Mannix

All That Glitters is Not Gold

By Lucky_Ladybug

Notes: The characters from the show are not mine. The other characters and the story are! This involves characters from the season 2 episode All Around the Money Tree, but is not really a sequel to that episode. I'm writing the Big Bad like a Victor Buono character, because Victor's characters are always colorful and fun and I highly enjoy them. I can't guarantee how often this will be updated; this first chapter has gone through periods of sitting around for weeks before being returned to and updated again when inspiration struck. I finally got it to where it seems to be done, so I decided to post it and see if it's a story I can follow through to completion.

Chapter One

He was running, fleeing from the enemies who had been after him in hot pursuit for what seemed like a mile or more. There was no one behind him now, but he wasn't willing to chance that they weren't near. His heart pounded in his ears as he jumped over the railing at the side of the highway, landing on the downward side of a hill. Without skipping a beat, he kept right on going.

Maybe if he ran far enough and fast enough, he could get back to the heart of the city. There was someone he knew there. If only the chap would be willing to help, even after everything! It seemed unlikely, but his old friend often did the unlikely. Maybe there was still hope.

But he was too occupied with thoughts of this sliver of hope to pay enough attention to what he was doing. He slammed headlong into a tall man stumbling towards the hill from the other direction.

Both men gave yelps of surprise and pain, nearly crashing to the grassy knoll from the force of the impact. The younger of the two bounced back almost instantly, weaving his way around the stranger with only an offhand call of "Frightfully sorry!" over his shoulder.

His lip curled in disgust a moment later. Really, sometimes his British roots made him act more polite than he should. That could have been one of the hired lackeys out to bring him back.

If it were, however, the stranger was stupid enough to not even realize what had happened. He did nothing to stop the British man's exit. Instead he staggered back as though drunk, holding a trembling hand to his bleeding forehead. His glasses gleamed in the moonlight.

Oblivious to the stranger's plight, the frantic younger man practically flew over the grass and towards an abandoned shack he had noticed from the road. It was the remains of an old pumphouse or some such thing. It would be perfect to hide in for a few moments to observe what was going on outside. If necessary, he could escape through a back door and keep running without being seen.

Thankfully, the lock had rusted so badly that opening the front door was easy. He rushed through it, shutting it behind him as swiftly and as quietly as he could. Then he leaned against it, breathing heavily, and tried to smirk in the darkness—but he failed. He was honestly frightened. This didn't yet feel like a victory. And it wasn't.

The click of a lamp's string made him stiffen in alarm and shock. He had not arrived first, as he had believed.

"Well," a much-too-calm voice said, "the fly has walked right into the spider's web, as it always does eventually."

He pushed himself away from the door, feigning the cocky attitude that most people saw. "Oh, come off it," he declared. "You don't want to rough me up. What purpose would there be in it?"

"As I see it, possibly a great deal," was the reply. "Maybe with a little taste of what's in store for you, you'll settle down and cooperate. We already have dear Claudia, as you well know." A nod to someone else in the room.

He only barely managed to turn in time to see the thugs on either side of the door before one of them kicked out, hitting him in the stomach. He gasped and fell back, doubling over in pain.

The second man struck him on the back, sending him to the floor. Then, as he lay sprawled and helpless, they both kicked at and hit him at once. Their boss simply reclined in his chair, relishing the show.

"Do you have anything to say yet?"

He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. No matter how he tried, he was not being left alone long enough to get up. He was not a fighter. He always tried to find non-violent solutions wherever possible.

"Mannix," he groaned, almost without thinking.

"Mannix?" The voice was derisive. "What about Mannix?"

"He'd . . . he'd help us," he mumbled. "He's the only one who would."

"Then we'll take you to him. But you know you could avoid all of this if you would simply talk."

Another strike to his back made him flinch and clutch at the scattered tools on the floor. "I don't know," he hissed in desperation.

"That's the wrong answer."

At a gesture, the beating continued.

He cried out when something hard smacked into the side of his head. "Mum . . . never had any idea there'd be days like this," he groaned.

"Of course, your 'mum' didn't know you were going to be a rotten thief and a liar now, did she?"

"I don't know where your ruddy gold is," he retorted. "I'll admit I had it, but someone took it from me and . . ." He shouted at another sharp kick near his chest.

"That's just too bad. Well, even if that's the truth, you need to be taught a lesson. When you deal with me, unfortunately, you're going to get burned."

"Oh, I've learned that," he insisted, trying too hard to be convincing. "I have, really. I . . ."

