Chapter Thirteen: The Thin Line
There were times when Mary wondered what the hell she was doing.
Mary had long ago discovered that she wasn't immortal. Her partner was killed after only two years on the beat in a random jaywalking incident. When she made detective, she was shot in a bank robbery, and spent three days in the hospital, fighting her way back from a concussion.
Most detectives she had known never had to pull their guns. For some reason, she pulled hers at least three times a week. Trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went, and Mary long since gave up the reasoning that it was because she was 'just lucky'.
It came to a point where she had to come to a decision - to either play with the devil or die trying to fight him.
There were instances where she was almost completely sure she had made the right choice, and there were times when she was completely freaked out that she had committed the worst sin imaginable.
Walking free and unmolested inside Seamus O'Grady's compound was definitely a perk. The Townsend Sweethearts, as Mary had come to mentally refer to the three little supermodels, were mostly responsible for the utter size of it.
The O'Grady clan, in fact the entire Irish mob, had managed to remain on top for the simple reason that, in one swoop, however unintentionally, Charlie's Angels had completely crippled every other major crime family in Los Angeles.
Naturally, that pissed them off - but so far, no other mafia, mob, or gangsters had come close to touching the girls or their halos.
Except for Seamus.
He was special.
And he scared the shit out of her.
Seamus O'Grady was, for lack of a better term, hot as hell. She figured it was because the guy was the devil. He had no soul that she could sense, no feelings of guilt, or anything really but hate. He didn't seem human, in his ability to feel so little, and then feel so much.
Her apathy, she figured, must have come from him. As long as Mary didn't care, she was safe from him, from the clan. The minute she started questioning, the minute she started caring, she was dead.
So despite the fact that she was more or less allowing the murders of a bunch of pampered celebrities take place under her very nose, in a series of intentional mistakes that could very well cost her her job and a possible investigation by the FBI, Mary was certainly quite willing to go along with Seamus' well thought out plan of destruction.
Of course there were a couple snags along the way.
Mary paused in the doorway of what had to be the ugliest office on the bloody ship.
Seamus O'Grady, in his too tight 'stuck in the eighties and loving it' jeans, was bare chested. Muscles rippled as he spat angrily into the phone, so pissed off that his thick accent made his words almost indistinguishable.
Mary quirked an eyebrow, glancing back to Paddy, who merely stuffed another cigarette into his mouth and shrugged, walking away from her.
"Thanks," she muttered. "Great help, you Irish thug."
Seamus turned, found her, and motioned with a quick jerk, turning away and snarling again. "Ah don care what yer feelin', you bloody git. You do what ah tell ya, and finish what ya started, or I'll finish you." He slammed the phone into the cradle, nearly growling as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her.
"Fun day at the office?" she quipped, settling down in a dingy metal chair.
"Fucking bastard," he muttered. "That's the trouble with psychos nowadays," he added. "Always goin' crazy on ya, goin' after what isn't theirs."
She smirked. "Speaking of which, seen your little assassin today?"
He glared. "Which one?"
She laughed. "Whichever."
"I see him, I'll kill him," Seamus snapped. "I'll rip the little bastard apart."
The pure rage in his face settled a cold ice in Mary's stomach. She shifted uncomfortably. "Well then," she said with forced carelessness. "Thank Goodness for cell phones."
"You done?" he said, settling onto the desk and pulling out a gun. "Or are ya waiting just a wee bit 'til I'm good and murderous on ya?"
Okay, he wasn't in the mood. She understood that. Swallowing hard, she straightened, wiping the smirk off her face, and attempting to look a little serious.
"I'm done," she said. "What do you want?"
"Lighten up security on that hospital wing that fruit is stayin' at. I'm sending in our boy."
It was a statement, final, not open to discussion.
She suddenly didn't care. "Are you crazy?" she said breathlessly. His eyes narrow, mouth twisted at the reaction. "Do you know how much trouble I could get in for that? James LeGros is already riding on my ass to get this taken away from me-"
"How is that my problem?"
"-Not to mention that one of your little Angels kinda has a personal investment that could get my ass kic-"
"I HAVE A PERSONAL INVESTMENT!" he shouted, slapping an angry palm on his table that rattled the room, and created a jumpstart in her body that nearly drove her off the chair. She didn't have time to recover before the gun was plucked off the table and suddenly he had a palm wrapped around her neck, the cold muzzle of the weapon buried against her temple.
Mary didn't dare move. Her eyes lolled to the back of her head, throat closed in complete fear, and the moist hotness of his breath spread chills throughout her body.
