Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed.
Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up; I came back from Ireland to find my computer on strike. (It is a six year old laptop that has never given me any real trouble in all that time, so I can't really complain!)
Gibbs and Tony keep trying to understand one another, oblivious to any and all similarities between them.
Gibbs got out of his creaky motel room bed and headed for the shower. He knew that Ducky never slept well out of his own bed, but years of sleeping in ditches and under enemy fire meant that Gibbs could sleep almost anywhere without much difficulty. He could only hope that he wouldn't have to listen to Nixon go on about how he had slept!
Showered and dressed, Gibbs headed off in search for decent coffee, banging on his teammates' doors as he went; they hadn't really uncovered much in their first day of the investigation and so there was an awful lot of work to be done.
A yawning Ducky, a bleary eyed Blackadder and a moaning Nixon got into the car at about the same time that Gibbs started on his third coffee of the day. The drive back to Precinct 22 was a short one and a blurry one with Gibbs at the wheel, but everyone certainly felt a lot more alive than they had before the drive; driving on the wrong side of the road around a blind bend and into the path of a bloody great big truck can do that to a person…
Gibbs was surprised to find that the two Homicide Detectives were in before him and his team; Jacobs was on the phone and DiNozzo was going over a large piece of paper with someone else.
Sam looked over towards to Gibbs and nodded his greeting before returning to his phone-call; Chief McTavish had demanded to be kept in the loop and wanted to know if Sam and his partner had everything they needed for the raid on the warehouses.
"Yes, Sir, I can assure you we have everything we need. We've pulled in a lot of blue and whites, who will be cordoning off the surrounding streets and we've got SWAT on standby for the raids on the warehouses.
"Yes, Sir, I understand. Thanks Chief; me and the kid will come round to your office after the raid and get you caught up with everything. No, Sir, I'm hoping it won't come to that! Bye."
Tony looked over towards his partner and, once the phone was safely back on the hook asked, "Is the Chief really that worried?"
"You'll be on the raid with us Tony; McTavish knows that automatically means the chances of a trip to the hospital have increased tenfold," Sam replied with a wicked grin aimed at his partner.
"I resent that," Tony mumbled before returning to studying the blueprints for the warehouses with a member of SWAT. Sam got up and joined them, grabbing his half-empty coffee cup as he went. Gibbs marched over too, coffee cup in hand, aware that whatever was being discussed would likely be related to the upcoming raid.
David Eaton was the man who would be leading the SWAT team on the raids; he was an imposing figure at 6ft 4in tall and built like a brick shithouse to boot. Dressed in his black combat fatigues and with full gear, he looked every ounce the team leader that every cop in Baltimore knew and respected.
"I've only had a quick glance so far, but I reckon this entrance is our best bet for the main insertion," David suggested, pointing towards a specific entrance on the plans. "The only windows on this face are too high off the ground to be useful to anyone inside; no way they'll see us coming."
"Remember we don't know what the layout will be like on the inside," Tony pointed out, as he studied other entrances and exits. "The brick walls will still be in the same spot, but we could face walls of crates instead; we've not managed to find anyone able to tell us what kind of cargo might be in there, or even who's running things out of there."
"If this is your target and these people are professionals, then it's probably a dummy corporation on the lease anyway. While it's true we might face walls of crates, if they hide our entrance into the warehouse, then the likelihood is that they will miss it too; what we really need to worry about is if there's anything dangerous in those crates.
"Here is where it could get tricky," David pointed to the centre of the main room on the plans. "A large open space, with the stairs over here, and a balcony running along the East side; we don't know how many perps are in there, and we don't know how much cover will be available, but…"
"Why not just go in, guns blazing, there are enough of us to overpower them," Nixon suggested with a yawn. He'd followed after his boss, believing that SWAT should be dealing with NCIS, and not some stupid Homicide Detective like DiNozzo.
"Because the 'T' in SWAT stands for 'Tactics,' that's why," David explained as if he was talking to a three year old. "Banging down the door and rushing in with our guns firing away might look good on television, but in reality its stupid and dangerous and I would never risk my men like that. We don't even know how many hostiles might be in there, so how the hell could we know whether or not we'd outgun them?"
Nixon mumbled under his breath unintelligible utterances; once again he had been shown up by a damn cop; he was a Federal Agent, and he felt that his credentials deserved some respect, especially from some damn gung-ho SWAT cop!
Gibbs joined the two Detectives and the SWAT leader, and huddled around the map, adding his own experience into the mix as everyone worked together to formulate a clear and cohesive insertion plan. Blackadder hung back, aware that this was not her area of expertise, while Nixon hung back feeling picked on and undervalued.
As a former Marine Scout Sniper, Gibbs had worked off nothing more than a simple blueprint many times before, and sometimes even less than that; reading the plans came as second nature to him, and he realised how much he missed the tactical side of his military life.
