The cocaine high lasted about 30 minutes, and while he liked the feeling of alertness and energy, Ressler was relieved to find out he wasn't craving a new dose as soon as the first one had stopped working. He didn't sag down in exhaustion or feel noticeably more tired when the sparkle of energy faded; he just felt more grounded. It was nice, but it wasn't magical, and that, more than his rising dopamine levels, convinced him he'd be totally fine.
"Sure, you don't feel it as strongly as some do," Squeeze shrugged, when he told her he was a bit disappointed by the lack of pink-haired unicorn-feeling. "Others embrace it and don't want to let go of it. This was good coke, by the way. About 85% pure. If it's cut badly, the high is more jarring, possibly more intense. Gives you a headache. Now, I'm gonna give you a break before we start on the ice, because your brain's going to have to work hard enough producing everything the drugs use up. I don't think I'll make you do XTC tonight; it wouldn't be responsible."
"If you say so."
"I do." She poked Cindy in the arm. "How far along are you? Almost done?"
The other girl laughed. She pulled her earphones from her ears. "Eh, no. Still got his lower arm, and his back, and his neck to do. That'll go way faster, though; it's just symbols and tribals." She picked up a small drop-shaped bottle and squirted something over his henna-ed arm that smelled strongly of lemons.
"So, how much longer do you need?"
"Well jeez, I don't know. Another hour? One and a half? Why don't you just carry on. I'll work as fast as I can, but I can't be rushed. Artists never can, according to Kat." She smiled smugly; Squeeze rolled her eyes.
"Why don't you go ahead and say it, Cindy?" and to Ressler, "She used to work with Kat von D."
"Who is Kat von D?" Ressler asked.
Cindy stared at him. "You don't know who…L.A. Ink? The show? She's only the queen of tattoos!?"
"Ah. And you worked for her?"
"Yes," Cindy said proudly. "Never on the show, though, but I worked at her studio." She nodded at her suitcase. "Specialized on dragons and panthers. Oh, and Pinups." She smiled roguishly. "Are you sure you don't want a little pinup on your shoulder blade? I could freehand this cute little redhead in hotpants…"
"Keep to the assignment, Canvas," Squeeze said, before Ressler could even begin to find words that were not downright rude. "We don't have all night. Or do we?" she asked. "You got things to do tomorrow needing you to look like a diplomat instead of a zombie? Theoretically speaking, of course; you'll probably be just fine."
"I don't think so," Ressler said. All he needed to do was further his knowledge on Aaron Stone, and he could do that at home.
Squeeze nodded. "Good. Still, I got places to be tomorrow so…let's have another beer, and after that we're doing ice, just a little, of course, and maybe you'll be just be invigorated." She grinned. "If not, well, we'll see."
It was ten o' clock when Ressler snorted down a thin line of crushed amphetamine crystals.
"50% cut, with caffeine," Squeeze informed him. She sat across of him on her couch, drumming her fingers incessantly on the table in front of her. "It's like a super cup of coffee." Her eyes had widened, the pupils dilated. Ressler had no idea what he looked like himself, but he guessed he must be much the same. He remained in his seat, talking a hundred miles a minute until eleven, and then he shook Cindy from his arm and ran around the house a couple of times.
Christ, but speed was great. If he hadn't seen what it did to people and how much it fucked them up, he wouldn't mind making this a habit. Even more than the coke it made him feel superbly awake and alert, both mentally and physically, and when he plunked down back on his seat after running what had have been about a mile, he wasn't even breathing hard.
"I like this," he confessed to Squeeze, who grinned and regarded him from her sprawl on the sofa.
"I thought you would. Feeling pretty great, aren't you?"
"I would feel great too," Cindy said, a little sourly, "if you'd relax a little so I can finish your arm and start on your back."
"Go ahead."
She positioned his arm and started applying some red ink. "Jeez. Your skin's like ice, didn't you put on a jacket or something? It's really cold outside."
"Is it? I hadn't noticed."
She grumbled something about 'fickin' weird customers and their unsavoury habits', which made Ressler laugh, which made Squeeze laugh, which finally made Cindy giggle as well. "Dear lord, I really hope you won't end up rolling over the floor laughing. That'd seriously mess up my drawings."
"I don't usually rofl," Resser smirked.
"Most people don't, usually," Squeeze said. "But the more serious in ordinary life, the more abandoned high."
"Abandoned, huh? Well, I was sitting here half-naked within a couple of minutes after meeting you. I still wouldn't ever describe myself as 'abandoned'."
Squeeze winked at him. "Wait till you come down. Do you have a girlfriend? Wife? Boyfriend?"
