The third Chronicles of Narnia movie did not get better.

Edmund's looks, did, though. Unfortunately, he'll never be as cute as Peter.

This chapter has a bit of original writing before a long-ass portion of canon stuff, so if you don't like canon stuff, I'm warning you now that almost 3/4ths of it is in fact canon conversation with a little bit of Alex thrown in when I could get her in. I just don't like to disrupt the flow of the game dialogue, y'know?

On a better note, this chapter is the longest one in the Fic so far, so I guess that's something to celebrate.

OH FUCK. I almost forgot.

A shout-out to GlossyFresh for the nice review they left. You the real MVP.

"So, apparently, people get closer if they share secrets with one another," Alex announced, reading an article off of her phone.

Michael looked up from where he was sitting on the other end of the couch. "And… this is important?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Alex told him. "We're going to share our secrets, and get close. Sound like a plan?"

"What if I don't want to share my secrets with you?" Michael queried.

"Too damn bad," Alex said. She folded her legs up beneath her and turned to face him. "If you don't want to start with secrets, we can share things we have in common, first. Y'know, get used to it."

Michael sighed and turned off the TV, which was turned to Fame or Shame. "Alright, we'll do that first, then. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I could say five things I like, and you can tell me if you like 'em too. For each one that we don't share, you have to come up with one to replace it, and when we have five things, we win."

"Win what?" Michael questioned. Alex could see he was having a hard time holding back a grin.

"Friendship, Mikey. We win friendship." Alex rubbed her hands together. "Are you ready?"

"Sure," Michael responded, turning to face her fully.

"Okay." Alex gnawed on her lip, trying to think. "Well, I'm not an only child, but I think you knew that already. I love music, acting, I hate driving because I'm not very good at it, and…" She trailed off, trying to think of one more thing. "I… ah! This is my natural hair color."

"You think I dye mine?" Michael asked her.

"No," Alex said. "Listen, if all of these things are the same, I think I might as well get up and walk out of the house right now."

Michael chuckled and shook his head. "Well, a few of them are the same. I like music too –"

"Uh-uh." Alex shook her head, and Michael held out his hands. "I love music, Mikey. You don't love music, it doesn't count."

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, I love music, and movies, too."

"But do you like to act?"

"I don't know," Michael responded. "I'm good at it, right?" Alex lifted her eyebrow, and he frowned. "Shut up, I'm good. Besides, you don't know."

"Alright, M," Alex said with a laugh. "You're good."

"I guess I do like it, since it saves my neck more often than not," Michael mused, looking down at the couch.

"When an FIB agent isn't, right?" Michael lifted his eyes, and she saw a fire burning there. Dimly, but it was there. She quickly looked away. "Sorry. That wasn't nice of me."

"No, it wasn't." He shook his head. "I don't mind driving, and I'm an only child." He glared at her. "And I do not dye my hair."

"The acting thing doesn't count."

"Fine," Michael mumbled. "I don't dye my hair."

She held up her hands. "Just For Men, Mikey. That's all I'm saying." She pulled all of her hair over one shoulder and started to braid it. "You have to come up with three things."

"Sure," Michael said. He leaned back against the couch and looked up and the ceiling. "I… played sports in high school, I don't have very good sportsmanship, and sometimes I get really pissed off at stupid people."

"Who doesn't?" Alex queried with a shake of her head. "But, you have to wonder if sometimes you're the stupid person people get pissed with." Michael didn't say anything, and she glanced at him. "How did you play sports without sportsmanship?"

"I didn't say I was good," Michael replied.

Alex smirked. "What sport did you play?" Football, probably. Or lacrosse. She glanced him over. Definitely football.

"I was a football player. Quarterback, actually."

"They let a kid with bad sportsmanship be a quarterback? The fuck were they doing at your high school?" Michael shrugged, and Alex huffed. "Alright. I did not play sports, but I tried my best to be positive when I was competing in like… A violin playing contest."