Given Jacobs' own astute observations on the layout of the warehouse and his shrewd opinions on certain risks that lay in store near various entry points, it was clear that the former Army Ranger had experienced similar tasks, either during his Army life, or during his time as a Baltimore policeman.
The SWAT leader, David Eaton, was undoubtedly a man who was more than simply qualified for his job, he was highly competent and the Senior Agent was glad to have such a man leading the raid. Gibbs would have guessed the man was former military; regardless, he was very clear and made sure everyone understood exactly what he meant, leaving little room for error.
It was DiNozzo's contributions that shocked him the most; he was impressed by the young Detective's before unseen ability to remain focused on one thing and retain the necessary seriousness the situation demanded. He listened to everyone's ideas and would then point out various merits or flaws in the plan; he was articulate but direct, unassuming but sincere.
Eventually, everyone agreed on the safest and most efficient course of action; SWAT, being specifically trained for such situations, would lead the main assault through a specific entrance, with other members of the team quietly circling the building and securing other entry points.
The Detectives and the NCIS Agents would follow Eaton and his men into the building at the back of the group, while the local PD would secure the neighbouring area, effectively isolating the warehouses and a small portion of the docks, ensnaring the criminals in their net.
Everyone was gearing up in silence, contemplating the possible consequences of a misstep or a miscalculation. Gibbs secured a few extra magazines for his gun, and double-checked Nixon's gun as well as ensuring both members of his team had sufficient backup firepower.
Ducky was standing on the sidelines, quieter than usual; he never liked seeing people he cared about getting ready to walk into an unknown, possibly dangerous situation. Despite his experience Jethro only added to Ducky's worries, as the man could be a little reckless at times, especially when there were other people's lives at stake.
DiNozzo and Jacobs packed a couple of extra clips for their side-arms making small talk at the same time; Tony would make a quiet joke in an effort to distract his partner but not the other men and women gearing up around them, and Sam would fire back an equally humorous retort. It was a well-honed piece of preparation that both men welcomed and were grateful for.
Piling out of the building, the adrenaline was beginning to course through everybody's systems; a raid was always risky, but a raid on an unknown warehouse with an unknown number of potentially armed crooks…well that went beyond risky!
When the patrol cops finally informed the Detectives that they had cordoned off the surrounding area, the green light was given for the insertion. A member of SWAT quietly and expertly jimmied the lock at the western entrance; the door silently opened and the SWAT team lead the way in formation.
Tony and Sam went in following the final SWAT man, Gibbs followed on their heels and his team brought up the rear. As they entered into the shadows of the warehouse, there was silence, no talking from unsuspecting perps, no shouting from the SWAT team, no shooting.
The silence did not, however, act as reassurance; everyone had entered fully prepared for a confrontation of some sort, and the silence was unnerving. Were the crooks in some dark corner, waiting to strike? Were they walking into a trap? Every law enforcement figure with experience knew never to let their guard down until they have checked every nook and cranny.
A hand gesture from Eaton made Tony, Sam, Gibbs and his team stop dead, between the safety of the outer wall and the cover provided by a wall of crates. Sam knew that being told to stand down was not an insult to their abilities, but simply that this type of situation was exactly what SWAT had trained for; taking themselves out of the line of fire merely gave Eaton and his team one less thing to focus on.
Gibbs rarely dealt with SWAT, not liking to defer to anyone else, not even his own Director. However, he understood the tactics behind the order from Eaton; the military had the same practice – never send in more men than was necessary if those men could become a distraction to the primary forces…it was why H&S and the Reservists were normally part of the rear echelons of an attacking force.
Eaton and his team wanted to check and clear the entire warehouse without worrying about the safety of friends and a team that he didn't know, and therefore couldn't predict. Gibbs understood that as he still didn't know what to expect from the two detectives; he believed that Jacobs' military training and extensive experience as a cop would make him a reliable partner in the field, but DiNozzo was an unknown variable.
Even now, with the order to wait, Gibbs could see the adrenaline coursing its way through the young Detective's body; the Senior Agent was surprised at the unexpected control DiNozzo displayed by mastering the surge. The young man was crouched down low and rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, ready to pounce into action if the situation demanded it necessary, but he remained silent and he had obeyed orders.
Gibbs wondered if the man's energy ever waned or if it was always there, ever present regardless of the situation. He frowned to himself; since when had DiNozzo commanded so much of his attention? He knew that part of the reason was that he couldn't figure the young Detective out; Gibbs had always prided himself on being able to read people and figure out what made them tick, but DiNozzo was proving to be too much of a conundrum.
There was something else there though, and Gibbs knew that; there was something about DiNozzo that drew him in and made him curious, something that he couldn't quite define. Despite what he had said to Abby the previous day, he did care about DiNozzo's shitty childhood; he wasn't sure why he should only that he did. He cared about that and he cared about why DiNozzo seemed to spend so little time in any one place…he just couldn't understand why he cared!
