Author's Note: It's been a while and that sucks and I'm sorry. Hopefully, this chapter delivers. Either way, let me know because feedback is crack and KWillie insists I should become an addict. (I think she wants help with one of the 12 steps myself?!) Anyway, thanks for reading this far!

Quid Pro Quo

Chapter 37

Having somewhat deserved the hoodlum reputation of his youth, Tommy Rizzoli, years later, was relying upon the experience to help his sister. Although he had given up the criminal lifestyle, he still maintained a few notable connections with current practitioners. Maura had wanted him to stay at his parent's house but by midday Tommy's patience bottomed out. Against his mother's strident protests, the middle sibling swept up his car keys and departed. It was a long shot, at best, he knew, but sitting around the house waiting for word went against the grain. Determination hardened his jaw as he drove around different neighborhoods, eyes scanning the sidewalks for a familiar face. Chances of spotting someone during the day would be the proverbial needle in the haystack. All he knew was he had to try, to act. Jane needed him.

As Tommy cruised the back streets of ramshackle communities, Frost had called him several times, even left a voicemail but Tommy ignored it. His eyes squinted and strained upon every person walking on the sidewalks, hoping for a familiar gait or certain attitude. Brusquely he silenced the cell phone alert of yet another incoming call when he spied a rather heavyset man standing on the corner. Tommy's blood tingled when he realized the man looked like someone he knew. Just as he was about to roll down the window, his phone alert announced an incoming text. Angry, Tommy snatched the phone, on the brink of cursing a blue streak but still trying to retain a visual on the stranger and look at his phone. It was a text from Frost:

Meet me at the park on Madison ASAP. It's about Jane.

Tommy wrenched the wheel to the right and turned, stepping on the gas. Regret lingered as he looked in the rearview mirror, seeing his chance get smaller with each second. This better pan out, he thought. It wasn't every day he got to help his sister out. She was such a paragon that he felt a tiny thrill she was in jail, a place everyone…everyone said he'd end up. With the exception of a stint in a juvenile facility, his record was clean which was more than could now be said for Jane's. The traffic was light heading east and Tommy took advantage. Within minutes he was pulling into a small parking lot. Frost's vehicle wasn't hard to spot parked amongst the minivans. Before Tommy could exit his car, the detective was already opening its passenger door.

The first thing Tommy registered was how Frost was dressed. The nondescript jeans and sweatshirt, especially during working hours, went against the norm. Tommy's eyes swept over the other man and noticed he wasn't carrying his gun nor displaying his badge.

"This one's off the books." The hard resolute set of Frost's features ignited a corresponding response within Tommy.

"What we gonna do?"

Frost adjusted his shoulders, tugging at the large sweatshirt. "We're gonna see the cryptkeeper."

Tommy cranked the ignition but didn't put the car in gear. "Who in the hell is that?"

"He's an information specialist—"

"Like private eye?"

"Like the Edgar Hoover of fuckin' private eyes, dude."

Tommy's eyebrows shot up. "No shit?" When Frost nodded, Tommy said, "So, what's he got to do with my sister?"

"Korsak went to talk to Colin McBride. He denies having anything to do with Jane's setup."

"Dude, I aint followin' yah."

Sighing with exaggerated patience, Frost squeezed his eyes shut. "Look, just drive to the Heights. He's got a condo there. Colin swears he only arranged a meet and greet with Jane and the cryptkeeper because Jane wanted information on Vanessa Blake. Apparently, the cryptkeeper has a huge network, particularly within local government and law enforcement agencies."

"So, what went wrong?" Tommy braked at a stoplight, rapidly drumming his fingers over the arch of the steering wheel.

"Jane went to the meeting, expecting Colin to take her to the cryptkeeper but there was this guy with an envelope."

"Shit."

"This guy hands it over and then all hell breaks loose and your sister takes off."

"What was in the envelop?"

Frost moved forward, slipping his hand behind his back then bringing forth a gun from his waistband. He solemnly handed it over to Tommy who really didn't want it. He shook his head, watching the traffic.

"This guy's dangerous. I don't know what we're walking into, man."

Tommy shrugged, then said, "I aint gonna carry." A quirk of a smile lit up his face. "Besides, that's what you're here for, dude."

Frost waited a second, hand palming the gun. He nodded once then pocketed the weapon and picked up where he left off. "There was money in the envelope. A bribe, maybe. An exchange like that between a cop and criminal—not part of a sting—isn't ever a good thing."

