Chance Encounters

Chapter 30

Just a warning for violence and coarse language. If that's not your thing, feel free to skip this chapter.

oOoOo

It was eerily quiet in the cell, the dark silence was suddenly broken by that distinctly gut-wrenching sound of metal against metal, sliding smoothly. Gaspick sat up, bolt upright and audibly gulped, pulling his back hard up against the wall.

"Who's there? What do you want?"

No answer. He sat stock still, holding his breath, all senses straining to hear, or feel, smell, whatever, in the thick pitch black darkness. The hairs on his arms stood on end. He knew that sound and it frightened him. He knew he didn't dream it. He gave an involuntary shudder as if someone had just walked over his grave. His heart was thumping in his chest and he willed it to slow down. If someone was there, he was sure they could hear it pounding.

As his breathing started to settle he relaxed a bit, but still feeling on edge. He dared not to move lest he find something else. He took in small shallow breaths to replenish his strained air supply. He wasn't fond of surprises. And, to be honest, Gary Gaspick was slightly afraid of the dark. It was dark when he arrived and it was still dark. He had no idea how long he had been here, wherever here was. So, he did the only thing he could after his ordeal with that hunting party, he slept, not a restful sleep at all, but sleep he did.

Finally, he let out a shaky, shuddering sigh. He was trying to calm himself when he heard it again!

Slow and slick, metal sliding on metal, slow and deliberate.

"Fuck! Shit! What the hell?!"

He shrieked when he felt the pointed blade run down his arm slowly, and froze.

"You move … I cut … you be still … no cuts. Comprendes?" came an icy cold voice from the dark. Hector emphasised his accent adding to the sinister undertones. This tactic was always successful, especially in the dark.

Picky nodded his head vigorously, forgetting that it was too dark to see. The point of the blade literally pressed the point and he jolted. Too late. He felt it prick his skin so easily and the blood that trickled out was warm.

"Yes! Yes! I understand!"

"Good. Now, you talk."

He tried to shuffle away from the knife. Big mistake. He collided with a solid wall, a wall of man, a very large, muscular man. Another slow blade-on-blade slide in the dark, a sound he recognised as a knife sliding down a steel for sharpening. His mouth went dry as he audibly gulped.

A deeper voice commanded, "Sit still you fucker! Capisce?" Tiny's strong Italian rumbling baritone made him shudder, and he suddenly felt cold.

"Yes!" He hissed, while the first knife continued slicing blade against blade … so slowly … in a persuasive rhythm. He was starting to tremble, making it hard for him to concentrate. He was trying his damndest to stay still but his irrational fears were taking over and he was sweating.

Other than his fear of the dark, Gary Gaspick was also deep down a prejudiced bigot, a racist and a xenophobe. He had an intense dislike and distrust for people from other countries. Now, with Spanish and Italian on either side of him, he was packing shit. Tiny and Hector played on that in the dark.

They hadn't done much to taunt him yet but his body odour exuded that distinct unpleasant odour of fear.

"Why are you involved with Morelli?"

"He … he just asked me to do a favour."

"Wrong answer!"

WHACK!

His feet were suddenly hit with a strap, a wide leather strap it seemed. He didn't know how but that meant there was a third person! Right near his feet! He tried to retract his feet but his ankles were restrained and prevented the reflex action, only to be hit again on the soles of his feet.

"Fuck! Fuck!" He was almost hyperventilating.

"I'll ask you again. One more time. You and Morelli … why?" Lester's sinister cold voice emanated from somewhere near his feet.

While Lester was running the strap along his shins slowly like a snake slithering across his legs, Hector and Tiny maintained the slow, slick torturous sounds of blade against blade and knife against steel on either side of him. He swallowed, with some difficulty.

"I s-saw him taking money from Jimmy Alpha. He was in cahoots with him and, and he was in with the game fixing of the boxing matches. He was threatening Alpha and Alpha was reluctantly taking orders from him. That much was obvious to see. I tried to blackmail him but it backfired and he said he had information about m-m-my …"

He hesitated. Too long for their liking. A sharp whack against his heels with the strap was accompanied simultaneously with another slice along his arms on both sides, but just with the back of a knife blade. He didn't know that. He was in hyper-sensitivity mode now. It didn't need to be the sharp end. He pissed himself and was mortified that this happened so involuntarily.

