M7

I close my eyes and familiar but misplaced faces float before me, most dead years before. Two faces are brighter. perhaps newer, than the others but equally as dead. The one, a young man with deep blue eyes and long, golden brown hair and the other, even younger with hazel eyes and dark brown, almost black hair. Both of them are smiling at me as if the horrible events of the recent past have never transpired but I know the events have come to pass though they are all jumbled in my head. I do know that they are dead...because I killed them.

Vin

I see 'im. We both see 'im. He's standin' here, big as life, on the sidewalk outside ma place. How? How'd he get here? How'd he get away from Cain? I see 'im. J.D. sees 'im, too, and the kid looks to me for an explanation. He's lookin' right at us but not really seein' us. He looks scared. I see 'im and I see the gun. I just don't believe it 'cause he takes aim at J.D. and fires once. The kid goes down, smackin' his head on the cement. I'm next and the bullet slams into ma gut and the next thing I know I'm sittin' on the ground and leaning up against the building. He goddamn shot me...and J.D.! He drops the gun on the sidewalk. It takes a bounce and lands near the kid but he ignores it. 'sted he walks over to a yella' Mustang and gets in. I can't see the driver or the plate 'cause people have started to gather 'round us blockin' ma view. It hurts so fuckin' much...in my gut…and in my heart. The two of us, gunned down by a friend we trusted. How could he? Why would he? Everythin' about the last few minutes is wrong...all wrong...crazy wrong. He was afraid of us, terrified more like it...and he was filthy.

Buck

A car speeds by me and I catch a glimpse of him sitting in the passenger seat of a Mustang. I recognize him and he looks right at me but there's no recognition no expression at all on his face. I turn the corner onto the street that runs by Vin's apartment building and see a crowd gathering. I'm supposed to pick up J.D. and, when I hear a woman scream, I throw my ATF 'PARK WHERE EVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO' pass on the dash and double-park right in front. I can't see what the commotion is all about but I do smell gunpowder. Someone says a couple of guys have been shot.

I see Vin first. Man, his face is so white, his eyes so blue against it. J.D.'s layin' on the sidewalk a few feet from him and a pool of blood's gathering underneath his head and I freak the fuck out and start pushin' people outta the way. Dialin' 911 I check on J.D.. He's out cold but his pulse is strong and, despite the fact that a bullet's gone clean through his shoulder, most of the blood is coming from a gash on the back of his head. I check Vin out next. He's gaspin' for air from the pain of the bullet that's just torn into him. He's cold and clammy, probably goin' into shock. He grabs my shirtfront and wheezes out one word... "Ezra."

"I saw him buddy. We'll pick him up pronto," I assure him and yank off my shirt. I wad it up and press it to Vin's abdomen trying to stop the flow of blood. I can't tend to them both and look pleadingly at the bystanders. We'll help senior Vin. It's the group of boys Vin helps out any way he can. They kneel down beside him and I hand over the task of keeping Vin from bleeding out to them. They're anxious to help their amigo and press on that towel like there's no tomorrow.

I move over to sit on the sidewalk and cradle J.D.'s head in my lap. Someone hands me a towel and I wipe some of the blood off the kid's face and press it to the gash while someone else presses another towel to his shoulder. While I'm waitin' for the ambulance I call it in and tell Chris the little prick's gone rogue on us. He doesn't seem all that surprised. He calls in the plate number. Car's stolen. No big surprise there.

The ambulance arrives and J.D. and Vin are quickly and expertly tended to. I follow the rig to the hospital anyway and wait until the others come. When the doctors finally tell us that the two of them are out of immediate danger, Chris and I leave to toss Ezra's condo.

Chris

I want him to be here. I want to jack him up so badly I'm actually shaking. I let Buck take point 'cause if I run into him first I'm gonna take his fuckin' head off. The place is cold and sparsely furnished and I still can't tell if he's comin' or goin'. Unpacked boxes line the walls...or are they newly packed?

Someone's been here all right. All the rooms are untouched except for the master bedroom and bath. Stinking, filthy clothes are heaped on the floor and the closet doors and dresser drawers are open. Damp towels are lying on the bathroom floor. A blackened, bent spoon and blood soaked cotton balls are in the sink. A few drops of nearly dried blood are on the sink apron all damning pieces to a puzzle. We bag and tag it all.

I call Josiah and tell him to put a surveillance detail on the place in case he comes back and to put out a description of the Jag. He says IAD is already at the hospital wanting to talk to J.D. and Vin. I tell him to keep the bastards away until I can get back there and I start the arduous process of protecting two of my own. Protecting two of my own and hunting down another. Hunting him down like the rabid dog he's become.

