Sorry for the absolutely tremendous delay in getting anything out on this one... life and all that... But I'm back, and writing, so read, please review, and I hope you enjoy!
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Chapter 3
Damon was uneasy. Something about this whole thing wasn't sitting right with him, and although his outward demeanor remained relaxed, inside, he could feel a growing knot of tension. Thing was, so far it was all going according to plan. But if he had to admit it, that was part of what was making him nervous. Things never went according to plan. Even if it was a mundane detail, some little quirk that demanded making an obligatory fuss about it, something always got cocked up. He resisted the urge to double-check his gun. Not only did he already know it was securely snugged in its place and meticulously loaded and prepared, it would give away his unease. Which was the last thing he wanted to do. But the squirmy knot spread, and he'd been doing what he did for far too long and knew way better than not to trust his instincts. Something was definitely off, and he'd be damned if he let it get out of hand like last time.
He stood easily, hands lightly clasped in front of him, the perfect picture of relaxed attention. But as all the formal and necessary introductory small talk and banter continued, Damon started to feel as tightly strung as a piano wire. He ran his eyes over the small group of people, all forcing themselves to be in the same room as each other. Well, he couldn't have cared less about it, but there was precious little love lost between anyone else. Especially between the two men who were making the most show about being friendly to each other…which was usually how it went, he thought.
Then he spotted him. It wasn't that he'd never seen him before. Good god, in a city of millions there was no way he could keep track of all the players in his line of work. It wasn't that he oozed air of nervousness, that could be easily be chalked up to him being a newbie. No, it was the fact that he kept shrugging his right shoulder up to his ear every time he thought Damon wasn't looking at him. The movement was extraordinarily subtle. Damon glanced around and was fairly certain no one else had noticed it.
"Who is that?" he asked the guy standing next to him. Ian Brunning was also an "independent" security personnel, and Damon used the term "independent" very loosely as Ian had been working specifically for Nikolo Gomez (one of the two major goons in the middle of the room) for a good while now. And although he didn't trust him father than he could throw a tank, Ian was up on who was who more than he was. And given that he had also just spent the last 18 months in prison, Damon figured he had a legitimate excuse for not knowing.
Ian frowned, "That's Mike Vilencio. Yeah I know," he continued quickly at frown that had now appeared on Damon's face. "A false name if I ever heard one. But," he paused and nodded ever so slightly towards the second major goon in the room, "Delgado likes him, so…"
Damon nodded. So he wasn't the only one eyeing the man with at least a certain level of suspicion. Although he still doubted anyone else had noticed the little shrug. The more he watched him, the more Damon became convinced that Mike (or whatever his real name was) was going to be trouble, and fast. There was only one reason he could think of why he kept shrugging his shoulder, and that was that he was wearing an earpiece. And since the rest of Delgado's men were clearly not, that left only one conclusion. Either Mike was genuinely hard of hearing (which Damon doubted very very much), or they were all going to be royally fucked in relatively short order.
XXX
It was an odd feeling of being tired and yet having no desire to sleep, but Mac was getting used to it. Already no stranger to sleep deprivation, he had at least in the past missed his bed. And in a certain way he still did. He missed missing it. He missed looking forward to coming home to the woman he'd shared it with for 11 glorious years, trying to sneak in without waking her when he hadn't been able to come home until far too late. Or too early, depending which way you looked at when the "morning" started.
She was never fooled though. She always knew when he came in no matter what time the clock read or how quiet and sneaky he tried to be. Pretending to stay asleep and with a single kiss on his neck, she'd slip an arm across his chest and stomach and lay close, her cheek warm against his bare shoulder.
He'd kiss her forehead, and she'd smile, eyes still closed, and snuggle closer.
It was the most comforting, safe feeling in the whole world. There was no more work, no more responsibility, no more ghosts.
His body ached from the pain missing her. Ached from the pain of lack of sleep. Ached from desperation of not wanting to hurt so badly anymore.
His phone rang. Again. It was Harris. Probably calling to check up on him. Intellectually he appreciated the sentiment, but it still rankled him. He hated being asked how he was doing. Was he ok? Was there anything someone could do? Did he need anything? etc, etc. What answer did they think they were going to get?
Yeah, I'm fine, just fucking perfect!
Besides, it was Harris who had ordered him off work in the first place, and he didn't feel like indulging his boss' guilty conscience over the act. He glared at his phone angrily as it buzzed on the coffee table.
ring…bzzzt
ring…bzzzt
ring…bzzzt
His lips tightened as the knot of seething frustration inside him grew with each ring. The sound grated against his raw nerves, and he snatched up the phone and threw it across the room.
The battery exploded out the back of the phone as it hit the far wall, and the object of Mac's fury was instantly silenced.
His anger wasn't abated though, and almost glad to feel something other than numbing grief, he grabbed his coat, slid his boots on, and without even bothering to tie them, headed back out, slamming his apartment door behind him.
XXX
Damon's mind was working fast. If Vilencio was who he thought he was, his time was almost up to figure out what to do. If it wasn't already. The problem wasn't so much what to do, but how to do it. They would all be equally screwed if Vilencio knew that he knew. No, he had to think of a way to do it as discreetly and quietly and completely as possible.
He set his jaw and walked slowly over to Delgado. He caught Ian's surprised look at the movement, but ignored the him.
Delgado also looked at him with some surprise and not a little disdain as he approached.
"What the hell do you want?" he asked, looking Damon up and down, a dangerous glint in his eye at the intrusion.
Damon didn't pause. He spoke very quietly next to Delgado's ear, but just loud enough for Gomez to hear as well.
"What you are going to do is call this whole deal off. I don't care how. Make it sound like either one of you have a problem with the details or the delivery or something. I don't care. Call it off and get everyone out of here. Now."
