The Past Never Dies Quietly
By Didi
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. This is purely for entertainment purposes and sometimes not even that.
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.
Author's note: Apologies for the delay in updating but I just have so much stuff that needs to be done. Plus my muse has deserted me. (sigh) I blame it on the weather. And that's the story I'm sticking to.
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Chapter Eight
"This is where she's staying at?" Nikki's eyes wondered over the grotesquely red carpet and badly imitated Greek pillars. The walls were papered with fancy scrolled designed that have long faded and were in the process of pealing. For someone that have gotten quite use to staying at five star hotels and resorts, this was quite a. unique experience.
"Could be worse," Johnny murmured under his breath as he made no move to approach the front desk. Knowing where he was, he was extra cautious as he scanned the room for anything or anyone that may look. out of place. Than again, being the only Asian in maybe a ten-mile radius, he probably stood out more than anyone he will come across here.
"How?" Quick asked, not liking this whole situation one bit. It was the middle of the afternoon and everything was quiet. Too quiet. Way too quiet.
"Let's check in then check this place out," Nikki suggested as they neared the front desk.
"Sounds like a plan," Johnny agreed. "Suggestion."
"What?" Quick asked and glanced over his shoulders. Two guys in gray suits that was worth a couple of hundred dollars at least had come in. They looked as out of place in this dingy place as Quick felt.
"Get one room, we'll take turns keeping watch," Johnny's eyes were averted but he saw the two newcomer as well.
"Good idea," Nikki commented as she spotted the two men out of the corner of her eyes. Her fingers were itching to reach for her side arms. "Let's just hope the bellhop doesn't think we're up to anything kinky." And went to get the room.
Quick pretended to study a magazine six months old and in Russian, a language he knew nothing about. "Should I be worried that those guys are carrying 44's under their arms?"
"What makes you think they're 44's?" Johnny asked equally causal as he pulled out his palm pilot and sent a quick email to his FBI contact.
"Cause this is Russian and they aren't old schooled enough to carry 38's," Johnny replied as he flipped through the pages, not paying attention to the bright colorful pictures that should have caught his attention but didn't. "And if they aren't mob related, I'd be on next plane out of here before Tasha could toss me in a plane herself."
Johnny nodded, as if to himself and glanced briefly up to make sure Nikki was all right. "We search for Tasha's room first?"
"Yeah, she always puts tooth floss on the door knob. That tells her if anyone has been in her room when she gets back to it," Quick made a mental note to do the same for their own suite. "Everything she has set out will be camouflaged. Don't look for the obvious, look for the norms instead."
Johnny gave him a dry half smile. "This isn't my first time. I know what to do. The problem is all three of us scurrying about the hall ways is going to attract some attention."
"Then we'll leave Nikki in the room and cover a floor each," Quick advised.
"Good." he glanced at the approaching woman. "You tell her."
"Quick," Nikki frowned at him as she neared. "What are you reading?"
Glancing down, Quick finally notice the magazine content and felt his face flush with embarrassment that he didn't think he's felt since his teenage years. The colorful magazine he had so casually picked up could only be the Russian equivalent to American's Penthouse. So much for not drawing attention.
Nikki shook her head and sighed. "Men." Before heading up the stairs.
Johnny laughed silently.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The phone rang twice before being picked up by a familiar voice. "Hello?"
"It's Tasha, I need medical supplies. We'll be nearing you in ten minutes. Can you make sure no one sees us?"
Father Jensen ran a quick hand through his hair and sighed. Looking around the near empty chapel, he nodded to himself. "Come around the back, I'll have everything ready for you."
"Thank you," she murmured in reply and hung up the phone. Beside her, the Owl was clinching his teeth as the bumps in the road caused the car to rattle along. Every bump and dip caused his body to scream in pain as the hastily patched up wounds broke up once more. "How are you holding up?" she asked without taking her eyes off the road and all the mirrors that showed her whether they were being followed or not.
"I'm doing swell," he managed to say without revealing the kind of agony he was in. "Can you hurry?"
"And get pulled over by someone on Nikolas Stoboisky's payroll?"
"Point taken."
"We're almost there." Reaching over, she pulled the lapel of the spare jacket she had kept in the car away from the shoulder wound. The butterfly bandages weren't doing the job it was suppose to. Fresh blood was seeping from the tear once more. "We need strong bandages."
"These will do for now," he replied quietly, trying force the blackness that threatened him to the back of his mind. "The Father has some pretty impressive supply of medical materials for a man of the cloth."