From then onwards, Gary Gaspick spilled the beans and sang like the proverbial canary. He answered each question, needing very few reminders.

"He found things on my computer and swore that he would reveal them to the Chief if I ever told anyone about his connection with Alpha. He threatened to set Ramirez onto me. I was scared. He had me over a barrel."

"But why Stephanie?"

"H-he told me what a bitch she was –" WHACK!

"Okay. Okay! H-he was obsessed with her. Saying she was his because he had her f-first." He paused briefly, expecting another whack from the belt, but it suddenly flopped onto his leg, higher to his thigh. He shuddered and winced. This did not bode well.

"Oh f-f-fuck!" He gulped loudly. He swallowed audibly as he tried to bolster himself to continue. His breathing was becoming more ragged.

"I was instructed not to process any of the complaints made against him … but I filed them in a hidden folder, which he didn't know about. The restraining order was a bit harder, but I sent it sailing aimlessly through cyber space along with the others, but still storing a copy in my secret folder, an encrypted folder. I also recorded my observations of his encounter with Jimmy Alpha, and with Ramirez. Ramirez was scared of him, too. Jimmy Alpha was pissed with Morelli and I saw them arguing. I made notes, just dot points and dated my evidence … you know, just in case …"

He paused for a bit taking a deep shuddering breath. His three interrogators were silent in the darkness but he felt their cold sinister presence. The feeling was so oppressive.

"I- I was sort of following him, Morelli, seeing how he did his stuff on a couple of my days off and chanced upon him around the corner from the gym where Ramirez works out. I, um, I admired his MO and, um, er, wanted to be like him, you know. I really wanted to be a detective, you see."

He squirmed uncomfortably but the subtle jab of a knife on his right shoulder jolted him and he continued, nodding his head, gulping again with a shaky breath.

"I really thought I had him, Morelli, but he kept threatening me with Ramirez. Whispering in my ear. He was stronger and smarter than I was, "That's why I'm a detective and you're not," he often said to me. Sending emails about whom he might tell about my shit. He was relentless in his attack. He broke into my apartment a number of times, while I was asleep, leaving photos on my fridge with little post-it notes with stick man pictures of me with a noose, or a knife at my throat with blood pouring out, or Ramirez boxing me dead or strangling me. I was having nightmares. Every morning he deliberately came by my desk, leaving a message or another picture. On my phone, on my work computer. Sometimes a photo, sometimes just a word, really huge, would pop up on my screen when I switched it on. I had to hide the view in case somebody saw it. I met Ramirez once and he scared the shit out of me."

WHACK! Across his thigh, close to his nether regions. He jumped at the sudden infliction and yelped.

"That's lie!" Lester's loud malicious voice was terrifying him.

"We know you and Ramirez were plotting to kill Stephanie. We have a reliable witness."

The slow baritone of Tiny resonated deeply in the cell, as ex-Officer Picky began to sob. He knew what was coming next.

"Oh. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Shit. Kill me now."

"Si. I would like that. Verrry much. But we're not finished with you yet."

"Why Stephanie?"

"We know you shot her!" Lester whacked his soles again. Hector pressed the blade down his arm to make a long slow cut. Tiny continued to sharpen the knife on the steel.

Gaspick was by now a blubbering mess. He was pleading with them. They were talking one after the other.

"That's murder one."

"We are not going to kill you. As much as we would rrreally like to. So many ways we could do this."

"But, killing you here is just too good for you."

"Yeah. We think a little time back in the dock and in a cell might help you remember anything else you have omitted to tell us."

"Oh. Know this. Fact … You are going to jail. For a very long time … if you survive that long, that is. We could kill you … swift and fast, here and now."

He winced, almost pleadingly.

They let those words hang in the air like a dangling noose, swinging enticingly in front of him, taunting, mocking and sardonic.

"Yeah. Slow and painful is good too, but verrry messy."

"But in the pokey, they will be so pleased to have your company."

"Cops, ex-cops don't do well in jail. Everybody knows that."

"Sucks to be you, Picky."

They paused, for more than a minute. He was breathing raggedly, completely overwhelmed with dread. Then Tiny poked him with the steel and slowly started up that sickly persuasive rhythm of sharpening his knife, up and down, up and down … actually, down one side and down the other, slow and deliberate.