Something hit him again, this time slamming his head into the floor. His entire body jerked and then was still.

The men continued to pound at him without mercy, even though now they were not getting a reaction. Even the arrival of another thug, bringing a brunette woman at gunpoint, did not elicit any reprieve from the cruelty.

"Roger!" she cried, horrified at the sight. She ran forward, heedless of the gun still pointed at her back, and grabbed for the arm of one of the attackers. "He can't even fight back now! What's wrong with all of you?! Stop!"

The grunt pulled his arm away, kicking at the lifeless form.

Again she tugged in vain. Finally she turned, her hair whipping around her shoulders as she faced the man in the shadows. He was unashamedly enjoying the beating.

"My men make such an art out of violence," he proclaimed. "Instead of just randomly striking here or kicking there in a horrifyingly brutal fashion, they bring it out almost like a dance. Don't you think so, Claudia?"

The woman's eyes flashed. "This is senseless! He can't tell you anything. He might even be dead!"

"Hmm. True." The man clapped his hands commandingly. "Alright, boys, that's enough."

Obediently they stopped and stepped back, waiting for their next instructions.

Claudia promptly fell to her knees, turning Roger onto his back with care and lifting his head into her lap. "Roger! Oh Roger, please, say something!" She stroked his hair, brushing the blond bangs out of his eyes. Roger didn't stir, laying deathly pale against her and the floor.

The man in the shadows frowned as he studied the scene. "Is he dead?"

One of his men pulled the limp body up by the collar of his suit coat, amid Claudia's heated protests. "He's still breathing."

"Then find out who Mannix is and go dump him there," his boss ordered. "Maybe that man will help me achieve what I want."

Claudia rose, snatching out in vain to take hold of Roger. "Let's leave Mannix out of this," she insisted.

"Ah, then you know him," the ringleader proclaimed.

"I know that he isn't likely to want to do anything for us, after everything we've done to him," Claudia snapped.

"Then if that's true, we'll hear it from Mannix, not you." The man studied the motionless form. "Hmm. Boys, you really were too rough on him this time around."

"Sorry, Boss." One of them glanced to the fuming Claudia. "Is she coming with us?"

"No, dear Claudia will remain here," was the purred reply. "I have to have some insurance. I suppose, anyway. Maybe Roger won't lift a finger to help her once he gets free. He's always saying how she can take care of herself."

Claudia gave him a bitter glare. It was true; she was very resourceful and had certainly got them both out of more than one tight situation. Roger was very proud of her for that and liked that he didn't usually have to worry about rescuing a damsel in distress. But their latest enemy was one neither of them had been able to beat. Roger knew that all too well and he wouldn't abandon her because of it.

"Roger isn't heartless, as you probably think he is," she declared.

"We shall see. Take him away." The man waved a hand in a dismissive manner.

The thugs obeyed, locking their arms underneath their prisoner's and dragging him out the door. He remained lifeless in their grasp, a bit of blood trickling from his nose and mouth.

Their boss leaned back, lacing his fingers in thoughtfulness. "And if Mannix can't or won't help me, that's just too bad for him and Roger. And you, dear Claudia."

Claudia glowered at her captor. "If you kill us, you'll only discover it was done in vain since we don't know where your gold is."

"Kill you? Why, since I believe at least one of you knows very well where it is, there wouldn't be any reason to kill you." He smiled at her in the near-darkness. "But that doesn't mean you both won't wish I had done it anyway."

Claudia's skin began to crawl. She had to admit, she certainly wished Mannix would help them out of just one more jam. Maybe, since he was a better person than either of them, he still would.

xxxx

It was a quiet and slow evening at Joe Mannix's combination office and apartment. He leaned back at his desk, idly studying the file for a case he had just closed—a complex kidnapping and blackmail scheme that had ended up very heart-wrenching all around.

Really, sometimes he wondered why he became involved in such cases. That one had not had a happy ending. Right now he was drained and tired of all cases. He wanted to go to bed. But he kept staring at that file anyway.

In the outer office, he could hear Peggy shuffling about at the coffee maker. She had kept the coffee coming at all hours of the day and night, as she always did. Now they were at the end of another pot. But the hour was much too unseemly to start another.

"Hey, Peggy," he called. "It's getting late. You might as well go on home."

Peggy appeared in the doorway. "I was just about to say the same thing," she said with a smile. "Toby should be getting ready for bed now, and . . ." She paused, noticing the file in Joe's hand. "Joe? Are you alright?"

Joe dropped it down on the desk. "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine, Peggy," he said gruffly.