"They have those?" Michael asked.

"Yes," Alex said. "Not specific to violinists, but sometimes radio stations have competitions for aspiring artists to send in their music and win a prize." She shook her head before he could ask. "I never won. I can play, but I can't write."

"I'd give you encouragement, but I've never heard you play," Michael said. "Or anything you've written."

"And you won't, not until I get my violin back, at least."

"Where's –"

"Trevor's house in Sandy Shores."

"Ah."

"So, two, maybe?" Michael shrugged. "Whatever. I like animals, and I never really thought things would turn out like this for me."

"Does anything ever turn out like you expect it too?" Michael asked quietly. She looked at him in question, and he shook his head. "I mean… I did what I did in North Yankton because I thought things would be better for me and my family. Sure, I'm not dead yet, but my home life isn't the best. My wife hates me, my kids do their best to forget I exist…"

He trailed off and put his head in his hands. Alex didn't know what to do, so she slowly slid down the couch and touched his arm reassuringly. He glanced up, and she offered him a grin. "How bad can your home life be with me here?" she asked cheekily.

This earned a short laugh, and Michael let out a sigh. "True."

"Animals?" Alex prompted, and Michael nodded.

"Yeah, I like animals, too. Dogs, especially."

"Franklin's friend has a dog," Alex told him, sliding back down the couch.

"Does he?"

Alex nodded. "His name is Chop. He's a Rottweiler."

"Fitting," Michael said.

Alex pictured the fat dog in her mind, and she let out an "Eh." Michael looked at her curiously, and she waved her hand. "Intimidating on the same scale as… uh…" She grimaced and forced a grin. "So, quarterback, huh?"

"Yep. Allstate," Michael agreed with a content grin to himself. Alex hummed, and he lifted an eyebrow, his smile falling. "What was that?"

"Oh… I'm just surprise," Alex responded. "Quarterback. Fullback, I could see, but –"

"Hey, was that a comment on my size?" Michael demanded, looking at her sideways. Alex merely smiled, for real this time, and Michael snorted. "Believe it or not, I was actually very good looking back then."

"I believe it," Alex told him without meaning too. She immediately shut her mouth before she could say anything more. She diverted her gaze from his and mumbled, "I mean, you're not bad looking now, so… dammit!"

"Hey, Al, it's alright," Michael said with a small laugh. "It's nice to know that I still look good to you."

To me? Alex bit her lip, trying to hide a smile, and she looked away. "Yeah…" A silence followed, but it wasn't an awkward one. In fact, it was quite pleasant. Alex could feel Michael's gaze on her, and she glanced at him. "Yes?"

"Do you want to do the secret thing now?" he queried.

"Oh." She'd forgotten all about the original idea she'd come up with. "Sure. Uh…" Maybe he wants to go first.

"So, how's this work? We just… both share something secret?" Michael asked.

"Yeah," Alex confirmed. "Preferably something that you haven't told anybody else. It forms a sort of connection between people."

"I see," Michael said. "Well…" He paused, and Alex could see he was trying to think of something. "Huh. For someone like me, you'd think there'd be a lot of secrets, but…"

"I could go first," Alex said hesitantly. "I mean, my secret isn't impressive, but-"

"If you want to go first you can," Michael told her.

"I don't want too, but I will if you don't have a secret ready." She waited for a moment longer, but Michael didn't say anything. "Alright, I'll go, then." She cleared her throat and raised her hand. "I have never smoked weed nor taken any kind of drug."

"And that's a secret?" Michael asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," Alex responded. "Don't tell Trevor I told you. He'll beat me."

Michael snorted and shook his head. "That was a boring secret."

"Well, what do you want from me?" Alex demanded. "I'm a very open book."

Michael gazed at her. "What's your last name?"

Alex felt the color drain from her face. "Why?"

"You're staying in my house, and if we want to get close, I figure I need to know your whole name," Michael responded. "What is it?"