He didn't really know the man and so far the young Detective had been little more than an annoyance; perhaps it was simply because the man was such a puzzle, perhaps it was because he reminded him of someone that he couldn't quite place, perhaps it was the mischievous glint in his eyes the first time they met that turned to steel once Gibbs pissed off DiNozzo's partner.
Whatever it was, Gibbs knew that there was a lot to think about when it came to DiNozzo. Ducky's words were beginning to haunt him; there was too much that wasn't in DiNozzo's file and what was there did not explain what helped shape the Detective into a man with multiple personalities and an easy grin that belied the young man's real emotions.
"All clear," Eaton's voice over the radio broke up Gibbs' line of thought. "Come to the centre of the warehouse, there's something here that you should see."
The Agents and the Detectives moved fluidly as one, silent as they delved further through the maze of wooden shipping crates and rubbish. Once they reached the centre of the warehouse and rejoined the SWAT team, it became very clear why Eaton had called them over.
"Shit!" Tony let out under his breath.
They were stood in front of an area in the centre of the warehouse with crates making walls on three sides, and in the middle of the make-shift room, there were mattresses…a lot of mattresses.
Sam joined his partner in muttering profanities under his breath, while Gibbs' hands closed tightly into fists in anger as Blackadder hung her head and looked away.
"I don't get it," Nixon shrugged, unable to comprehend everyone's downcast expressions. "So what, some people slept here; you really think that some goddamn homeless guy is going to know anything about the murders!"
"For God's sake!" Tony threw his hands up in despair. "Look at the mattresses, look at all the stuff lying around! There were women here, a lot of women! The only reason for this many women to be in a place like this in conditions like this, and for them all to disappear at once…they were most likely being trafficked!"
"So? It's a horrible thing to happen to anyone, but what the hell does it matter? What's it got to do with our case?" Nixon asked nonplussed. They had spent the better part of day investigating and they had seemingly not got any further in the investigation; Nixon wanted to find answers and wanted them now, everything else be damned right now!
"Our female victim was a young girl from Eastern Europe," Sam pointed out, silently wondering how the hell someone like Nixon could be allowed to work for a Federal Agency. "She was young, vulnerable and probably very pretty before she took that beating; she is exactly the kind of girl that sex-traffickers prey on."
"You seriously think she was here?" Nixon asked, bewildered. "If she was here as part of the sex trade, then why the hell didn't she leave? The door is just a few hundred feet away!"
"You seriously think they leave these girls unguarded?" Viv demanded of her partner forcefully, sick of his naivety and short-sightedness. "The men and women who run this kind of trade keep the girls and boys they sell under lock and key, usually with a gun pointed at their head, while at the same time they shoot them up with heroin to get them hooked and keep them needy and desperate and dependent! These girls are seen as nothing more than a commodity on the street; open your fucking eyes, Daniel! This is the world we live in!"
Gibbs remained quiet, surprised not only at Vivian's outburst but also at her use of profanity; Blackadder was normally the quiet and certainly the most patient member of the team; any explosion on her part tended to stand out. He could not believe that Nixon had honestly believed that the girls forced into the sex trade had any real chance to leave, especially in the early days, as the mattresses on the dusty warehouse floor suggested these particular girls were suffering through.
Looking around, there was evidence of narcotics; drug paraphernalia was strewn across the floor, needles and bits of foil being the most prevalent. He couldn't even begin to imagine the horror these girls must have endured…the horror they would still be enduring somewhere in the city.
"There's a lot of blood over here, most of it is dry, but there is the odd puddle," Eaton pointed out to one side of the make-shift room. "This could be your crime scene…or someone else's; either way, we should get forensics in here. It looks like whoever left this place, they left in a hurry; they probably hightailed it out of here as soon as they dumped the bodies."
"Thanks, Dave," Tony said quietly. He knew that the case had just got ten times more complicated; if the press got wind of this then there would a whole load of shit to wade through.
The Marine's father up in DC would no doubt kick up a fuss about the very idea of his son being involved with such an unsavoury aspect of the criminal world.
There would be a public outcry about Baltimore PD's inability to stop such a crime.
Worst of all, however, would be the possibility that the criminals would know that the police were on to them. If they panicked, then they could flee to another city, another state even, or worst of all, they might get rid of any lose ends by killing all the girls.
"I'll go and call the forensics team, get a couple of the guys from patrol to keep a watch over things here; the Chief will want a call too. We need to find that club!" With that, Sam left, eager to leave the oppressive atmosphere of the warehouse.
Tony shook his head, "Finding that club…in Baltimore…!"
"How many are we talking about?" Gibbs asked, aware that a city the size of Baltimore was bound to have a large number of clubs, pubs, bars and night-time entertainment.
"Hell if I know," Tony shrugged. "I've only been here for 23 months, and I'm pretty sure I haven't even heard of half of them, let alone know where they are! Problem is, the kind of place we're going to be looking for…the kind of place that will run this kind of trade in its back rooms…they're not exactly going to be advertising!"