"Listen to me," he whispered, lips moving over her ear. "She's mine. No one takes her but me. You do what I say, or that little Asian bitch is the last thing you have to worry about. You got it, love?"
She closed her eyes, taking in a gasping breath as she tried to regain control of her mind long enough to answer.
"I got it," she said uneasily. "I got it."
Suddenly the gun was removed. Sweating, freaked, Mary glanced over to find Seamus looking completely sane. He smiled merrily, patting her shoulder as he tossed the gun on the table. "Good. Have a go, then, Mary."
Slapping roughly at her head, he grabbed his shirt off the rack above her, and headed out of the office, shouting something to one of his merry henchmen.
Mary's fingers clamped tightly around the handles of her chair, eyes closed as she tried desperately to stop trembling.
She had made the deal. Seamus was her devil. She was never coming out of this alive. She just had to deal, shut up, and follow orders.
Opening her eyes, Mary raised unsteadily to her feet, moving for her cellphone as she shakily began to punch in numbers.
"You know, I just don't think that guy's entirely stable," she muttered.
--
Going back to the laboratory wasn't exactly the smartest thing that the Angels could do.
But it was honestly, the only option.
Returning to the Townsend Agency would have meant dealing not only with a bewildered Bosley, but with Charlie, and despite the girls strength, the hold their boss had on them was too strong.
Natalie knew, that even without a face to the voice, Charlie could change their minds with a simple command – one that everyone would follow, despite their own objections.
"Allright," Alex said, coming through the door of the plastics department (normally used by the girls to make anything from prosthetic faces to bombs). "I've got the tapes," she announced, hefting through a box of tapes and plopping them on the dusty table Dylan and Natalie were currently leaning against. "We can each take one, track the movements, see where Seamus is."
"I already know where he is," Dylan said irately. The red-head, remarkably silent since the incident in the car, now spoke with a flat, testy monotone. "He's at the Merkin."
Natalie, after a wary glance at Alex, smiled with forced ease. "Dylan, I don't know-"
"I do," Dylan snapped. "Look, he's still got the same agenda – me. He wouldn't move because he knew that eventually, I would want to find him-"
"Dylan-"
"Guys! Trust me. I know Seamus." Rubbing a palm through her hair, she gave a slight grimace, pushing down onto the floor. "Just get me those plans and I can figure out a way in."
"Dylan, the last time we went in there we barely got out alive." Alex spoke quietly, almost delicately, as if she were carefully attempting to handle a wounded animal.
Dylan considered, moving a hand to her chest, and suddenly stilling, feeling around. Without a word, her face hardened, fingers pulling around the object and yanking hard.
Natalie understood certain truths about Dylan. She hated to be pitied. She didn't mind a good joke, even if it was at her expense. She hated Alex's whip more than anything in the world, and her heart, when given, was total and complete.
Her rage, when angered – ran just as pure.
Dylan's anger now was slowly simmering, coming to a boil beneath her skin. Natalie could see it in the stiff movements, in the way Dylan was still physically struggling to keep it all in – soon, she wouldn't be able to handle the pain, and then she would either let it out completely in one violent swoop or completely shut it down, replacing it with numbness.
It scared her that she didn't know which way she was going.
Alex, always confrontational, and the first to tease Dylan with her 'I told you so's had experienced that herself – when it came to Jason.
Maybe that was why she was walking on eggshells.
But Dylan saw the glances, and it didn't help.
"Oh, trust me," she snapped, "We're the only ones coming out of that place alive."
The medallion she tore off landed on the table with a dull clang. She pushed away from it and went for the door, leaving Alex and Natalie alone.
"I'm going to kill that guy if I see him again," Alex said after a minute.
"She's had her heart broken before," Natalie said in a low voice, trying to be optimistic as she carefully sorted the tapes.
Alex was quiet, arms crossed as she stared thoughtfully at the door. "No," she said finally. "Not like this. Dylan gave everything up for him, Natalie. This was different."
She met Natalie's gaze, and lip quivering, Natalie didn't want to admit she agreed.
It was true. The Thin Man had ripped apart something in Dylan that no one had ever reached, and she didn't understand why or how it happened.
Dylan was broken, inside and out, and Natalie didn't understand how that could happen to a person like Dylan, with her big beautiful heart, and her warm, radiant smile.
Natalie didn't take emotion lightly, and even now, her objectivity and positive outlook was starting to fade.
She didn't know what she would do if she saw Anthony again, and for that reason she prayed that they found a way to get out of this thing with Seamus with some answer – something ELSE.
"She'll get through it," she said finally. "We'll help her."
"I just hope we can," Alex said wistfully.
