Vegas Blues: A Thing Called Love6

"Come on! Come on, damn it, pick up!" John was speeding through the city. Phone pressed to his ear, pressed to his shoulder as he kept hearing voice mail. "Damn it!" His wheels spun as he swerved, parked near the bar. Flashing lights of red and blue bathed the tavern in a ghastly light show that never meant anything good. A line of gawking people were being held back by a few policemen. There was an ambulance as well.

John flashed his badge, moved past the cops and the medics and spooked patrons. Sunlight gave way to welcome darkness as he entered the confines of the bar. There was a body on the floor, amid the scattered tables and chairs. Blood was a crimson stream along the floor. The barmaid was hysterical, crying and stuttering to a cop who was trying to take her statement. Trying to ignore her heaving bosom and short, short skirt.

Seeing Moira standing off to one side John felt a tightness in his gut relax. Moira, shaken and alarmed but alive. Unharmed. He moved to her swiftly. Caught her elbow. "Moira. You okay?"

She glanced at him. "John? John...it's Carson."

He glanced to see it was the doctor on the floor. Medics working to save his life. He looked back at her. "And you're okay?" His gaze traveled over her. There was spots of blood on her shirt but it wasn't hers, he assured himself.

"John." For a moment she almost moved into his arms, needing his strength, his security, but she shook her head. "I'm fine. It happened so, so fast! I heard angry voices. There was a man arguing with Carson and when I came out from the back a gun went off and Carson, Carson fell and the blood, the blood..."

"Okay, easy now. What man?"

"A bald man, his shirt, his shirt had a logo...across the chest," she drew a slightly shaking hand across her chest, "Pegasus something or other, I don't know and then he just left."

"Pegasus Deliveries," John realized. Inwardly swore.

"John!" She caught his arm. Brown eyes wide. "It must be the same people who were shooting at us out there! But why? Why do this to Carson?" She looked back at the prone doctor.

"That's a very good question."

John turned slightly, keeping hold of Moira. His gaze narrowed. "You. I should have guessed! First you take pot shots as us in the desert and now this?"

"It wasn't us," Rodney McKay assured. "You have to believe me."

"Really? Then it was Woolsey. And don't tell me that Caldwell isn't on your payroll because I know he is." Moira's hold tightened on his arm and he looked past Rodney to see Carson being loaded onto a gurney. Medics still working on him, muttering in low tones.

"I didn't sanction any of this, I assure you. We need your help. We need all of you." Rodney's gaze encompassed Moira.

John frowned. "Hell no. You don't involve her in any of this. In any of this!"

"It's too late for that, John. Moira," Rodney addressed her at last, "can you continue the work that Carson was doing? His analysis of the specific toxin?"

"What?" Her gaze had been glued to the departing form of her friend as he was wheeled out of the bar. She looked at Rodney. "I...I don't know. I'm no doctor."

"But you are a biologist."

She frowned. "Oh sure, no problem! I'll just ignore the fact that my friend could be dying and finish his work for your secret government agency that apparently has a rogue element that wants us all dead!" She paused. Suddenly felt John's arm sliding around her waist, drawing her close, drawing her into safety. It was a good feeling. A warm feeling.

"He's stable. He'll be fine," Rodney assured. "Please, Moira, we need–"

"Don't care! Use your own damn scientists! I'm going to the hospital!" She gently extricated herself from John's arm. Turned to him. Voice softening, expression calmer. "I can give you my full statement there, but I have to be with him. All right?"

"Go."

Rodney sighed as she quickly left them. Made her way through the maze of policemen and patrons. "Talk to her, John. We need her."

"Me? She won't listen to me. Moira's right. Use your own damn scientists."

"She will listen to you," Rodney reiterated. Met John's irate gaze. "I'm sorry, John. I didn't realize that Woolsey would go to such extremes. Truly. I don't want any of you hurt, or worse. I don't think Dick does either. I'm sure he was just trying to warn you off."

"Really? With bullets? Can it, Rodney! I know a coverup when I see it. More to the point I know a cleanup operation when I see it. Where is he? Come on, where the hell is Caldwell, because we both know he did it. And if he's gone off the rails and decided to further Woolsey's agenda into this he needs to be off the street and behind bars. So, where?"

Rodney ran a hand through his thinning hair. Knew John was right. "Probably at a dive called Brady's. On the other side of town."

John nodded. "I know it. You just be damn sure to keep your guys in line, because if anything, and I mean anything happens to Moira there will be no place on Earth where you can hide where I won't be able to find you."

John slammed his hand onto the bar's counter. Rattling drinks and patrons. "I said no games! Get lost! Or do you want me to look into that back room?" he snarled. Flashed his badge yet again. Exuding authority and threat all at once. The gun at his hip didn't hurt either.

Patrons scrambled out of the bar, leaving their drinks in their rush. It was a sleazy establishment, even by John's standards. Low lighting next to no lighting. Slutty women sliding along dirty poles. The smell of smoke and other intoxicants hanging on the air, visible amid the dust and grime. The floor felt sticky under his boots. Compared to this place Beckett's looked like a five-star restaurant. Steven glowered as he sat at the end of the bar. Sipping a beer. "What the hell is this, detective?"

"I think you already know. Get up!" John walked over to him. "Assume the position!"

Steven smiled, moved to his feet. Spread his legs, arms. "Just so you know, detective, I don't swing that way."

John ignored the joke. Frisked him. Steven had no weapons on him. No gun. Not even a knife. He yanked the other man's arms behind his back. Cuffed him. "You're under arrest."

"Am I? Again?" He sounded amused.

John spun him round to face him. "What is it with you? Leaving the Air Force to work for some secret government agency wasn't enough for you? Now you've got to take pot shots at me and other civilians? You almost killed a civilian today!"

"Don't you dare lecture me about killing civilians, detective! Or about leaving the Air Force, major! My orders were to scare all of you off and I did. Beckett wouldn't back down."

"Is that a confession? 'Cause I really don't need one as I have an eyewitness."

"Ah. That science geek? Like anyone would listen to her, let alone believe her and–" John decked him. A fist to the jaw. Steven spun on his heels with the blow but didn't fall. Turned back to John with a smile. "Hit a nerve, did I, Sheppard? What, you got the hots for that chick? Really not your type, is she? Although at least you wouldn't have to pay up front."

John decked him again. This time Steven fell with the blow. Staggered to his knees. Spit out blood as his lip was cut. "That's for resisting arrest. And for assaulting a police officer."

"I'll be out in five, Sheppard. We both know it. As far as I'm concerned they should have just let you die out there. But McKay insisted you would be useful, and Woolsey was stupid enough to agree. Until you brought more people into the fold. Herding them like sheep so what was I supposed to do but initiate counter measures?"

"Such a good little soldier, aren't you? Let's go!" John hauled him to his feet. "I've got you now, Caldwell! And no fancy lawyer is going to get you out of this one!"

"We'll see about that, Sheppard."

John hauled him out of the bar. "Oh, we'll see, Caldwell. Hope you like your new accommodations because you're going to be in them for a long, long while."

John's surge of satisfaction proved to be short-lived.