"So what, we just ask around every back alley dive until we find them?" Viv enquired, her voice laced with evident frustration.
"There are a couple of local scumbags we can try leaning on, see if they know anything, but we've no real way of knowing who's going to know anything for sure, or if they're lying; that's why these kind of places work. We don't even know what sort of clientele we're talking about.
"If these are just your average sex workers, then their bosses are probably selling them out to anyone who'll pay, but when I did a brief stint in Vice, back in Philadelphia…" Tony let out a heavy sigh. "All I'm saying is that there could be some pretty important people on that client list, and big names can cause big trouble for us."
Gibbs nodded; he'd been in law enforcement too long not to know just how often it was the rich and powerful who solicited prostitutes. "Alright then, I suppose we should try to draw up some kind of strategy," Gibbs suggested.
"Sounds like a good idea," Tony agreed. "I'll go and find Sam." He didn't want to say anything in front of the NCIS Agents, but he was worried about his partner; he could count on one hand the number of times Sam had left a crime scene that fast!
Tony understood that this sort of crime was wholly unimaginable to most people, but unfortunately he and Sam…as Baltimore Homicide Detectives…as cops…had seen too much of the dark, ugly side of life. Inevitably it ended up getting to everyone on the job eventually, and the hard part was getting past it and carrying on with the task at hand.
It was a warm, sunny day in Baltimore, and Tony was momentarily blinded after leaving the dark, dank warehouse and entering the bright daylight outside. Sam was not on the phone and Tony didn't know whether or not that meant he'd finished with the calls or whether he hadn't even started yet, needing to take a moment to focus.
"Hey Sam," Tony said, taking care to stand next to his partner rather than face him; it might sound like a silly thing to some people, but the young Homicide Detective was more than aware that if Sam was upset then he would not appreciate any close scrutiny, pity or stupid platitudes.
Tony could understand that because he was the same; when he needed to hear someone tell him it was ok then he would only ever ask someone he trusted absolutely in a desperate bid to reassure himself. However, most times Tony knew that was not enough, knew that he was not desperate enough or gullible enough to swallow down anyone's 'glass half-full' platitudes.
At times like that Tony liked a quiet companion; it could be an old friend or a cold beer, so long as there was no small talk and enough time to come to terms with whatever situation he had been through.
"You need me to make any phone calls?" he asked quietly.
Sam shook his head; "Blackburn was here; he called forensics and is sorting out a protection detail for them while they gather up any evidence they can. Not that any biologicals are going to mean much; the chances of any of these girls being in our system…any system…"
"Yeah," Tony nodded his head in agreement; he knew that the chances of identifying any further casualties from this type of business would rely upon other girls giving the authorities any details they could, and most were more than a little wary about trusting the police.
"I've still got to call the Chief," Sam said, sounding completely disheartened. "With the Vasquez case going as it is, and now this…he's not going to be too happy."
"I can make the call," Tony offered. "I may be the Junior Detective, but we're still partners, right? We've got to share this stuff out."
"No, it's ok; I told him I'd call, and I will…I just needed a few minutes before being shouted at." Sam pulled out his phone; he didn't want his partner to make the call, not because he didn't think Tony could handle McTavish in a bad mood, but because he still saw it as his duty to protect his partner and he probably always would.
"You know it's not us he's pissed at," Tony shrugged. "The press are being total jackals, and the higher-ups in the Mayor's office aren't exactly helping; he's just venting."
"I know," Sam sighed. "But it'd be nice if he vented in their direction rather than ours!"
"Now that is something I'd pay to see: The Chief Vs The Press Gang! It sounds like some cheesy comic book heroes and villains story. I have to say, although he'd be outnumbered, I'd definitely put my money on McTavish; that guy can be pretty damn scary when he wants to be…" Tony relaxed a little as he saw the corners of Sam's mouth twitch.
"Think about it…" DiNozzo continued, "All we'd need to do would be to switch his coffee to decaf right before a press conference, and then…bam…it is on, I'm telling you!"
Sam let out a small chuckle. "No way in hell am I touching that man's coffee pot; I prefer my hands attached to my arms, thank you very much! The Chief is even more attached to his coffee than Agent Gibbs seems to be!"
"Now that would be something worth testing out!" Tony laughed, glad that he'd helped snap his partner out of his momentary haze of depression.
"We should head back to the squad room and come up with some sort of grid search for this club; it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack if you ask me."
"That's another one of those stupid sayings!" Tony pointed out. "It wouldn't be all that hard; you just go and get a magnet and…voila! There's your needle."
"Even with a magnet, DiNozzo, finding a needle in a haystack would take a pretty long fucking time!" Sam pointed out, glad to hold on to the normality of their banter.
"Yeah, but it would be so much harder to find a needle in a pile of needles, wouldn't it?" Tony asked with a challenge in his voice.
"No, because then you've got a whole pile of needles to pick from," Sam replied.
