Chapter Eight

On the police com-link, communications were kept brief as to not interfere with the continuous transmission that came from Lucky's hidden mike. Detective Sternes and company had circled their squad cars and set up their mission control in the vacant Food Lion parking lot less than a mile away, while McGee (and Ellie) did surveillance from an unmarked agency vehicle parallel parked near the side entrance to the cathedral. DiNozzo also worked surveillance, but on foot. Dressed in a police vest, heavy jacket, and thigh holster, he had been maintaining his position amongst the ceramic figures of the nativity scene.

Every minute Lucky spent out of direct eyesight with this Snoopy character made Tony's blood pressure bump up a few notches.

The plan was simple. Have Lucky do the meet-and-greet at the church. Maybe make nice for a bit. Who knows, maybe Snoopy would blab. And then Metro would come around for a quick, and hopefully uneventful, arrest.

Using Lucky as the cheese in their cat and mouse game had been an unsavory idea, but the cost of letting a man like Julian Arrizubeata vanish into crime-boss retirement was even more unsavory.

Julian and Lucky's conversation was coming quickly and clearly now over the mike.

"Mister Q has offered to kill you, but I know how he does his work, and I wanted something a little more humane for you."

Julian's voice.

Somebody asked urgently over the com-link, "How the hell does he know Maloy's working with us?"

Somebody else answered, "We've been working on it. Nothing. Gotta be a leak somewhere."

"10-4 check on DiNozzo," McGee's voice came up briefly during a lull on the com-link.

"This is DiNozzo," Tony replied immediately.

"DiNozzo 10-4 at 23:13 hours," McGee said before the conversation started up again.

They could all clearly hear Lucky sobbing quietly.

"Can you believe this guy?" Somebody commented.

"He's a trip," yet another somebody answered.

Tony felt like all of his limbs were well on their way to irreversible numbness, but when the two men finally came within view, his gut clenched painfully.

"I've got a visual," he spoke over the com-link. "On the south lawn. We need to engage."

Detective Sternes voice then came up loud and clear. "Do not engage, DiNozzo. Let our units take their positions. Do not engage."

"Snoopy has a knife!" McGee suddenly shouted so loud it made Tony's ear ache. But despite the dark humor of that statement, Tony's gut went from painful clenches to a full-blown flip-flop and twist.

"Do not engage," Sternes repeated yet again.


Things exploded. What was once mostly well-in-hand now flew wildly out-of-hand.

Without preamble or warning or any indication at all, Julian took a hold of Lucky and slammed him into the building's wall with surprising strength. His head cracked loudly against the solid bricks, and the air from his lungs was forcibly ejected. Dazed, Lucky barely felt the knife bury hilt-deep into his gut. He stared up at Julian without a word, brown eyes as wide as dinner plates. His mouth gaped like a fish out of water as he struggled to regain his breath. The pain hadn't even hit him, but when it finally did, he began to squirm.

"Shh, shh, don't fight it. It'll only hurt for bit," Julian hushed tenderly as he gripped the knife again, aiming to ram it upward to swiftly and humanely end Lucky's half-stunned fight. Or at least that was humane in Julian Arrizubeata's twisted mind.

"Hey! Federal agent!" a breathless shout suddenly came from the nativity scene located on the snowy lawn. "Drop the knife!"

Pausing briefly at first, Julian finally raised his hands to the sky and stepped slowly away from Lucky's crumbling form.

Tony stood up from where he'd been crouching behind the large ceramic figure of a cow in repose. "Put your hands on your head! Turn around, slowly!"

Julian hesitated.

"Do it!" Tony shouted, voice ferocious in the pressing darkness of the night and the swirling snow. The faint voices of the choir drifted out of the cathedral and over the lawn, haunting and smooth. "Do it! Now!"

Julian complied, although while he did, he gazed briefly towards the road and beyond the gray Dodge Charger. Towards something unseen. He nodded once.

Pat, pat.

Two shots.

Something bit Tony on his arm as he ducked out of instinct. "Fuck!"

"Shots fired!" McGee yelled on the com-link. "Tony?"