"No?"
She smiled. "Well, like you said, you're half naked, surrounded by two pretty hot girls, and you're doing meth for the first time. I'll warn you when you start pitching a tent."
"Oh, that's smooth." Not that he was really worried. It was strange, but despite the fact that he'd never met them before, he trusted both women completely, felt wholly at ease around them, and absolutely safe. Sex with either of them was not an option, but if Squeeze wanted to tease him she was welcome to try.
"Smooth's my middle name," she said. "Squeeze Smooth Lamprey. That's me."
"Lamprey? Like the fish? Eel? Whatever they are?"
"Yup."
"You named yourself after an eel that sucks blood?"
"Some of them do. They're vampiric fish—ain't that cool?"
"It would be, if I hadn't had one attached to my chest one day, when I was seven."
"Weren't that a leech? Lampreys don't usually attack humans."
"No, definitely a lamprey. It was about a foot long."
"That's disgusting," Cindy interrupted. She sprinkled more lemon juice onto his arm and then started to wrap it up in bandages. "I'm done."
Ressler looked at the result and gave a low whistle. "That's actually pretty amazing." He watched as a rising phoenix surrounded by curling clouds and swirling birds of prey disappeared beneath white cotton. The whole thing covered him from shoulder to wrist, and if he hadn't known it wasn't the real thing, he wouldn't have been able to tell.
"Thanks," she said, beaming.
"Did you do the other…I mean…Aaron, did you do his tats too?"
Cindy nodded. "Yup. Several times. His were fake, too, you know—apart from the one on his back. That one was real."
Yes, the Japanese symbol on his kidney. "Do you know what it means?"
"Nope. Probably 'love', or something. Or 'honesty', that one's pretty popular, too."
"Great," Ressler muttered. "I have honest kidneys."
Squeeze guffawed at that. Cindy smiled, tied off the bandage and gave him a small tube of cream. "Take off the bandage tomorrow morning and rub this into it every evening. Or morning. Every day. It'll keep the colours bright. It'll keep under the shower, but you shouldn't scrub at it, so be careful when you're towelling off."
"Ok."
"Great! Then I'll get started on the tattoo on the back of your neck. Lean forward. I should have this done in about ten minutes."
Tue to her word, Cindy finished with the last tattoo half an hour later, gathered all her bottles and inks and waved a cheerful goodbye.
"So, what now?" Squeeze asked, once she was gone. "It's almost twelve. Is there anything else you want to know?"
"I don't think so."
"Think you can manage on the streets?" He nodded. "Self-assured son of a bitch, ain't you?" She flashed her knife-smile. "How're you feeling?"
"Good. Bit edgy." I got up, put on his shirt. "I think I'll go and have another run outside."
"I'll come along, if you don't mind," the woman said.
"Knock yourself out. Just mind I don't have a key."
"Psah," Squeeze scoffed. "Keys. You need a key to open a door? Pussy."
"Pussy?"
Laughing, she danced out in front of him, opened the door and stuck out her pierced tongue. "Come and catch me, blondie. If you can keep up with me I'll teach you how to open a lock with a hairpin."
"Right, cause that's something I'll always have on me, obviously," he returned, rolling his eyes, and as he followed her out he made damn certain the door didn't fall into the lock behind him.
Ressler left Squeeze and 11 Neville Road at two, ready to crash an hour or so later, and get up bright and early to study Stone's file some more.
He never made it to his bed.
Seven to eight hours was how long a meth rush usually lasted, so Ressler was both happy and somewhat appalled to find that at eight in the morning he was still running high. Happy, because he was going through Aaron Stone's file as if it was a children's book, memorizing facts and faces as easily as if he'd all seen it a hundred times before. Appalled, because even though he felt great, drugs not running their course the way they were supposed to made him a little nervous. They also made him sweat and, as Squeeze had promised and he found out while looking at pictures of Aaron Stone's various girlfriends, played havoc with his libido. As there was no one around to impress, he ignored it and did fifty push-ups instead.
He ran another couple of miles, hoping to burn through the boundless energy that made his muscles sing, but no, he was still hopped up, and now completely soaked in sweat. Just as he threw his shirt into the laundry bin on his way to the shower, his phone emitted a modest chime. It was from Cooper, and he stared at it disbelievingly.
Agent Ressler, meeting 9.00 am, AD Cooper's office, Post Office. I have some additional information for you.
"Fuck!" He checked his watch—well, he still had 45 minutes to shower and drive up to the Post Office, but he wasn't looking forward to facing Cooper while still riding the edges of a speed run.