The door slammed open, kicked at by a boot, and the moisture in Natalie's throat evaporated as she saw Dylan enter with a gun.
When both she and Alex stared with flabbergasted expressions, a stone-faced Dylan replied, "Just in case."
She snapped the clasp, and the bullets locked into place.
--
Jason's enthusiasm of the game had withered when the Dodgers went from a 4-2 lead to a 10-4 loss.
The post game show was depressing, but too lazy to turn it off, and unable to find the report, he let it blare on at him, discussing missed opportunities and the upsets that came with it.
"Hey," Pete called.
Jason turned, nodding in despair. "They lost."
"Yeah?" Pete answered, coming in with a backpack over his shoulder, placing it down carefully and shrugging off his jacket.
"I think you were bad luck," Jason said suspiciously. "As soon as you left they all just... you know – sucked."
"They do that anyway," Pete said good-naturedly.
"Yeah? Well, look at this." Jason rang his little bell loudly. Pete looked up expectantly. "That's right! No one's coming!"
"Really?" Hands on his waist, Pete glanced back at the hallway. "I thought it looked a little empty."
"Yeah, well – I'm starving. A man's gotta eat!"
Pete smiled sympathetically, palms waving in apologies. "Let me see what I can get for you," he said good-naturedly. "But first – I brought you a surprise."
Jason perked up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Sneaking a peak over his shoulder, he gently lifted the backpack.
It squirmed and gave a yip.
Jason yelped, moving back. "What's that?"
Pete grinned, unzipping the bag to reveal a golden puppy, wagging it's tail furiously, and erupting in barks. "It's Spike!"
"SPIKE! BUDDY!" Jason looked genuinely surprised, arms outstretched as the dog struggled to get out of the over-sized bag.
"Hang on, hang on," Pete said, chuckling. He pulled the furry body out fully, just in time for Spike to finagle his way out of his arms, and land with a thump on Jason's bed.
"OOMPH! OUCH!" Despite the pain, Jason hugged the shimmying dog to him, laughing as Spike began to lick him on every square inch of his face. "Hey, buddy!" Jason sighed happily, petting the little head. "I wanted a dog, Alex said there was no chance in hell."
"Well..." Pete, ever optimistic, reasoned, "You're not with Alex anymore."
At that, he received a dirty look. "Hey! Don't jinx it. I'd prefer Alex over a dog any day." He rubbed a noogie into Spike's face.
Pete chuckled. "Yah, you know I think she kinda loves you too."
Jason nodded in agreement. "Only took getting shot for her to realize it," he drifted off thoughtfully. "Maybe the next time we fight, we can hire a guy to-"
"Okay, enough!" Pete shook his head, ambling toward the door. "I'm going to round up a nurse. You're talking insane."
"I'm an actor!" Jason called after him. "That's what we are!"
In the hallway, Pete glanced back and forth. "Where is everyone?" he asked himself. The guard's chair was mysteriously empty. The rooms on either side of Jason's private wing were locked. There were no nurses, no doctors...
"Weird," he said.
Walking toward the exit, he glanced at the vending machine.
"Hmm..." Shrugging, he dug into his pockets. "Might as well get him a little something to stave him..." Jason, at the last Angels barbeque, had single-handedly eaten the entire potato salad. It had nearly caused a fistfight between him and Dylan.
He had two dimes in the machine, and was scrounging around the quarters necessary for the Baked Lays, two explosions ripped through the air. Spike's bark suddenly echoed in the hallway, panicked and angry.
Pete glanced up, motions frozen as the dog continued to growl, yelping once as something suddenly tipped over.
The change clattered to the floor.
"Jason!"
Pete sprinted, heart in his throat as he slid on the linoleum, catching himself on the wooden doorway to swing inside the hospital room belonging to his friend.
Spike growled menacingly on sheets blotched red, paws digging into Jason's body, and at the edge, facing the now broken window, was a thin man in a suit, holding onto a bloody sword.
"HEY!" Fumbling for his waist, Pete pulled at the tranquilizer gun, pointing it angrily at the man.
But the man with the striking blue eyes only glared at him, before a chair was flung in his direction.
Pete ducked, the tip of the chair clipping the flat of his palms protecting his head, but nothing more.
When he stood, the man had disappeared.
"Jason!" Dropping the gun, Pete came forward, finding Jason with a bruise on his temple, his sheets splattered with blood, and his eyes closed.
--
"We're not taking that with us."
That came from Alex. The brunette Angel had her arms crossed, her voice was flat and final, but her eyes were wide and pleading.
"Dylan-"
"Guys - look at me." Dylan spread her arms out wide, motioning to her entire body. "I can't do this without some sort of aide-"
"Then bring a sword, or a staff - but not the gun," Natalie said, voice aching and severe. "Anything but the gun."