Alex shook her head and looked down at the floor. "I don't have one," she whispered.

"How could you not have a last name?" Michael questioned.

"Why do you have two?" Alex said, voice harsher than she'd wanted. She quickly stood up and walked away from the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. "Can we leave it, please?"

"Al, I'm sorry. I didn't know this was a sensitive subject for you," Michael said gently. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want too."

"Thank you," Alex replied. "I appreciate it. I just… I don't like talking about it. My family was never really my family, you know?"

"Because of the parental issue?" She nodded, and Michael let out a breath. "I'm sorry, Al."

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," she said after a moment of an uncomfortable silence.

"You mean the secret thing? I tried to tell you it was pointless."

"No, this," Alex corrected, unfolding her arms and holding them out. "Me staying here. I should go."

"Al, you don't have to," Michael said, standing up as well. Alex lifted her shoulder in a shrug.

"Maybe I'll come back, I don't know. I just… I need to take a walk or something." She walked towards the front door, passing Amanda and Fabien as she went. They were standing at the foot of the stairs, and Amanda gazed at her as she walked by.

Before she could open the door, Amanda said, "Why don't you stay outside next time? You seem to belong there."

"Amanda." Michael had followed Alex into the front hall, and he glared at her. "Don't talk to her like that."

"Fuck you, Michael!" Amanda shouted.

"That's exactly what you want to do, isn't it?" Michael retorted.

Amanda looked slightly taken aback by this, but she immediately regained herself. "I don't want her in my house!"

"This is more my house than it is yours!"

"No, she's right," Alex said quietly. "I'm sorry that I've overstayed my welcome, Mrs. De Santa." She pulled open the door and hurried out of the house before anyone could say anything else. Scurrying to her Mesa, she opened the door and started to climb in just as Michael came out of the house and jogged over to her.

"Alex, you really don't have to leave," he told her as she started the car. "I'm the one who pays for the house, and I get to say who stays here."

Alex shook her head. "I don't want to stay somewhere I'm not wanted, Michael. I already had to deal with that growing up." She closed the door, which put up a barrier between her and Michael. His phone rang, and she looked at him. "You might want to answer that."

He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it. "De Santa." He waited for a moment, shaking his head with a slight eye roll. "Yeah, Agent Douchebag. Hey, that poor son of a bitch we grabbed for you still breathing?" There was another pause, and Michael let out a muttered curse. "Great. Sounds just like my kinda party."

He hung up his phone and gestured for Alex to move over. She looked at him funny. "We have to go to a warehouse in Banning. Trevor's meeting us there."

"We?"

"Well, technically they only asked for me, but I don't want to go alone." He opened the door and pushed at her legs. "Move."

"What if I don't want to go?" Alex asked him.

"You don't have a choice," Michael answered simply. "C'mon. It's either you drive, or I do." Alex still didn't move, and Michael lifted his eyebrow at her. "I thought you didn't like to drive?"

Alex let out a breath and hopped over the console to the passenger seat. Michael climbed up into the driver's and looked around for her key. When he couldn't find one, he eyed her. Alex merely smiled sheepishly, and he shook his head before reaching under the steering wheel to start it.

"Why don't you have a key?" he queried as he pulled down the driveway.

"I think you can guess," Alex responded.

"Bad thing, stealing cars," Michael mused.

"Oh, don't act like you don't when it's the most convenient method of travel!" Alex muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out the windshield. "I thought of a better secret."

"Did you?"

"Yes. But you have to tell me one first," Alex said. Michael didn't reply at first, and she glanced over at him. From the look on his face, she could tell he was considering it. "Well?"

"Fine," he agreed. "I don't really think I love Amanda anymore."

That took Alex by surprise. She slid upright in her seat, folding her hands in her lap. "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," she said softly. Why, out of all his secrets, did he choose that one? She shook her head and looked at him. "I know Dave Norton."

