Chapter Six: Never Smile At A Crocodile

Steve's mind reeled – and now not just from the nauseating mix of muskrat, moonshine and half chewed tobacco which compounded Cletus' already noxious odour.

From the moment he'd been abducted, he'd been anchored by the hope – no, the certainty – that if anyone could prove Tucker Baxter's innocence, and get him out of this mess, it was his father.

Mark Sloan's tenacity for the truth was legendary, as was his unfailing judgment of character. If there was the slightest chance that the boy was innocent, Mark Sloan would ensure that justice was done.

To be told now, though, that his current ordeal might all be for nothing. To think these hillbilly rejects were, for whatever reason, making a fool of his father . . .

If he'd not been in so much pain, Steve might have let a rising tide of anger get the better of him. Dissuaded still further by the painful consequence of any protest, he rested his aching head back onto the floor.

His helplessness infuriated him, but Steve knew better than to let that anger show. Instead he closed his eyes, consoling himself with bittersweet images of home. His father would, he knew, be pulling out all the stops to find him. And he'd bet his pension, such as it was, that Jess and Amanda would be right there to support him, as the best of families always did.

Just the trace of a smile chased away the pangs of yearning and fear. Comforting thoughts now strengthened Steve's faith and resolve. They'd find him. They'd find him . . .

Sloans' Deck

Compelled by instincts he never questioned, only welcomed, Mark Sloan smiled. For the first time in almost two days, he felt positive – satisfied that he was finally doing something constructive to find his son.

Thoughts of how closely Jesse had shared that feeling caused his smile to widen. His young friend could never sit still at the best of times, let alone when someone he cared about was in danger. And when that someone was Steve . . .

It had been interesting and, in many ways, comforting, to watch Jesse's response to the crisis of Steve's kidnapping. His young friend had frequently demonstrated that kid brothers could be just as fiercely protective as their older siblings. Nothing got the boy more rattled than when his own protector came under threat. Now was no exception.

Two hours ago, he'd sent Jesse to South Gate Senior High School, for him to ferret for leads as only Jesse Travis could.

It had almost been like stepping back in time, the directions barely out of his mouth before Jesse had left the house with all the friskiness of a puppy set free from its leash Still, Mark reflected fondly, unlike the Margie Karn investigation, at least this time he'd waited for those directions before bolting away.

One thing was for sure, South Gate Senior High didn't know what was about to hit it! And, Mark thought wryly, Ron Wagner was probably feeling the same way . . .

Sloans' Deck

Ron Wagner had felt no qualms over answering Amanda's 3am call for help. After a shaky start, he'd come to respect the Sloans far more than the no-nonsense FBI agent would be prepared to admit. And if truth be told, he'd come to regard both doctor and son as friends rather than acquaintances.

He just wished that, having been brought in to exert his influence, he might actually be allowed to do so.

The normal police investigation into Rico Alonso's death had hit a frustrating stonewall, from a school principal more concerned with his establishment's image and reputation than a man's life – hence Mark Sloan's request for some 'weightier assistance.'

By no stretch of the imagination could you class a skinny, five foot six inch doctor who looked half his age as 'weightier assistance'. The problem was, no one had explained that to said tired, anxious and now extremely hacked off five foot six inch doctor!

They wouldn't dare, Ron thought wryly, again struck by how deceptive appearances could be. He himself had made the mistake of questioning Jesse Travis' seemingly outlandish theories – memories of the young doctor's quietly triumphant "I'm always doing that . . . " causing one side of his mouth to twitch reluctantly upwards.

Yes, there was no doubt that young Travis was a force to be reckoned with – as the aptly named Victor Stalling was now discovering.

"Look, Mr Stalling, none of this has to reach the papers…" Jesse replied patiently to the principal's latest cause to deny them – the unspoken 'but that could easily change' still evident in both his voice and his determined expression.

A past master at reasoning with difficult, unresponsive patients, Jesse then schooled his voice into a quiet, level calmness. "We're not interested in creating problems, or bad publicity for your school. All we're interested in is saving Lieutenant Sloan's life. And all we're asking is to interview Tucker Baxter's classmates to find out if they'd been bullied and intimidated too. We need to find out whether someone other than Tucker had a motive to kill Rico."

He'd tried every approach he could think of, from the glacier melting smile (which had at least worked on Stalling's secretary), through the back up plan of charm, reasoning and now thinly veiled threats.

He'd kept calm and reasonable throughout, which deserved at least some recognition. So the principal's eventual response was as unjust as it was unwelcome.

"You make a most convincing argument, Dr Travers…" he finally sniffed, adding insult to injury by deliberately mispronouncing Jesse's name. "But I have given every co-operation to the police that I'm obliged to give under that court order they served on me. Which I did not appreciate, by the way. I mean, the humiliation of having all those police descend on my school, right in the middle of our charity fundraiser…"

It was obvious from Jesse's quietly seething expression that he didn't think Victor Stalling had a charitable bone in his body. It was also obvious, as the two combatants glared at each other across Stalling's desk, that World War Three was about to break out.

At any other time, Ron Wagner might have settled back to enjoy the show. With so much at stake, though, he simply reached into his inside pocket, smiling at their opponent with all the charm of a predatory crocodile as he drew out his cellphone.

"Well, Mr Stalling, I'd say you have a choice. You can either provide Dr Travis here with the information he needs, or I get a full FBI squad down here. And believe me, they're not nearly so discreet, or inconspicuous, as us."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just see a trace of a smirk cross Jesse's face, as that of Victor Stalling took on an expression of scandalised outrage.

"But – But that's blackmail!" he blustered, any further protests he may have had effectively quashed by the sight of Ron's finger pressing into the cellphone's keypad.

Resigned to the fact that he'd met his match, the still muttering principal reached for his intercom.

"Miss Jensen? Can you provide these gentlemen with a full list of Mr Kennedy's class?"

A few minutes later, the eavesdropping secretary came in, carrying a small folder. And maybe it was a trick of the sunlight, but Jesse felt sure she winked at him, trying in vain to hide a 'good for you' grin as she walked past.

As Stalling left too, no doubt to protest his treatment to the school's attorney, Jesse turned to Ron, his expression one part gratitude to three parts curiosity. "I didn't know you had an FBI team follow us up here!"

"I didn't," Ron replied, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders. "It's a good thing he caved when he did, though, or else I'd have had to explain the arrival of my favourite Chinese takeout."

He'd kept his face straight throughout – but that didn't last long, as Jesse's surprise gave way to helpless, much needed laughter.

As they drove back to LA, Jesse frowned at the sheets of paper that rested in his lap. One name in particular intrigued him. And he knew that Mark would soon feel the same way.