"You know why Charlie-"
"I'm not Madison," Dylan snapped. Her palms gripped the end of the table, as if by attempting to break it in half, she'd get some sort of control over herself. With a shuddering sigh, she began again, this time in lower, shakier voice. "Seamus wants me there to kill me. If I go in there, the way I am now - I'll get my ass kicked. You know that. I can barely beat Seamus when I'm at full strength, and he knows about my ribs. He won't hesitate..." Dylan swallowed hard. "And... Ant- The Thin Man knows too..."
"Then don't go," Alex replied easily.
Dylan threw her friend a scathing glare. "Don't ever ask me that again."
Alex bit her lip and looked away, stuck, just like Natalie. There was no way out of this. Dylan needed to go. She had to in order to find any sort of closure to the chaos that was enveloping her now.
But with a gun? An object that so easily signified murder?
The ringing of a cellphone distracted the tense moment, and Natalie was glad for it, immediately looking away to grab her phone off her hip.
"Hello?" The voice was grainy, and Natalie had to squint, free hand against her ear in order to fully hear him. "Pete? You're all grainy."
Static came at her from the receiver. She winced, shrugging helplessly when both Dylan and Alex cast her questioning looks. "--Jason -- shots-- Thin Guy with--- word--"
"Oh, God," she whispered. Her eyes closed, and her breath sucked in.
"--Alive --- blood--"
Her eyes widened, and suddenly he was gone. "PETE?! PETE!?"
"What happened?" Alex demanded, arms dropping, and face suddenly alive with panic.
Natalie struggled to speak. "It's... Jason. Something happened - Pete said something about the Thin Man-"
In the next instant Alex was grabbing her keys, heading toward the door. "Alex!"
"I'll meet you there!"
"I'm going, too," Dylan said, palm wrapping around her leather jacket, making an effort to shrug it on without pain.
"No." Natalie swallowed hard when both women looked at her with so much obvious anger, but she stuck to her guns. By some miracle, both women had been listening when she gave orders – not exactly new – but certainly placing her in a leadership position that hadn't always been constant.
But with Dylan's ribs and her certain mental state, and Alex's obvious worry about Jason, it seemed only logical that she, objective in her emotional state, would make the decisions.
Except that she wasn't.
Natalie's blood simmered and her heart ached. What Alex felt, she felt. When Dylan cried, she cried. It was a peculiar gift that came with her rather enormous heart, and at this moment, she wished more than anything that she could throw objectivity to the side and just FEEL.
"Look," she said finally. "Pete said Jason's okay. Whatever happened is obviously over. Alex," she began with a nod in her direction. "You go over there, see if you can find anything-"
"Natalie-"
"Dylan and I will head over to the Merkin. We'll do some reconnaissance and get ourselves set up. It's the only way," she insisted, when both her friends opened their mouths to argue. "Alex can look for the clues – Dylan can't go by herself, and we need to go after Seamus as soon as possible. If Mary knows- Seamus knows. We can't afford to wait."
Dylan's lips pursed. She was clearly affected by the news of the attack, but logic, once again, had managed to overrule her.
Digging her heels into the floor, she jerked around, muttering something about grabbing the vests and exited the room.
Alex paused midway in putting on her own jacket.
"Can you do it alone?" Natalie asked uneasily.
"Of course I can," Alex said crisply. "But that's not why you didn't let her go." She stared at Natalie a bit longer than necessary, before sighing, and pulling her hair out from under the jacket's collar. "I suppose she really couldn't do much against the Thin Man," she said under her breath. "I mean...with what happened-"
"No," Natalie interrupted. "That's not it. I'm not afraid that Dylan won't be able to hurt him. I'm afraid Dylan will kill him."
Alex's movements faltered. She gave it some thought before she shrugged and said crisply, "And that's bad because?" She tossed her hair, pulling open the door. "I'll meet you at the docks."
She left Natalie alone, with Dylan's gun as an ominous set piece.
--
Dylan was completely aware she was acting like a stone-cold bitch.
A part of her almost felt sorry for it.
She refused to give into the guilt. To even allow one minute feeling of sympathy would open the floodgates of a deeper emotion that, now bottled and shaken, would cause her to explode.
Even now, the pain that creased in her from trying to hold it in made it harder to breathe than ever before.
She couldn't feel it right now. She couldn't sit down and analyze why exactly it cut her to even think about him – about anything and everything that had happened to her, to him, to them.
He had made love to her.
She shuddered, taking in another breath to the cork of her throat and pushed open the door, dragging three vests with her.