"You know him? How do you mean?" Michael questioned.

"I mean, I knew him before you introduced us," Alex told him. "I'm not going to say how, but there ya go. That should be a good enough secret for you."

"Should I ask Davey?" Michael queried, glancing sideways at her. Alex shook her head, hard, and Michael smirked. "So, you really don't want me to know, huh?"

"I don't think Davey would, either," Alex said sternly. "Don't you dare say anything to him, Michael."

"I won't, I won't," Michael replied. "Jeez. What do you think I am?"

"Someone who would be smart enough to try and figure out who I am," Alex mumbled under her breath.

Michael gave no sign of hearing her, but she didn't doubt that he had. It took them a bit to reach the warehouse, and when they did, they found that Trevor hadn't arrived yet. Silently, they climbed out of Alex's Mesa and waited outside for him to arrive.

Michael pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and took one from it. He placed it between his lips and lit it with a lighter. Sliding the lighter back into his pocket, he took a long drag and blew out the smoke before saying, "Al, never smoke. It's terrible for you."

Alex shook her head at his stupid attempt at a joke and watched as Trevor's truck pulled up in front of the warehouse beside her Mesa. Trevor hopped out and sauntered over to Michael, shaking his head.

"Mikey," he began with a groan. "You gotta quit that shit, man."

Michael looked down at the cigarette in his hand. "Yeah," he agreed, lifting it to his mouth. "I know."

"I take speed mostly, and look at me," Trevor said, gesturing to himself. He brought up his fist in a fighting stance. "Boom, best shape of my life."

Michael and Alex exchanged a look. "Yeah," Michael said after a moment.

Trevor heard the sarcasm. "Yeah, I could still take you, sugartits."

"That's because you're fucking deranged," Michael explained. "Not because you're in good shape."

He took another drag as Trevor glared at him. "Hey," he started, "why don't you stick to doing fucking crunches and feeling bad about yourself, alright, pork chop?" Michael gazed at him in surprise as Trevor turned to Alex. "What are you doing here?"

"I was leaving the house and Michael decided to steal my car," she replied. "Which I was already sitting in."

"Ah, see, even now he doesn't respect the wishes of others," Trevor said with a sigh.

"Hey, fuck you," Michael put in before Alex could respond. Trevor looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"You know, I'm beginning to think that's exactly what you want to do," he mused. He then grabbed Alex's arm and started pulling her up the stairs with him.

Michael let out a sigh. "Yeah, Jesus," he said, tossing his cigarette down. "I just said the same fucking thing to my wife."

The three of them walked into the warehouse to someone talking on the lower level. "Did you see his face that last time I popped him?" the guy talking was asking. Alex looked down to find Dave standing with two others, one she assumed to be Agent Douchebag, and the other who was talking.

Agent Douchebag, who she classified simply by the outfit he was wearing, looked upwards as they walked in. "Oh, ladies!" he said, holding out his arms.

Trevor immediately retorted with, "God, you're an asshole." He spotted Dave and pointed down at him as Michael tugged on Alex's sleeve to get her to follow him downstairs. "You, you back there," Trevor said as she did so, "I know you, but you. You I don't know."

The guy who had been speaking when they first entered shrugged. "Yeah, well, until I see a reason otherwise, why don't we just keep it that way?" he asked.

He turned to Agent Douchebag. "Steve, what a pleasure, bro. Oh!" They both chuckled, and Steve patted him on the back as he walked past Trevor, Alex and Michael up the stairs.

Trevor studied him as he walked, taking him in. "He reminds me of one of those guys you see advertising pills for middle age men that can't get erections," he said at last.

The guy on the stairs laughed as Steve tapped Trevor on the shoulder. "Hey, Devin Weston is a very good friend of mine, so why don't you watch your tongue? 'Cause, let me tell you something: that guy gets more tail than a…" He paused for dramatic affect before throwing out his arms. "A tail catcher!"

