Private was standing in a corridor. One of those generic corridors that depending on who else was in it could be almost anywhere: it could be an office building or a hospital or a community centre or wherever, just plain white walls and a grey floor. This corridor was empty except for one man reading some kind of newspaper but he was very generic looking, so Private had no idea where he was. He couldn't remember coming there either and his head was kind of fuzzy.
Private placed his hand in his pocket, and oddly enough there was something there. He pulled it out, and saw it was a brown paper parcel. It was kind of heavy and it didn't rattle. Private's fingers went to open it but the man with the newspaper suddenly looked up and hissed at him:
"You crazy? In front of all these people?" Private glanced around, the corridor still empty. It made him wonder just who should be accusing who of being crazy. Still, Private replaced the parcel in his pocket and the man relaxed. He seemed familiar somehow. Private was pretty sure he'd seen him in the papers… yes, Archie – he couldn't remember his last name - Skipper had said he was the one who'd engineered the deal that had gotten Jones fired, "I was told to remind you: make sure you wear gloves, don't touch anything and nothing gets left behind that you wouldn't expect be there…"
"Excuse me, sir, but I'm not quite sure what you're saying…" Private began to question, but the man just kept on talking as if Private had said nothing.
"…already. Take inventory of the contents of your pockets, buttons everything. Take your time to check the area afterwards; you've got half an hour and if you need a distraction…" the man's voice droned on into inaudibility and suddenly Private found himself in another room he couldn't quite make out.
It seemed kind of dark and blurred at the sides like a bad photograph, but he could see someone lying in a bed with a lot of tubes and other medical stuff that always made Private feel sick connected to him and another man sitting in a chair with his back to him. Even when Private tried to focus on either of them he couldn't quite make out who they were. Bits of torn brown paper were scattered around at his feet and the weight was gone from his pocket. It was in his hand now, cold, metallic and familiar. He looked down to see what it was.
The sounds of two gunshots were so loud Private's ears felt like they were exploding. The whole room went red and suddenly Private sat up in his bunk gasping and sweating.
He clutched his knees to his chest as some kind of comfort against the odd feeling that he might have fired those shots. It wasn't like he knew he had or he knew it was some person behind him… it was strange. He always had that feeling after one of those dreams. Same as sometimes when he wasn't dreaming, other things would set it off. Like when Skipper had brought Kowalski's gun home. He'd left it on the desk and somehow Private had had the strange urge to pick it up.
Private froze as he heard footsteps in the hall however he quickly recognised the distinctive shuffling of the resident mad scientist complete with the sound of test tubes clinking together in his pocket. The footsteps were familiar too since Private heard them quite often around this time roughly every week. He'd had asked him once what he was doing and Kowalski had casually replied that he was getting a glass of water. He certainly had a routine to it.
However as Kowalski passed by private's ajar door and was briefly illuminated by the street light streaming in through the window he saw Kowalski was fully dressed and carrying his clipboard as if going out for the evening, albeit at a ridiculous hour of the night and sneaking out.
Perhaps it was the remainders of the dream that made Private unusually suspicious enough to follow Kowalski out of the door and half way across the nearby darkened park. Private tailed him into a corner surrounded by trees he'd never seen before and discovered he and Kowalski were not the only two ones in the park. The silhouette of a man was seated on a bench just by the edge of the small artificial – and very romantic – lake waiting calmly for Kowalski who was walking purposefully towards him.
Suddenly Private's breath caught in his throat and he dived behind a tree holding a hand over his mouth to muffle his terrified panting; he scared to look though he could still hear vague incomprehensible mutterings. He desperately tried to calm himself down but it was no good. Kowalski, the first one, was back and though he'd normally take it as a chance to try to save him again it was clear he'd restarted his blackmail of the less criminal Kowalski.
"'E knows abou' 'Doris'… 'f that happen' he won't give up a' agent like you. Might make y' kill someone else, ma'be Will."
The words in Rico's unmistakeable distorted voice popped into his head clear as a bell though once again he couldn't quite remember when he'd heard them. Perhaps when he'd told him about the letter he'd received from the first Kowalski. Still, it was quite true, if not for the killing bit or so he hoped.
Slowly, as he gathered the nerve to approach, circling around the lake to get a better view of the proceedings, he found the speech was not the protesting exclamations or the defeated monosyllables of the blackmail victim, nor the precise, emotionless, expertly chosen words that were almost trademarked to the first Kowalski that replied. Also, they were holding hands. He rounded the bench further so he was now looking at them in such a way that the moonlight illuminated their faces and he saw it was not the first Kowalski who was holding hands with his Kowalski – something he'd been quite shocked to see – but Dr Blowhole. That was much more expected.