"Fuck!" he said again, when he checked himself in the mirror and started at his pasty-faced, wild-eyed reflection, complete with garish sleeve and unshaved jowls. "Well hello, Aaron Stone. You aren't looking so hot, man."
He half expected his reflection to give him the finger, but Aaron Stone obediently mimicked his every move, like any other mirror image. It was strange, though. Ressler had seen himself in various states, including happy, despairing, angry, sick and drunk, but never quite like this, and he felt a hint of estrangement as he studied the mirror.
Stop checking yourself out, Snow White. It's nothing a razor and a cold shower can't fix. Well, perhaps not a razor. And I shouldn't wash my arm. Don't want to undo Cindy's hard work, do we?
With these self-admonitions he stepped into the shower. He kept the temperature as low as he could stand.
Lizzie met Reddington in the park before work.
She found him sitting on a bench in front of a duck pond with half a loaf of bread in his lap. About eight ducks crouched at his feet, their heads expectantly raised, but he was speaking on the phone and ignored them for the time being. Her, he acknowledged with a nod, and patted the space next to him while he concluded his conversation.
"Yes. Yes, I told you I'm working on it. I told you I'd find her, and I'm reasonably sure I have located her. No…Yes of course I'll tell you as soon as I…Calm down, my friend. There's nothing to be won by hysterics. Yes, I am sure. I'll contact you—no, I will contact you. Yes, as soon as I know more. I promise. You know I will." He pulled the phone away from his ear, tucked it away, sighed and faced her with a smile. "Sorry about that."
"That's ok. Is that," she gestured at the pocket into which he'd put his phone, "related to Blofeld, or…?"
"No. An old friend of mine has reason to suspect a close member of his family has been kidnapped. He called me to ask me help get her back."
"Ah." She smiled, surprised, as he offered her three slices of bread. "Anything we can do to help? At the Office, I mean?"
"Not as of yet," Red said. He threw a piece of crust at a duck, chuckled as another drake snatched it away right in front of the greedy bill. Lizzie followed his example. Soon, they were surrounded by ducks. "This is something I can only do on my own. But if it turns out I need the law on my side you'll be the first to know." He tossed the ducks his last handful of bread, reached into another pocket and held out a slim, pink phone to her.
"What's this?"
"How do you feel about Agent Ressler, Lizzie? Do you think you might make a convincing girlfriend?"
"Wait, what?"
"Can you picture yourself sleeping with him?"
She blinked at him, somewhat alarmed. "No? What is this about?"
He nodded at the cell in her hands. "That phone. It's the phone of one of Aaron Stone's girlfriends. A girl called Nicky Coxx."
She rolled her eyes. "Cocks? Really?"
Red laughed. "Coxx, Lizzie, C-O-X-X. And she may be a feisty girl, but she's no prostitute. Although, of course, you're free to expand on her character if you wish…Oh, you unlock it with an infinity swipe."
"Like so?" She drew an eight on the screen and it lit up to show a picture of a red kitten in a pale cleavage. "Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at Red.
He shrugged. "I didn't program the phone, the previous Nicky did. She must've had a hell of a time with it."
Lizzie concurred. She paged through a number of whatsapps and messages—several of which had been sent to 'Aaron'. "She's pretty serious with Aaron, isn't she?"
"She's rather fond of him, yes."
"I gather this is Ressler's line to me, if he needs me?"
"Yes. He will be given a similar phone with a caller history of about three years, and several contact persons. However, any of those contact persons ever actually showing up would be unlikely—apart from a girl. No one, not even the most suspicious drug trafficker, would be surprised if she showed up and demanded attention. Now, I don't say that you'll actually have to play Nicky, but if he isn't able to check in or call us, or if we have something he needs to know, this phone will at least give you the means to contact him."
"Ok." She browsed through the phone's contents, some photos, mainly of the small red cat, but also of people who were probably supposed to be friends—and a couple of her as well. "Why is there a series of selfies of me on this phone?"
Reddington waved a dismissive hand. "We've been personalizing it for you, in case anyone ever felt the need to question whether it's really yours."
"Huh." The history of the phone went back more than thirteen months. It had a playlist with Nicky Coxx' favourite songs, a browser history, email. "This is pretty detailed," she said, impressed despite herself. Without knowing a single thing about Nicky, she was already able to build a solid profile on the basis of her phone alone.
"Yes. Aaron Stone is a complete character, with a social life and an interesting circle of acquaintances. All of those are fleshed out as well as possible, to add to the reality of his existence."
"You said there was another Nicky."
