Chapter Four

Tritter let it all sink in for a few moments. He needed to assess the situation. The guy on the other side of the wall could just be screwing with him. He had a general nose for liars, though. This guy seemed like a complete and total jackass – probably a drug dealer or something, at least he seemed to sound like one at first listen – but unfortunately, he was probably telling the truth.

"How badly is he hurt?" he pressed. "Does he need medical attention?" Hell of a lot of good if he does, Tritter added internally, then again, he's a doctor. Physician, heal thyself.

"Hell if I know, man. He's just been curled up in a ball in the corner most of the day."

"Is he alive?"

Well, it was the next logical question. Tritter didn't mean to be insensitive, but some of these times it was best to simply cut to the chase.

"Yeah. He's breathing. And they don't keep them long if they're dead. It's bad for…" he trailed off, as if trying to figure out the word.

"Morale," Tritter supplied, sounding, perhaps, a little more cheery than was appropriate. "Listen, can you try and wake him up? Get him to talk with me?"

"What's in it for me, Tritter?" the man on the other side retorted.

"I have connections. I can hook you up." He said it with confidence; that much was true. Once this whole undercover debacle was over, he was sure he could erase a few of this guy's convictions. He didn't really want to, given that he tended to feel as if these kind of rewards were a way of saying it was okay to be a damned criminal, so long as you rubbed elbows with the right kind of folks, but… it was a necessary evil in the police world.

"What kind of connections?"

"I don't kiss and tell. Frankly, you haven't bothered to tell me much so I can't help you very much."

There was a pause, followed by a loud sigh of extreme exasperation.

"I'm going to kick your ass, man, when I finally see you face to face," the man on the other side declared, before offering up, "Sure. Listen. He's got a lot of bruises. His leg's messed up…"

"His leg has always been messed up. How messed up?"

"I don't know, man. How messed up was it before?"

"Just wake him up, jackass," Tritter hissed.

"Yo, man, my name's David. At least call me by my name."

Tritter blinked. It didn't really make him feel better that the big-bad crime underlord next to him was going by "David". He could think of some less intimidating names, but not many.

"Okay, okay. David. Try and wake him up. It's important."

There was no sound for a while, and Tritter was partially convinced that David (if that really was his name – maybe he was just screwing with him) had given up or rolled over and gone back to sleep.

Then he heard it.

"Tritter." A single, tired word, in House's voice.

"Dr. House." Admittedly, Tritter hadn't figure out what the hell he was actually going to say to the other man when and if he found him. Perhaps he had been partially hoping that he wouldn't, after all. It wasn't as if he wanted to clink glasses and reminiscence over old times. But he had to be sure House was alive; he didn't know exactly why but yet, he knew. And here he was. In the flesh (or at least, in the voice). "How are you?"

"Less than stellar," came the dry response. There was pain in it, but Tritter didn't know whether to attribute it to House's constant struggles with his leg or to the beating the guards had allegedly laid on him.

"Sounds like it. Listen. What's going on? What can you tell me?"

"Why are you in here, Tritter? What did you do wrong?" House asked in response. Tritter scoffed. The man was impossible.

"I'll tell you later," the detective retorted. "Right now, I just need to know what I need to know. Is it true that the guards are…"

He was cut off by the sound of boots hitting the ground.

"Why did you cut…"

"SHHH!" Tritter hissed. "Be quiet. Someone's coming."

He slumped down in the corner of his cell and tried to stay as quiet as possible. He wanted to be able to get up and see what was going on, but he knew the easiest way to stay off the radar was to have his eyes to the wall – hell, they'd probably order it soon enough anyway.

Tritter felt a chill go up his spine unlike any other.

This is where it happens.

Is this where it will happen to me?

He swallowed hard and held his breath as the sound of boots got closer, closer, until they were almost at his cell.

Not me.

The thought surprised him, and he wished that he could have choked it off, strangled it as soon as it reached the front of his brain. He didn't have any information yet and he was already pleading in his head?

No. That wasn't what Detective Michael Tritter did. What he did was investigate, get to the bottom of things, and then punish whoever was responsible.

Punish the wicked. Like an avenging…

He heard the cell door next to him open, heard the metal clink.

"Hey man, don't come in here!"

David's voice.

"Hey man, listen…"

"Shut up." The replying voice was strangely soft, but deadly serious. There was a trace of an accent, some kind of European accent maybe, but Tritter couldn't place it.

"Hey man, listen, please, I didn't do any…"

Tritter flinched as he heard the sound of a fist – maybe a fist, or maybe an object – impacting with flesh, followed by a yelp and then a scream.

"Please, man, no!"

"Shut the fuck up." The fact that the man wasn't yelling made it all the more chilling.

Then there was the sound of a fist again and then, worst of all, there was simply silence.