Chapter Three: Red Cross
For a few seconds, they all stood in shocked silence. Then Spice Man rushed over to the door and shoved on it. When nothing happened, he backed up and threw his whole body violently against the door three times in quick succession: wham-wham-wham!
Then he stepped back, breathing hard. He turned to find the others staring at him, and shrugged. "Worth a try, right?"
The blond man smiled. The FBI Agent looked flatly unimpressed. Lisbon ignored all three men and walked over to talk to the cashier. "Do you know of any other exits to this room, or any way we can make outside contact? A phone line, an intercom?"
The redhead just looked helpless. "I'm sorry…I don't even work here."
Lisbon blinked. "Yes, you do – you were just working the register."
The cashier opened her mouth to respond, but the blond man cut in first:
"What she means is, she doesn't normally work here. She's filling in for someone." He turned his eyes onto the redhead. "Aren't you?"
"Yeah. The owner, Lenny, goes to my church. He couldn't get anyone to cover this shift, and his daughter had a Thanksgiving play at her school, so I told him I'd do it."
"So you've never worked here before tonight?" Lisbon asked.
The red-haired woman shook her head.
Spice Man raised his eyebrows. "Wow, and I thought I had bad luck…"
"Luck is the residue of design," said the blond man cryptically.
Lisbon turned back to the redhead. "Well, what time is Lenny coming back?"
"He isn't – that's why he gave me the keys. At eight o' clock, I was supposed to put the money in the safe and lock up for the night."
"So, basically, we're stuck here?" Lisbon asked.
"Maybe," said the blond man absently, trailing his fingers along the cold beige wall. "Maybe not."
"Someone might've heard the shots," Spice Man offered. "There're loads of businesses on this street…"
The redhead looked over at him with a hopeful expression. "That's true – maybe somebody already called the police."
"Doubtful," the blond man murmured. "Most of the shops near here are closed for the holiday, or boarded up completely."
The redhead's shoulders slumped. An invisible gloom seemed to settle over the cold room.
Spice Man looked around at them all sympathetically. "If it makes anyone feel any better, I'm an Assistant to the District Attorney."
"Why would that make us feel better?" asked the FBI Agent, who was now prowling the room with the blond man, presumably searching for another exit.
"Well, you know – when we catch the guy who did this, I can make sure he goes down for it."
"Justice for the privileged few," said the blond guy. "How comforting."
"Hey," Spice Man protested, "I didn't mean it like that."
"We know what you meant," Lisbon told him quickly, before a spat could break out. "And we appreciate it."
She fixed the blond man with a defiant glare, almost daring him to make another snarky comment. But he just smiled, shrugged, and started rolling a shelf out of the way so he could look at the wall behind it.
The Assistant District Attorney still looked a little upset, like he wanted to explain himself. The redhead took a step closer to him, setting her hand on his arm.
"Hey…I saw what you did out there," she said softly. "You were really brave."
The ADA, whose cheeks were already getting pink from the cold, blushed and ducked his head. "No, no, it was nothing. You were the brave one – you totally kept your cool the whole time."
The cashier laughed. "Yeah, right."
"No, seriously, you were great. Most people would've flipped out." The ADA leaned a little closer to her, smiling. "In fact, I would love to know the name of this steely-nerved lady who probably kept us all from getting shot."
"Grace," the redhead told him shyly. "What's yours?"
"Rigsby. Wayne Rigsby. Pleasure to meet you, Grace." He reached out to shake her hand. "So, what do you do? I mean, when you're not facing down armed gunmen and saving the lives of your fellow citizens?"
Grace giggled. "I'm a high school coach – Girls' Soccer and Lacrosse."
Rigsby's eyes lit up. "Lacrosse? No way! I love Lacrosse…"
The ADA and the Coach beamed at one another, and Lisbon rolled her eyes, quickly moving away from the "meet-cute" scene. She walked over to the boy, who'd pulled the rolled-up Enquirer from his back pocket and was now leaning against a crate to read.
"Anything interesting in there?" she asked.
He shrugged, one-shouldered. "No. No mucho."
The magazine was cracked open to a two-page spread featuring a pretty brunette in a bikini, with a large, badly-Photoshopped fish tail where her legs were supposed to be. Lisbon smirked. Then something else caught her eye and her smile faded.
"Hey," she said, reaching out to touch the boy's left forearm, "you're bleeding…Tiene un corte en el brazo."
