Usual disclaimers regarding ownership. I make no money from this, and don't have much anyway, so . . . on with the story!
Chapter 21: Dolls & Disappointment
Van sat curled up in the corner of the couch, fingering her cell phone. She had given Joe ten minutes, and then called Fenton herself to confirm that Joe had kept his promise.
Fenton, in return, had promised her that he would do his best to ensure Joe stayed safe. Somehow, it didn't make her feel any better. With Frank kidnapped by Bucciano, Joe running off to confront the mob, and Nancy on her way to an interview with Mitchel, Van felt at loose ends, and particularly useless.
Nancy walked in and dropped onto the other end of the couch. "Relax, Nancy." Her tone was mocking, her expression sour.
"They're right, you know. You need to relax and prepare for your meeting with Mitchel," George said as she walked over and sat in the arm chair nearest Nancy.
"Don't try that reasonable tone on me, Georgia. I'm not in the mood."
Bess laughed as she joined them, sitting between Nancy and Vanessa on the couch. "Such petulance, Nan. What are you, three?"
"So you're both going to start in on me?"
"Stuff the attitude, Nan," George said. "We're all worried about Frank, and Joe, and Guy . . . and you for that matter. You think you have more right to be angry then anyone else sitting here?"
Nancy rubbed her hands down her thighs. "You are just too damn reasonable for me right now, George. I need to be angry."
Van didn't understand that. "Why do you need to be angry?"
"Because if I'm not angry, I'm going to fall to pieces, and I'm no good to anyone then." Nancy's back was stiff, but her eyes reflected self-doubt. That was something Vanessa doubted was common in the young detective.
Bess patted her friend's shoulder. "You've always held it together when it was important, Nan. Now won't be any different."
"My boyfriend was never in the hands of a hit man before, either, Bess." Nancy's voice was soft, hesitant, worry evident in the deep lines etching her forehead.
Van looked over at her, and tried to help shake Nancy out of her apparent uncertainty. "All the more reason to hold it together. If being angry works, then get pissed. Bucciano has been dogging Frank's steps for the last two days, and Mitchel helped him. That pisses me off."
Nancy seemed to consider Van's words seriously for several seconds. She sat forward, her expression clearing. "You're right, Van. Bucciano has been dogging Frank's steps. But Mitchel isn't in New York."
"Apparently not," Van said with a shrug, unsure why that was significant.
"So maybe Bucciano and Mitchel weren't here for the same reasons. Or, if they were, their reasons, at some point, diverged," Nancy said thoughtfully.
George's brow furrowed "I guess it makes sense if Mitchel brought Bucciano to Chicago for a hit on Frank, or Guy for that matter. But what are you thinking, Nan?"
"Bucciano has been black-listed by the DeCavalcantes, so he's not working a hit. He obviously followed the guys back to New York, but Mitchel is still here. Why?"
"Maybe he's still hoping for a story on the woman who took down the news team." Bess said teasingly.
Van was getting the distinct impression that Bess and George both played a roll in keeping Nancy on an even keel. Bess' comment, delivered in levity, didn't seem to have the desired effect on Nancy, though.
"That doesn't make sense, either. I mean, Frank and the identity theft ring have to be old news by now. Though I suppose . . . he was in the Society pages today . . . I don't know. I'm grasping, as Frank would put it." Nancy scrubbed her hands over her face.
"Relax, Nan. You're over-thinking," George said.
Nancy snapped, "Stop telling me to relax!" She stood, her expression contrite. "I'm sorry."
She strode out of the room. They could hear her talking to Riley and Jarvi in the dining room, the two men apparently serving as the new targets of her undirected anger.
Van turned to Bess. "She's kind of intense at times."
"Yeah, you get used to it," Bess said. "Nancy will be fine. She just needs a prod once in a while to keep her centered."
George nodded. "She tends to become overly analytical when she's stressed."
Bess shrugged. "Yeah, but once she decides on a course of action, she can get a little single-minded and reckless."
"Sounds a little like Frank and Joe," Van said.
"There's a reason the three of them work so well together. Nan may not be as intuitive or daring as Joe. . ." Bess said.
George continued, "Or as logical or smart as Frank. But she's really good at integrating disjointed facts into a cohesive whole. She sure seems to have a bug up her butt about Mitchel."