Laughing at his own stupid joke, he walked away from them. Trevor looked at Michael and Alex. "I'll have to fucking remember that line," he said as he walked over to a tool cart with a bunch of dangerous looking things sitting on it.

Alex flinched when she noticed the gas can with a rag draped over it. There could only be one thing that was for.

Steve finally realized she was there, and he pointed to her. "Who's this?" he asked no one in particular.

"This is Alex," Michael answered before she could. "She helped grab your guy for you."

Steve studied her, and Alex gazed back, doing her best not to flinch. "I didn't ask you to bring her," he said after a moment, thankfully turning away to look at Michael.

It was Trevor who responded, however. "Yeah, well, she's here, so what are you gonna do about it?" Before Steve could say anything else, he moved away from the tool cart and walked over to Dave. "You. Where did we meet?"

Dave casually lowered the cigarette he was holding and gazed at him. "Nowhere, pal."

"Yeah we did," Trevor said.

Michael intervened before he could say anything more. "Hey, ho. What are we doing here, huh?" he queried, waving his hands.

Steve had gone to the back of the warehouse and lifted a door. He went into the room and pulled out the guy Michael had grabbed from the IAA building, whose shirt was missing and hands were bound. He looked scared.

"This," Steve said, pushing him towards the chair beside the tool cart.

"Please…" The guy looked around frantically, trying to find help. "Keep the sick bastard away from me."

"No, no," Steve told him. "Ferdinand, he's gone, he's gone. It' okay, I've got some new friends here now."

Dave took the liberty of introducing them. "This is Michael, Alex, and this… is Trevor," he said, pointing to each of them in turn. Trevor studied the guy as Steve sat him down in the chair and Dave went on. "Now, our friend here, he claims he doesn't know anything."

"I don't," the guy said quickly. "I don't know anything. I don't know…" He trailed off as Steve finished taping his hands and feet down. "I already told – Nothing. I don't know an-an-an-anything." He looked up at Steve. "Please, please, sir."

"You know about the Azerbajanis," Steve said simply.

"Huh?"

"Azerbajanis!"

"I do audio visual, hi-fi audio visual," the guy said. "He's top man, good price, VIP, you know?"

Steve bent down and picked up the gas tank, shaking it to make the water inside slosh. Alex grimaced at the noise. She knew what it felt like to deal with that, and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

"You're a fucking spy," Steve said simply.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, I'm not spies," the guy told him.

"And the asswipes at the Agency know this," Steve went on, ignoring him. He picked up a set of blue handled pliers. "So, I need to know, what did you tell them, and what did they tell you?"

"I-I told them…" The guy was having a hard time, and Alex looked at Michael for help. He didn't look any happier with the situation, and he sent Dave a small glare. The other FIB agent merely shook his head, saying there was nothing he could do.

Steve pulled a table over to the chair and stuck something onto the guy's chest. Alex assumed it was a heart monitor, and when Steve flicked on the small screen, she saw her thoughts were confirmed.

Realizing what they were going to be doing to him, the guy panicked. "The house in Rockford Hills," he said slowly. "The man who owns it, he works at the consulate. That's all I know."

"That's it?" Steve asked him.

"That's it," the guy confirmed. "That's it."

Steve bowed his head and gestured to Trevor, who was standing by the tool cart with his arms crossed. "We're gonna make him speak," he said over the guy's repeated "no." Trevor held out his arms and walked over to the cart while Steve looked at Michael and Dave. "You two are gonna drive up to Rockford Hills, and when we find out which man is the man with the problem you put him down."

He handed Michael a black case, which Alex could only assume was a gun of some sort based on Steve's previous statement. "Because I'm tired of these fucking nitwits at the Agency taking all the fucking glory," he concluded.

"Alright, the fuck is all this, huh?" Michael asked.

"I think it's a good time, buddy," Trevor responded, picking up the pliers. He waved them at Michael. "You know, go for a drive. I have a thing or two to teach my protégé about one of my favorite arts."