Vin

I can't get outta bed yet, can't even sit up. I'm sure gonna make Ezra pay. Every time I move this damn catheter feels like a cat scratchin' ma dick. The doc says the bullet didn't do too much damage. Easy for him to say. Says I should be up and around in a week, maybe on ma way home in a couple more. I just want outta here. It's been pretty lonely what with J.D. on another floor and the others pullin' double duty. If I could only get up I know I could make it to the front door and hitch a ride home. Aw, hell, nobody in his right mind would voluntarily go into Purgatorio...at night anyway. I still don't know what the hell's goin' on, why Ezra went loco. The pain meds help and, when I don't wanna think about it anymore, I just hit that button and I'm a goner.

J.D.

I am a free man! I gotta go see Vin and rub it in. A week's all you get for a shoulder wound and a busted head. A gut shot gets you a whole lot longer. I guess I'm gonna be okay, except for the nightmares. I haven't told anyone about 'em. Don't wanna be known as a nut job. Maybe Casey can get me some of that god-awful, all natural, hippie tea she likes to drink, the kind that's 'spose to help you sleep. I'm kind of afraid to take all the pills they're sending home with me. What if I end up crazy, too, like Ezra?

Josiah

God knows this is an utter waste of time. Nathan knows it too but when the big dog barks we jump. Buck's checking airport and bus terminal parking lots for the Jag. We could've drawn that shit assignment. Funny, but I can't picture Ezra letting Greyhound do the driving. He's not coming back. At least not here, especially with the two of us sitting down the street from his condo in this sore thumb of an unmarked cop car. He's ex FBI for Christ's sake. There's no way in hell he's not gonna spot us.

Buck

Now I even dream about that candy ass foreign car. I've been lookin' for the piece a crap for weeks now. Someone told me Ford owns Jaguar. Say it ain't so. At least Chevy didn't up and buy 'em. That woulda been just too hard to swallow. I have absolutely no luck findin' the car or the man. He's gone, plain and simple. No one's booked any flights or bought any bus tickets remotely resembling him. No contact with anyone. Intel says he's not back with Cain but then intel told us bringin' down Cain would be a piece a cake. What the fuck do they know anyway?

Chris

I knew the man was good when I hired him but even I can't believe how completely he's gone to ground. Not a trace of him in seven weeks. Almost two months and nothing since the money transfer into his bank account. A suspiciously large amount as untraceable as the man himself and untouched to this day. For a job well done?

J.D.'s shoulder has healed up nicely and Vin's almost back up to speed. He's working diligently on a report and I see him turn toward Ezra's desk from time to time as if to ask for help. J.D. checks Ezra's computer a couple of times a day for some sort of contact but there's been nothing but business and personal emails, the latter dwindling with no replies forthcoming.

The department's placed him on unpaid administrative leave. The SAC wants to terminate him and at times I want to terminate him, too, in the literal sense of the word. J.D. and Vin are the reasons I haven't taken that particular thought any further...that and the fact that no one can find the son of a bitch. The two of them are convinced that Cain is behind it all. They got the distinct impression something had gone terribly wrong during their last contact with Ezra. He never saw or spoke to them again after that...until he gunned them down in Purgatorio.

We keep searching in our spare time. Other cases have taken precedence until something concrete breaks. The FBI has joined in the search but they haven't had any better luck than us. Seems he' gotten his money's worth out of their training.

Vin

I wanna slap the shit outta the SAC. He's obsessed with Ezra, can't bear the thought of one of his agents goin' rogue on his watch. He wants 'im so bad he won't let up on me. Keeps askin' if I remember anything else about that last meetin' we had with 'im. I told the man everything, how Ez called us from Cain's place four days after we dropped him off. We thought it was to pick him back up but when we got there things went down the shitter real quick.

He looked like total crap. Had on clothes that weren't his. No style, ta say the least and long sleeves in 100-degree plus heat. He hadn't shaved in a while either. Ezra Standish had gone under as a hotshot businessman, Elias Perrin, from Atlanta but that day he was lookin' more like a homeless bum from Capital Hill. Said he'd be stayin' at Cain's 'stead a his hotel and handed off the card key to J.D. "When hospitality is offered," he said, "a gentleman can hardly refuse."

His lips were movin' but his eyes were tellin' a whole 'nother story. They were fever bright, flickin' here then there, goin' dull then sharp again. Kept rubbin' his arms, too. That's when I saw the blood on his sleeves. "You all right, Mr. Perrin?" I asked. Nothing I cannot handle, he said. I pushed again trying to get a fix on the situation. "Listen, if there's a problem..."