"Huh…well, what if you needed a specific needle among the needles? There you go, more difficult!" Tony made a small jump for joy, believing his logic to be indisputable.
"Well, if there's something unique about the needle and that's why you'd need that exact one then it should stand out even more amongst a whole pile of needles, like a black sheep in a flock of white ones."
"I never said the needle was a different colour," Tony wagged his finger at his partner in a 'no, no…naughty, naughty' manner and a smug smile spread across his face.
"I still think I'd rather look for an odd-one-out needle in a pile of needles, than a needle-in-a-haystack needle, where I'd have to leave the haystack at the farm, ride into the nearest town and buy a magnet before going back to the farm and combing through an entire haystack looking for it, and hoping that the needle isn't in the middle of a bale of hay…or are you suggesting everyone out in the country carries magnets about their person for just such an occasion?"
"Well…the weird ones might…" Tony shrugged.
Sam only laughed. "Come on, Einstein; any more thinking and you're going to give yourself a massive headache! We need to get started on that search." With that he walked away, dialling the Chief as he headed back towards the warehouse entrance, where Gibbs was outside, watching them with open curiosity.
"Magnets still make sense to me," Tony grumbled to himself as he followed after his partner.
The return to the squad room had been a brief one; as both Sam and Tony knew the city better than most, then it was agreed that it would be wiser if the two of them split up, taking half of the Agents with them. Both Detectives had also called in favours with friends in patrol, hoping to have more feet on the street to do the search.
Sam had flat-out refused to take Nixon with him, promising: 'If he comes with me, Agent Gibbs, then I can assure you, he will not be coming back in anything other than a body bag!'
While Nixon had protested being talked about in such a manner, the young Detective ignored him and gave some half-hearted grumbles about being lumped with the inept NCIS Agent, but he knew it was his turn as his partner had had to deal with the TAD Agent when Tony and Gibbs had gone to DC.
Gibbs had offered to go with Nixon and Tony to 'keep him on his best behaviour!' DiNozzo wasn't sure who exactly the Senior Agent was talking about, but decided it was safe to assume he had been talking about Nixon.
Blackadder seemed quite content with being assigned to Sam rather than being stuck with her irritable boss and her irritating partner. The two had not spoken to each other since her outburst at the warehouse; she was still too angry and effected by the scene there, and Nixon was sulking.
"Right," Sam said, standing up as he worked a kink out of his neck. "We should get started; we've got a lot of clubs, pubs, bars and back-alley dives to check out!"
"Ow!" Tony yelped as he rubbed the back of his head. "What the hell was that for?"
"For taking your eyes off the case; we're here to investigate, Detective DiNozzo, not collect phone numbers!" Gibbs retorted with a sharp glare in the younger man's direction. This was the eleventh establishment they'd been in, and still no luck…well…at least as far as the case was concerned; Gibbs had seen DiNozzo pass out more than a few cards with his number on them!
"For your information, Agent Gibbs, she gave me the address of a club a couple of blocks away and told me to ask for Goran Radoslav; she said that he always seemed to have a lot of Eastern European girls at his place. I thought it might be a good idea to check it out."
Gibbs didn't know what to say; he'd seen DiNozzo flirt with every woman in every club they had visited so far, and he had been angry with DiNozzo for losing focus, but mostly he had been angry with himself for beginning to believe that the young Detective just might be half as good a cop as Gibbs suspected he could be.
Now that DiNozzo's unorthodox method of interviewing witnesses yielded a potential lead, Gibbs was once again thrown by the situation; did it mean that the Detective knew how to use his dubious charm as an interrogation technique, or was it just luck?
"Well then, what are we waiting for?" Gibbs asked finally, aware that too much time had lapsed in silence. He felt DiNozzo's gaze resting on him but when he looked, Gibbs found no trace of smugness in the younger man's face, instead the Detective seemed to be assessing him…no…reassessing him, and Gibbs was amazed at how unnerving he found it.
Tony was reassessing Agent Gibbs; he found the man to be a real conundrum…a hard-ass who didn't seem to care too much about most things, and yet the Detective had caught a glimpse of Gibbs' face in that warehouse. He wondered why the Senior Agent felt he ought to keep everyone at arms length; had the death of his family ended any chance of a 'happily ever after' for him? His two divorces and the third, on-going divorce that the man was going through certainly seemed to suggest it!
DiNozzo didn't say anything, but eventually withdrew his gaze and nodded, waving one hand in front of him in a sweeping 'after you' gesture.
Club Abër was in a basement down a small back alley, certainly off the beaten track; for anyone wanting to spend a good night out in the underground establishment they would need to either know where it was already, or get a good set of directions from a pretty girl. Tony knew which method he preferred!
The dim light in the club was in direct contrast to the bright day outside and Tony had to take a few seconds to allow his eyes to adjust. The place smelt of stale beer and there was a faint scent of cigarettes and cheap perfume. There were several girls sat at a booth in the back who cast a quick glance at the three men who entered.