He looked down at the small gash, which was just over an inch long and weeping a steady stream of red. His face went a shade paler.
"It's okay," Lisbon said. "I'm a doctor." She pointed at herself. "Yo soy un médico."
The boy's eyes widened and he took a step back, shaking his head. "No doctor. Estoy bien. I am fine."
Both the blond guy and the FBI Agent had wandered back over to see what was going on.
"Don't be afraid," the blond man told the boy. "You won't get in trouble. No hay problema. Ella es una buena mujer. Ella quiere que le ayude."
Lisbon didn't catch all of what he said, but the boy relaxed slightly and held out his arm for her to take a look. The cut wasn't too deep – if they were in the ER, Lisbon would probably put in a stitch or two, just to be on the safe side, but since they were in cold storage, she'd have to make do with what was available.
While Lisbon looked around for something suitable to make a bandage, the FBI Agent stoically laid his coat on top of a crate for the boy to sit on. The ADA, Rigsby, also took his coat off and draped it over the boy's shoulders like a long black cape, earning a soft smile from Grace.
"What's your name?" Lisbon asked the boy, as she set to work cleaning the wound with some bottled water she'd found on one of the shelves.
"Enrique," the boy said.
For some reason, this made the blond man grin. "Do you like magic tricks, Enrique? ¿Magia?"
The boy nodded, and the blond guy promptly pulled a cold drumstick out of Lisbon's ear.
Enrique laughed. "¡Maravilloso – do it again!"
The blond wallet thief happily obliged by pulling more drumsticks, milk caps, and even a half-frozen penny out of Lisbon's ears, nose, and pockets, until she finally got the "bandage" secured in place. It wasn't exactly sterile, but until they could get out of here, a clean lump of Kleenex tied on with a piece of plastic wrap would have to do.
"All done," Lisbon told the boy. "Todo hecho."
Enrique was still giggling from the sight of a wishbone emerging from Lisbon's nostril. She gave the blond man an exasperated look and he quickly wiped the smile from his face.
"Time to stop now," he stage-whispered to the boy. "I am making la señora gruñona angry."
Lisbon glared at the man. "I am not a 'grumpy lady!'"
The blond guy held up his hands in mock-surrender, and the boy started giggling even harder. Grace and Rigsby were standing off to the side, watching the scene with amusement, and even the FBI Agent's stony expression had melted ever-so-slightly. Lisbon gave up.
"Fine," she said. "Maybe I am grumpy. It's Thanksgiving, and we're in a meat locker. Sue me."
"On what grounds?" the Assistant District Attorney asked.
Grace smiled at his lame joke, but then her eyes wandered over to the FBI Agent and her face turned serious. "Hey…Can I ask you something?"
"Okay," the agent said.
"If you're an FBI Agent, why didn't you come out sooner to help us?"
The agent paused a beat before giving his answer. "I was assessing the situation," he said finally. "I couldn't make a move until I knew everyone's position."
The blond man smirked. "That, and he had a lot of merchandise to set down before he could draw his gun."
The FBI Agent's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Lisbon glared at the blond man, who was quickly establishing himself as an instigator.
"Oh, relax," the blond guy said airily. "No one here thinks you're J. Edgar Junior. It's obvious those nail polishes weren't for you."
Lisbon turned back to the agent, frowning. "They weren't?"
"No," the FBI Agent said gruffly.
"In fact," the blond man went on, "he wasn't even buying them – he was returning them."
"Then why didn't he just bring them up to the register?" Grace asked.
"Because they were stolen," the blond man announced dramatically. "Someone in his life took those polishes without paying for them, and I'm guessing it was…" He cocked his head, studying the agent for a moment. "Hmmm, not a daughter – you're the type who would bring his daughter into the store, make her own up to what she'd done. Sister? No…no siblings. And no wedding ring, either, so it must have been a girlfriend, yes?"
The wallet thief took the agent's icy silence as a sign of victory. "Yes, a girlfriend. A 'bad influence' girlfriend, who didn't have to steal – no, she wanted to steal. Clearly, you're a man of means – that tie alone is over fifty dollars – so you could easily provide for her cosmetic needs. She did it for the rush, didn't she?"
The blond man's eyes were sparkling. "A federal agent, and a girl who just can't help but break the law. You know how that's going to end, don't you?"
The FBI Agent said nothing, his face as blank as ever, but there was something burning behind his eyes.