"Now, about Stephanie? You haven't answered the question. Why target Stephanie?!" Lester growled this last question so deeply, Gaspick was horrified at how animalistic he sounded.

"St-St-Stephanie knew something. She was onto Morelli, I think, I'm sure. She saw Ramirez and nearly became one of his victims. But Morelli, the wanker, shot at him. Fucker. Ramirez cut her. I was there, in the dark, terrified. I heard her screams until someone threw two knives at him and he dropped her, shrieking in pain."

"And you did nothing to help her? You're useless piece of shit! Fuckwit!"

He gulped again, struggling to swallow that lump in his throat.

"Heh, heh, heh. That would be me," sneered Hector with an audible swish as he swung his knife through the air, making Picky shudder. His wicked cackling was sinister in the dark and Picky shivered all over.

"Go on." Tiny maintained the sharpening rhythm, slow and distinct in the dark.

"I helped Ramirez when Stephanie was rescued and patched him up. He was crying like a baby. I took him to the clinic back of Stark. He wanted Stephanie. He kept repeating over and over. But he was such a baby. I looked after him after our initial face to face encounter. With Jimmie Alpha obliterated by Stephanie Plum, he had no one to look after him. Morelli was on the run and I had Mr Crazy under my wing. He listened to me. He couldn't use his arms for boxing. Besides, being FTA, he had to stay low. But he was needy and greedy."

His breath shuddered with his entire body trembling involuntarily.

"Ramirez met her again when she rescued that girl he was playing with. He'd cut her up pretty bad and Stephanie rescued her and ran away from him. The girl was a dead ringer for Stephanie. I was shocked."

"But why, why were you after Stephanie?"

"Um ... Er … She knew something and she kept looking at me and then Morelli. She was suspicious of him, of us and our connection. I was scared. She saw him leave some of those post-it notes, each time when she brought her skips in. One he shoved onto my chest as he walked by. She saw it, I know. I could tell by her scrutiny that she was putting two and two together. Damnit! Fuck! I should never have gotten involved with Morelli. I should have called his bluff and sent my information directly to the Chief, repercussions be damned. But I was already in too deep, and he made sure. I was done for either way. But she was in my way."

By this time Gaspick was beyond a mess. He gave details of his secret files and any other evidence he had against Morelli from other blackmail victims he had for the Stark Street girls and other women. He also confirmed Morelli's involvement with Ramirez and the 'special' girls Morelli 'recommended' for him, via Jimmy Alpha. The sudden burst of blinding light as Hector opened his laptop, revealing his masked face, making sure his teardrop tattoos were visible to the stricken Gaspick, frightened the hell out of him. He squinted and covered his eyes from the invasive glare.

"Password! User name. ID number. Security code."

Gaspick relinquished all the details on command. Hector had already opened up the TPD network and typed rapidly. He sneered at Gaspick.

"Oh. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You have been a naughty sick boy!"

He took a copy of all the little girl photos, his encrypted secret folders and transferred the entire file to his system via a powerful, complex, untraceable firewall. He transferred Gaspick's entire police data records en masse to another computer.

You see, Hector already had access to the TPD data files and this was the worm hole he was not able to access when Ranger recommended him to the Chief as the reliable Cyber Security expert when the Chief started his investigation.

Lester released his feet from the straps and tossed him a bottle of water. He couldn't see and it hit him in the chest. Tiny and Lester left, leaving the door open enough so he could see their formidable size.

"Clean yourself up. You're being transported to the TPD shortly."

As they all exited his cell, the dimmers came on and he found himself alone. He was absolutely mortified and disgusted with himself in his state. Nothing he could do about it. He sighed a ragged sigh, the sigh of a man who knew his fate was firmly fixed and there was nought he could do about it.

"Fucking Morelli." He made sure he had given all his evidence and more, so that he too would get his comeuppance. "That motherfucker is going to go down with me, one way or another."

oOoOo

Ranger, Bobby, Tank and Cal had been listening to the entire interrogation. Ranger was leaning forward, elbows on the table, his fingers steepled under his chin.

"The Chief needs a copy of that RS and all the complaints made against Morelli. For a dumbass, that was the only smart thing he did with those encrypted folders." Tank remarked coldly.