"Hello," came a heavily accented voice from behind the bar. "How can I help you?"
Tony knew they'd been pegged as cops as soon as he saw the man's curious and slightly worried glance towards the trio, and heard the overly polite tone. He could fit into all sorts of sleaze-ball places when he needed to, but Gibbs would always have an authoritarian air about him, and Nixon looked like he'd just got out of school; they were too eclectic a mix to be much else.
The man was tall and well-built; he had several tattoos going up his arm that Tony managed to identify several as prison tattoos from Eastern Europe; there was a whole life to be read in those designs, but Tony had only picked up a couple from some of the guys in the Organised Crime Department.
"Hi, are you Goran Radoslav?" Tony asked with a smile.
The man's eyebrows knitted closer together in suspicion; "Yes, I am Goran Radoslav."
"I'm Detective DiNozzo, and these are Agents Gibbs and Nixon. Would you mind if we talked to some of the girls here?"
"What about?" the voice this time did not manage to hide the disdain the man clearly felt for the three men in law enforcement, and it trembled slightly at the prospect of the girls talking.
"We just need their help identifying someone," Tony shrugged, trying to act indifferently, even as the whole man's demeanour screamed 'guilty as sin!' at top volume in his ear.
Goran Radoslav knew he could not really deny the officer's request without looking guilty, and while he would always worry about his girls saying the wrong thing to the wrong person, they were, on the whole, more reluctant to talk to the cops than he was.
"Of course," the Albanian said with a forced smile, and gestured for the men to go to the back and talk to the young women sat there.
"Nixon," Gibbs said quietly so that Radoslav could not overhear him. "You let me and DiNozzo do the questioning, got it? You keep an eye on Radoslav and the rest of the club."
"Yes, Boss," Nixon mumbled, all too aware of the futility of arguing with Gibbs when he was set on something.
Both Gibbs and DiNozzo had not even been talking to the girls for five minutes before they realised they had a major hurdle to jump; most of the girls spoke some English, but most of them spoke only a few basic sentences.
Tony had tried talking to three different girls; he wasn't sure whether or not their English was as bad as it seemed to be, or whether they were faking ignorance in order to avoid talking to the police.
"Hi," Tony tried again with another girl and another smile, this one more forced than the last. "I'm Tony. What's your name?"
"Téa Kadare," she answered with a thick accent.
"Please tell me you speak English well?" Tony asked hopefully.
"Yes, ok," she shrugged with indifference.
"Could you translate for us?"
"No," Téa shook her head. "I am Albanian, but not all the girls are. Irina and Larissa are Russian, Aneta is Polish, Nadia and Sasha are from Serbia. I don't know about the rest of them. Even if they did speak good English, I doubt they would speak to you; many of us come from places where the police are just as corrupt as the criminals."
"Well, you're in America now," Tony pointed out. "You can trust me," he added as sincerely as he could.
"Ha!" Téa laughed derisively. "You cannot really believe that, can you? I'm sorry, Tony, but we've already experienced enough of American law enforcement, thank you very much."
"You know, if you have been hurt by someone, law enforcement or otherwise, you can tell me; I promise you, I will protect you. I can get in touch with the US Marshall's Office and sort out witness protection for you, get you relocated."
Tony was becoming more and more certain that Club Abër was involved with the people they were looking for, and he was fast becoming very confident that Téa and her friends may well have been some of the girls from that warehouse; if they had been here for a long time then their English would have been better.
He pulled out a picture of the Jane Doe. "Do you know her name?" he asked, conscious of the fact that the photo was a particularly grisly one, with the young woman lying down, face battered on an autopsy table in a Baltimore PD morgue. "We're trying to make sure that the guys that did this don't get away with it!"
Téa had looked at the photo before quickly turning away; she hadn't looked disgusted by the macabre head shot as Tony would have expected most people to be. Instead, Téa had looked sad and more than a little frightened, and with that one look Tony knew straight away that he had found someone who could give their Jane Doe a real name.
"I'm sorry, Officer, but I cannot help you," Téa said, doing her best to avoid looking at the photograph.
"Can't or won't?" Tony asked, getting more than a little frustrated; here they were…they had finally found a break and caught a lead in the case, and his witness was either afraid of the repercussions for talking, or she was too distrustful of the police.
"You want me to trust you, Tony?" Téa hissed as quietly as she could, all too aware of Radoslav hovering menacingly in the background. "How can I trust you? Who do you think will give someone like me protection? Who is going to risk helping me, when the names I know, the people I've seen here would cause all kinds of trouble? Men like this, men with money and authority and power…they always get away with it; back home and here in America!"
"I won't let them get away with it," Tony promised with all his heart; he'd seen too many corrupt city officials and cops avoid the consequences of their actions, and each and every time it destroyed just a little bit more of him; the part that held onto the idea of 'liberty and justice for all,' the part that believed there were some good people in the world. As much as he tried to be an optimist and hide his disillusionment behind the mask of a joker, he was becoming more and more of a cynic.