"Definitely! I almost feel sorry for him. Nan's got him in her sights. He hasn't got a chance," Bess finished with a smile.
Van admired the loyalty of Nancy's friends. Frank and Joe both engendered that same kind of constancy in their friends.
From the corner, Matt's voice rang out. "Hey, Riley, Nan, get in here. I just noticed something that you might find interesting."
Van, George and Bess stood and joined Nancy, Riley and Dan behind Matt, crowding into the corner curiously.
Matt turned and noticed his audience. "Oh, uh, I'm not sure it's that interesting?"
"Just talk, Matt," Riley said.
"Well, I had been checking out the timeline that Nancy and Frank put together to figure out that Phillip and Guy had swapped places. Then I was going through and pulling everything I could find on Mitch Mitchel and thought it might be interesting to try something similar with his articles, which are all online. I noticed that Mitchel had done a perspective piece on a mob enforcer that showed up dead. Apparently the guy had embezzled money from the family, and been basically kicked out of the club, and then he had a heart attack or something. Anyway, I decided to cross-check Mitchel's mob-related articles and the subjects of the articles and see if there was any other pertinent info linking Mitchel to the subjects. You know, kind of explore the whole mob connection angle –"
"Get to the freaking punchline, kid," Riley said. "We gotta hit the road soon."
"Yeah, right. Uh, anyway, I noticed that sometimes, when Mitchel publishes a piece about a person associated in some way with the mob, that person ends up dead soon before or after."
"Murder victims tend to attract press attention. Mitchel was probably just chasing stories," Dan said.
"Yeah, I considered that, but most of these folks weren't murdered. There were a couple heart attacks, a severe allergic reaction, an aneurism. Almost all were believed to have died of natural causes. But Mitchel did a piece on each within a day or two of their deaths. It was actually the fact that they died of natural causes that made me look closer, because it seemed odd."
"So, what does it mean?" Nancy asked.
Matt shrugged. "You guys are the detectives. I'm just a computer geek. I just thought it was interesting."
"Interesting, yes. Pertinent, who knows. And, Matt, don't sell yourself short – you're one hell of a computer detective." Riley cuffed the young man on the shoulder. "Come on, we better get a move on, or Nancy's going to be late for her interview."
Van walked back to the couch, and re-curled herself into the corner. She was disappointed to once again find herself in the position of being the one sitting at home and waiting for news.
"I hate this waiting and worrying. How do you stand it?" Yvonne hadn't moved. She looked small and frail sitting in the big over-stuffed chair, her face pale and drawn, eyes wide with worry.
"Are you ok, Vanessa?" Bess asked.
Based on the worry she saw directed at her by Bess, she guessed she didn't look much better. "Twice in as many weeks I'm sitting on my hands waiting for news. I'm with Yvonne, I hate it."
George nodded. "It does suck, but you have to trust them to make it through this. Nan's never let us down, and neither have Frank and Joe. And between the three of them, they've been through more than their fair share of close scrapes."
"What if this is the time their luck runs out?" Van asked despondently.
Bess forced a grin. "It isn't luck, they're just that good."
Van looked at Bess for several seconds, and then gave a confident nod. "You're right. I just need to be reminded every once in awhile."
Laughter bubbled out of Bess' lips. "God knows if you're marrying Joe Hardy you're going to get lots of practice at this, Van. I don't think I could take it, and I grew up with Nan as a best friend!"
Van and George joined in Bess' laughter. Vanessa allowed her faith in Joe's, Frank's and Nancy's abilities to buoy her spirit, while Bess and George helped lighten the mood. Glancing over, she noticed that Yvonne had not even cracked a smile, her posture still stiff.
While she couldn't help resolve the situation, Van decided she could at least help Yvonne deal with the stress of the waiting.
After all, she did have lots of practice.
"I hate having you in my head, Riley," Nancy muttered as she put a finger up to her ear to assure herself, again, that the earpiece wasn't noticeable.
"Poor baby. Suck it up, and stop fiddling with the bud. He'll never see it." Riley's voice sounded in her ear.
"Ok, I'm almost at the coffee shop. Shut up."
"So rude."
"Please."
