, but he couldn't afford to have Buck distracted with unnecessary worry for JD. Couldn't afford it for himself either. The boy was fine. He was just on edge because the plan was changing and he didn't know why.
That didn't stop a sinister part of his mind from pointing out that if indeed there were more to JD's absence than youthful irresponsibility, he and the others were likely driving straight into a trap. The thought brought an unwelcome chill to Ezra's blood. "Well, gentlemen," he said, abruptly cutting off the brooding, "shall we?"
Buck put the car in gear and the balance of the trip was spent in silence.
+ + + + + + +
"Pardon my bluntness, sir," Ezra said coolly once the introductions had been exchanged and wires searched for, "but I could get the price you are offering easily from any of my usual vendors. Without, I might add, incurring the considerable risk of dealing with an unknown element."
The man he addressed smiled indulgently, as though Ezra were a backward student who needed things to be explained slowly. "Please, try not to think of it as a gamble, Mr. Simpson. More a chance to get in on the ground floor."
Ezra barely managed to contain his surprise. He'd thought the deal was going rather too smoothly. Their buyer, McNeil, had turned out to be a stone-faced Easterner. His needs were clear, his price firm. Everything Ezra expected of someone who had survived the business for any length of time. As well as something Ezra hadn't expected--a diplomat.
McNeil was eager for the weapons Ezra had to offer, but it was more than that--he was going out of his way to foster good will between his organization and the one Ezra claimed to represent. Abruptly, Ezra realized he was looking at the vanguard of a full-fledged invasion. Something important enough that the old man himself was overseeing the preparations.
Already taut nerves coiled another notch. Years of experience told him a show of force would accompany this transaction. A lesson for Ezra to carry back with him, out onto the streets of Denver. Something to be whispered in back allies, and behind closed doors where deals were brokered that decided who truly ran the city.
Unless of course, Ezra thought with an uneasy lurch, he was meant to be the lesson.
That uncomfortable thought had no more taken hold, when McNeil slapped his hand to Ezra's, bringing an abrupt end to the bargaining. "Simpson, your terms are acceptable. We'll take delivery tomorrow at 10. Bring the weapons here. The second half of your deposit will be waiting."
Nodding to the older of his two bodyguards, McNeil released Ezra's hand. "Now," he announced, his eyes taking on a grim light, "I have arranged for some entertainment. A show of good faith, if you will."
The florid faced guard crossed to McNeil's vehicle and jerked the backdoor open. He reached inside and roughly hauled someone from the back seat. Dark hair, slight, with the all the mis-guided fashion sense of a high schooler . . .
JD.
Beside him, Ezra could feel Buck tense--coiling with a suddenly deadly intent. Ezra didn't blame him, the boy looked like he'd gone ten rounds with Tyson.
JD stumbled as he was pulled clear of the car. With his hands bound behind him, he couldn't regain his balance quickly enough. His knee struck the cement with a dull crack that made Ezra wince in sympathy. He masked the gesture and turned a bland expression toward McNeil. "Who's your guest?"
McNeil smiled coldly. "Johnny and I are old friends. Aren't we Johnny?"
"'m no friend of yours," JD spat out as he clumsily lurched to his feet. The gunman he'd tangled with earlier seemed unsatisfied with the damage he'd already inflicted. He shoved JD forward with a sharp blow between JD's shoulder blades. The kid stumbled a few reeling steps forward before regaining his precious balance. His path brought him before McNeil.
Dark hazel eye stayed locked on the figure before him, ignoring the others in the room. McNeil lashed out, almost casually backhanding JD. His head snapped to one side. The coppery tang of blood filling his mouth as lips cut against his teeth. JD rocked slightly, but held his ground.
"Johnny here is also unfortunately an ATF agent," McNeil said, addressing someone off to the side. "Operating from Denver, no doubt you are familiar with the name Larabee--?"
"Indeed," a honey-accented voice answered in unexpected response to prayers JD'd barely dared to breathe. "I've heard the name cursed once or twice. You don't mean to tell me that this . . . boy is one of his?"
Slowly JD turned to look at his friend. The man standing next to Ezra caught his attention instead. Anger was coming off Buck in waves, pure rage burning in expressive eyes. JD caught his eye, trying to reassure him--let him share in the absolute relief JD felt at his presence. Buck wasn't looking at him. Instead, his best friend stared through him, focused on a point beyond JD's shoulder in an effort to rein in his temper.
The kid turned his eyes to Ezra, and nearly flinched at the cold disinterest he found there. If he hadn't known better, JD'd swear Ezra was completely willing to let McNeil kill him. His friend gave a short, scoffing laugh. A glint of gold flashed through, a silent message of comfort.
"I didn't know vultures traveled in flocks," JD ground out, trying to mask the recognition in his voice.