"Where else are the refugees and poor to go to when they have no money for hospitals? And don't pretend you didn't know that. The other priest may not ask but Jensen knows exactly where some of those things come from," she commented as she watched the white van that had been behind them turn away. For a moment there.. "Peter, does Stoboisky's men know what you look like now?"
"No," he shook his head. "I've been under for some time now. You and Dr. Mobesky are the only ones that know what I look like at the moment. We communicated via electronics. Why?"
"Just curious," she replied, ignoring the slight flare of flattery that he had trusted her to recognize his identity it was so important for him to keep it secret. "So, it's safe to assume that they can walk pass you and not recognize you."
"Yes," he couldn't suppress the wince as the car took a rather large dip. It was as if someone poured aid on his back. "Oh God."
"I thought you didn't believe in God?" she asked lightly but frowned as she spared him a quick glance, noting the glassiness of his eyes. *Any more of this and he'll go into shock.* Slowing the car, she took the next turn more carefully.
"No, don't slow down. You'll look suspicious," he warned and tightened his arms around himself more. "Just get me to Father Jensen's. He will have painkiller for me."
She didn't reply, simply put her foot down on the pedal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Translated from Russian (Not really, but I don't speak Russian so go with me here.)
"Don Franco?" Nikolas Stoboisky frowned and glanced at the picture one more. *These one-hour photo places are becoming more useful every day. Must make a note to put one under my control.* "What does the Italian mob want here?"
"The dark hair woman is Don Franco's only granddaughter," Ivan replied with his usual stoic expression that always made Nikolas believe the man has no human emotions at all. "She and her companions have checked into the Red Fire Hotel."
"The Red Fire?" he frowned as he picked up his glass of wine. It was early still for alcohol; but these days, it seemed to be the only form of relief he could find from the burning anger he had toward that traitorous bitch of a sister. "Why there?"
"Don't know," Ivan answered slowly. "The hotel is not under anyone's control. It was one of Grota's but since he. passed."
Nikolas waved it away and glanced down at the photo once more. "Extend an invitation to Don Franco's granddaughter for dinner. Let's see what she wants here in Mother Russia. And tell her to leave her bodyguards behind."
Ivan nodded and left.
Studying the picture, Nikolas lightly traced the face curves of the young woman in it. "You certainly are a pretty one, aren't you? How much of you is Don Franco's heir I wonder?"
TBC.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters and don't know anyone that does. This is purely for entertainment purposes and sometimes not even that.
Summary: Tasha takes steps to confirm a rumor.
Author's note: Apologies for the delay in updating but I just have so much stuff that needs to be done. Plus my muse has deserted me. (sigh) I blame it on the weather. And that's the story I'm sticking to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter Eight
"This is where she's staying at?" Nikki's eyes wondered over the grotesquely red carpet and badly imitated Greek pillars. The walls were papered with fancy scrolled designed that have long faded and were in the process of pealing. For someone that have gotten quite use to staying at five star hotels and resorts, this was quite a. unique experience.
"Could be worse," Johnny murmured under his breath as he made no move to approach the front desk. Knowing where he was, he was extra cautious as he scanned the room for anything or anyone that may look. out of place. Than again, being the only Asian in maybe a ten-mile radius, he probably stood out more than anyone he will come across here.
"How?" Quick asked, not liking this whole situation one bit. It was the middle of the afternoon and everything was quiet. Too quiet. Way too quiet.
"Let's check in then check this place out," Nikki suggested as they neared the front desk.
"Sounds like a plan," Johnny agreed. "Suggestion."
"What?" Quick asked and glanced over his shoulders. Two guys in gray suits that was worth a couple of hundred dollars at least had come in. They looked as out of place in this dingy place as Quick felt.
"Get one room, we'll take turns keeping watch," Johnny's eyes were averted but he saw the two newcomer as well.
"Good idea," Nikki commented as she spotted the two men out of the corner of her eyes. Her fingers were itching to reach for her side arms. "Let's just hope the bellhop doesn't think we're up to anything kinky." And went to get the room.
Quick pretended to study a magazine six months old and in Russian, a language he knew nothing about. "Should I be worried that those guys are carrying 44's under their arms?"
"What makes you think they're 44's?" Johnny asked equally causal as he pulled out his palm pilot and sent a quick email to his FBI contact.
"Cause this is Russian and they aren't old schooled enough to carry 38's," Johnny replied as he flipped through the pages, not paying attention to the bright colorful pictures that should have caught his attention but didn't. "And if they aren't mob related, I'd be on next plane out of here before Tasha could toss me in a plane herself."
Johnny nodded, as if to himself and glanced briefly up to make sure Nikki was all right. "We search for Tasha's room first?"
