Usual disclaimer. Own nothing. No infringement intended. Just playing with them and will neatly put back on the shelf when I am done. Love reviews, good and bad if constructive. First venture into this series. Still learning the speech patterns, etc., bit harder with so many new characters. Set before episode seven as Mike still does not know Briggs' secret.
-Graceland-
It had gone south fast, too fast for any hope of a graceful recovery. Briggs had been doing a routine meet and greet with what was supposed to be a low-level drug dealer in anticipation of forming an alliance that would bring him closer to the man at the top; one of the East Coast's leading drug distributors who had shown an interest in diversifying on the West Coast. Mike was nearby listening. Briggs could have done this alone but how else was the kid supposed to pick up the craft; listen and learn.
A cool breeze was blowing off the water and Paul was glad he had his black leather jacket on to ward off the chill. Glancing down at the ocean, he watched the swells fifteen feet below. The sea was fairly calm this evening, no good for surfing he mused. Shifting his gaze up the pier, he saw three guys walking in his direction; he'd bet a week's salary that they were his contacts. Casually studying the trio from behind his Ray-Bans, he chuckled. They were so East-Coast-Preppy it hurt, with their bright polo shirts, khakis and Sperrys; not his typical cliental. Maybe he should have let the kid take this meet; Mike was fresh off the Quantico boat and probably had more in common with these preppies then Briggs.
As they drew nearer, the blondest yuppie from the threesome stepped forward. "I'm Mark. You Paul?" he asked as he stuck out his hand in greeting.
"Yep." Shaking at a meeting was odd, must be an East Coast thing Paul thought. What he also found interesting was the hard squeeze the Mark gave his hand; a definite power play. A quick study told Paul all he needed to know, this guy might look like a lackadaisical frat-boy but he was really all business and one hundred percent dangerous. Briggs was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake in taking this meet and greet so lightly.
The blond released Brigg's hand then crossed his well-chiseled forearms over his Nautica-clad chest. "A friend told me you might be able to help diversify our product line."
Playing the game, Brigg's shifted his stance to match that of his rival. "Yeah. Diversification. Good for everyone."
"You can hook us up with top drug suppliers?"
Paul held up his hands in caution. "Whoa there. No details here man," he said agitatedly scanning the semi-crowded pier. "This is not the time and certainly not the place. Transaction details will be discussed at a future meeting if," Briggs dropped his hands back to his side, "I think things feel right."
Briggs inner-level of nervousness increased when he realized Mark's men had silently maneuvered around him so he was boxed in; not a good sign. However, he maintained his cool, arrogant façade even if he was growing progressively uneasy.
Mark took a step closer to Briggs, invading his personal space. "Why should I trust you? I hear the West Coast is crawling with undercover cops."
"No more than the East Coast I'm sure," Briggs shot back with a slight cock of his head.
Mark laughed as he dropped his hands into his jacket pockets. "Probably true. So what do you bring to the table?"
"Think of me like your West Coast real-estate agent. I'm here to tell you which neighborhoods you want to live in, where to shop, and how to avoid hassles. As a local agent I have lots of connections that are invaluable as you set up your household."
"Why can't we do this without you? We have bought many houses back East."
Briggs snorted giving them a pointed once-over-look. "No offense man, but you stick out like a polar bear at a penguin's only party."
"And what is in this for you?"
"Money," the dark-haired FBI agent answered succinctly. Briggs quickly surveyed the busy pier.
"Are you expecting someone?" the blond asked warily noting Briggs distraction.
"No. But I feel a bit conspicuous, surrounded by three brightly attired prep-boys. Not my usual crowd. We need to wrap this up. You interested in my services or not?"
Briggs instincts to be worried were spot on when two street cops, who were patrolling the pier, started to purposely move in their direction. One of the bodyguards also saw the cops and hissed, "Boss, cops."
Mark grabbed Briggs by the sides of his leather jacket and roughly slammed him back against the pier's railing. "You set us up?"
Surrounded and outnumbered, Briggs knew fighting was not the optimal solution so he tried to talk his way out. Shoving back he growled, "#uck you. I think you set me up. You wired? Are the #ucking cops listening to us?"
The guy was good Briggs had to admit because he never saw the knife until it ripped thru his jeans slicing his thigh. Before he could mount a counterattack, the bodyguards pinned his arms while their Boss stabbed him in the shoulder causing blood to run down his torso. Before Mark could do anymore damage, one of the thugs said "Boss we gotta go now!"
"Toss this piece of shit into the ocean," and before Briggs could do anything he was propelled over the railing, free-falling towards the ocean below. The three men then took off in a hurry. The two policemen started after them, suspicious because in their experience innocent people did not run away unless they are up to no good. Neither officer noted that a fourth man had been tossed into the ocean.