She looked at him with sympathy and understanding. "I know that was a really difficult case for you, Joe. I'm still reeling from the outcome myself."

"A kidnapped kid who wasn't kidnapped at all, but was dead before this whole thing even started," Joe found himself ranting. He often unloaded his feelings on Peggy. She made a good listening board.

"And that poor mother who couldn't accept it and still insisted on believing he was alive," Peggy shuddered.

"What really gets me is that her husband wouldn't lift a finger to get her any help because he was trying to close a business deal and he couldn't have a scandal like that get out," Joe growled. "So he cooked up the fake kidnapping scheme to explain there not really being a kid there. And he killed that jerk that was going to expose the death and his wife's mental breakdown. What's she going to do now that she won't have him, either?!"

Peggy looked down. There really wasn't much that could be said to that.

"I don't think he was all there either, from what you told me about his confession," she said at last. "Maybe the judge will be lenient."

"Maybe," Joe conceded. "The whole thing is just so messed-up and unreal I can still hardly believe it."

"You did all you could, Joe," Peggy said quietly. She came to the desk to retrieve the file. "Try not to think about it anymore."

"That's easier said than done, Peggy," Joe retorted. "I've tried not to think about it. It keeps coming back."

"Maybe you'll feel better in the morning," Peggy encouraged. "Why don't you just go upstairs for now and . . ."

A loud thump and the screeching of tires interrupted her and sent Joe rising from the chair. "What the . . ." He hurried past his bewildered secretary, making his way to the door. As he flung it open, the sight of a body on the doorstep elicited a horrified gasp from Peggy.

"The people in that car just dumped him here!" she cried in disbelief.

Joe stared after the fleeing vehicle, but it was too far ahead to hope to catch the license number. So instead he bent over the motionless form, checking for life.

"He's still alive," he reported. "Peggy, call an ambulance. No, wait a minute." He stopped and stared, gaping at the familiar features when he shifted the battered man to face him.

Peggy's mouth dropped open. "Joe, isn't that . . ."

Joe gave a grim nod. "Roger Bard, conman extraordinaire and a former tenant of the Paseo Verde. I wonder what he's gotten himself into this time. More to the point, I wonder what he's gotten me into."

Roger groaned, weakly. Joe bent over him, draping one limp arm over his shoulders and trying to drag him to his feet. "Come on, Roger," he said. "I'll get you inside and put you on the couch until the ambulance gets here."

Roger heard enough to try to take a step forward, but his legs crumpled, nearly sending both him and Joe to the floor. Joe had to practically drag him to the couch, not daring to carry him upon having encountered the painful bruises on his chest and ribs.

"Someone really did a number on old Roger," he frowned. He laid Roger's upper body on the soft couch, grim as he swung Roger's legs up as well.

"We haven't seen or heard of him since that incident with the stolen money in his ceiling," Peggy remarked, going to the phone.

Joe went to dampen a cloth from the water cooler. "Obviously he's been keeping busy."

As he returned to Roger and began to clean the blood from a cut on his face, Roger's ice-blue eyes flickered open. "Mannix, old boy," he said with a weak, pained smile. "So they really did bring me to you."

Joe sighed. "And you really have got me into another mess. Haven't you, Roger?"

"Dreadfully sorry. I . . . ow." Roger winced as the cut stung. "I was afraid you wouldn't be too keen on seeing me after that little escapade with the stolen money."

"Well . . . you're right." Joe moved on to another wound. "I'm not. But I'm too nice a guy to just leave you bleeding on my welcome mat. And even if I wasn't, Peggy wouldn't stand for it."

"Good show," Roger smiled.

Looking even wearier, Joe added, "But there's no way anyone would know to bring you here unless you told them to. And you've got a lot of nerve saying that, Roger, after all the tricks you pulled on me."

"I suppose that wasn't very sporting of me, was it," Roger mused. "Really, Joe, I don't know how your name slipped out. Especially when I imagine you're still angry with me because of our past."

Joe stopped and gave the other man a hard look. "Unfortunately, it's really hard to stay mad at you when you're obviously so used to double-crossing people and being double-crossed yourself that you take it all in stride and probably pretty much expect it from everyone. Frankly, Roger, I feel sorry for you. You must lead a lonely life."

"It's a lot less lonely when Claudia's in it," Roger mumbled. "But they've got her now."

"Who's 'they'?" Joe retorted.

"The same chaps who got me looking so unpresentable," Roger said. "You see, it all started with a bit of gold that I sort of found and . . . borrowed, shall we say."

