Jigsaw – Chapter Twenty-Nine

It was almost midnight. Ryan had arrived just after ten that evening and he and Tim and Jo had sat on her front step with a beer before she'd headed off to bed and then Tim had brought Ryan into his house to catch up on the news, drink a bit more.

"She's an interesting girl."

"Yep."

Ryan nodded, smiled. "So, I get your room?"

"Yep."

"Awesome. Not that your couch isn't comfortable, but…" He sat at Tim's kitchen table, completely at home. "Why don't you just move in with her?"

"She lives next door."

"Convenience."

"Uh, yeah. So I don't have to pack. I hate packing."

"You're such a commitment kinda guy. It's touching."

"You have to meet her dad, then maybe you'd understand why I don't just move in."

"I have to meet her dad? It's getting that fucking serious?"

"Your condition is getting serious."

A shared laugh.

"Where's my beer, dude? This one's empty."

"In the fridge. Help yourself," said Tim, and walked into the dining room.

He was two-finger typing the long URL that Ky had left for him when Ryan came up behind him and tapped him on the back of the head with something cold. Tim ignored him.

"Who loves you?" said Ryan, waving the beer now in front of Tim's face.

"You always did know the way to my heart, you fucking pain in the ass."

Tim reached for the bottle blindly, focused on his task at the computer, chased empty air until Ryan eventually gave up waiting for the hand and bottle to connect and set the beer down in front of Tim on the desk, then he pulled a chair over and sat down. The file of reports from Isabelle was sitting beside the keyboard and Tim slid it over in front of Ryan and pointed to it with his bottle. He sipped at his beer and watched while Ryan flipped through the pages. Tim was anticipating a strong reaction and Ryan didn't disappoint him.

"Fuck me," he said finally. "What the fuck is that? Is that...?"

"Fingers."

"Jesus. None of them is that guy you know, is it? That ex-SOG guy? Atlanta."

Tim shook his head, no.

"Then what're you doing this for?"

"These guys killed one of Max's friends…and Max is missing."

"You think…?" Ryan gestured at the file.

Tim shook his head again, shrugged. "I don't know." He tilted his head to the side, considering the question. The page he was waiting for loaded finally and he clicked on one of the forum threads and waited, then clicked on a link when the next page loaded. "I don't know," he said again. "There's been only two bodies in each city. Max would make three in Atlanta, so…unless he interrupted maybe…which I think he did. And if he did, well I'm honestly not too sure who would come out the loser in that scuffle."

Ryan's eyebrows shot up, disbelief. "The old drunk could take on this psycho? Seriously?"

"Max is a tough bastard."

"Shit, you're serious. You really think he might've pulled off some badass street justice?"

"Fuck, man, I don't know. I don't know what he's capable of anymore, but there's some interesting shit in his past."

"That was years ago."

"You don't know him."

"So what are you planning on doing?"

"I'm going to keep looking for Max, but first I'm going to talk to a guy in Detroit." He nodded at the screen. "Isabelle's pretty sure he's one of the two on this thread, posting these nice pictures for our entertainment." The next page had loaded, an artistic black and white photo of a body on the pavement, and Tim pointed at it. "I think there's two of them doing this and they're playing this game, back and forth. If I can get to one of them, maybe the other'll stop. That's the only plan I got, 'cause I don't think it's going to be possible to track them both down – not without a fucking shitload of luck, and I should know – I track people down for a living."

Ryan backtracked through Tim's answer. "Wait. Isabelle? That crazy intel Captain that you…?"

"Same one."

"How's she doing?"

"She's alright."

"You two still keep in touch? Fuck, I thought you were stupid getting involved with her then."

"Yep, you told me about a hundred fucking times. So shut the fuck up about it, already. Isabelle is…"

"Crazy."

"She's alright. I got time for her."

Ryan smirked.

"Fuck off."

Hands up surrendering, Ryan laughed. "I'm done."

"Until you're fucking not again."

"Detroit, huh?"

"Yeah, Detroit. I'm leaving tomorrow morning if you feel like joining me. You don't have to..."

Ryan stretched, yawned. "Better than the house repair list I've got waiting for me at my mom's. Count me in." He covered most of his face with his hands, everything but his eyes and mouth and did his best Christian Bale. "I'm Batman."

Tim turned back to his computer, backed out of the forum and shut down the Tor browser. "You're bat shit crazy."

"So are you gonna tell me what happened to your face?"

"Only if you drop your bad imitation of Batman, dipshit."

"I'm Batman."