Private stayed hidden behind the tree as they talked softly like any romantic couple and Private felt quite guilty for being a secret party to this. It pleased him, on the other hand, to see Kowalski happy after the almost decade that had followed the dark turn Operation: Filing Cabinet had taken. If there was any possibility of a non-romantic motive for the meeting it was immediately quashed as the two kissed each other passionately farewell and Private couldn't help but blush and feel even more embarrassed at being there.
The two held each other for some time after that still watching the moonlight on the pond and whispering of inventions. It was the most obvious stalling Private had ever seen, though it seemed to work, but the evening was ended as Kowalski glanced at his watch. They kissed once more and Kowalski set off down the footpath again with a giddy grin on his face.
Private stayed watching Blowhole who'd remained on the bench instead of following Kowalski after he'd walked past him. He'd always been told that Blowhole was crazy and evil in almost every way one could imagine, but the last scene had seemed anything put evil. Skipper would never understand, though, and Private was only more adamant that he must never find out.
Suddenly Private felt himself jerked backward by his collar and a knife was pressed against his ribs. He was forced forward towards the bench where one last shove left him sprawled unceremoniously at the foot of the outdoor furniture.
"Well, if it isn't one of skipper's spies," Blowhole mused, defeating Private's attempt to get up with a movement of his boot. A bit of broken glass on the jagged path dug into his shoulder and Private winced.
"Yeah, I heard rustling in the bushes behind me." Well that was odd, Private was quite sure he'd kept completely still, "I'm 98.776% sure he was alone. I guess we should…"
"I'm sorry Kowalski, but I'm going to have to get rid of him for you." Blowhole interrupted not sounding the least bit 'sorry'. Private hoped it was just an act.
"I guess so," Kowalski answered reluctantly and after some thought along with some scratching sounds that made Private think he was truly torn enough to consult his clipboard, "but I want to find out how long he's been trailing me and how much Skipper knows."
"Skippah doesn't know anything; I just followed you out the door!" Private answered so hurriedly he almost rather rudely cut him off and Kowalski seemingly realized it was him for the first time.
"Private?!" the scientist exclaimed, immediately pocketing the knife and going to help the boy up. Blowhole pushed him down.
"I said you had to be more careful." Blowhole snapped and took out his frustration on Private's back with his heel. He seemed very comfortable in such situations, unsurprisingly.
"I promise I won't tell Skippah!" Private pleaded, "I wasn't going to anyway; I think you're a rather adorable couple!"
"Pen-gu-in, I don't make accusations lightly anymore due to certain past mistakes, but I find that very difficult to believe." Blowhole scoffed, "And for the record I don't respond to flattery, though I appreciate your complement…" Blowhole seemed to realize he was contradicting himself and Private had to wait out yet another thoughtful pause, "Maybe I can just use you for a lab rat a couple of days and then turn you loose. You probably won't be able to tell Skipper after that and even if you can you won't unless you're interested in a permanent position."
"Listen, I can prove I won't talk!" Private begged, "I've known for almost a year and I haven't said anything," Private explained, "I got a letter from the other Kowalski a year ago that said he'd tell Skippah about you if I didn't do as he said, it's on my desk."
"He's lying." Blowhole sighed passively, eying the boy up to see just which experiments he'd be a superior guinea pig for as opposed to lobsters. Maybe the Chrome Claw project…
"He wouldn't lie about something I could check so easily," Kowalski defended him, "Anyway, we'll really have skipper on us if he goes missing.
"You've got a point," Blowhole replied and though it was supposed to be taken as disappointment as a lack of subjects for experimentation on Private could read the relief behind it. Definitely not a bad guy. He was even offered a hand up from the supposed villain and he offered them both the best of luck in return as he followed Kowalski back to the subway.
"Johnny!" Julian exclaimed with the excitement he greeted every guest with. Van Dorn just nodded and let the man run his course of greetings and gossip not once realizing that the agent wasn't paying him the slightest attention.
"Is Ms Knight in?" Van Dorn finally got the opportunity to ask.
"Have you been under de metaphorical rock thing?!" Julian laughed. Not going to respond, not going to respond… "Everybody is knowing Lola is always…" Julian paused with a comical expression of puzzlement on his face, "Actually, she has been going out every now and then."