"When he is delivered with his FTA paperwork and after he has been processed. That would be an opportune time. In the meantime, I have some contacts inside the pokey who need to be updated. I think Morelli's holiday inside is going to change pace." Ranger was furious, the simmering rage evident by his colleagues. They too felt the same rage.

"Fucking bastard." Cal muttered. "I didn't see him. I had eyes on Stephanie, and on Morelli just before he shot at Ramirez, but not on Gaspick. He must have been there already before Stephanie got there. Slimy little fucker!"

"You sure we can't inflict some vengeance here, anywhere, somewhere else will do, Boss?" Bobby pleaded bitterly.

"Vengeance, as they say, is a dish best served cold. I hear it gets very cold inside the slammer. Presently, Morelli has been "privileged" with isolation, a pseudo protective custody. Let us change those parameters for him and see how he manages to survive in the real world of criminal justice." Ranger was scheming.

"Yeah. We keep our hands clean and maintain an immaculate rapport with the Chief and the TPD. A win-win for us, whichever way you look at it. As much as I would love to inflict some sweet vengeance, and I am not alone as you all know, this is a bitter-sweet metaphorical solution. Let nature take its course, so to speak." Tank was matter of fact. Everybody concurred.

"Exactly. We are just manipulating the boundaries, for the sake of justice. And justice will be served."

oOoOo

Morelli was sitting in his small single cell, bouncing a baseball against the wall in readiness for his one hour of exercise time. He had the benefit of the exercise yard all to himself and felt somewhat smug in the knowledge that he was untouchable. It pays to have contacts, good reliable contacts. With the books he had been running with Jimmy Alpha on Ramirez, he had a nice stash of cash squirrelled away for when he was released.

Hearing the keys, he stood up, smilingly, ready to get some fresh air.

"Pack your stuff. You can have your hour of fun in the sun, then we are relocating you."

"What the fuck, man?!"

He made the mistake of grabbing the guard by the arm and was promptly hit on the head with the rifle butt, with all the guards in the towers above the exercise yard cocking their weapons at him. Shit!

"Your vacation has been rescheduled, Morelli. You will have a nice shared cell with three new inmates. I'm sure they will be pleased to see you and make you feel welcome. Unless you'd rather share your isolation cell with a violent cop-killer, that multiple homicidal maniac. You know the one. He shot up the police station in Alabama last month and has just been transferred under high security to this place for a very long vacation. I could ask the Warden to reconsider your move, if you prefer?"

"No." He grumbled sullenly. "Fuck!"

As he walked into the exercise area, blinded by the brightness that assaulted his natural light-deprived eyes, he heard the guard sniggering at his expense.

"I thought as much. It was nice knowing you, asshole."

Now what the hell did that mean? Morelli knew this did not bode well. He tried to hide his anger and bitterness, but there was hinkey feeling he got, that inner dread that was coiling deep down. I suppose Maalox is not made available to inmates here, he thought wryly. Fuck!

He was angry that his accommodation was now compromised and was taking his frustration, fear and fury out on the ball with the bat he was allowed to swing. He visualised Stephanie's head, and pounding it with the bat. The Chief. Mañoso, yeah, that smug thug, Mañoso gave him a lot of satisfaction. He often hit the ball out of the yard and another would appear. He played softball and was an all-rounder, but being in isolation, team games were not made available to him.

He had become complacent in his isolation, meditating on how he would exact his revenge against Gaspick and Stephanie Plum especially. Yeah, meditating. Go figure. That's what he called it. Just that knowledge of counting down and making malicious plans kept him from going totally crazy. But the thing was, Morelli was so delusional already. This change of accommodation really sucked.

The hour was over before he realised. Shit. After laying down the bat and the ball as directed, he was escorted by two burly guards to his new cell, inside the next wing, trying his best to school his "Don't fuck with me" visage. Inside was larger than his wing in the isolation and solitary confinement cells. They stopped at a four-person cell and unlocked the door, while its occupants stood against the wall.

"Well, well, well. Lookie here."

"Hello Cupcake."

oOoOo

TBC

Yeah. A bit of redemption and a tad of vengeance. Picky needed a shake up and it was necessary for them to rattle his bones.