Nancy scanned the interior of the coffee shop as she walked past the picture window toward the entryway. She spotted Mitchel at a corner table. He already had two cups sitting in front of him. She made her way across the crowded coffee shop toward him.
"Hello, Mr. Mitchel. It's nice to meet you again." Nancy held out a hand.
One of Mitchel's eyebrows disappeared up into his wavy black bangs as an amused half smile graced his aquiline face. He shook her hand and then waved her to the seat across the table from him.
"I'm just glad you chose a handshake rather than a face plant as a greeting this time."
Nancy knew an apology was probably expected, though in all honesty, she didn't feel all that repentant. "I'm sorry about that. I'm afraid you caught me off-guard."
"I would bet that catching you off-guard is difficult." Mitchel pushed a coffee container toward her. "Light on the cream, no sugar?"
"How did you know how I take my coffee?" Nancy suddenly felt wary, but made a conscious effort to hide it. That was the kind of almost intimate detail that a complete stranger should not know.
"I'm a keen observer of the human condition, Ms. Drew. Or may I call you Nancy?" He acknowledged Nancy's nod and took a sip of his coffee. "For example, I quickly realized just why you were so reluctant to tread on Frank Hardy's story. How long have you two been seeing one another?"
Nancy took the lid off her coffee and blew on it watching Mitchel through the rising steam. "So, is this the official start of the interview?"
He smiled, and Nancy had to admit that Bess was right. He was attractive, in a self-satisfied, superior sort of way, when he wasn't shoving a microphone in your face.
"I suppose it could be. I was very interested when I heard that Hardy had been aided by a young woman detective from Chicago. It seems to me that your story is worth telling. If it includes a little romance, so much the better. My lady readers eat that kind of thing up."
"Frank and I have known each other since we were kids," Nancy offered.
"So he's just an old friend?"
"I didn't say that."
"Are you going to be this forthcoming during the entire interview?"
Nancy shrugged. She got the impression that Mitchel enjoyed a challenge, and she planned to oblige him.
"I'm afraid it's a habit. I'd hate to make this too easy on you. By the way, I have a couple questions of my own."
Mitchel took another sip of his coffee. "Did I put too much cream in?"
"Huh?" Nancy followed his gaze down to her coffee cup. "Oh, no, it's fine. It's just very hot."
"Would you like me to go get you some ice?"
"Um, sure."
Riley's voice sounded in her ear. "What's up?"
Nancy turned her head toward the wall as if examining the artwork hanging there. "He's getting me ice for my coffee."
"Accommodating, isn't he?"
Mitchel returned with a small cup of ice chips. "Here you go. They always keep the coffee too freaking hot in these places."
"Thanks," Nancy said.
She dropped a few ice chips into the cup, and then looked up at Mitchel. He was watching her with a curious intensity that made her uncomfortable. She was definitely going to watch her step with him.
"Where's your camera man?" She asked.
"Who knows? After Frank and Joe got us thrown out of the hotel, he just took off. The guy was a psycho. Sometimes I wonder where they find them."
Nancy couldn't tell if Mitchel was telling the truth or not. It sounded plausible enough, but something about the answer seemed almost too pat. Perhaps a more direct query was in order.
"So you didn't know your camera man was Vito Bucciano, the mob hit man?"
Mitchel raised his eyebrows and snorted. "No. You're kidding, right?"
"No, I'm not kidding. Associating with mobsters is an unhealthy practice, Mr. Mitchel."
"Please, call me Mitch, and trust me, I know associating with the mob is dangerous business. My usual cameraman had the flu, and they sent me him. He told me his name was Bill Smith. Is that why you decided to talk to me?"
"Part of the reason. If you know anything about Bucciano's plans, I need to know."
"You know, your coffee is probably cool now." Mitchel said.
"No, it's still hot," Nancy said, dumping in more ice. She was beginning to get more than a little suspicious, and heard Riley hiss in her ear. 'Don't drink the freaking coffee. I'll be right in.'
"As far as Bucciano, or whatever you called him. I have no clue why he was here. Why are you asking?"
Nancy shrugged. "If you don't know anything, then I guess it doesn't really matter why I'm asking.
She saw Riley come in, miming to her to pick up her cup and stick her elbow out. She did as instructed.
"Mm, I think it's finally cool enough to drink," She said with a smile.