Tommy barked out a curse or two, his knuckles white as his hands gripped the wheel. The conversation fizzled out, each man preoccupied with the confrontation ahead.

XXX

Cavanaugh leaned against his desk, arms folded across his chest as he listened to Korsak's explanation. After having been informed by the Lieutenant of the 23rd that one of his detectives had been arrested in a raid conducted by them, Cavanaugh's molars felt as if they'd been ground down to nubs. Rizzoli was a pain in the ass but she was his pain and mostly worth the aggravation. The courtesy call came through his cell late the night before as he was reading in bed. It was enough to ruin whatever elusive sleep he had been chasing. He secured extra protection for Jane while she was incarcerated in lieu of a few debts, namely a 'get out of jail free' card for the any future misdemeanor incurred by a drug-experimenting nephew of 23rd's Lieutenant.

"So, you think this defense attorney…?"

"Colin McBride." Korsak supplied.

"He's clean?"

The detective repositioned his ass on the hard seat. "There's no upside for him to cause that kinda trouble for Jane."

Cavanaugh grunted. "What's this character—the cryptkeeper—you got a real name?"

"Doesn't operate that way, according to McBride. The guy deals in information. Could be he owed someone a favor or saw an opportunity."

"The Feds are coming by later." At Korsak's look of surprise, he elaborated, "Apparently they want to share information about Blake."

"Are they going on a fishin' expedition?"

Cavanaugh stood and straightened his arms. "It's time to put our cards on the table. Get Frost in here and brief me on everything you know about Agent Blake."

"What about Jane? We can't just leave her in jail, Lieutenant."

"The narcotics division in the 23rd got a tip from one of their reliable sources that some kinda of drug pay off was going down at the Econo. They already had the place under surveillance."

"So, they got her on tape?"

Cavanaugh blew out a heavy breath. "Yup. Looks like she's taking a payment."

"But they didn't find anything on her."

"The guy who handed her the envelop—that's their informant and he's swearing he's had regular dealings with Rizzoli."

"Let me interrogate him." Korsak eagerly stood but Cavanaugh was already shaking his head.

"Won't fly, you know that, Vince. IAD's been called in."

XXX

The warehouse district, no longer home to the shoe, textile, and zipper factories, had become the quintessential urban renewal project. Expensive lofts with overhauled elevator lifts, walls of awning windows, and artfully stained wooden floors attracted those that could afford it. The smallest building was encompassed by towering trees, nearly even with the roof. Frost and Tommy double parked by the modified loading dock in the back. Quiet and genteel, the neighborhood was an antithetical example to its humble, working class origins. Men in overalls and women in cotton smocks did not engorge the pristine sidewalks on their way to the bus station after a twelve hour shift. The new residents of the area wore Gucci, Armani, and a host of other designer clothing and they never stopped working. Constantly projecting their conversations out into the public, the new breed of worker sported Bluetooth devices.

When they reached the front entrance, the blast of overly cold air made their shoulders automatically tense. A stylishly clad doorman, sans brass buttons and peaked cap, greeted them with a politeness that leaned on patronizing side.

"I'd be happy to call the person you wish to see, gentlemen."

Frost looked at Tommy. In a deliberate maneuver, he rubbed his nose with the heel of his hand. "No, thanks, we're expected."

As they were about to turn away, the doorman instructed, "I'm sorry gentlemen but it's the building's policy—"

"This is a…delicate situation-" Frost interjected, giving Tommy the faintest of nods, then peeked at the doorman's name tag. "—Robert. I used to date a Robert."

Frost's voice lowered, taking on a decidedly feminine lilt. The doorman, flustered, was nonetheless totally fixated on the detective. Tommy eased away but not before shooting a highly amused smirk at his sister's partner. Using a few rubbernecking people as shields in order to make his way to the elevator, Tommy was able to elude Robert's detection.

Frost smiled, then pinched a small piece of Robert's jacket between his two fingers. "Is this a Mideast weave? The pattern is amazing."

"Sir, please—"

"Oooh, you can call me Fido…I'll come when you call." Frost imitated a dog and barked flirtatiously. Robert's eyes began to bug out.

"I'm sorry, sir—"

"I guess we're not on those terms…yet, Robert." Frost smiled, leading the other man toward the left, easily cutting off his view of the elevators. "My friends call me Sookie."