"Your boss has dismissed you boys." It was Cain backed up by two of his well heeled muscle. He took Ez's arm and pulled 'im back away from us and that's when I saw the fear in Ez's eyes, the fear behind the drugs. J.D. an' I had no choice but to leave 'im. We didn't wanna, even talked about goin' back in but knew it would only get us both killed. Cain had Ezra and there wasn't fuck all we could do about it.

I'm back at my desk after talking to the SAC...again...and start to relax a little after the grillin' when J.D.'s shout has me up and outta my seat again.

J.D.

"I found the Jag!" I jump up from my computer and run smack into Buck who has hurried over from his desk. Goddamn, that hurts! My shoulder's pretty well healed up but it hurts like hell when I collide with a 6 foot 1 inch, 180-pound solid object. Buck apologizes like crazy. I wish he would just slap me up side of my head and tell me to idle down...like he used to. Things haven't gotten back to 'abnormal' around here yet. Probably won't 'till that desk in front of ours is filled again.

I look at the window in Chris' office. Another FBI agent is in there talkin' to him. They know Ezra has probably crossed state lines and they want in on the hunt but they don't know which state. I do. He was in California six weeks ago. The title work to his beloved Jag just came through DMV. Sold it outright to Sunset Motors in LA and, boy Ezra, you got screwed.

I look over Buck's shoulder as he sits at my desk takin' down the info. He looks up at me and nods. I reach over his shoulder and point and click. The file is now deleted... like it was never there. We try to stay one step ahead of the FBI. We want to be the ones to bring him in. I'm anxious to find him but dread the first meeting. What if he really wanted me 'n' Vin dead like people say?

Buck7

I use J.D.'s phone and punch up Sunset Motors and ask for the manager. When I ask about the Jag he starts a tongue tap dance and hooks me up with the salesman who made the deal. The prick describes the seller. "Thick, longish, red-brown hair…spooky green eyes...southern accent...desperate for money...thin and twitchy...sick maybe...drugs more likely...seen it all here in LA. Paid him cash as soon as he signed over the title... walked out the door and into the night...another satisfied customer." I tell the little weasel that someone from ATF will be out to impound the car. He starts whining and hands me back to his manager. I hand him off to mine.

Chris

I usher the FBI agent none too gently out of my office and head back to where Buck, Vin and J.D. are huddled around the kid's desk. I read the notes on Buck's pad. He's written that the manager says the car has already been sold. I grab the phone and spell it out for the dickhead in no uncertain terms. "Have the car in his lot day after tomorrow. We'll be out to impound it as evidence in the attempted murder of two federal agents and he'll be an accessory after the fact if the car isn't there!" I slam the phone receiver down. I know the car will be there.

I need to make arrangements to hand off assignments and book flights to LA. This is the first break we've gotten. The son of a bitch dropped off the face of the earth until today. The trail's cold but the drug community is relatively small and a doper will sell out his mother for an eight ball and a yuppie type, with a penchant for thousand dollar suits and hundred dollar words, shouldn't be that hard to find...even in LaLa land.

Josiah

I spot the Jag right off, immaculate as always. There's a dealer's plate on it and I grab it as Chris and I walk to the building. Inside in a large showroom expensive classics and newer cars surround us. None of the sales people approach us. We must have 'cop' written all over us. If we're going to pump crack heads and junkies for information, we'll need to change tactics or at least clothes. I'll just appeal to their Godliness and if that fails I can always fall back on a ham fist wrapped around a scrawny throat. Seems to reach 'em when the Good Lord doesn't.

I look out the window and see the others crawling all over the Jag now. They're looking for something... anything. Chris hands the toady manager the paperwork to impound the car and the fussy little man complains bitterly assuring us he purchased the car in good faith...for a quarter of it's true worth, you shit heel! I'm delighted to see the bastard on the receiving end of a Chris Larabee tirade. The car will defiantly still be here when we get back.

Vin

I stand in the part of L.A. ya don't see on TV, the underbelly, the Sunset Strip. The sun's gone down and they're out in droves. Dealers on every corner. Young kids, male and female, offerin' themselves up for money, for drugs. They come up ta me as I make my way down the sidewalk, wanna know if I want a blowjob, only twenty bucks. A dealer comes up offerin' crack cocaine.

I stand with my hands jammed deep in my leather jacket pockets, my gun in the holster in the small of ma back. "Don't want crank," I tell 'im. Need something harder…body bag." He trusts me...must be the long hair. He pulls a glassine from his jacket. Ten bucks. Ten bucks and 70% pure. No wonder horse is the drug a choice nowadays. I pass 'im the money and he hands me the packet. It takes less than thirty seconds and he's truckin' on down the sidewalk.