The last thing Alex wanted to do was hang around while Trevor tortured this poor guy, but she also didn't want to go with Michael and Dave and deal with whatever happened if she did. Silently, she slunk over to where Trevor was standing by the cart and ducked behind him.

Before Dave could follow Michael, Alex grabbed the sleeve of his jacket and pulled him to a halt. "What did I tell you?" she hissed under her breath.

"I know, Alex, but it wasn't my decision," Dave responded. He pointed at Steve, who was busy brushing off his shirt. "He is my boss. I do what he tells me too."

"So figure out how to make him tell you to do something us," she growled. "Do something, David."

"Dave, let's go," Michael grumbled from the foot of the stairs. He and Alex glared at each other for another moment before Alex let him go.

Michael and Dave started up the stairs while Steve waved at the guy. "You get to work, and uh…" He put up his hands. "I'm not here."

"No, n…" The guy sounded rightly terrified, and he started to mumble something under his breath that Alex couldn't understand.

"Alright," Trevor began, pulling her up next to him in front of the cart. He gestured to each torture device as he spoke about them. Starting with the pliers, he looked at her and said, "These are for removing those annoying crunchy pieces from your meat." He tapped the pliers against his teeth before setting them back down.

His finger moved to what looked like bigger versions of the pliers, only there were two of them, and they were connected to a black box by a wire. "You use these to fry your meat," he told her. "Both at once cook more effectively than one at a time." He picked them up and hit them together. Sparks flew, and she heard the guy gasp behind her. "And it's mighty pretty, too."

Trevor set them down and picked up the big wrench. "Now this is for tenderizing your meat." He swung it a few times to get a feel for the weight. "Some places are more easily tenderized than others."

Alex felt a sickness in her stomach as Trevor put the wrench back down at looked at the gas tank. "Now this… This one is my favorite and the most effective, I believe," he said. "Makes your meat nice and wet, and gives them a clean taste."

"Oh," Steve said from behind them. "That ain't clean."

Alex winced. Even worse.

Trevor patted the tank affectionately and looked at Alex. "You can watch, and then, if we need some extra support, I'll let you help. Sound good?"

"I think I'll just… sit out on this one, T," Alex told him, taking a small step backwards. She wanted no part in this.

Trevor merely shrugged. "Suit yourself." He picked up the pliers and clacked them together a few times. Alex watched as the guy winced with each sound.

Steve was pacing restlessly in a corner. He didn't look nervous, but he did look like he didn't really want to be there. Alex knew they were waiting for Dave or Michael to call about the guy who lived in the house. She sincerely hoped it was the right one so that they wouldn't have to torture the poor fellow sitting in the chair.

When Steve's phone rang, Alex grimaced slightly. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it, listening for a moment. "Okay, okay, okay. Uh, you sure you don't want to silence him just to make sure?" he queried at last.

There was another pause, and he rolled his eyes. "Fine." He hung up the phone and pointed to Trevor. "Turns out that was the wrong Azerbajani. We need a new address from Mr. K. Choose your instrument, and go to work on him."

"Where do we start, eh buddy?" Trevor asked, glancing over his shoulder towards Mr. K, who pulled against his restraints.

"Wait. What are you talking about, the wrong guy? No. Who do you want?" he asked desperately. Just tell me what you want. Huh, man? Huh. Please. Look at me. Please."

Trevor didn't turn around at first, and when he did, he was holding the pliers. "Now, if you open up real wide, I might be able to reach back there and pull out one of those big ones," he told him, opening and closing the device.

Alex closed her eyes and turned away as Mr. K shook his head. "No, not the pliers. Are they sterilized?" A moment later, he was groaning in pain, and Trevor was grunting, trying to pull out a tooth. This exchange lasted only fifteen seconds before Alex faintly heard a tooth hit the floor.

