Gah, sorry for the wait, life's been craaaazy. I wrote half of this in an airport. SO jetlagged. Anyway, we're into the final lap, hurrah! Though, kinda gonna miss this story. Ah well. Anyway, usual stuff, don't own, please enjoy, reviewing is good for the soul, etc. Lli

Chapter Twenty: I get by with a little help from my friends

Wiggins was a very amiable fellow, and, as such, had many friends. Some friends were everyday hang out and watch vids with friends. Others were get together and kick a ball around friends. Others were hang out with to please Jacey friends. And others still were the kind of friends who liked to weasel their way into high places just for kicks. It was one of these latter friends that Wiggins was having coffee with while Holmes and Lestrade were chasing bag snatchers in Turkish back alleys.

This friend talked to another friend who spoke the cousin of a landlord who slept with someone else who got them access to LaMensange's hotel rooms.

During a rally, Wiggins and the first friend, let's call him 'Ned', snuck in and gave the place a once over, checking windows , rummaging under mattresses, fiddling with wires, and attaching a couple of new fangled micro digi-projectors that Tennyson had got them to various walls.

Later that night, they returned. LaMensange was sitting, wrapped in a housecoat thicker than shag carpet on the slick faux leather couch.

"It's a bit funny, really." Ned landed neatly, having come in through a window off a hover-scooter. "You look just like some big crook outta one of them American spy shows. Couldn't you be a bit more original? Birkenstocks? Hand-knit sweater? Anything, really, man."

"Who the hell are you?" LaMensange's British accent was engrained enough to stick even now, impressing Wiggins and Ned considerably.

Ned grinned, his overly long body loping towards the couch like a vampiric giraffe. "Well, I could say something like 'your worst nightmare' or 'The Skull' but you can call me Ned. Keeps things simple. Imagine signing checks 'your worst nightmare', what a nightmare!" He gave a guffaw at his unintentional joke.

Wiggins rolled his eyes. LaMensange blinked in utter confusion. "Whatever kid. I'm calling security. Bloody wackos!"

"Ah, yes, well. Cutting to the chase I see. You could call security, only we've buggered your alarms, yes even the one under the couch. And, see those security cameras? Well, they're running a looped tape of you drinking yourself into a stupor. Nothing for security to worry about, eh?"

"Wh-what? What do you want?" LaMensange put his tumbler of whisker on the side table before it sloshed down his front.

"Just a bit of cooperation, Mr. LaMensange." Wiggins replied quietly.

LaMensange jumped at his alias. "Mr. Who? You mean that French bugger? Sonny what are you-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. We know. Let's skip to the interesting bit." Ned poured himself some whiskey, gesticulating with his glass like a host giving a speech at a dinner party. "We are here, along with these gentleman-" He swept his arms wide and the Tennyson, watching the proceedings through a button camera on Wiggins' lapel, activated the holograms the projectors were carrying. A dozen burly, armed 

men appeared to crawl out of various dark corners and stood, rustling and rattling their guns. Tennyson was particularly proud of this soundtrack.

"-to make a deal with you." Ned took a swallow of whiskey. "We've got proof of your little double life, and of your part in the attempts on the lives of Mr. Holmes, Inspector Lestrade and Dr. Watson. Though, actually, whether or not you'd be taking a life in Dr. Watson's case is up for debate really. Still! On the whole, it's really not a nice business you're mucking about with, ethical semantics aside."

"Holmes? Lestrade? I don't know what you people are-"

"Mr. LaMensange, I thought we'd agreed to skip the part where you protest in vain for hours and make me late for my next appointment? Really, I had had higher hopes for you..." Ned shook his head over his glass in mock dismay.

LaMensange swore. "Next appointment? It's 2 am!"

Ned chuckled, shrugging. "My dentist keeps odd hours, what can I say? And I've got this cavity like you wouldn't believe-"

"Yes, yes, alright, fine. What do you want me to do? Money? Is that it?"

"Oh, now that hurts Mr. LaMensange. Do you really think we'd be so, so... predictable? (Though if you're offering I am a bit skint right now)"

"Ned." Wiggins interjected mildly.

"Sorry. No, Mr. LaMensange, we don't want your money. We want you to retire. On both sides of the channel. We want you to bugger off and leave everyone alone. Capiche?" Ned grinned. "And one whiff of you misbehaving and the Yard'll be on your arse faster than ... than... a barracuda on a fat, scantily-clad tourist."

"Dude, you gotta work on your metaphors." Wiggins rolled his eyes.

LaMensange gaped. "What is this, the Lion King? Where will I go? What do you want me to do? And really, why don't you lot turn me in if you've got so much proof? And why do you even care? Who hired you?"

Ned shrugged irritably. "In chronological order: First, no, Fox runs this show, not Disney. Second, don't ask me mate, I'm not a guidance councillor, go wherever you want. Third, honestly, what fun is turning you in? Why involve the Yard when we could deal with you ourselves? Endlessly more satisfying. And last, but not least, this guy here's a friend of the cop's. " Ned jerked a thumb towards Wiggins. "You've got 24 hours bucko."

"If it helps," Wiggins grinned. "I know a great monastery in Slovenia that's always looking for recruits. Great food."

LaMensange looked like he was about to cry.

As Watson, Holmes and Lestrade were saying their last goodbyes to Adile and Seda (who tried bravely not to have hysterics, but didn't quite manage it) Deidre was lying peacefully asleep after a long day of skyving off maths.

Ding!

She groaned, cracking an eye open.

Ding!

"Yeah, yeah, keep your knickers on."

Ding!

She jabbed the vidphone console angrily. "Whaddya- oh. Hey Wiggins. What's the news?"

Wiggins grinned. "Hook line and sinker, kiddo. Ned's got him on surveillance until we're sure he's gone but he fell for it. Thank goodness too, cuz the Yard would laughed us out of the building. But, bring 'em on home Deidre. It's gonna be alright."

She gave him a smile. "You figured it out, huh?"

He shrugged. "Just know you too well. Though, I don't envy you when the Inspector gets back, if she even suspects you're behind it, she's gonna have your skin."

Deidre paused and thought about this. "Ten credits says Holmes knows but left her in the dark."

Wiggins cackled. "Even money she'll land in Heathrow looking for blood."

"You're on."