"Well, uh…Sookie. It's policy—"

"Oh, sweetie, I know and I wouldn't want you to break the rules." Frost rolled his eyes and giggled, absently trailing his fingers down the other man's arm. "Well, not until you get to know me better."

Robert scowled, his patience waning. "Look, I don't know—"

"Listen, I'm in a little bit of a pickle. My ex-boyfriend locked me out last night! Can you believe it. I gave him until this morning to calm down—the poor man thinks I cheated!" Frost adopted a Tim Gunn pose. "Sookie does not cheat. Anyway, he won't answer my calls and I need my things!"

Fortunately the lift opened just as Tommy stepped onto the small marble lobby floor. His rubber-soled sneakers squeaked a little but didn't invite undue attention when he squeezed through the oncoming traffic that exited the elevator. Adrenaline thumped in his head like a gong. It had been years since he last experienced the rush of danger. Tommy pressed the button for the fourth floor then paced the elevator, vainly trying to extrude unwanted nerves. Over and over, he mentally walked himself through the simple plan he and Frost had devised, adapting it since the other man was now serving as a diversion. When the lift smoothly came to a stop, Tommy pushed back the metal retractable gate then waited for the automatic doors to part.

Having never been to such an upscale living complex, Tommy was a little impressed by the vestibule. There was a Koi pond with live plants in the center. Distracted, Tommy peered over the edge and was felt a little jolt of surprise even though he was expecting to see the speckled fish. He looked around the rest of the space, noting two metal doors on either side. Neither was numbered. There were a couple of ficus trees and dwarf palms bracketing each one. If the information was correct, behind one of them was the cryptkeeper. Belatedly Tommy checked the ceiling for video cameras. The telltale red blinking light was in every corner, although each one was of a discreet size. Before Tommy could decide his next move, one of the doors opened.

"You're lost." A slim Asian man stated, hands clasped in front of him.

Tommy eyed his expensive suit, trying to decide whether he was some kind of butler or enforcer. The altered plan splintered. Tommy's strengths did not include finesse nor prolonged subterfuge. Without Frost to lend authenticity, he improvised. Acting on instinct, Jane's brother charged the other man, focused on slamming him against the wall and hopefully banging his head against it. Simple and direct, the plan relied heavily upon the element of surprise. The Asian man was not surprised. His reflexes were so perfunctory, Tommy was only able to partially absorb the impact of the wall when he was thrust face first into it. He knew the Asian's next move and opted to swing his hand backward just as the other man began to pin Tommy's neck to the wall. Tommy's hand was filled with male genitals. Without delay, he clamped down and twisted, using his body to counterbalance, determined to finish a full rotation if need be. At first, it didn't seem to faze the Asian man. His grip even tightened around Tommy's neck as they stood locked together, breathing heavily. Yet, the other man was on borrowed time. The soft grunts he discharged turned into strangled whimpers, his fingers weakening around Tommy's neck, sweat trickling down his face. Tommy took the opportunity to head-butt the other man in the nose. Stunned, withering in pain, the Asian man could do little to retaliate against the flurry of punches to his head, face and body. He tried to avoid the blows, shielding his head with his arms only to stumble down onto the floor. The kicks to his gut came next, fast and unrelenting, like several feet at once. When Tommy was finished, heaving and sweating, blood was splattered on his shoes. He slumped against the wall, dimly aware of his raw knuckles. The Asian man, semi-conscious and no longer a threat, lay on the floor, half-curled and groaning intermittently. Tommy struggled to breathe without gulping, his heartbeat a ferocious sound in his ears. Ever the opportunist, knowing the window was rapidly closing, Tommy pushed off the wall and hunkered down by the other man to search his pockets. The lone brass key was attached to a plastic keychain. Tommy took it then stood, a little unsteady. His entire body ached now that the adrenaline began to recede. His fingers clumsy, he tried to fit the key into the lock of the door the Asian man had exited but the key didn't fit. Tommy blew out an irritated sigh and decided to try the doorknob because he really was, at the moment, too tired to walk to the other door.

He swallowed a surprised laugh when it opened. The foyer looked like something he saw on television once in a karate movie perhaps. Bamboo flooring and rice paper partitions, a bonsai tree on dark weathered storage trunk that had delicate cranes painted upon it gave the instant cultural vibe. To the right of the entryway, a set of two-tone nesting tables were pulled out, one under the other to resemble standalone stairs. Tommy took it all in, not entirely confident of his next move. Committed, Jane's brother mentally shrugged, prepared to give it one hundred percent. Upon closer inspection, the rice paper room dividers were actually a sliding door. He decided to open them slowly, a little afraid.