Riley walked by and knocked her elbow, spilling the contents of the cup all over the table and floor.
"Shit!" Mitchel leapt up from the table and turned a furious glare on Riley, who had stopped and was apologizing profusely.
"I'm so sorry. Here, let me clean that up for you." He handed Mitchel a ten dollar bill. "Really, I'm so sorry. I'll take care of this. Why don't you go get your lady friend another coffee on me." Riley began using napkins from the table to sop the spilled coffee into the nearly empty cup.
Mitchel headed up to the counter to replace Nancy's coffee, while she helped Riley clean up the mess.
"Watch yourself, Drew," Riley murmured before he walked out the back entrance, carrying the coffee cup with him.
Mitchel returned several minutes later. "Where did that guy go? I've got his change."
"He took off out the back door. I think he was embarrassed."
"Well, here. Drink it fast before we take another bath." Mitchel chuckled.
Nancy put some ice chips in the new coffee. "Um, could you get me a spoon?"
Mitchel sighed. "Sure."
While he was gone, Nancy surreptitiously dumped half of the coffee in the cup into the trash can behind her.
When Mitchel returned Nancy accepted the spoon with a thank you and stirred her coffee to dissolve another deposit of ice cubes. "The coffee is good," she said.
He glanced in her cup, and nodded. "You took my advice to heart, huh? Looks like you guzzled it."
Nancy grinned. "After all this time I was getting thirsty. So, Mitch, that pretty much wraps up my questions. What do you want to know?"
He leaned forward and pinned her with an intense gaze. "I'd like to hear your side of the story."
"It's no different then what Frank's been saying."
Mitchel snorted and shook his head. "Indulge me. Tell me what happened in your own words."
Nancy took a deep breath, and spoke quickly, mimicking Matt's performance when he was telling them what he had found on Mitchel this morning.
"Frank discovered the anomaly in the death claims data when he was reviewing it as a case study for his thesis. We knew something was up when Kendall flew off the handle about Frank having a copy of the database. I joined Frank and we spent an afternoon at the Main Branch Library in New York searching for potential identity matches, while Joe did the follow-up research back at the office."
Nancy swirled her coffee. What happened next made her think starkly about Frank's current predicament, and took her a moment to squelch the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm her everytime she thought about it.
"When we were leaving, a bunch of thugs jumped us and hauled us up to Harrington, apparently to make sure Frank hadn't made any copies of his version of the database, which hadn't yet been sanitized. We were able to escape, and hiked through the woods to the Military Academy. Unfortunately, another mob accomplice had told the MPs that we were wanted criminals, so they threw us in jail. Luckily, Joe and Lieutenant Biff Hooper, a friend of the Hardy's showed up just in time to keep Frank and I from ending up in hot water again. The bad guys were all rounded up. The Bureau made their busts. And here we are."
"How can you make such a harrowing experience sound so boring?" Mitchel asked with a shake of his head.
"I'm not the journalist, Mitch." Nancy threw her hands out in an expansive 'I don't know' motion, and knocked her coffee over, emptying what remained of the contents on the table and floor.
She groaned. "I think that's some kind of sign. I'm done with coffee for the day."
Mitchel laughed. "Good, because we're getting dirty looks. Why don't we slog on out of here and take a walk in the park. We'll talk about some more of the details so we can prep for the official interview. I'm afraid I'm doing my own camera work today." He patted his shoulder pack.
"You want to go to Lincoln Park?"
"Yeah, it's not far. I was wandering around there before our meeting and found a nice quiet spot with a bench where we could conduct the interview."
Riley's voice sounded in her ear. "I don't think that's a good idea, Nancy."
"Lincoln Park it is, then. I think I need to stop by the lady's room before we leave."
In her ear Riley muttered, "Damn it, Drew."
In the park, they wandered around for a few minutes while Mitchel plied her with questions about what had happened after she and Frank were kidnapped last week. Then Mitchel led her to a quiet glade with a bench. People could be heard walking by, but they were far enough off the path and screened by trees and shrubs to be unnoticeable.
Nancy took a seat while Mitchel set up his camera tripod. It was a beautiful day, sunny and unseasonably warm. Nancy was wishing she could shed her jacket, but was unwilling. It was the only thing concealing her weapon.