A wry head tilt, an even wryer expression. "It was the unicorns, again. They're working for the Joker."

"Really? Man, that sucks. I liked unicorns. I thought they were all innocence and fucking farts that smell like flowers coming out of their asses."


Tim woke early with Jo, went next door and ousted Ryan out of his bed, then went back to Jo's for coffee. A Harley pulled around the corner as Tim walked out of his house, stopping him before he got to the bottom of his front steps. The bike slowed and climbed the curb onto Jo's walkway, and Ky lifted off his helmet and grinned a greeting from the seat, shut the engine down.

"What's up?" Tim took the last two steps slowly and walked over. "You giving Jo a ride to work?"

"No. I thought you might like some company."

"What?"

"I'm going to Detroit with you."

"What? No, you're not."

"Jack said, 'Go follow that stupid Marshal.'" Ky yawned and stretched. "So that's what I'm gonna do. Shit, I don't usually get up at this hour. Has Jo got any coffee?"

"You're not coming."

"I'll follow you on my bike if I have to 'cause Jack said so, and I don't argue with Jack – not when he's got his mind set. Insurance, he said."

Tim could think of a few reasons why Jack might wish to send Ky along and he didn't really like any of them. The lawman side of Tim figured Jack wanted to involve the Outlaws in this so that they'd have something on him, a Marshal, just in case, protecting himself and his gang, and protecting Jo too. Another possibility, remote, was that he wanted someone to keep an eye on his daughter's boyfriend, a lack of trust or perhaps an honest concern for Tim's well-being for Jo's sake. Or, maybe he just wanted to see that this thing got done in Outlaw fashion since they were already involved, some vigilante code of conduct – God forgives. Outlaws don't. "Insurance for what?" he said eventually, wondering if he'd get the truth.

"Insurance so you don't fuck up and let the guy get away."

It sounded like the truth; it was believable. "And how does sending you along ensure that?"

"Marshal, you want this guy, right? I can look at his computer in ways you wouldn't even think of."

"You make that sound erotic." But Tim had to admit, it made sense, no matter how much he didn't like it. What he and Ryan together knew about computers was just barely enough to put them comfortably into the twenty-first century. Ky could run nerd rings around them. Tim looked at his truck, the lack of legroom behind the front seats. "You'll have to fight Ryan for shotgun."

"Okay. Who's Ryan?"

"I'm kidding. You get the back."

"I plan on sleeping anyway."

"Alright, what the fuck." Tim threw his arms in the air, surrendering his life to the fates. "Come on. Jo's got coffee made."

Tim trudged back into the neighbor's, narrowed his eyes at her when she called out a greeting for Ky without looking up to see who it was first. She caught his look, smiled guiltily, handed Ky an empty mug and waved at the coffee maker then took Tim by the arm and led him back out the front door.

"It was Daddy's idea…"

"You told him my business."

"This is his business too. I mean it's definitely not Marshal business so don't pull that bullshit. It's like the greater good, and all. Citizens of the world unite."

Tim wiped a hand across his mouth, angry.

"I know the difference," she said. "I know better than to discuss either of your businesses with the other. And I know how far I can trust my father, and it's farther than I can dream."

"Well, I'm not sure how far I can trust him, especially if things don't work out with us. How far can I trust him then?"

"Tim, you do right by me and it won't matter to him if we're together or not."

"Right by whose definition?"

"We've had this discussion. I think our definitions are pretty much painted equally."

Her statement brought to mind for Tim a picture again of that circle, that curving line that he couldn't ever figure if he were on the right side of. The complications of love and loyalty and court justice and human decency, what he could and couldn't live with, what he could and couldn't live without, and that line not only curved unexpectedly but blurred, and sometimes it disappeared completely. He dropped his head and let his anger go and shrugged, and she smiled and slipped her hands around his chest and pulled him close.

"I like that you got good people going with you."

"Ky is good people?"

She took a step back to see him better, a funny look on her face, both bemused and unambiguous. "I think Ky is my half-brother, but I haven't had it confirmed yet by Daddy, and I haven't asked. It's the way he treats him… Maybe he doesn't even know for sure."

"There are definitely similarities."

"Uh-huh." She shrugged. "It is what it is."

"You're like water, you know that?"

"I like the way you say that. It sounds like a compliment."

"It is."

"You thirsty?"

He grinned. "Lately, all the time." She closed the distance between them again, pressed up against him and kissed him.