The musical sound of chimes and trilling water was low, meant to soothe. Probably has a damn water fountain and has air pumped in special, like AC isn't good enough for this bastard! A while back, his mother had bought a CD of relaxing sounds in order to help her sleep. It hadn't worked. As Tommy carefully stepped further into the residence, he wondered if the real thing would be better.

"Mr. Rizzoli, welcome to my home."

Tommy jumped then reflexively turned toward the voice with his fists up. The elfin man wore an impeccable suit of Mohair and wool blend, grey with lavender pinstripes. His white hair looked like a puffy cotton ball against his speckled walnut skin. Blinking, Tommy slowly lowered his arms.

evaluated Tommy. The stark contrast between his white hair, dark skin and amazing eyes was arresting but not in a beautiful or attractive sense. Skin pitted and scarred from acne, it could not look masculine and rugged on his slight frame. The elfin man frowned although it took a second or two for his eyebrows to respond as the skin had been 'nipped, then tucked' more than once. "It is a pity Eric was so easily dispatched, I must admit. I had such high hopes for him."

"You the cryptkeeper or what?" Never fully dropping his vigilance and impatient to get what he came for, Tommy spoke with belligerence, a faint sneer on his mouth. "I'm on a schedule here."

The elfin man laughed though Tommy couldn't detect the humor in it. "You're not surprised I know your name, are you?"

It was more like he had been so startled the use of his name had slipped past him. The repulsive sensation of fear inching up his spine, of doubts clouding his mind caused anger to burst forth. With laudable bravado, Tommy snapped, "Yeah, yeah, cryptkeeper, knows all-sees all, fuckin' Wizard of Oz. I get it. I'm gonna give you to the count of—"

"Mr. Rizzoli, there's no need for threats, I assure you." The elfin man snapped his fingers.

Two men toting guns stepped from behind silk panels. They were casual but alert, the guns at their sides, pointed at the floor. Outrunning a bullet wasn't an option despite the tiny voice in his head telling him to try. The only thing left to do, he reasoned, was to bluff his way out.

"Then, why the goons?"

The peculiar man studied his cuticles for a few minutes, a move Tommy recognized as a ploy. He told himself to settle down, relax, and wait him out. Tinkling chimes and running water seemed to fill the room the longer silenced reigned.

A crooked, mirthless smile slashed across the cryptkeeper's face. The slight incline of his head signaled he was aware of the undercurrents. "Merely for…decoration."

"Why did you set up my sister?"

"Would you care for a drink, Mr. Rizzoli?"

"Is that your answer, little dude?" It was a risk, the insult, but Tommy's sense of time slipping away was acute.

The cryptkeeper nodded to the bodyguards. "See to Eric." Then he said to Tommy, "Please, it's an infantile tactic. Why don't we have a drink and…discuss things?"

Something in the way his words slithered around Tommy made his skin crawl. He considered blitzing the elfin man but knew he wouldn't be able to carry out any threat. Simply, he needed information only the cryptkeeper could provide. He fell into line reluctantly and allowed himself to be led deeper into the labyrinth. There were steps up and steps down, never more than five at the most as they walked through small rooms, past others, and down a narrow hallway. Tommy thought that if he had to, he'd crash through all the panels to get out even though his sense of directions was thoroughly confused. Some of the dividers were substantial, constructed of teak or river-rock facades, ones he figured were permanent and weight bearing in purpose. He tried to remember every turn, marking unusual partitions as landmarks. Large green palm fronds draped over hammered copper basins obscured most of the hallway. Slyly Tommy bent one of the broad, crisp leaves like a boy scout on a survival weekend.

Finally, they arrived at a spacious room, austere in appearance with two cushioned chairs facing one another in the center. The cryptkeeper gestured to one of the chairs as he gracefully sat in the other. The wall behind the elfin man was covered by a thick, cream colored tapestry depicting Asian farm life. Tommy stared at it, only to give the impression of indifference while he waited for what was to come next.

"You admire Chinese art, Mr. Rizzoli?"