"Best way to make a man talk, is to stop him being able to talk," Trevor said as Alex turned back around. Blood was dripping out of Mr. K's mouth, and his face was twisted in pain.

"Dat 'urts ooh mush," he mumbled.

Steve approached and crouched down in front of Mr. K. "Mr. Philips," he began, "ask him about Tahir Javan."

"Why didn't you ask me?" Mr. K cried. "I know Tahir. I did his home theatre. He lives in Chumash. The right, on the Western Highway."

"That wasn't so tough, was it?" Steve asked him. He straightened up and pulled out his phone. "He lives in Chumash. The Western Highway."

Trevor put the pliers back down on the cart and looked at Alex. "You sure you don't want to play?"

"No, I'm alright," she responded.

Several minutes later, Steve's phone rang again. He listened for a moment. "Yeah, er… I'll take care of it." He lowered his phone and looked at Trevor. "Loosen him up."

Alex shook her head and took a step backwards. She wanted no part of this.

"No, no, please, I'll tell you what you want to know," Mr. K begged. "No, no, please."

Trevor turned back to the cart and picked up the wrench, admiring it as he said "The anticipation is always worse."

"Really?" Mr. K asked. He looked up and saw the wrench. "Oh! Isn't there a small one?"

Trevor paced back and forth in front of him for a moment before he swung the wrench. "Watch the knee!"

Immediately, a blood stain came through Mr. K's pants as he screamed in pain. Trevor walked back to the cart as Steve went to Mr. K. He whistled and snapped a few times to gain his attention. "Hey, hey, hey, hey. Now? Now are you ready to talk?"

"I've been ready to talk since the day I got kidnapped six weeks ago," Mr. K whispered weakly.

"That's what we were afraid of," Steve said as Trevor reached over and wiped some blood off of Mr. K's cheek. "So, yeah, yeah, yeah, this guy we're after, what does he look like?"

"Average build, average height. Middle-aged," Mr. K groaned.

"Yeah, sounds like you're stalling. This better be enough," Steve told him. He lifted his phone up and spoke into it: "Middle-aged, middle height, middle build, whatever. He's dark, okay? He's Azerbajani for God's sake."

"We may need to pull out the water if this doesn't do anything for us," Trevor mused, studying Mr. K.

Steve groaned and walked back over to Mr. K. "That ain't gonna cut it, my friend."

"Shit. Shit. I-I – let me think. I remember…"

Steve cut him off with a buzzing sound. "Sorry, too late. Trevor, show out contestant what he's won today!"

"Alright!" Trevor agreed, turning to the cart. He picked up the sparkers and clacked them together. Sparks flew, and Mr. K wriggled weakly in his chair. "This'll put hair on your chest," Trevor told him.

"Trevor…" Alex started to say something to try and stop him, but she realized that the only other option was the water, and she decided that wasn't any more fun than being electrocuted, so she closed her mouth.

"Not the clips! Not the clips!" Mr. K exclaimed. "I remember, please!" Trevor stepped in front of him, and Mr. K looked away. "I'll die!"

Trevor hesitated for a moment before he clipped onto Mr. K's nipples and held them. There was a faint buzzing sound as Mr. K shook and groaned from the pain. The heartrate monitor's beeping increased tenfold, and Trevor pulled the clips away, leaving smoking nipples in their wake.

Trevor laughed. "Did you see his face when I did that?"

Steve walked back over and leaned over Mr. K's shoulder. "So, what do you got for us, hmm? We need Trev to shake up your memory again?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Mr. K begged.

"No, no, no," Trevor mocked him.

C'mon, Trevor. Don't act like you're having fun, Alex begged silently.

"Please, no. No, no, please, no. He's got beard."

"Oh, he's got a beard?" Steve asked.

"Big, bushy beard!" Mr. K agreed.

"Uh-huh?" Steve queried. "I think you're making this up."

"No, no. I'm not!" Mr. K said.