"I think we've all heard enough," Lisbon said quickly, fixing the blond guy with a sharp look. "And besides, who are you to talk about stealing? You stole my wallet."
"At least I did it the civilized way. I didn't put a gun to your head."
"You're the reason a gun got put to my head – if it wasn't for you, I would've been out of the store before the robber ever came in."
"Meh," said the blond man. "You weren't that eager to get home, anyway. None of you were."
Lisbon opened and closed her mouth in flabbergasted fury before the words came tumbling out. "How the hell could you possibly know that?"
He motioned at the half-smashed Cracker Jack box, which she'd abandoned on a nearby crate. "Your hopelessly nostalgic purchase, designed to bring back warm memories of holidays past? That smell of charred poultry clinging to your hair and clothes?" The blond man playfully flicked the end of her long, dark hair with his fingertip. "My dear, you literally reek of domestic failure."
"And what do you reek of?" Lisbon shot back. "What's the longest you've ever been without a drink? An hour?"
He just grinned infuriatingly. Lisbon could feel a flush rising in her cold cheeks, and she suddenly realized that all of the others were staring at her. Enrique's bubble gum was clearly visible in his half-open mouth.
Lisbon took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate. I'm just cold and frustrated, and despite what you may think, I really do want to go home."
"Well, in that case," the blond man said cheerfully, "I think I can help." He straightened up off of the shelf he'd been leaning against and looked around at the group. "I will bet you one hundred dollars that I can get us all out of this room before eight o' clock."
"Oh, yeah?" Lisbon asked skeptically. "How?"
He shook his head. "Uh-uh. First, I need to know if there are any takers. One hundred dollars, to get us all out by eight: going once, going twice…"
"I'll take that bet," Rigsby said, looking a little excited.
Grace frowned at him. "You're an Assistant to the District Attorney – should you really be taking bets?"
Rigsby waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, no worries – it's just a little friendly wager."
The blond man smiled and held out his hand. "Deal?"
"If you get us all out of here by eight, then yeah, deal," said the ADA, reaching out to shake the wallet thief's hand. "But there's no way you're gonna pull it off…"
"Oh, ye of little faith," said the blond guy, his eyes roaming the room until they landed on a large, frost-covered poster that hung on the north wall. He walked purposefully over to it, and Lisbon and the others followed. While they watched, the blond man rapped his knuckles three times in the middle of the poster, which was entitled: "Safe Meat Handling Practices."
Absolutely nothing happened.
"Is this the part where you're supposed to be saving us?" Lisbon asked.
The blond man held up a finger. "Just listen." He knocked on the poster again—thunk, thunk, thunk—and then on the empty wall to either side: tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap. And Lisbon understood: the wall behind the poster sounded different – deep, and echoing. Hollow.
"You think there's an opening back there?" she asked.
"Only one way to find out," the blond man replied, and with that, he reached up and tore the paper off the wall.
The space behind the poster had been painted over many times – but even six coats of beige latex couldn't completely conceal the cracks and hinges of a small metal door. Rigsby and the FBI Agent quickly pried the hatch open with some nails they'd managed to pull from one of the crates, and everyone moved in to get a look.
Lisbon's shoulders slumped as she looked into the small, dark space beyond. A rusty, antique-looking metal handle lay at the bottom of the otherwise empty compartment.
"It's just another safe," she complained dejectedly.
The blond man shook his head. "Look closer."
She stepped right up to the hole and stared into it, still unimpressed.
"Closer," he instructed.
Teeth gritted, Lisbon stuck her head all the way inside the compartment. "Is this close enough?" she asked. "Because there's a spider web on my face…"
"Perfect!" the blond guy called. "Now look up."
Lisbon tilted her head up, expecting to see aged wooden boards. Instead, the space above her head stretched long and wide open, going up and up until it disappeared into darkness, like a miniature elevator shaft.
"It's a passage," she said in amazement. "This must go all the way to the top of the building."
Lisbon pulled her head out, and Rigsby instantly stuck his in. "Whoa," he murmured, his voice echoing up the shaft, "It's like a chimney, or –" Suddenly, he jerked his head back out, shaking it back and forth and brushing wildly at his face. The rest of the group stared at him.
"Spider," he explained sheepishly. Then he cleared his throat and looked at the blond man. "Okay, but how does this help us? We can't climb out through there – no one would fit."
"No one your size would fit," the blond guy corrected.
They all turned to look at Enrique.
The boy raised his eyebrows. "¿Qué?"