Tommy slumped in the uncomfortable chair, spreading his legs wide and rested his chin on his palm. Seconds expired as he gave an impression in thoughtful contemplation.

"Not really. Their hands and feet are too small for their bodies."

The cryptkeeper looked amused. He crossed his legs, placing his arms on the armrests.

"Well, Mr. Cryptkeeper…talk."

"What do you know about me, Mr. Rizzoli?"

Tommy's irritation flared. "You're rich, connected and a dick."

This time the cryptkeeper laughed and clapped his hands together. "I find your crudeness rather attractive."

"I don't swing that way."

One elegant brow lifted on the elfin man's face. He no longer looked quite as amused. "You're too old to be my type, Mr. Rizzoli."

By the oily look in the other man's eyes, Tommy's intuition filled in the deeper meaning he conveyed. The cryptkeeper liked young men, perhaps boys and the information caused Tommy's stomach to cramp. He struggled to keep the revulsion from contorting his features.

"Is there a point to all this dude?"

Frowning, the cryptkeeper allowed the silence to lengthen, his head tilted just a little to the side as he seemed to deliberate. Tommy refused to budge and casually returned the other man's gaze.

"You're rather brash for a man in your…position, Mr. Rizzoli. I can't decide whether I quite enjoy it or not."

Tommy was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

"Nevertheless, it serves my purposes to give you what you seek." The cryptkeeper fastidiously flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his pant leg. "A certain interested party wanted your sister out of action. I obliged them. From time to time, my…special customers have unorthodox requests which, if possible, I indulge."

"Who's this 'interested party'?"

The steely look in the cryptkeeper's eyes foretold a disastrous future if Tommy pursued that line of questioning. He shifted in his seat under the constancy of the elfin man's look.

Silently, the cryptkeeper slipped his hand into an interior pocket of his jacket and withdrew a small remote the size of a key bob. Intently watching Tommy, he pressed down on it. The tapestry began retracting to reveal a glass wall. One of the gunmen was standing next to the battered Eric who was strapped into a chair. His eyes bulged with fear, the muscles in his neck and forearms bulging as he struggled to break free from the duct tape. Dried blood stained the collar of his wrinkled shirt. Sweat caused his short black hair to spike. Tommy had a front row seat while the cryptkeeper, impassive, never showed the slightest interest in turning around. Instead, he watched Jane's brother.

"What do you think is going to happen to Eric, Mr. Rizzoli?"

Tommy felt the sweat beads erupt upon his skin. He tried to swallow but his throat desiccated like beef jerky. Nervously his eyes couldn't help but watch as the man he fought with not too long ago was taped to a chair next to a man with a gun. There was nothing else in the small, glass-enclosed room.

"Don't…don't do this." Tommy whispered, a note of desperation in his voice.

The cryptkeeper lifted his hand slowly. Tommy squirmed, grabbed the armrests. Panic washed over him. He looked from the elfin man to Eric, back and forth, a plea forming on his tongue. The cryptkeeper dropped his hand. Blood splattered on the glass as Eric's body collapsed in the chair.

"This is what happens to people that…disappoint me, Mr. Rizzoli."

The gunman holstered the weapon then clasped his hands behind his back, face devoid of any expression. Blood began its journey downward, streaking the glass with uneven thickness, like a viscous avalanche that pooled on the floor. The cryptkeeper lifted his hand and pressed the remote. Neither man spoke as the tapestry stretched forward once more. Tommy's head was bent as he squeezed his eyes shut, fear and shock making him immobile.

"Now that you understand the consequences, know beyond a doubt what I am capable of, Mr. Rizzoli, I will answer your question. There was a favor called in on behalf of Vanessa Blake. Jane's incarceration is a diversion…of sorts. I've heard it suggested she's—oh, how did my client word it?"

Tommy's faced paled. The grip on the armrests was vise-like. He wanted to spring up from his seat and choke the elfin man.

"…hmm…" Just as the younger man was about to lose all sense, the cryptkeeper snapped his fingers, then smiled. "'Shank bait'."

The guttural sounds emitting from his mouth were wounded. Jumping from his seated position, Tommy knocked over the chair, hands fisted at his sides.

"I gotta go."

The cryptkeeper didn't flinch, his cold eyes fastened upon the other man. "Not quite yet, Mr. Rizzoli. There's a matter of quid pro quo."

Tommy's eyes strayed to the tapestry that could not hide the memory of execution that occurred behind it.