"So, you were actually the one who took Kendall down?" Mitchel asked as he attached the camera to the tripod.
"I knocked him to the ground, if that's what you mean. I hardly 'took him down' – you make me sound like a WWF wrestler or something."
Nancy pushed her hair back off her forehead and swiped at the sweat.
"Are you getting drowsy, Nancy?"
"I think it warmed up a little too quickly for me." Nancy sat back, and allowed her eyes to close half way.
"I think it's pleasant. Tell me something, Nancy, will Frank miss you?"
"Miss me?" Nancy asked drowsily. "What are you talking about?"
"I hope it's some consolation that you won't feel a thing. I dosed the cup pretty heavily. I'm surprised you've lasted this long."
"What did you do?" Nancy allowed a note of panic to enter her tone. The son of a bitch had tried to slip her something. She made a mental note to thank Matt for his eleventh hour discovery.
She had a strong urge to wipe the smug smile off Mitchel's face, but she squelched it. He seemed willing to talk, and the more information she could lull out of him, the better. He had turned on the camera, trained on her. That was interesting.
"Actually, this is the first time I've tried this particular drug. It seemed almost too pedestrian. But since I was taking you in the middle of the afternoon, I knew I was going to have to be particularly careful, and crafty."
"Crafty?" This guy was unreal, preening in front of the camera as he paced in front of her.
"Yes. It took me longer than usual to get this hit set up. I don't know Chicago very well, and everything had to be perfect. I don't take chances. I've never even been on a suspect list because I'm just another face in the rabble of reporters. The mob bosses don't even know who I am. When they want me, they ask for the Pharmicist. Someday, that name will be known . . . and feared."
"How long?" Nancy had leaned back, keeping her eyes at half mast as she followed Mitchel's movements carefully. He apparently thought she wasn't going anywhere. She wondered what he had tried to dose her with. She assumed she was supposed to be sleepy, unable to move? She figured the longer she could keep up the pretense the deeper the narcissistic bastard would bury himself. It seemed appropriate that he was taping his own confession.
"Nearly four years. It started out as a fortuitous coincidence. The Gambino family and I happened to have a mutual enemy that I took care of. My phantom identity started then, in the underground and I started getting job offers. My reputation quickly developed as not only efficient by subtle. At times, even the mob likes a hit to go unnoticed. My skills lend themselves to that."
Nancy rolled her head back, and mumbled, "Why?"
Mitchel's smug smile broadened, as he stopped angled in front of her so the camera was shooting his good side, she was sure. His voice was quiet as he began to explain his entire plan.
"It was a brilliant manipulation of the entire situation on my part, really. The DeCavalcantes want revenge for the mess with the identity theft ring, but they don't want to tip off the Bureau and bring down any more scrutiny on themselves. It was just luck that I happened to be there when the cops busted Bucciano's pervert brother. Actually, I should thank Joe Hardy for attacking me – that's why I made an impression on Vito. He approached me after his brother was convicted, looking for dirt on the Hardy brothers, figuring I was an ally of sorts. Then just over a week later, when the DeCavalcantes approached me about taking out the trio responsible for their problems, I saw an opportunity to take out three birds with one stone."
"I heard Joe Hardy was planning to take his fiancé to Chicago for vacation and I knew Frank Hardy had plans to visit U of I mid-week and I figured he would be stopping by to see you. The stars were aligning to have you all in the same city, away from New York, for at least a few days. Luckily I had contingencies, because I didn't plan for the FBI babysitters that Hardy brought with him. That was a pain in the ass. Luckily, I'd brought Bucciano as a backup. I just had to push the right buttons with that psycho."
Mitchel's face flashed with self-congratulations. "It's the first time I've ever used another person as a weapon – a particularly canny move on my part. I managed to get a message to the DeCavalcantes to black-list Bucciano, so they couldn't be connected with the hit. Frank and Joe Hardy are as good as dead. That just leaves me you to deal with."
Mitchel walked over and lifted her eyelids in turn with his thumb. "You must not have gotten as much as I thought you did," He said curiously.
He reached into her jacket for her gun, but Nancy beat him to it, and pulled it out. It took Mitchel a moment to realize that she wasn't as pliable as he had thought, and by then she had him pushed onto the bench, her gun pressed into his shoulder.
