Disclaimer: The usual...
A/N: Thanks so much for your very kind review, x3sunnydaay. I certainly appreciate all the feedback I can get, especially when it's so positive :D. Well, this installment is a touch long this time; so much had to happen all together that it couldn't really be broken up into two chapters, but I think it turned out well. And as always, enjoy!
Bottom's Up was still hosting a rowdy crowd as Flack stepped inside. The back corner pool table was oddly free of patrons and making it even easier for his sleep-deprived brain to see ghosted images of the crime lab team he so often played pool with, each of them circling the tale, taking shots, and laughing at a likely corny joke Flack had been known to occasionally tell. He missed the late nights and the bottomless pitchers of beer that made them all forget about the atrocities of the day and wondered if he would ever experience it again after what had happened tonight.
After paying the bartender for the open table and a few unnecessary shots of Jack Daniels, Flack wove his way through loud basketball fans shouting at the game on TV, and he nearly started a riot in the middle of the bar by anonymously rooting for the San Antonio Spurs against the Knicks, dodging a heavy pitcher of beer as it flew past his ear. Reaching the back table, he grabbed a cue stick from the wall, studying it a moment before deciding it would have to do; it was too short for his arms and would make his elbows jut out at awkward angles but it was the longest of the remaining three. Even as he shouldered it he laughed at himself, at the importance of a stupid cue stick as though the last few hours had been nothing more than a quiet chat with an old friend. Once this was all over he was going to go away for awhile, a long while. To Ireland maybe…he'd never been to Ireland. Keeva often said it was beautiful, and with the Gaelic his grandfather had taught him…well, he might just stay there.
"Flack?"
It was Danny in unfamiliar duds as he rounded the corner of the table, and directly behind him was Lindsay in a flattering summer dress, revealing that the two had been out most of the night, and were just winding down the evening with a little pool. It was amazing how much Don suddenly missed those nights out to the theater or to Keeva's favorite Italian restaurant in the Village, and he ached to have her on his arm, her curvy waist tucked perfectly inside a classy evening gown while he wore a kilt that she had easily convinced him to wear with one little pout of her bottom lip. Needless to say he'd spent the entire night at the mercy of Danny's jokes.
But this was an unexpected complication, and Flack felt his shoulders deflate even more. They weren't supposed to be here, not now. After a long drive back from Queens and an even longer conversation with himself, it had all come together and Bottom's Up was to be the hub of expected activity. Money was going to change hands soon, information was going to be silenced, and Flack was planning to be there for every second of it in order to reclaim a little of what had been savagely taken from him nearly three months ago. It was time for answers.
"Geezes, almost didn't recognize you with all those sideburns and shaggy hair," Danny continued, leaning his weight against the rail of the pool table while Flack racked up the balls for a game of Eight Ball he knew wouldn't likely be finished. "Mac said you had changed but I guess…geezes, Flack what are you doing here? If I were on duty, you know I'd have to arrest you."
"Danny, maybe we ought to go," Lindsay added quietly, peering around his shoulder at Don and spying the gun tucked between his belt and hip. She tugged on Messer's shirt sleeve as Don leaned forward and aimed a shot at a side pocket, but Danny didn't move, didn't even blink.
"You know who did it."
The statement was so simple, yet so overwhelming and it seemed that a quiet fell over the entire bar so that the only conversation in the building was that of Keeva's murderer. Don let the lacquered wood of the cue stick slide over his curved thumb a moment before finally following through, and the cue ball clacked loudly against three other balls, sending them in a spray of directions, none of them sinking.
First left, then right; the windows are dark without the light. Who else would have all the information? Who else would know about Nathan's calling card?
"Montana's right. You shouldn't be here," Flack said, and his steely eyes darted to the entrance as it opened, three people filing inside. Once they dispersed into the crowd, a fourth person passed in front of the door but didn't exit, and Flack felt his chest clench. They were past the point of no return now; no one was leaving until this played out, good or bad. After reaching into his pocket, Don popped a few Vicodin dry and took a deep breath as he abandoned his game of pool and began to stalk through the many tables to where the previous three patrons had set up shop with another small group.