"I wish I could believe that," Téa replied with a sad smile, and Tony saw the world-weary look in her eyes; a look that said despite her young age, this girl had already seen what life had to offer, seen it and despaired. "Even if you could they would still force you to keep quiet; they would buy your silence with a new office or they would ruin your name before making you retire."
Tony knew he was not likely to get anything else out of Téa for the time being; he quickly looked around to find that Radoslav was taking a phone call and was speaking Albanian in a hushed and hurried tone. Turning to Téa, he handed her his card.
"That has my cell phone number on there, as well as my work number. Write it on something else to disguise it, memorise it, hide it…just, please…don't throw it away! I will answer any time and I swear to you, I will do everything I can to help you. Please consider helping me, and I swear, I will get you out of here and into a nice place on the other side of the country…I'll even buy you a ticket back home if that's what you want. Please…"
Téa took the card and shoved it into her bra; "No promises," she assured the Detective, as she caught sight of the hope that arose in his eyes.
"Thank you," Tony whispered. He had tried to keep the conversation between them quiet and discreet, sure he couldn't trust Radoslav and unsure if he could trust all of the girls. He knew that by even considering helping them Téa was risking her life and Tony would do anything to minimise that risk.
He turned to find that Gibbs had finished his line of questioning and judging by the look of frustration on his face he had not got anywhere.
Once Radoslav hung up the phone, he turned to find Agent Gibbs facing him. "Have you found what you are looking for?" he asked, an edge to his voice as he shot a quick, intimidating look at the young women.
"No," Tony jumped in; he wasn't sure what Gibbs was going to say, but Tony wanted to make sure Radoslav didn't panic and hurt any of the women. "Do you know of any other clubs around here that have a lot of European girls as waitresses or dancers or whatever?"
"There is Potemkin," Radoslav suggested, releasing a small sigh of what Tony assumed to be relief. "Is a Russian club, in alley on 9th and Amber."
"9th and Amber," Tony repeated as he wrote the address down; he needed it to look good after all. "Thanks," Tony said, shaking the Albanian's hand. "We'll check it out before lunch; I'm starving!" With that, Tony quickly left the club, happy to rejoin fresh air and sunlight.
Gibbs joined him, with Nixon dawdling behind. "You know this is our place, right?" the Senior Agent asked DiNozzo.
"Yup!" Tony nodded. "I thought it might be best if Radoslav in there didn't know that we know, though. We'd better go check out this Potemkin place, just in case he checks up on us."
Gibbs nodded, glad that the Detective wasn't as oblivious as he had appeared before leaving the club; DiNozzo would do well undercover, Gibbs thought, before wondering where the hell that idea had come from.
"There was a girl in there," Tony started quietly, as they made their way out of the alley. "An Albanian, Téa; she knows our Jane Doe, I'm sure of it. Of course she's either too frightened of Radoslav or too suspicious of cops to tell me anything; she did make it sound as though there are some big names involved though."
"Great," Gibbs grumbled. "Come on then, let's go to this Russian club, and then I need a coffee…probably two…maybe three if the rest of the day is going to go this well!"
Potemkin was a small club, but clearly a popular one among the local Russian populace. All the women working there seemed to be there by choice, although Tony knew that you couldn't always rely upon the way things looked. There were no podiums for female dancers and the only doors in the place went to the toilets, the manger's office, or the fire exits.
There were several men sat around the bar, jovially chatting away to the bartender as he topped up their shot glasses with another shot of Russian vodka. The décor was simple and made way for a large dance floor in the centre of the main room, with black lights lining the ceiling.
All in all, Tony thought it looked like a pretty standard club; it was down an alleyway, but they'd seen fliers for the place plastered on poles along the main street. It was clean, friendly and well publicised; this was the last type of place where you would expect to find women being trafficked!
"Hi," Tony greeted the bartender with a friendly smile.
"Hello," the man replied with a smile. His eyes were dark and deep set, especially in contrast to his prominent cheek bones; his clothes were clean and simple and there was only one visible tattoo on his arm. A name written across a banner was not standard prison tattoo material! "Drink?"
"No thanks," Tony shook his head politely. "Still a bit too early in the day for me. I'm Detective DiNozzo, and these are Agents Gibbs and Nixon. We're investigating a murder, and forensics identified the girl as being Eastern European; we're hoping that someone here recognises her. I'd hate for her to be buried as Jane Doe number x."
"You have picture?" he asked. Tony noticed that unlike Radoslav, there was absolutely nothing in this man's behaviour to suggest that he was nervous or uncomfortable about the line of questioning; he sounded like a man who wanted to help, and nothing more.
"It's a bit grisly," Tony warned, as he handed the glossy shot over; he hadn't warned Téa because he had wanted to see her reaction, but he was pretty certain that Potemkin had nothing to do with his case.