Quick motion in his peripheral vision was the only warning JD received before pain blossomed in his side. The heavy-fisted blow connected solidly against already ill-used ribs. Instinctively JD curled inward; the effort to protect himself hampered by his bound wrists.
A vicious kick drove the breath from him, dropping JD roughly to the concrete. He coughed, gagging on the air forced violently from his lungs. Dark molasses teased the edges of his vision. Gritting his teeth, he rode it out. Slowly he turned angry eyes toward his attacker.
Rory stood there, an unreadable expression on his features. Somewhere JD found the breath to softly say, "bet you wanted to do that for a long time, huh, Ror?" Despite the breathless quality of his voice, his eyes were cutting - playing on every shared memory between them. The streets of Boston . . . Lazy summer afternoons and harmless pranks . . .
Tommy.
The stricken look on Rory's face wasn't nearly as satisfying as JD'd hoped it would be.
It took every ounce of self-control Buck had to hold back his instinctive charge forward when they'd first brought the kid out. But nothing compared to the pure violence he felt coursing through him as he was forced to stand passively by while JD was beaten right in front of him.
He kept his eyes locked on the younger gunman, the one who'd kicked JD. So this was the friend from back east. He'd have to remember to ask JD if everyone wanted him dead, or just the people who knew him. Kid picked that trait up from Chris, he decided, trying to keep his emotions in check by distracting himself. Buck sure as hell hadn't taught it to him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Buck could see Vin softly easing his way into position for a shot. Ezra noticed as well and spoke up, smoothly drawing the attention to himself--away from Vin and JD both. "Is there a point to this, Mr. McNeil? As amusing as this little display is, my employers are not paying me to be amused."
"There's a point," McNeil said flatly, annoyed that his demonstration was not receiving the reception he'd anticipated. "A very serious point, Mr. Simpson. Loyalty is very important to me. It has to be nurtured and proven. Either through years of steadfast service, or," he pinned Rory with his eyes, "noteworthy deed. Mr. Daniels, if you would?" He gestured toward JD, with the off-handed manner one might use to discuss crushing an insect-- not ending a human life.
"What?" Rory said, suddenly uncertain.
"Shoot Johnny. You need to prove your loyalty, and what better way?" McNeil sounded bored by the whole affair.
"I. . . I can't."
Buck wasn't sure where this sudden crisis of conscience was coming from, but he was grateful for it. Anything to buy precious moments to come up with a plan. Ezra was moving now too, subtly clearing his access to the shoulder holster he wore and clearing his aim toward McNeil. With Vin handling the other guard that left Rory for Buck. And JD defenseless in the middle of a firefight.
McNeil's next words brought all coherent thought to a grinding halt.
"I can."
McNeil produced a handgun from a hidden holster. Sighting at JD for a second, he smiled coldly. "Tell your bosses, Mr. Simpson. They can choose to work with me, or against me. Their decision." He cocked the pistol. "But warn them, I don't tolerate competition."
McNeil's fingers tightened around the trigger . . .
For a moment everything was frozen. Spread out before Buck like a sadistic dream sequence. He knew each motion before it was made, could call each shot as it was taken . . . and was helpless to prevent any of it.
"No!"
The ragged scream from Rory's throat broke the spell the moment held on Buck. Even as McNeil squeezed off the fatal shot, Buck dove forward - arms spread wide. He hit JD hard; heard the pained intake of air as the kid connected with the concrete once more. There wasn't time for Buck to worry about the pain he'd just caused, his gun cleared its holster before they came to a full rest.
Controlled thunder rolled through the warehouse. Three distinct claps that melded into one ominous death knell. He half expected a sluggish fire to begin working its way across his senses, or worse, to find JD's scarlet blood slowly staining his shirtfront. Buck rolled to his feet, crouching protectively over his younger brother who was doggedly trying to regain his own orientation.
Vin had his man on the ground, unconscious or surrendering. Buck didn't care which. His eyes immediately sought out the three men the shots had come from.
McNeil was sprawled on his back - gun held limply in an out flung hand, eyes wide and unseeing. Twin points of crimson were slowly diffusing across his chest.
Ezra and Rory both still held bead on him. The former wearing an expression of disgusted weariness, the latter one of numb disbelief. Ezra checked the body, shaking his head at Buck's questioning look. A sigh of relief crossed Buck's lips; the danger was past.
From the far doorway came the noisy arrival of their back up. Chris and Nathan demanding updates at the same time. Josiah entered more quietly, but no less solidly. Vin briefed Chris in quiet, succinct words. Nathan crossed the open cement floor like a bird dog on point. He reached JD as the kid managed to pull his knees beneath him and right himself.
