"Step back a bit, Finch." Reese's voice is tight as he gently pulls on his boss's arm. "Not a whole lot of rubber-neckers this evening."
Because it's a miserable night, Finch thinks, moving away from the yellow tape. Rain is misting around them now with the temperature falling by the minute, a fitting backdrop to the proceedings being carried out on the other side of the barrier.
Though they've positioned themselves far enough away to be taken as part of the macabre pack that always seems drawn to tragedy, John is right; they need to be vigilant. There aren't enough onlookers here to provide them adequate cover.
The coroner's minions carry two large body bags to the non-descript van under the watchful eyes of the attending detectives. Two vinyl bags, one of which he knows weighs much less than the other… the one that contains the body of a child. Could they not have used a size appropriate bag? But he supposes it's probably an issue of economics: one size fits all, bought in bulk.
He casts a sidelong glance at Reese. The activities across the street follow a routine all too familiar to them, he and the ex-agent having frequently witnessed the aftermath of a brutal act. Mayhem, torture …murder. In fact, before he had found John Reese there are been many such times when he'd stood alone, watching the results of his inability to change the course of a tragic event in the making. Watch the results of his failure.
The only thing he could do then was to go back to the library and add to his wall. His wall of shame….not built with mortar and brick, but with one photo, one article, one obituary at a time.
And all these numbers represent…?
Lost chances…
Reese's face reveals nothing. Not unexpected; old habits die hard. But how many bodies has the man seen in his lifetime? And how many of those were the direct result of his expertise while working for the CIA? How many while working for his current employer?
Questions Finch never asks, as the answers are ones he'll never want to hear.
Not important anymore anyway. They are inexorably linked now, two 'dead' men seeking exoneration for their pasts, forgiveness for their sins. His for actions he didn't take, Reese for actions he did. Will their current efforts be sufficient to counteract their earlier transgressions…and will good-faith efforts that still result in failure be counted in the positive column?
It's something they'll never know. Not in this life.
He turns back to the scene playing out in front them. The bags have been loaded into the van, the driver already behind the wheel, and the detectives finally dispersing. Of course though this particular scene is now finished, the ongoing play will continue. Tomorrow another cast - or perhaps the same one - will be re-assembled to assume similar roles, with only changes in the stage set defining it as a different act.
He attempts to shake off this morbidity.
"Well, we might as well get going. I think it may be freezing; my ears are numb!"
"Go ahead, Harold. I'm going to walk for a while…" And the ex-op turns on his heel, heading into the mist.
Finch stands silently, watching the tall man trudge against the wind and disappear around the corner at end of the block. Not good. Not good at all.
In his mind he sees himself lurching after the ex-agent, but to what purpose? Minutes pass and then with the wind dancing around him, his thoughts in a furious churn, he walks slowly to his car.
At least it will be warmer in there while he thinks about what to do next.
….
"Are you in place, Mr. Tao?"
"Sure am Finchy. And by the way, this is a really, really classy joint! Are you springing for dinner too?"
Finch sighs. Keeping Leon focused is a bit like herding cats as the volatile little man seems to suffer from a cognitive problem, namely a severe lack of concentration!
He would have preferred to use one of the detective duo for this surveillance project, but neither was available. Leon will just have to do, though he finds the eagerness with which the little man jumped at the opportunity to spy on John a bit disturbing. Leon was particularly gleeful to be given an ITE device, quickly placing it in his ear and testing the appliance over and over with the annoying comment, "can you hear me now?"
At that point, Finch had already been regretting this part of his plan.
"I will consider purchasing your dinner after a successful report, Mr. Tao. And not before."
"Done! I'm your man here…I can do this. But I'll need a drink to justify sitting at this bar. Otherwise they might throw me out!"
"Very well. But keep your consumption to a minimum please. I need you to keep alert."
"Of course! Of course! Didn't I do you right at that casino…huh? Helped you and John get the stuff you needed?"
"Yes Mr. Tao. Kudos to you…again. Now, please focus!" Finch tries to keep his irritation to himself, but his worry keeps pushing to the forefront. "Do you see Mr. Reese?"
"Barkeep! A tequila shot, please! And keep them coming!" There's a momentary silence.
"Yeah, I see him. He's sitting at a table by himself. What's this about Finchy? You and John break up? I thought the two you were attached at the hip."
"Thanks for that visual Mr. Tao," is the sarcastic reply. "My reason for this surveillance is of no concern to you. John is to meet someone for dinner and suffice it to say I need you to stay out of his sight."
"Yeah, I get it. I'm undercover! Don't worry Finchy. He'll never know I'm here!"
Then, to the sound of liquid pouring into a glass, "Hey, there's a girl walking up to his table. Wow..ee! Nice looking broad! Uh…lady."
Finch sits up straighter. "Describe her please."
"Ummm…thirties, late thirties? A mature woman, all woman, not a fluff head, if you know what I mean? Not very tall. Nice figure. Great pair of gams. Long brown hair. Oh, wait. Girls like to call that sable, not brown. But I say a rose by any other name, you know, is…"
"Focus, Leon!"
"Oh…yeah, right. Ok. He got up to pull out her chair. What a gentleman! Ladies like that you know..."
Finch snorts. Leon giving advice on women is a bit like the Titanic's captain offering maritime directions.
Yeah, she's short. Barely tops his shoulder, even wearing those FM heels. So I guess she's like 5.4, maybe 5.5…"
"FM heels? Oh. Never mind, I figured it out. Continue please…"
"Wow…! She seems to know John. So I'm assuming she's not a hooker? They wouldn't just walk up to a guy and kiss him in a restaurant! At least they never did that to me! But then, John's a good looking dude. Maybe that happens to him all the time. I never have that kind of luck, but that's because I'm not tall like him…"
Finch rubs both hands over his face. Leon Tao is going to drive him insane with his non-relevant chatter. The man must have ADD or something! However, his contingency may be a chatterbox, but at least he got some of the results he's looking for; the woman has at been identified as the correct person to be joining Mr. Reese for dinner.
He sits back, relieved that at least this part of his plan is progressing as designed and thankful that his contact responded to this request on such short notice. He knows she is busy, her skills being much in demand…
And hopefully she'll be successful here.
To be continued…
