Manny Ruiz stood outside the apartment building, anxious to see the right figure, or figures, emerge so he could be done with this.
He had realized far too late that in gaining freedom from prison, he'd only changed wardens, and he was starting to understand that there was no way this deal with the devil could end in his favor.
Still, a deal was what he'd made, and if he didn't live up to his end of the bargain, he was sure he'd regret it. So he stood here waiting, knowing that no matter what had been said, this wouldn't be the end of it. There would always be another "favor" to perform.
His only hope was that the boss would relent on that bitch cop; if he had to be a hired gun, at least he should be allowed to take care of his personal business too.
And he hated her.
Hated the way she'd looked at him that day, as if killing that other cop was anything but an act of survival.
Like that cop meant more to the world than he did.
Like he didn't count.
He'd tried to kill her, too; to leave no witnesses; had wanted to, almost ached to kill her, but the crap piece he'd stolen had stopped him.
Later, of course, at the trial, he'd told that bullshit sob story; I saw her face, she was so sad, I couldn't kill her, blah blah…
But he'd looked into her eyes, and she'd looked back, and they both knew. And he saw that she hated him, too.
Then he knew that to her, he finally counted, and if the boss would only give him the chance, he'd make sure she never witnessed anything again.
But there would be no witnesses tonight – he'd make damn sure of it this time.
He glanced nervously towards the door, beginning to feel the effects of the shot of courage he'd given himself earlier. Come on, let's get this shit done.
If that dumbass bitch serial killer had gotten it done, he wouldn't have to take care of the little widow, how would he? Leave it to a woman to screw it up.
Suddenly, his target appeared - alone. He smiled to himself. Easy. No witnesses. Drawing the gun the boss had given him, he took aim and fired, putting the bullet directly in the center of the forehead. Not the back of the head, but that hadn't been essential; he took the cover provided and made the shot that worked. Pleased with himself, he decided it was time to have some fun.
Manny took great pleasure in the next part. The satisfying crunch of breaking bones, the soft whoosh of damaging flesh; these were like music to him. His wife had never understood it, understood him, though he'd made sure she'd never forget him. Maybe before he killed that Eames bitch, he'd find out if she was woman enough for him. The thought excited him, and as he went about his work with renewed energy, he failed to hear the quiet footsteps approaching from behind.
He didn't hear the gun being drawn, didn't hear the click as a round was chambered, didn't hear the slight catch, didn't hear the high-pitched ping of the bullet passing through the silencer.
As his body fell, dead before he hit the ground, his killer snorted in derision before setting to the task of creating the scene.
No witnesses.
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Mike Logan looked up at Ross expectantly, unsure of what the new captain wanted him to do.
"They're sure?"
"Yeah."
"Jesus." Ross let out his breath in a long hiss; he had known from the start that this Ruiz situation would be a mess, but he'd had no idea it would wind up a catastrophe. "You have the file, right?"
"Yeah, Goren dropped it off," Mike glanced at his watch and let out a slight groan, "yesterday morning."
"Was Eames with him?"
"Not that I saw. I met him downstairs, but she wasn't in the car with him."
"Where is she now?"
Mike hesitated. Goren had told him Eames was staying at his place when he handed over Ruiz' file, but it had been unspoken between them that the information was private. He respected Goren and Eames and their partnership, whatever other forms it took, and didn't want to betray their trust. Aiming to distract Ross, he reminded him, "Ruiz was good for the first killing, Captain. Left-handed, violent, a quick and accurate shooter. That's what Goren and I talked about. I didn't really ask about Eames. We should probably call her cell phone. Or maybe Goren knows where she is."
Ross sighed; he was not a stupid man, and he understood both the intention and the subtext of Logan's answer. Remembering his conversation with Jimmy Deakins, he suspected that his most productive team of detectives were about to find themselves between a crushing rock and an incredibly hard place. Taking a deep breath, he made his decision. "Let's get them both in here."
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Bobby rolled over and placed a gentle hand on Eames' hip. Sighing with contentment, he thought to himself that today had been probably the best day of his life. After "punishing" him for his sartorial choices, Eames had insisted upon breakfast in bed, and they'd enjoyed making a crumby mess of his bed before finally relenting and getting out of it.
The rest of the day had flown by; they hadn't really done anything, but the time had felt full nonetheless. First he'd had to admire her in the ensemble he'd chosen, then he'd had to charm her out of it, which had led to a revisit of Crumb Central and a very funny incident with a bagel remnant. But putting that kind of fun aside, just spending time together and talking, not about a case or his mother or her husband or Ruiz, just about themselves and random, silly things, was wonderfully relaxing, and had confirmed for him just how well they liked each other, above and beyond the other aspects of their relationship. For the first time, Bobby felt like he was with a woman who not only accepted him, but actually enjoyed his company, even to do nothing with. That's my Eames. She's perfect.
He chuckled softly to himself as he realized how little she would like that assessment; Eames was a pragmatist, and would likely immediately point out what she viewed as her flaws. That being the case, he'd have to amend his statement: That's my Eames. She's perfect…for me. He grinned against her shoulder, tracing slow and lazy circles across the contours of her hip, causing her to stir slightly. He allowed his hand to still, knowing that she needed her rest, and truth be told, as much as he wanted to stay awake to watch her and convince himself she was real and really here with him, he needed his rest too.
Snuggling in even closer to her, he allowed his eyes to close, as he began drifting to join her in a peaceful sleep.
It couldn't last.
Dear Mr. Wolf: No, I don't own them, you do, okay? But me and my friends would much appreciate your, you know, borrowing some of our ideas and making this season just a little less depressing, so please work on that. Kisses!