When the men had surrounded Briggs, Mike had started moving quietly towards the group. Suddenly, he saw a flurry of activity, but from his angle, Mike did not see that his partner had been stabbed before he was tossed into the ocean. Sprinting to the railing, he saw Agent Briggs splash into the water below. The deepening twilight made it difficult to determine if Briggs had surfaced, but Mike was not overly concerned since the man was an excellent swimmer. He was sure Briggs would simply surface and swim to shore. After scanning the darkened sea for a few more minutes, Mike decided his best bet was to head down to the beach; Briggs would be pissed at how this meet had turned out and would not want to wait around for Mike to show up so they could go home.
When Briggs hit the water, his whole body momentarily relaxed; water was his friend. However, he quickly realized his leather jacket was not his buddy as the weight of it threatened to drag him back under the ocean's surface. Hating to lose his favorite jacket, but knowing he had no choice, the wounded man struggled to get out of it. Concentrating on getting the damn jacket off, Briggs failed to notice how close to the pilings the waves had pushed him. His first unpleasant inkling of their exact location came as a wave lifted him then slammed his back and shoulders into the barnacle encrusted poles. Had this happened before he had shed his black leather jacket, his back and shoulders would have been saved from the grinding and scraping of the sharp marine crustaceans. The string of curses he let loose as he was flayed by the creatures ceased when the next wave submerged him again. The only thing that ran through his mind as he struggled to reemerge, was the warning that they had given Mike when they were teaching him to surf, stay away from the pier, it's dangerous.
When he finally resurfaced, Briggs took his own advice and made an effort to swim away from the treacherous submerged poles. The water temperature was cold and without a wet suit to keep him warm, he quickly felt his strength being depleted as he struggled to swim towards the shore. It also didn't help that he was bleeding and his adrenaline rush was wearing off causing him to crash.
By this time Mike had made it on to the beach and was scanning the surf for signs of Briggs. The bright lights from the pier were useful, providing a soft glow on the ocean's surface. Mike thought he spotted something in the nearby surf so he dashed into the water after pulling off his shoes. "Briggs!" he shouted and the dark shape raised its head. Mike moved to intercept and the two met on the crest of a wave which propelled them closer to the shore before breaking on their heads. Mike quickly resurfaced discovering it was shallow enough to stand. He felt something bump into his legs as the backwash of the wave started to recede into the ocean. Realizing it was Briggs, Mike quickly grabbed the older man by his belt to stop him from being dragged out to sea.
Finally registering the sandy bottom beneath his feet, Briggs struggled to stand and Mike tried to help. Briggs wanted to scream at Mike because he was causing the wound on his shoulder to tear open and bleed even more, but the dark-haired man bit his lip knowing he was too wiped out to get ashore on his own. The two men emerged from the surf and stumbled their way up the beach beyond the high tide mark where they both dropped to the sand, worn out. Briggs landed on his knees, his head bowed so low his forehead nearly brushed the sand. Mike dropped on his butt and quickly reached for his phone to see if it worked. Mike thanked his cautious nature which had made him buy a waterproof case a few days after hitting the West Coast. His phone lit up in the gloom of the night and chirped companionably as he started to dial. Briggs heard the sound of dialing and his hand flashed out grabbing the phone from Mike. He quickly stabbed the end conversation button.
"Why did you do that?" Mike asked clearly puzzled by Briggs actions. "I was dialing for help."
"No," Briggs rumbled, clutching Mike's phone. Unfortunately, his ordeal was rapidly overwhelming his body and Briggs started to shiver uncontrollably which caused him to drop Mike's phone in the sand. The other agent reached over and snatched it back.
"Help me up to the bench over there," Briggs demanded through chattering teeth as Mike shoved the phone back in his pocket. "Other side," Briggs directed when Mike tried to support him on his bad side. Mike obediently moved to the other side of the man draping Briggs' arm over his shoulder in support. The two men slowly made their way across the sand to a nearby bench. Like his bones had been melted, Briggs collapsed onto the wooden bench; Mike used the light of a nearby street lamp to study him. "Damn Briggs, you are seriously hurt!" he said spotting the blood stains and ripped clothing. "I'm calling for an ambulance."
Paul marshaled his strength, reached out and knocked the phone from Mike's hand. The unit skittered across the concrete coming to rest against a nearby trash receptacle. "What the hell Briggs," Mike grumbled as he went over to retrieve his phone.
"Go get the car Warren," Briggs ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.
Mike moved back towards the bench like a hopefully puppy. "So you want me to drive you to the hospital?"
"No hospital," Paul ground out between shivers. "Home."
Mike eyebrows rose as he stared at his trainer clearly believing he had lost his mind. "You need professional medical care."
With his last reserve of energy, Briggs burst off the bench and grabbed Mike roughly by his soggy shirt. "I…need…you…to…drive…me…home!" he snarled.
Mike took an involuntary step backwards at the force of Brigg's words and the dangerous looking gleam in his brown eyes. "Alright. Whatever you say," he agreed.
Briggs fumbled his way back to the bench. "I'll wait…here."
Mike gave a curt nodded before heading off, fully intending to call for help the minute he was out of outsight. Rounding the corner, he reached for his phone only to discover it was missing. Damn Briggs must have lifted it. Screw this Mike thought. I'll drive him to Graceland and his roommates deal with the crazy man; he'd had enough.