"Yes. But so far, she's only been a voice. We've never needed her to show up. Maybe we still don't, but in case we do…there you go." Opening the briefcase he had resting against his legs, he pulled out an envelope. "Nicky has an apartment in Baltimore. This is the key, and all the information you need about the house, the landlord, etcetera. The place is registered on her name, so once you're forced to make contact with Ressler as Nicky, make sure you go there to keep up appearances." He got up, brushed the last crumbs from his pants and handed her the bag with the last of the bread.
"Where are you going?"
"Europe. But don't worry, I'll be back in a few days. I wouldn't want to miss the action." He gave her a wink and, placing his hat more securely on his head, casually sauntered off. A few of the ducks followed him but fell back when they found out he wasn't carrying any bread.
Lizzie put the phone into her pocket, tore the bread in pieces and fed it to the ducks. Then she climbed to her feet, shooed the birds away, and went on to the Post Office.
Ressler was already in when she entered; she'd noticed his car when she parked her own in the garage. The main den was quiet; the screens just showed the nondescript screensaver icon, apart from one, which ran the News. Aram was either busy in his own cubby hole, or not in yet, and the rest of the personnel was only just filing in.
Casting a glance at Cooper's office she saw the blinds drawn, light filtering through a couple of crooked slits, and his shadow sitting at his desk, talking to someone; he was in, then. The light in her own office was on as well, and Ressler was doing laps around the room when she entered, or at least, that was what he seemed to be doing.
"Hey," she said, and he turned around so fast he almost fell over.
"Hey."
There was something very wrong with him. She couldn't immediately put her finger on it, but the whole picture he made was…wrong.
"Are you ok?"
"How do I look?" He sounded anxious, and that was odd as well.
She cast an appraising look, and the wrongness sprang out in a dozen little things. He was wearing a suit, as always at the Post office, and Ressler generally wore suits well, but now his tie was slightly askew, and the knot at his throat was strangely elongated. His collar was crooked—because he'd skipped one button, she noticed. The face above the collar was tight and pale and his eyes were disturbingly black, staring out from shadowed sockets. A thin sheen of sweat stood out on his forehead. His hair was stiffly combed back as usual, but it was as if he'd used the wrong end of a comb, and it was not quite as neat as she was used to. He'd had the stubble since yesterday, but it was more visible now.
"Um…Like hell? Did you see a ghost? You're white as a sheet. Are you…?"
"Fuck!" he said, and hit himself in the face with both hands so hard the slap echoed around the room.
"Whoa, whoa, stop it!" she dove forward and grabbed his hands before he could do it again. "Christ, Ressler, hitting yourself a black eye isn't going to help your complexion."
"It'll bring back some colour," he said, and it had, only the colour was vivid red, hand-shaped and wholly unnatural.
She stifled a giggle. "Yes, but I don't think this is the look you want to go for. Are you here to see Cooper?"
"Yeah. He's busy at the moment."
"I noticed. That's good. You need to wait for a bit until you're…um…appear a bit more normal." He twitched; if it hadn't been Ressler, she'd have said he was jittering. "So what's happened to you, then, huh?"
"Nothing. Reddington. Stuff." He pulled at his hands, but she was still holding his wrists and wouldn't release them.
"If this weren't you," she said slowly, peering up at his face, "and if it weren't Tuesday, and if you weren't here, I'd almost say you were high."
"Well," he whispered, bending down so his mouth was level with her ear, "if it weren't Tuesday, and if we weren't here, I'd almost say you were fucking right."
She reeled back, releasing him. "You're high?" NOoo! Ressler, high? I mean, I would believe drunk, I've SEEN drunk, but HIGH?
He grabbed hold of her shoulders. "Ssh! How should I know?" he bit back. "I've never done this before! I do shots, not lines, I was a fucking illegal substance virgin before yesterday!"
"What the hell are you…You know, never mind, it can wait. It's not important right now. Do you really need to see Cooper now?"
"Yes. He called me in. He's got something for me."
Ah. That would be that phone Red mentioned. "Then you'd better calm down. Have some coffee."
"If I get any more keyed up, I'm going to bounce off the walls," Ressler said.
I would SO love to see that.
He combed his hands through his hair, making it stand up, and causing her to notice something else. She vaguely gestured at his crotch. "Ressler, you really need to calm down, or do something about…that." Funny how she wouldn't have been able to notice this and make such a remark as much as half a year ago. She'd have been too embarrassed. Now, the ugly truth was that she was so familiar with him she even—be it very, very briefly—considered telling him to go and jerk off in the bathroom.
"I can't help it!" he moaned. "My whole body's fucked up. It was supposed to wear off ages ago." She filed that away as the first time a male had ever made that kind of comment about that impressive an erection.