"Yeah, she always puts tooth floss on the door knob. That tells her if anyone has been in her room when she gets back to it," Quick made a mental note to do the same for their own suite. "Everything she has set out will be camouflaged. Don't look for the obvious, look for the norms instead."
Johnny gave him a dry half smile. "This isn't my first time. I know what to do. The problem is all three of us scurrying about the hall ways is going to attract some attention."
"Then we'll leave Nikki in the room and cover a floor each," Quick advised.
"Good." he glanced at the approaching woman. "You tell her."
"Quick," Nikki frowned at him as she neared. "What are you reading?"
Glancing down, Quick finally notice the magazine content and felt his face flush with embarrassment that he didn't think he's felt since his teenage years. The colorful magazine he had so casually picked up could only be the Russian equivalent to American's Penthouse. So much for not drawing attention.
Nikki shook her head and sighed. "Men." Before heading up the stairs.
Johnny laughed silently.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The phone rang twice before being picked up by a familiar voice. "Hello?"
"It's Tasha, I need medical supplies. We'll be nearing you in ten minutes. Can you make sure no one sees us?"
Father Jensen ran a quick hand through his hair and sighed. Looking around the near empty chapel, he nodded to himself. "Come around the back, I'll have everything ready for you."
"Thank you," she murmured in reply and hung up the phone. Beside her, the Owl was clinching his teeth as the bumps in the road caused the car to rattle along. Every bump and dip caused his body to scream in pain as the hastily patched up wounds broke up once more. "How are you holding up?" she asked without taking her eyes off the road and all the mirrors that showed her whether they were being followed or not.
"I'm doing swell," he managed to say without revealing the kind of agony he was in. "Can you hurry?"
"And get pulled over by someone on Nikolas Stoboisky's payroll?"
"Point taken."
"We're almost there." Reaching over, she pulled the lapel of the spare jacket she had kept in the car away from the shoulder wound. The butterfly bandages weren't doing the job it was suppose to. Fresh blood was seeping from the tear once more. "We need strong bandages."
"These will do for now," he replied quietly, trying force the blackness that threatened him to the back of his mind. "The Father has some pretty impressive supply of medical materials for a man of the cloth."
"Where else are the refugees and poor to go to when they have no money for hospitals? And don't pretend you didn't know that. The other priest may not ask but Jensen knows exactly where some of those things come from," she commented as she watched the white van that had been behind them turn away. For a moment there.. "Peter, does Stoboisky's men know what you look like now?"
"No," he shook his head. "I've been under for some time now. You and Dr. Mobesky are the only ones that know what I look like at the moment. We communicated via electronics. Why?"
"Just curious," she replied, ignoring the slight flare of flattery that he had trusted her to recognize his identity it was so important for him to keep it secret. "So, it's safe to assume that they can walk pass you and not recognize you."
"Yes," he couldn't suppress the wince as the car took a rather large dip. It was as if someone poured aid on his back. "Oh God."
"I thought you didn't believe in God?" she asked lightly but frowned as she spared him a quick glance, noting the glassiness of his eyes. *Any more of this and he'll go into shock.* Slowing the car, she took the next turn more carefully.
"No, don't slow down. You'll look suspicious," he warned and tightened his arms around himself more. "Just get me to Father Jensen's. He will have painkiller for me."
She didn't reply, simply put her foot down on the pedal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Translated from Russian (Not really, but I don't speak Russian so go with me here.)
"Don Franco?" Nikolas Stoboisky frowned and glanced at the picture one more. *These one-hour photo places are becoming more useful every day. Must make a note to put one under my control.* "What does the Italian mob want here?"
"The dark hair woman is Don Franco's only granddaughter," Ivan replied with his usual stoic expression that always made Nikolas believe the man has no human emotions at all. "She and her companions have checked into the Red Fire Hotel."
"The Red Fire?" he frowned as he picked up his glass of wine. It was early still for alcohol; but these days, it seemed to be the only form of relief he could find from the burning anger he had toward that traitorous bitch of a sister. "Why there?"
"Don't know," Ivan answered slowly. "The hotel is not under anyone's control. It was one of Grota's but since he. passed."
Nikolas waved it away and glanced down at the photo once more. "Extend an invitation to Don Franco's granddaughter for dinner. Let's see what she wants here in Mother Russia. And tell her to leave her bodyguards behind."
Ivan nodded and left.
Studying the picture, Nikolas lightly traced the face curves of the young woman in it. "You certainly are a pretty one, aren't you? How much of you is Don Franco's heir I wonder?"
TBC.