The bartender pulled a face as he caught sight of the battered body on the photograph; "She is not familiar to me, but I cannot see how she would be familiar to anyone looking like that," he shook his head in sadness, before passing the shot around to the men at his bar, who all looked appalled by what they saw before passing the shot on.
The bartender called for everyone's attention, and quickly explained the situation in Russian, asking everyone to look at the photograph so that the girl might be buried with the proper reverence deserved.
No one knew her; Tony was not surprised…he had not expected anyone to recognise her as he was certain Radoslav had only intended to focus their attention elsewhere.
"Oh, come on!" Nixon exclaimed, finally having had enough of trailing his Boss and Detective DiNozzo like some mute lapdog. "You Ruskies aren't exactly known for being helpful with police investigations; with you all being so nice and polite, did you honestly expect us not to get suspicious!"
"Nixon!" Gibbs hissed at his Junior Agent; he didn't much like reaming his team out in public, but Nixon was coming awfully close to receiving one.
"Not everyone fits a stereotype," the bartender replied calmly and coolly, directing a scornful look towards the TAD Agent, as those drinking at the bar made several comments in Russian before laughing in Nixon's direction.
Nixon, after having a day full of being talked down to and belittled, had had enough; he reached for his cuffs and slammed one of the drinkers at the bar down onto the hard surface.
"You're under arrest for obstruction of justice, hindering a police investigation and…" he didn't have time to continue as a burly Russian got up from his stool and strove to help his friend, who was now bleeding from the nose.
"Nixon!" Gibbs shouted again, trying to get his rash, young Agent to see sense before things got too out of hand.
Too late…
The burly Russian had gently pushed a handkerchief under his friend's dripping nose, but Nixon had obviously suspected something else, as he brought up a hand to defend himself. The big Russian acted instinctively, punching out.
At the same time, Gibbs moved in to try and subdue him while Tony tried to push Nixon out of the line of fire, despite really wanting to douse the man in gasoline before pushing him into it.
Unfortunately Gibbs got to the Russian one brief second too late and Tony caught a punch meant for Nixon; a solid punch on the side of the head, and Tony fell down to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
"Nixon!" Gibbs yelled, as he finally had the burly Russian in a head lock. "You get the hell outside and call for an ambulance…NOW!"
Nixon left quickly, not wanting to face his Boss' wrath. He knew he'd screwed up and DiNozzo had paid the price; he didn't much care about the fact that the Detective had been hurt…he didn't particularly like the man, but he was aware at just how much trouble Gibbs would give him for it!
As Gibbs tried to calm the crowd down in the bar, he heard a groan from the floor. "DiNozzo? Are you ok?"
"I just got punched by a fucking Russian freight train…what do you think?" Tony's voice was dripping with sarcasm, and Gibbs knew that he would be fine.
The young Detective pushed himself up off the floor, and took several long blinks before looking at the Agent owlishly. "Why are you two hugging?" he asked, seeing Gibbs and the Russian.
Gibbs ignored the question, "At least you're not seeing double," he muttered.
"Actually I am; I just figured that if they were two of you, then I was probably in Hell…but then I thought it just didn't feel warm enough." Dazed, Tony moved to sit on a stool before turning back to Gibbs. "You can let him go now."
"He punched you, DiNozzo," Gibbs pointed out needlessly.
"Really, ya think?" Tony replied sarcastically. "He was trying to punch Nixon, and really…who could blame him!"
"No charges?" Gibbs asked, wanting to double-check before letting the Russian go.
"No charges," Tony stated. He turned to the Russian, who Gibbs had finally released; "What's your name?"
"Ivan," the man replied. "I sorry, I no mean to hit you. I no even mean to hit other man, just…" he struggled to search for the right word.
"Instinct?" Tony suggested.
"Yes, instinct," Ivan agreed.
Tony swayed a little on his stool. "Thanks for looking at the photo," he said, words slurring slightly. "Sorry about Agent Nixon; he's kind of a prick!" There were several snorts around the bar that suggested Tony was more than understating.
He stood up slowly, careful not to move his head too much; "Gibbs, I know you're not my biggest fan, but I think I'm going to need your help walking out of here, otherwise I'm going to walk straight into the pavement."
Gibbs silently placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, ready to support him if needed.
That moment came all too soon; as soon as they exited the club and daylight hit their eyes, Tony groaned, his vision swam, and everything went black as he fell to the pavement.
Chapter seven…finally! Let me know what you think.
Blue and Whites – a term for police patrol cars, which are painted blue and white in Baltimore (thanks to Tara La'Quinn for letting me know that Baltimore didn't have black and white (panda) police cars ).
SWAT - Special Weapons and Tactics.
Abër – the old name for the region now known as Albania.
I will try to get the next chapter out quicker, but with my computer being on strike…well, I can't promise anything…sorry!
Next Up - There's a trip to the hospital and Sam finds out about his partner…I think Nixon might just face the music! They also face more problems on the case, as other Detectives claim investigative rights over Club Abër.