"Well, you'd better do something about it; you can't meet with Cooper with a hard-on."
"I was hoping seeing Cooper would make it go away," he said morosely, and the mental image that evoked made her chuckle aloud. "It's not funny!" he hissed, and although she did think the whole situation was hilarious, she agreed something had to be done.
"Ok," she said, showing her hands like she would to a skittish horse. "Let me straighten you out."
"Right here?"
She rolled her eyes. "Not that way. Hold still." She began with the buttons of his shirt, undoing them and doing them up straight. Then she took a closer look at his tie and noticed he'd knotted it twice, which explained the abnormally long knot. She remedied that easily. Throughout these administrations, through which Ressler stood stock still, only twitching a little when she touched his skin, she made sure not to get too close to him. Not that she was afraid he'd pounce on her in the middle of the office, but she could imagine him to be acutely uncomfortable with any physical contact. The last thing she tried to tuck into place was his hair, but whatever it was he'd used to lock it in place had already hardened, and it was like trying to comb marble.
"Are you done?" He stepped back from her.
"Yes. But you should go dunk your head in the sink."
"Why?"
"Because I could still take your fingerprints from your face." She brightened. "Maybe you could pretend you have a cold, that'd explain your appearance."
"You think so?"
"Yes, absolutely." It's a strange kind of flu, sir. Causes erections and handprint-shaped bruises on the cheeks. She looked at Cooper's little office. The blinds were still closed, indicating he was busy with other things for the time being. "Go on. If he comes out before you come back, I'll tell him you weren't feeling well. Go on, splash some water on your face."
He twitched with indecision and finally nodded jerkily. "Right. Thanks, Keen."
"Sure," she grinned. "Anytime."
By the time Cooper opened his blinds and let out a serious-looking black-haired young woman, Ressler felt a little more in control. He winced internally when Cooper waved him in and remarked, "You look tired. Are you alright?"
But saved it with an off-hand, "Yeah. Long night. Too much coffee," while he sat down in the chair opposite of the Assistant Director's desk. He kept his eyes cast down a bit, hoping that would hide his still overblown pupils. Thankfully, sheer nerves had killed his sex drive, something that made him very grateful. Things were awkward enough as they were. "Was that another applicant?" he asked, clamping down on his desire to ask a hundred questions. Cooper nodded. "Promising?"
"Perhaps."
Right. "You wanted to see me, sir?"
"Yes. I am to give you," the wrinkle of disgust in his forehead told Ressler that his boss was not very happy with the orders he had received, "this phone. It's Aaron Stone's."
Ressler accepted it. It was an iPhone, about a year old. "Reddington gave you this?"
"Yes. In it, is a list of contacts."
"And some of those connect me with either you, Liz, or someone else."
"Precisely. Stone has his father on speed dial. 1. That will connect you to Reddington."
"Reddington?" Ressler asked, surprised.
"Yes." He couldn't determine if it was Cooper's destroyed voice or displeasure that made him grate the word out like that. "He insisted on it."
"I see." He didn't. He'd never had a direct line to Reddington before and he wasn't sure he liked it. Reddington only spoke with Lizzie. That was his own rule, and he hadn't broken it so far. So why did he do so now?"
"You can reach me by calling 'Johnson'."
Ressler unsuccessfully tried to keep back a smile. "Johnson. He's the mechanic for Stone's bike."
"I know," Cooper scowled. "Agent Keen is under 'Nicky'. She's your contact on-site if things go wrong or if we need to reach you and can't do it by phone. In principle, we'll await your report before taking any action. If things go wrong, if they blow up in your face and you need immediate assistance, call Reddington. And the moment you've hung up on him, call me."
"Ok."
"Familiarize yourself with the phone and what's on it. Reddington has provided your alias with an extensive history."
"I'm aware of that."
"Do you think you have enough time to make all that information your own?"
Well, I had most of this night and morning to study it, so…yeah. He nodded. "I need to meet Boscoe tomorrow night in a club in Baltimore. More than enough time to prepare myself."
"Good. But this afternoon you have one last appointment before you leave." He handed Ressler a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. "Ms Vivien Mumbay. She'll provide you with the last bits of info you require to become Aaron Stone."
"So she's…what? A contact?"
"A type-caster," Cooper corrected him. "She can tell you whether you've done your homework well enough." He leaned forward, a hint of a smile touching his lips. "Pass her assessment, and you're ready."
"Huh," Ressler snorted. And then he cleared his throat, said, "Yes, sir," and asked permission to leave if there was nothing else.
There wasn't. He got up, and only stopped when Cooper said his name just before he exited the office. "Ressler. Lay off the coffee."