"A little help here?" he said, indicating his wrists still tightly bound behind his back.
Buck chuckled, digging out his pocketknife and tossing it to Nathan who was already well into his customary post-injury lecture. Trusting the kid to Nathan's capable hands, Buck turned his attention to Rory.
The young man hadn't moved from where he'd stood as he shot his employer. His gun was still firmly wrapped in his hand, forgotten as his arm hung limply at his side. He half turned as Buck approached, dark eyes glazed with shock . . . and something else. His free hand came away from where it pressed against his stomach.
The palm was scarlet.
"I'm sorry, JD," he said in a rasping whisper, staring past Buck oblivious to the other man.
Buck caught his jacket as he slowly crumpled and lowered him to floor. "Nathan," he called, even as the medic materialized at his side.
JD rose, shrugging off the gently restraining hand Josiah placed on his shoulder. "Ror," he started, voice failing him as he watched another link to his past felled beneath McNeil's bullets. Buck placed himself in JD's path. The younger man tried to brush past him, but Buck caught him stopping his progress and giving Nathan room to work.
The fire had gone out of JD. His anger over the past several hours was lost beneath years of history. The broken, lost look he turned on Buck nearly broke the older man's heart. JD offered no resistance as Buck drew him into a comforting embrace.
In the distance the wail of ambulance sirens crept ever nearer.+ + + + + + +
The lot was cast in rich shadows that obscured the accumulation of tossed aside dreams and trappings of surviving rather than living. The single source of light was a streetlight on its last legs. The sputtering light cast a discordant halo around the sole sign of life. Dark hair caught the light, tossing it back with a gold-kissed sheen.
Buck crossed the shadows stealthily, feeling like an intruder as he watched JD bring back the long curved stick and let fly with it. He winced in sympathy as the kid turned the hockey stick on another innocent rock. The x-rays the doctor had shown him left little doubt in his mind that JD was in no condition to be out.
JD's breathing was ragged in the heavy silence, testimony to his fractured ribs and bruised abdomen. It was all Buck could do to keep from bundling the kid back to the hospital on the spot. He settled for taking a seat on the hood of an abandoned Mercury that had long since lost its original color to Bondo and rust.
Another rock went sailing through the darkness to ricochet off the broad metal face of a dumpster. Shots came fast and furious for a few minutes longer. Buck was ready when the angry gasps gave way to choked sobs. Without saying a word, Buck placed his hand against the back of JD's neck.
The kid hesitated a moment, struggling to get his tears and breathing under control before he faced Buck. His eyes glittered in the sporadic light, betraying the moisture he barely held back.
"The doc says you checked yourself out without his okay," Buck started softly, not certain how to approach the real reason he'd been driving their neighborhood searching the dark streets for the past hour and a half.
"'m fine," JD insisted stubbornly, though he didn't pull away from Buck's touch. He was silent for a moment, then asked softly, "Ror?"
Buck shook his head. "I'm sorry, kid. No."
A sob half made it out of his throat before JD could stop it. Buck's fingers tightened against his neck, lending JD strength. The kid held back tears; fighting them tooth and nail. He nodded slowly when Buck's concern required a response.
"He wasn't always like that, you know," he told Buck, his voice low and soft; turning over old memories and holding them up for Buck to see and understand. "We were just kids; full of ourselves and dreams of getting out of Boston. Me an' Rory. . . an' Tommy. Gonna do something important. Make our mark on the world just as soon as we shook the neighborhood dust off our boots." He ducked his head. Dark hair fell forward to shelter his expression.
When he looked up again Buck could read guilt clearly in his pained eyes, but he didn't interupt the kid, allowing JD to continue his quiet narrative: "When I finally got out, it was just me. Tommy was dead by then. And Rory -- I could already see him ending up like Tommy. So I ran. Left him for McNeil. Last time I talked to him was Mamma's funeral. He was wearin' a suit that cost more'n the whole service. And I knew. After that I used to see him sometimes when I was walkin' the beat, but we never spoke again. Never forgot though."
"Neither did he," Buck offered, holding out a worn photograph Vin had found in Rory's wallet. It was old, made more so by heavy use. At some point it had been folded, white lines spider-webbing along the crease. Water spots distorted the color, but the image still shone clearly through for JD.
Three boys roughly ten years of age, all dressed in a motley assortment of second hand hockey equipment, smiled boldly at the camera. Already taller than the other two, a skinny redhead was on the right. He held a hockey stick menacingly, but the look was betrayed by the light in his eyes. The smallest of the three was in the middle, his arms thrown around the boy on either side of him. His dark hair disorderly and his eyes sparking with laughter. On the left was a towheaded blond. He watched the other two, as if reading his cues from them, but the grin on his face was pure mischief.
They were happy.
The End