"Stole, is more like it," Joe said.

"Stole, yes," Roger conceded. "Only I really didn't know who it belonged to at the time. I thought it had been abandoned. Honest! And then someone else took it from me. The problem is . . ." He shifted, grimacing in pain and holding a hand to his ribs. "The problem is that the blokes I stole from didn't believe that someone stole it from me in turn. So they abducted Claudia and . . . well, you can see what they did to me."

"And let me guess," Joe interjected. "They want me to help them find their gold by making you tell me what you did with it."

"I'm afraid so," Roger nodded.

Joe stood, shaking his head and beginning to pace the floor in disbelief. "Roger, of all the . . . why did you give them my name, anyway?!"

Silence. "Desperation, I suppose. I took a chance that I still had one friend left in this world of double-crossers and cheaters."

"Let's get one thing straight, Roger," Joe immediately jumped in. "I'm not your friend. You saw to that last time. Now that you've got me mixed up in this mess I guess I'll have to see it through. But it's not for your sake, Roger. Ohh no. Now it's personal. Now it's for my sake."

Roger nodded and smiled that cheeky, unruffled smile. "Of course. I wouldn't expect it any other way."

Peggy frowned, peering at him more closely. Maybe it was her imagination, but it almost looked like a flicker of a different emotion passing through his eyes. Sadness? Regret?

She shook her head. Neither were things she thought Roger would be capable of feeling. But then again, in her years of working with Joe, she had certainly learned that people could be surprising. And sometimes that wasn't always a bad thing.

She frowned as something else occurred to her. "Joe? Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Joe looked over in surprise. "Sure, Peg." He left Roger and walked with Peggy to the doorway of his office. "What is it?"

Peggy lowered her voice. "If he's not hurt too badly, the hospital will let him go. Where is he going to stay?"

Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "In all honesty, he's probably expecting to stay here. And those jokers on his back probably expect him to be here."

"Exactly," Peggy nodded, worried.

"And I'd probably just get beat up if they came and he wasn't here," Joe scowled. "Then again, they might beat me up anyway."

"What are you going to do?" Peggy exclaimed.

"What I'd like to do is toss him out on his ear," Joe growled. "That's just about what he deserves. But now that I'm so unfortunately involved in his latest catastrophe, I want to hear this story from his enemies' point of view. Who knows if Roger's given it to me straight. And he'll probably end up staying here, at least for tonight. Maybe tomorrow I can kick him into a hotel."

"Maybe," Peggy echoed with a bit of a smirk.

"Honest—that's the plan," Joe retorted.

"Mm hmm. But will you be able to stick with it?" Peggy smoothly returned.

"Oh, you just wait and see!" Joe declared. "I'll stick with it, alright. Last time I made the mistake of thinking that Roger wouldn't leave me high and dry. But he was doing it every time I turned around!"

Peggy nodded. "Not that I agree with what he did, but you were promising to see that he met up with Inspector Dustin Rhodes," she remarked. "And I guess he wasn't at all willing to see that happen."

"Yeah, especially when Rhodes wasn't even Rhodes or an inspector," Joe grumbled. "But Roger still double-crossed me even after I figured that one out."

"He probably thought you were going to turn him over to a real Scotland Yard inspector," Peggy said, tapping her lips with the eraser of a pencil. "I'm still not sure why you didn't."

"Sometimes I'm not, either," Joe came back.

The sound of the ambulance outside was a welcome interruption. Peggy hurried to greet the paramedics at the door while Joe walked back to Roger on the couch.

"I couldn't help but overhear," Roger said, blearily looking up at him. "I've wondered myself why you let Claudia and me go."

Joe shoved his hands in his pockets. "At the time, I figured the most important thing was just to get the money back where it belonged," he said. "Stealing a bunch of old money on its way to being burned isn't the crime of the century, especially when you pulled it off without anyone getting hurt. I was more sore about how you used me."

"I am sorry about that," Roger mumbled. "I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt, including you. All I wanted was to get away from the people who double-crossed me after the robbery."

"Who really wouldn't have minded if I'd gotten away, permanently," Joe said. "But truthfully, once I learned the whole story of what had happened . . . nevermind," he interrupted himself as the paramedics came into the office. They would talk about it later.

Maybe. It wasn't the sort of topic he was anxious to get into.

He ran a hand through his hair. Tonight he was fed up with cases and now another one had dropped right in his lap.

Or right on his doorstep, more accurately.

And he really wasn't anxious to see where it was going to lead.