"Got them," she said crisply to a waiting Natalie. She ignored Natalie's figure, the way her friend wrapped long arms around her as if that was the only thing holding her together. She knew Natalie.
Natalie would want to talk.
"We should head over the pier and set up a vantage point," she said quickly, dumping the vests on the table. "And um..."
"Put on the vests?" Natalie asked quietly.
Dylan swallowed hard. Her eyes glanced down at her shirt.
Her black shirt that required her to pull it over her shoulders.
Anthony had helped her pull it off-
"Here." Natalie came forward. Her eyes were curiously moist, and she had only the hint of a smile as she pulled deftly at Dylan's shirt. "You sure you wanna do this?"
"As sure as I want to use my gun," Dylan responded evenly.
Natalie actually winced at that.
Dylan glanced away, taking a moment to breathe before she gave a hesitant nod.
Immediately Natalie pulled up. The action sparked her side, hot pain flaring over her body, and unable to hold in the pain, Dylan whimpered.
A lone tear slipped from Dylan's eye as she suddenly grabbed hold of Natalie's elbow, fingers gripping so hard Natalie's skin grew white around them.
"Okay, hold on," Natalie whispered. Quickly, she zipped on the vest, carefully to not press her ribs too much. "Might work," she added gently. "Kinda like another brace."
Dylan grimaced, but said nothing, mouth twitching as she grabbed her shirt.
"Okay," Natalie said after a minute. "Here we go. You ready?"
"Yeah," Dylan said, voice tight with pain and frustration. "Just... now," she pleaded. "Just get it over with."
After a long, searching gaze, Natalie did, taking pity on her and jerking the shirt down Dylan's arms.
The pain consumed her, and suddenly, Dylan couldn't hold it in anymore.
The shirt came down, and Dylan shuddered, crumpling against Natalie. Her arms went around her desperately, burying her face into Natalie's beautiful blonde hair.
"Oh, God," she whispered in broken sobs. "Oh, God, Natalie..."
"Shhh..." Natalie's lips brushed against her skin, feather light, a simple caressed that produced the most delicate of trembles from her friend. Her palms gently rubbed at Dylan's spine, massaging lightly. "It's okay, honey-"
Dylan squeezed desperately, her full weight on her slender friend, and not giving one damn. The tears came in a large torrent, moistening her friend's black shod shoulder, but Natalie never pulled away. Her fingers threaded through Dylan's neck, and for the longest time, she just held her, without judgment, without logic.
It seemed an eternity that Dylan clung to her buoy. Once, she tried to let go, but found herself drowning away, clutching at Natalie and sobbing into her neck yet again.
Natalie's patience was never ending. She kissed her temple gently, and whispered over and over that it would be okay.
It was a lie, but coming from Natalie, Dylan found herself wanting to believe it.
It was what finally allowed her to gain her foothold. Dylan found herself on dry land once more, as the tears began to ebb, and she finally found the courage to pull away, stare into the moist blue eyes, which, to her surprise, had been shedding tears alongside her.
"Thanks," Dylan said finally, gently stepping out of Natalie's arm, and attempting to move to the table.
"Dylan." Natalie's hesitant pronouncement of her name stopped her in her tracks. "Talk to me."
Dylan's vision was blurred, her eyes stung. But she still saw the gun, and her clothes still stank of acrid cigarette smoke that would now forever be associated with a different shade of blue orbs, a cruel, thin mouth.
She turned back.
"You know," she began finally. "Seamus told me in that alley, he said that I wouldn't truly understand what it meant to be him, until I had lost everything. Until I was completely alone..." she managed a grim smile, blinking through the drying tears. "He knew what he was doing-"
"He's wrong," Natalie snapped firmly. "You haven't lost everything. You have me. You have Alex. You won't ever lose us. He's wrong, Dylan."
Almost patronizingly, Dylan nodded, laughing dryly as she sniffled once, wiping at the moisture in her eyes. "Sure. You're right. But he was right about one thing."
Natalie's jaw ticked, waiting on pins and needles for Dylan's statement. It seemed, she was almost afraid.
Dylan's fingers closed around the gun.
"I hate him, Natalie. I never knew the meaning of the word until now. I hate him enough to kill him." She clipped the gun onto her belt, just on the small of her back. "Let's go."
Something died in Natalie. Dylan saw it in her eyes, and she almost regretted walking by her friend so callously.
Natalie had done nothing to deserve it, and when Dylan regained her senses, she would hate herself for it.
Right now, however, it didn't seem to matter.
Nothing did.
Because that part of Dylan was already dead.
End chapter.