"Huh? Yeah? Bushy beard?" Steve straightened up and spoke into his phone again. "Got any beard types at this party? Huh? Because that's all Mr. K's given us. You know, I'm thinking we outta just take two bullets and put 'em in our informant and just call an airstrike on Chumash Beach."

Trevor looked at the gas can. "What do you think, Alex?" he asked her. "Should we use it?"

"No," Alex told him.

Trevor turned to her in surprise. "No?"

"No," she repeated. "I-I know what that feels like, Trevor. Don't do it."

Trevor studied her as Steve came back over to Mr. K. "It's going to be a long day until you give us some intel on our target," he told him.

"He's… he's got beard. He smokes, he smokes like a fucking chimney!"

Steve glanced up at Trevor. "I don't know, maybe one more time? Just to be sure."

Trevor didn't take the gas can. Instead, he gestured to the cart. "If you don't want me to use the water, you pick something," he said to Alex.

She flinched. Of course he would do this too her. Silently, she approached the cart and picked up the wrench again. Walking over to Mr. K, who gazed up at her with blurry eyes, she let out a breath. "I'm saving you from one of the worst things you would ever experience," she said softly before swinging the wrench and hitting his other knee.

Mr. K let out a cry of pain as Alex retreated to the cart and put the wrench back down. He was crying as Steve walked back over to him. "Mr. K?"

"I don't know anything. Please…"

Steve sighed and rested his arm on Mr. K's shoulder. "It's okay," he mumbled with an eye roll.

"He chain smokes… he's left handed," Mr. K managed.

"What was that?" Steve questioned, leaning down so he could hear easier.

"He chain smokes, and he's left handed," Mr. K repeated, doing his best to be louder this time.

"Ah, okay…" Steve told him. He retreated a few paces to talk into his phone again. "Any of the beardy guys at this party smoke cigarettes? Mr. K says he smokes like a pack or two a day."

"Redwood cigarettes!'

"Thank you, Mr. K." Steve's phone remained against his ear as Trevor looked at Alex.

"How do you know what it feels like?"

She didn't answer him. She didn't want to answer him. He would only ask more questions: Why were you dealing? What about the fancy violin that you play so nice? What the fuck did you do that made people waterboard you?

She didn't really want to explain to him that she'd snuck into a meth house to steal back her violin, gotten caught, and tortured before she was finally able to escape.

With a sigh, she merely shook her head, and Trevor gazed at her closely until Steve hung up his phone. "Woo! That is a wrap my friends!" He walked over to them, clapping his hands. "Excellent work." He hit Mr. K on the shoulder, and he grunted in pain as Steve went on, "Now, I've got a racquetball game to get to, so, Trevor, if you take care of Mr. K, I think we're all set!"

Trevor held out his arms. "What the fuck do you want me to do with him?"

Steve stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "I would say he's outlived his usefulness," he responded before continuing up the stairs.

"Oh, c'mon, please," Mr. K groaned.

"Shut up!" Trevor shouted at him.

"That's a sport," Steve called down the stairs.

Trevor waited for Steve to leave the building before he grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the tape binding Mr. K's hands and feet and pulling him up. "Let's go, come on," he said to him.

"Where are you taking me to?" Mr. K asked.

"Fuck, let's just go, okay?" Trevor queried. He looked at Alex. "I want an explanation later on, understand?" She merely looked away, and Trevor led Mr. K up the stairs and out of the building as he said, "I ain't gonna let those G-man fucking scumbags tell me what to do."

"Then why did you just torture me?" Mr. K questioned, stumbling.

"Don't ask too many fucking questions." Trevor helped him up to his feet again. "Let's go, get up. Come on, up the fucking stairs."

Alex watched them go before she let out a breath and brushed her hair backwards out of her face. "I'm gonna go see Franklin," she decided after gazing around the room for a moment.

Now it's time to spend three minutes trying to think of a clever name for this chapter. Wish me luck.

It's probably not going to be very clever.