Tony felt the blood soak through his jacket before the pain even registered. He dropped like a stone, half-curled between the wooden manger and the hulking form of the cow. Hands shaking with adrenaline and clutching at the bullet-graze on his bicep, Tony peered over the cow's withers. He then struggled to re-grip his Sig, resting his hands on the snow-covered ridge of the ceramic animal's back, steadying his aim. He panted; the freezing air burned his lungs.

Someone was screaming over the com-link. Another was yelling orders. Yet all Tony could decipher was the red-hot agony that was stabbing through all of his senses. He had to react, but it felt like he was moving through a pool of jell-o.

He ignored the cacophony of voices going on in his ear, not having the presence of mind to simply yank it out. Vision swimming in and out of focus, Tony couldn't exactly tell where the shots had come from. But he could see Julian hurriedly dragging Lucky's struggling body towards a tangled cluster of long-dead hollyhocks. The snow was falling heavier now, the sudden deluge coming in thick, fat flakes. The spotlight meant to illuminate the nativity made everything glow a bright white, obstructing his view badly. "I can't see, damn it," he spoke to himself.

Tony calmed his panting and forced his trembling hands to be still. He needed one shot and one shot only… Or two, maybe, if at least one was a sufficiently neutralizing force. Palms clammy and wet from sweat despite the cold, and his grip tacky with his own blood, Tony let everything fall away, except for what was immediately relevant to this one task. His teeth dug deep into his lip.

Lucky was rambling incoherently over the com-link, voice slurred and feral. "Let me go. Let me go. Let me go."

Tony squeezed the trigger; the Sig bucked once - wildly - in Tony's weak grip.

The shot went wide, but at least the target flailed, clutching at his shoulder. Yet still he was ambulatory as he renewed his stubborn attempts to yank Lucky towards the cover.

"Son of a bitch," Tony swore. He leaned heavily against the solid statue, nearly biting a hole in his own lip. With a grunt, he steadied the gun again, although now his entire body was shaking uncontrollably. It felt like the cold was now seeping deep into his core, or at least the warmth was flowing out of him, along with the blood that made his clothing stick to and pull at what had to be a nasty wound. In this condition he'd be lucky to hit the broad side of a barn - or in this case, the broad side of a cathedral - let alone a moving target.

Pat, pat.

More gunshots. One whistled past his head. He ducked again, driving his face into the sleeve of his good arm and screaming into it out of frustration.

"I'm pinned down here," Tony called out breathlessly over the com-link. "A little help would be nice!"

He heard the report of another weapon from a different location. Return fire?

But then more of the same gunshots, this time with greater intensity.

Pat. Pat, pat, pat.

The statue-Joseph's face exploded above him. Shards of shattered ceramic rained down on where he hid. The wooden manger splintered, pieces of wood flying. One of the Three Wisemen lost a hand, and another lost a chunk of his head. The spotlight's bulb exploded, plunging him into half-darkness. Tony rolled away as the shots continued to rain down relentlessly. He scrambled around blindly in the snow, soggy straw, and spatter of his own blood. He tripped over the baby Jesus, still swaddled in a blue cloth. The ceramic cow was soon reduced to nothing but a bullet riddled amorphous mass. "Shit, shit, shit," Tony panted in sudden fear.

He felt warm liquid begin to gush down his neck and over his chest. Confused, Tony put a hand to his neck, where he'd felt a stinging sensation. It felt like a bullet had somehow grazed his neck. "Shit, shit," he continued to curse, terrified of this sudden realization. He staggered woozily, the blood - his blood - all over his arms, all over everything, making him sick and confused.

When a strong kick got him in the chest, Tony fell and couldn't find the drive to get back up again. A bullet pierced though his vest, exploding where it lodged in his chest. He pawed weakly at the ruined vest constricting him. Breath caught in his throat, where it gurgled in the gathering blood. Tony struggled uselessly in place, flailing and breathing noisily, until a unique feeling, like he was slowly becoming encased in great swaths of cotton balls, overwhelmed him.

He stared upwards in stunned disbelief, eyes blinking slowly. The Mother Mary sat beside the ruins of the wooden manger, untouched. Her serene face gazed down at him. He felt strangely at peace even as he slowly began to choke to death on his own blood.