Messer followed, though against his better judgment, and was immediately met by a tall red-head who bore an uncanny resemblance to Keeva, and the vacancy of expression on his face was enough to make Danny stop short. So that was Nathan, the main topic of conversation around the lab though Messer doubted that the notoriety would've impressed the man all that much.
"You must let him confront his demons, Detective," he said slowly. "The betrayal of a friend slices deep."
"You mean someone we know killed her?"
Nathan motioned with a slight nod in Flack's direction where he now stood facing the small group, his gun gripped tightly in his hand and in the middle of it all was a familiar face that Messer had never expected, never even suspected and he had the sudden urge to make his lips dance with his index finger like in old Looney Tunes skits.
She glanced left, tapping her index finger in a pattern, once left, once right. "Five years ago, bank heist in Queens…shady kind of guy, real clever…"
The two maneuvered Manhattan Island, passing by…a darkened Stinger's Café despite the early hour.
"You had all the cards," Flack said over the roar of the crowd, and it died down slightly with his words. "Right from the beginning you knew how it was all going to play out. When I came to you that night…" –he laughed and stabbed a finger into the air. "Do you even have a son? Or was that all part of it?"
With a smug grin, Angie Morrison leaned all her weight on one leg as she planted her bony hands on her hips. "What? Do you expect an evil villainess monologue? Can't it ever just be about the frickin' money? So I saw an opportunity to move in on the family business. Are you going to arrest me? Because you can't prove it, Donnie, and even if your little detective friend manages to slap cuffs on me, I'll deny everything at the station. All of it will be hearsay, inadmissible in a court of law."
Flack aimed the gun at her, his mouth a tight line and firm resolve in his eyes. He wanted to shoot her. Every muscle in his body itched at the restraint he held over his trigger finger, but he couldn't do it, not until he knew why. Keeva had nothing to do with any of the money. In fact, she hadn't wanted anything to do with the family business at all no matter what happened to her father, and her willingness to flee the country was proof.
"Nothing," he said. "She'd done nothing, to any of you except make a few empty accusations in order to get herself out of jail."
But Angie didn't answer, instead glancing at the man standing next to her and in a matter of seconds the scene changed from a cold war to heated battle. Her rent-a-thug reached inside his jacket pocket to unveil a shiny semi-automatic but it never made it above his waist, Nathan drawing his own weapon and opening a hole between the thug's eyes in a matter of seconds. Quick though he was, he wasn't quite quick enough and another managed to clip his shoulder, sending him stumbling back into Messer and the latter pulled them both down behind a pool table, though Nathan refused to be bested. After catching his breath, he vaulted from behind the table and fired off four more rounds, each one landing in the plump melons of Angie's guests and leaving her without backup, but there was no time to celebrate the grim victory.
In slow motion, it seemed, Messer saw Don fall, a spurt of blood exiting his mouth as he landed with a heavy thud against the concrete floor. With a shout, Messer scrambled out from behind the pool table in order to check on him while Nathan ignored them both and followed a fleeing Angie through the back door of the pool hall.
"No, don't you do this to me Flack, you hear me? You stay with me," Danny ordered as he ripped his cell phone from his back pocket. As Danny dialed 911, Flack coughed and spluttered, dark red blood bubbling past his lips and dribbling in thick tendrils down his cheek to where it pooled on the floor below.
Moments later, Lindsay managed to grope her way through the crowd and planted her hands to the gunshot wound in Don's chest, putting as much pressure as she could while holding back the hot tears that threatened to spill over. His warm blood pulsed beneath her hands, the beat growing weaker with each pulse and she looked at Danny pleadingly as he finally got a hold of an operator.
"Dispatch I need a bus sent to Bottom's Up Pool Hall. I've got an officer down. Repeat, officer down."