"What the hell?"
"Riley, it's time. We're in a glade off the south end of the pond."
She heard, 'On our way.' Just as Mitchel said, "Who are you talking you? You aren't wired. I checked."
"Not wired, but not alone, either."
Mitchel's face reflected his disbelief, eyes wide, mouth slack. "I thought you drank the coffee."
Nancy shook her head with a smile, "Thanks to my friend, I didn't. I'm afraid your careful planning was all for nothing, Mitch."
Mitchel's smug smile was gone. In its place was a burning, spiteful fury that made Nancy smile. She loved the part when the bad guy realized he'd been had.
"Now, since you were so forthcoming, I know you know what Bucciano is up to, so how about we revisit my earlier questions."
The smug smile was trying to make a reappearance. "He got to the Hardys, didn't he?"
Nancy jabbed the gun into his shoulder, eliciting a grunt. "Tell me what you know."
"Or what? Are you going to shoot me, Nancy?"
"No."
"Then why should I tell you anything more?"
"Because, if you don't, I'll make damn sure the Pharmacist goes to jail as a total unknown – all those lovely, intricate hits of yours never credited to you. You're very pretty. I'm sure you'll be popular. Of course, as a known hit man, you might gain some respect."
Mitchel's lips were pressed into a thin line. "Bitch."
"So, Mitch, what were Bucciano's plans?"
Mitchel let out a bark of laughter, fading to a taunting smile. "But see, that's the beauty of it. I don't know. I just know he planned to take revenge on Joe Hardy for putting his brother away, and that he planned to use Frank Hardy to do it. If it were me, I'd kidnap both of them and make Joe watch while I killed Frank, nice and slow. And then, I'd snuff Joe. That sounds like Bucciano's style."
"He didn't say anything about what his plans were?"
"Only thing he ever said to me was that he figured he could get his revenge and protect his brother in the process."
"His brother's in jail. How's he going to protect him?"
Mitchel shrugged. "Not my problem. Vic is a real pervert. Vito kept muttering about what happened to wimpy rapists in jail. Apparently, his brother was taking a beating. That's all I know."
Nancy took a step back, and looked up as Riley and Matt came forward.
"Jarvi sent us some backup." He urged Mitchel up from the bench, and held his arm, as an FBI agent that had followed him into the glen cuffed the man.
"Thanks to Mitchel, we got all of it on tape." Nancy watched as Matt retrieved the memory card from the camera, which another FBI agent promptly took and placed into an evidence bag.
"You know, Drew, I'm really questioning whether you should be hanging around those Hardy brothers. The three of you together are like a trouble super-magnet," Riley said as the agent that had cuffed Mitchel, began to escort him out of the glen, reading him his rights.
Nancy snorted, unamused. "The analogy I used was a black hole, but same idea. Any news yet?"
"Jarvi said Hank is in surgery. His odds are pretty good. The air bags apparently did their job," Riley said.
Nancy stared at Riley for several seconds, almost afraid to ask the follow-up question. "Nothing about Frank or Bucciano, yet?"
"I'm afraid not, kiddo." Riley said quietly.
Mitchel pulled away from his escort and turned to smirk at Nancy. "Bucciano did get to one of the Hardys, huh? I hope you said goodbye, Nancy."
Nancy turned her back on Mitchel and focused on Riley. "I hope to hell Joe has better luck with Guy's sources."
Riley squeezed her shoulder. "Keep the faith, Drew. We'll find Frank."
She nodded mutely. She was afraid to open her mouth. Afraid that if she did, she would totally lose it. She hadn't realized just how much of her hope had been hinging on learning something useful from Mitchel. But there was still Joe and Guy. They had to learn something.
Riley tried to distract her. "I guess it's a good thing I took that coffee, huh?"
Nancy smiled ruefully and nodded. She turned to Matt, "I owe you a big one, Matt."
"Any time, Nan." Turning to Riley, he asked uncertainly, "What did I do?"
A/N:
Thanks, again, to everyone who reviewed! I ended up splitting this chapter into two – so this one is all Vanessa and Nancy. The next chapter, I promise, is all Joe and Frank. Sorry, I had to draw out the tension a little longer. I'm just evil that way ;)
Three more little chapters to go. I hope you're enjoying the last of this story!