Delgado's face turned a distinct shade of red and he was lost for words at Damon's audacity. Gomez was more vocal.
"What the hell are you talking about? And who the fuck do you think you are?" he all but exploded indignantly.
Damon ignored him. He no time or patience for the pride and ego of crime bosses of any kind or any level. He turned and walked over to Vilencio.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" Gomez continued at Damon's back.
So much for discreet and quiet. Oh well.
Damon stared coldly and silently at Vilencio.
"Who's on the other end?" he asked.
Vilencio didn't answer.
Damon snapped. He didn't have time to fool around. He grabbed Vilencio, twisting the man's arm into a lock behind his back and knocking him to his knees. Taken by surprise at the sudden, vicious movement, Vilencio dropped without effort. Damon nodded for Ian to come over.
Fear crept into Vilencio's eyes as Ian held him securely and Damon yanked his his head to the side. Damon fished out the micro earpiece Vilencio was wearing and held it up.
The silence that ensued was deafening.
Damon dangled the earpiece so close to Vilencio's face, it brushed his eyelids. He leant in next to it.
"Who the FUCK is on the other end?" he erupted, making Vilencio jump violently.
The momentary spell broke. Gomez was the first to react.
"You have got to be fucking shitting me!" he exclaimed. He gestured back towards the vehicles he and his men had arrived in. "You're fucking right any deal's off! Go, go, go!" There were screeches of tires as everyone involved didn't wait to find out who exactly it was that was going to show up next.
Gomez paused half way to his vehicle and turned, pointing at Delgado, "He's your man. You better take care of this and hope nothing comes of it, because I'll be coming for you if it does."
Delgado glared with palpable fury at Vilencio as Gomez jumped into his truck and screamed away. He turned away for a brief moment as if to gather himself. Wheeling back around suddenly, he struck Vilencio across the side of the head with his pistol. The man slumped forward, unconscious.
Delgado took a deep breath. "Pick him up," he ordered Ian, who still held Vilencio somewhat upright and nodded towards Damon, "Let's go."
XXX
Mac lay on the couch, eyes closed. He was tired. God was he tired. His right arm draped across his face, and his left hung off the side of the couch, his fingertips resting lightly against the top of the whiskey glass he'd been caressing the last hour since getting back.
A knock on the door shook him out of his brooding reverie. He frowned. He certainly wasn't expecting anyone and had no desire to see anyone anyway. He didn't move, and chose to ignore whoever was out there. But the person knocked again, more insistently this time. Mac scowled. It was probably some solicitor. Annoying bastards. They knocked again. Quite loudly this time in fact. The scowl deepening on his face, he pushed himself off the couch, seething with frustration. He really did not want to deal with this right now.
Opening the door ready to lay down some scathing remarks towards whoever was going to be attempting to foist something on him, he was brought up short by the person standing on the other side. She was definitely not a solicitor. Her hand was raised to knock again, and her face registered some surprise at his look of simmering annoyance he was unable to completely erase from his expression.
"Aiden, what are you doing here?" Mac asked in a bit of bewilderment.
"Hey Mac! Evening! Nice to see you too!" she responded with wry smile.
He managed a ghost of a smile, "Yeah, sorry. I thought it was… never mind." Of the people it could have been, Mac found he was glad it was her. She was one of the very few people who didn't tiptoe their way around him in a sort of constant nervous pity. He hated that. Not only did it make everything seem worse than it already was, it only made whoever it was only more uncomfortable and uncertain with any interaction with him, and he invariably ended up more pissed off and depressed (if that were possible) than before. The reality of his situation stared him unblinkingly in the face every minute of every day. He didn't need someone reminding him of how he felt by timidly asking if he was okay every time he turned around. He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, collecting his thoughts as he swung the door open farther. "Hi," he remedied, "Come in?"
"Thanks," Aiden stepped through the door that Mac held open, taking in both him and the apartment. She hadn't really seen him outside of work before, and hadn't specifically worked a case with him in the last few months, well, since…since after Sept., she thought. But the belt to his jeans seemed pulled tighter than she remembered. His eyes were dark, and despite a sort of simmering edge that radiated off him, held a haunted weariness that he couldn't hide. His t-shirt hung a shade loose on him, and although she had obviously found him at home, his apartment looked as untouched and unlived in as if he never stepped foot inside. Nothing was out of place or disheveled, but neither did it have that carefully cleaned and cared for look. It simply seemed abandoned and deserted. She turned to look back at him as he closed the door behind her. They matched, she realized. And it was one of the saddest thoughts and revelations she'd had.
"Harris sent me," Aiden said, mentally shaking herself.
"What?" Mac asked somewhat confused.
"The answer to your question, why I'm here," she continued.
"Oh, right," Mac ran his hand through his hair again. "What does he want?" he asked with some bitterness.
"An undercover cop was killed," Aiden told him.
Mac stopped cold, and Aiden could see his jaw set.
"Who?" he asked.
Aiden shook her head, "I don't know exactly. We just got the call less than an hour ago. Harris sent me by to pick you up. Why? You know somebody?"
Mac didn't reply. He pulled a sweatshirt that was draped across the back of a chair over his tshirt and grabbed his winter work coat out of the front closet. Clipping his gun and badge to his belt, he shoved his phone in his pocket. He'd replaced the battery, and aside from a small dent on one side, it was none the worse for wear after his impulsive assault on it earlier that day. There was a part of him that cringed at the memory. Not at his anger, but his complete lapse of maintaining control of it. However, he shoved the thought to the back of his head.
Putting his boots back on for the third time in less than 24 hours, Mac grabbed his keys off the counter and turned to Aiden, "Let's go."