"Need a safe place," I call out ta 'im. He gives me the address of a nearby shootin' gallery and I head out ta find the cross street. I turn right and keep walkin' into an industrial area, toward an abandoned warehouse where people scurry inside out of the night, scurry like rats. Inside I act like I'm high, trippin' over somebody...a young kid with bad skin and bad breath. I tell 'im I'm lookin' for ma brother. Nah, he ain't seen 'im. I sit, talk with the rest of the druggies and watch as they shoot up, smoke and shabang and come up with nothin'. He ain't here but I do score another address and head on back out. Must be hundreds of filthy, stinkin' places like this to search.

Chris

As the sun starts to come up I see the others standing around the rental cars parked just off the strip. I can see the exhaustion on their faces, the disappointment. Nothing...we got nothing. Vin hands me his packets, as do the others. I'll flush everything when we get back to the motel. It amazes me what these men will do for one of their own. Is he still one of us? J.D. and Vin will go to the wall to bring a foundering friend in to a safe port while Nathan and Buck simply search to bring a fugitive to justice. Josiah and I do a little of both hoping against hope that we'll find him and this mess will soon be cleared up.

It's been taxing on J.D. and Vin as they still recover, hard on Nathan, Buck and Josiah who have taken up the slack. I ride them hard to keep them all going...past the point of exhaustion...past the point of common sense. We need to find him before someone else does. Accidents happen and the FBI agents out of Virginia look especially accident-prone. I'm sure by now they're wondering where we all got off to. We head back to the motel for breakfast and some much needed sleep.

Buck

I partner up with Chris and the kid. It's been three days now and we don't go out alone anymore...too visible to the creatures of the night. We've asked too many questions, searched the same places over and over again. A young girl, high on crank, tells us about this place, an abandoned apartment complex just this side of Compton. Says she remembers a guy there fitting Ezra's description so we're standing by the cars in the cool night air, flashlights in hand, ready to enter the crumbling buildings on the word of a girl who'd probably tell me she'd seen my long dead Aunt Fanny there if I flashed enough cash.

Nathan passes out the latex gloves and then takes off with J.D.. I hope to hell I don't get stuck 'cause crack vials and spent needles are everywhere, so are makeshift beds. The place is deserted 'though a fire burns in a 55 gallon drum and pot and cigarette smoke lingers in the air. As we go further in, the overpowering stench of rotten flesh fills my nostrils. Fuck! I look at Chris through the gloom and he nods in J.D.'s direction. I send the kid back to Josiah, who waits at the trucks, to get evidence bags. Probably won't need 'em but I just want him outta here 'til we find out what crawled in here and died.

It's a cat, just outside a doorway and fresh outta lives. J.D. comes back and we continue searching through the crap. Lord knows I'm not a finicky man but searching through garbage filled and piss soaked buildings is getting to me, big time. I can't believe anyone would choose this way of life. Then again, maybe it chooses them.

Ezra

I detest the cold. I have always detested the cold. I shiver so hard that the muscles beneath my jaw cramp. Where is the warmth? The soft warmth, like a lover's kisses, up my arm and down into my body, into my legs. That's right. I have no more money and the heroin has run out. They are all gone now, moving like a flock of carrion to some other soul with the goods. Mine are gone...used up quickly when others are around to share. They will return soon enough, to this impromptu whorehouse/shooting gallery, drugged out vampires ready to feed on the heroin, crank and each other.

I feel another cramp coming...this time in my intestines...but I have passed everything out of my body leaving nothing but the pain. I fall over on my side and pull my knees into my chest, girding for it. I am barely breathing now, shallow breaths around the pain. 'Get up and walk it off' the others tell me but how does one walk off pain that feels as if someone is tearing the very skin off of one's body?

I push myself back up; spitting out the filth that has found it's way into my mouth and look down at my once immaculate suit, blackened with filth, the front stiff with dried vomit. Seeing my reflection in a broken piece of mirror, my skeletal hands shake uncontrollably as I push long, greasy hair from my eyes and wonder how much lower I can go? From the look of the animal peering back at me and the feel of my erratically beating heart, I can go no lower nor last much longer. The eyes in the mirror have already died. Can my body be far behind?

I think of the many who have gone before me, the two who shine so brightly in my mind's eye and I feel the tears start to fall. Where the moisture comes from I do not know. I stopped drinking and eating well before the heroin ran out. I cannot stop these tears though; I am not strong enough to wear the masks anymore, not strong enough to keep my emotions at bay. There is no one here to see me anyway, just two men silently rummaging through the trash that fills this place.

I close my eyes again only to feel rough hands hauling me to my feet. I can no longer stand on my own and feel the support of two people, one on either side of me. My eyes refuse to open, to let me see those who are surely bent on doing me harm. My heart is racing even faster than before if that's possible...then... nothing.