"Jesus, didn't you two get enough last night?" Ryan was standing in his boxers in Tim's doorway. "When are we leaving anyway? Do I have time for a shower? I hope you got some coffee going, Jo, 'cause Tim's not much of a host." He nodded at the Harley. "Nice bike. Is that your bike? A girl with a bike – that's like sprinkles on your ice cream. I dunno, Jo, maybe you should be worried that he only likes you for your Harley."

Tim squeezed his eyes tight. "Fucking five hours in a truck with him today. It's penance for something. It's gotta be, right?"


The Marshals Office for the Eastern District of Michigan was located in downtown Detroit, only a few blocks from the waterfront and the Joe Louis Arena. Tim dropped Ky and Ryan at the corner and pointed in the direction of the Detroit River and told them to take a walk, get a tour of the sports arena maybe. They seemed to get along well, talked for the entire road trip discussing bikes and girls and Ranger training and girls and biker life and girls and private military contracting and mothers. They had the same taste in music, too.

"Hey, you know what's due south of us here?" Ky folded his arms and waited for one of them to answer, looking incongruously like a high school teacher.

"A bar?" Ryan was more like the kid at the back of the class.

"No. Canada. Weird, huh?"

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"Let's go check it out, wave at some Canadians."

The two men strolled off to see if maybe there was a bar on the way to the border and Tim circled the block and headed for the federal court house.

The Bureau Chief, Art's friend, Kirkland, was waiting with a local United States Attorney, an RCMP liaison, and a homicide investigator from the Windsor police to discuss the possible connection between the murder of a Canadian drug runner on their side of the border and Boyd Crowder's operation in Kentucky.

"How's Art doing?" Kirkland pointed Tim to a chair after the introductions were made.

"He's grumpy."

"Recovering then."

"The only way he knows how."

The Bureau Chief chuckled. "I'm coming down to see him next week."

"Bring back up."

"Is that what happened to your face?"

"Nah, I'm too fast for him. Especially now."

Kirkland pressed the point so Tim gave a hurried and entertaining version of the Lexington court house drama.

"Maybe I'll trade places with Rachel," said Kirkland after he'd heard the story. "Lexington is way more interesting than Detroit."

"That's why I volunteered to come up today."

"You heading back tonight?"

"That's the plan."

"Then we won't keep you."

Tim listened and took notes and signed off on some evidence to take back to Vasquez, satisfying the chain of custody procedures, and then he left as soon as he could to meet up again with Ky and Ryan. Ryan bounced a cryptic text to Tim through Chris Wilkie who was still in Virginia. The message wouldn't have made sense to anyone who hadn't shared the particular war experiences that Tim and Ryan had. It made Tim smile when he got it, and he got the hidden message too, the name of a bar between the court house and the Detroit River. Ryan and Ky managed to find a place with good beer due south of where he'd dropped them off. He walked into the establishment around dinner time and found them arguing.

"Batman is the shit. No superpowers and he still kicks ass."

"Sure, but c'mon…billionaire. He can fucking buy superpowers. He does buy superpowers. The guy's got a butler for fuck's sake. He doesn't even have to bother wiping his ass. He pays someone to do that."

"Not the same. Superman has superhuman strength."

"It's close enough. Batman's got expensive technology…and a butler."

"You don't know shit."

"Did you get a head injury in combat?"

"Fuck you. I'll bet you don't even wear a helmet, biker boy. What's the point, right?"

Tim stood listening, just long enough to regret the fact that they were a few drinks up on him. "Hey."

"Dude," said Ryan, looking up, "You're just in time to settle an argument."

Ky clarified. "Batman or Superman? Which one is better?"

"That's been argued to death. It's so last century. Everyone knows that Master Chief is the shit. He kicks ass without demanding the limelight – quiet professionalism."

Ky and Ryan exchanged a look, camaraderie, a common enemy. Ryan spoke for them both. "That's just fucking stupid, dude. He's a gaming character."

Ky agreed. "And he's genetically enhanced. Doesn't count."

"No superpowers. And being military, and a Marine at that, I guarantee he doesn't get paid shit, so no billions – just plain fucking badass." Crossing his arms, Tim dared them to counter his points.

Ryan made a dismissive noise. "Like I said, that's just fucking stupid."

Tim shrugged. "Hey, you wanted my opinion. Now, order me a beer – I gotta pee. I've been sitting in a meeting with lawyers and Canadians. One gives me a hankering to shoot something and the other gives me a hankering for beer. You guys eat yet?"


xxxxxxxxx

Author's note: Quiet professionalism. A wink and a nod and a thanks.