"Well is she in now?" Van Dorn repeated his question with a touch of annoyance. All he wanted was a simple yes or no answer.
"You caught me just as I was about to leave." Lola's silken voice replied and she rounded the corner sure enough wearing her coat as if she was about to go out the door. There was a bitter note to her voice, however, and a similar tone to her edgy but smooth movements. She had the air of a femme fatale, and Van Dorn knew she had a devious mind to match. Knowing that kind of put him on edge since she clearly hadn't forgiven him for stopping her from taking Will, "Well how's everyone's favourite Chicago detective?"
"I'm pretty international now, and I was never a detective," Van Dorn replied matching her tone. Julian, not being one for frigid conversations quietly backed off, "I'm here on a case, not to see you, doll. Don't flatter yourself."
"And I thought everyone liked me." she purred with mock innocence.
"Who? Like Kowalski?" Van Dorn scoffed.
"He was starting to warm to me when he decided to start a fire fight in a hospital," Lola answered as the agent brushed past her, grabbing a chair at the nearest table. He didn't invite her to sit, but she did anyway.
"Yeah, funny how that happened. You know they never caught the killer. But then maybe we might have if you hadn't wiped the kid's mind." His eyes accused a lot more than he said.
"I didn't want to leave him traumatized for life, and I don't think justice for someone like Kowalski was more important than that." She countered. Lola crossed her legs placing her purse on the table. Van Dorn took out his notebook, flipping to an empty page. For a few seconds the two just watched each other, sizing up their opponent, "So what case are you working on?" Lola asked, breaking the ice.
"That's for me to know and you to find out when I decide you can," Van Dorn replied, though she'd work it out once he started asking questions, "I want you tell me everything you know about your husband's murder."
"In chronological order?" She questioned.
"Why not?"
"If you're trying to solve my case you missed the boat."
"Stop stalling."
"Alright," Lola sighed, "It's just a little painful to remember – I need a drink," She waved her hand and Maurice reluctantly complied, "it's on you, by the way."
"Start talking." Lola gave him a withering look but Van Dorn didn't seem to notice.
"Well, I was a couple of minutes from the end of my first show," she began, "Tony was…"
"Think further back, doll." Van Dorn interrupted. Lola gave him a sarcastic glare in return.
"I was born in Brooklyn in…"
"Don't play dumb," he interrupted. Lola was a real piece of work, but there was no way she was going to annoy him off the case, "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
"No I don't." Lola countered smugly, "Of course, if you info about the Penguins I'm all hearsay…"
"I wanna know what you did when you found out who Tony Knight really was," Van Dorn interrupted talking in an overly articulated manor almost like how one would give instructions to a person hard of hearing. He didn't give Lola a chance to interrupt him, though, but boy did she try, "I wanna know how you got Tony to give you his knife two days before the murder and I wanna know what your relationship with Kowalski was like between when you found out about Tony and the murder." Lola's confused frown had grown more and more as he continued. Feigned ignorance.
"And what if I said I've got no idea what you're going about, and you've got no right to accuse me of Tony's murder." Lola countered.
"And what if I said I was going to take you down to the station to refresh your memory." Van Dorn countered, "Anyway, who said I'm accusing you?"
"You pretty damn obviously are, but Will would have me out in seconds and you posted to the South Pole."
"Alright," Called his bluff. She was good, but then what did he expect? "Let me rephrase the question: why were you so anxious to get your kid back?"
"You said it, Johnny, he's my kid."
"And the guy you were going up against was Kowalski," the once skipper countered, "Ever consider if you got him too angry he might have just killed the kid 'cause he could?"
"Kowalski wasn't like that."
"Or maybe that was exactly…"
"Telephone, sir." Maurice interrupted at Van Dorn's shoulder. Van Dorn nodded, stood up and started after the bartender.
"'Or maybe that was exactly' what?" Lola prompted. Van Dorn grinned back at her.
"Or maybe that was exactly what you wanted."
Lola's eyes burned though she knew better than to say a word tainted by anger. Still, she'd told him what he wanted to know. She was good at manipulating but couldn't tell when she was the rat in the maze.
I just wanted to note since I didn't make it clear that Kowalski only caught a quick glimpse of Doris in the crowd after he trial which was enough for him to win his bet. She did turn up at the office and I fit that scene in by arguing that he was starting to wonder if he really had seen her which explains why he was so depressed before Doris turned up at his office.