Chapter Nine

Isle of Capri Motor Lodge

By the time Woody and Eddie made it back to the precinct, Woody was ready to explode. He had watched the security tapes in total outrage. The two assassins walked through the halls of the jail like they owned the place. Yet they could never get a good shot of their features. For all they knew they could have been anybody.

That was until Eddie told him the rest of the story. Woody was glad Roz was there to keep him from doing something he'd regret.

"Krouchkov? It sounds like a cheap brand of vodka," Woody commented dryly and shifted back and forth in his seat. The amount of caffeine humming through his system made him anxious. He couldn't sit still.

"More like high end hit men," Eddie countered. "We heard rumors in connection..."

"Rumors and oh-by-the-fucking-ways! Why the hell can't I get a straight story on this case? No wonder this one got so...dicked up!"

"...There were strings. They got tangled," Eddie warned.

"There are always strings! That's why you have to stay on task! It's the only way to keep them straight...or didn't they teach you that in the academy!" Still on a tangent Woody pointed to Eddie's Italian leather wingtips. "Or did you bypass that lesson and go straight to how to keep a shine on your shoes...Sir!"

"Detective..." Eddie growled

A two fingers whistle broke the verbal sparing in the bullpen, but didn't do any thing for the tension.

"Boys, boys...Cease or I'm going to have to call the cops," Roz sing-songed pointing at the awkwardly milling staff that was trying to do their own jobs.

Woody sighed loudly and ran a shaky hand through his hair sending it up in odd angles, making Roz comment on the fact that he needed a haircut.

Roz was right, Woody thought to himself. Life was still going on around them even if it felt like his was in an endless downward spiral. Maybe Leighanne was right. Maybe he was burning out. He could see Winslow was chasing similar ghost around in his mind. An unspoken, and very temporary, truce was struck.

"Fine...fine," he sighed in resignation. "Do we have anything on these assholes?"

Eddie loosened his tie, still glaring at Woody, and slid a grainy fax photograph across the table.

"I made some calls to an old friend over to the Bureau. Dmitri and Yuri Krouchkov. They've been doing the Russian organization's dirty business for years. They appear and disappear at will. They've been AWOL for the last five years. Big Brother thinks they have been forcibly retired..."

"B...But you don't believe that," Woody said studying the picture of two very unassuming figures. They looked more like middle-aged school teachers than cold blooded assassins.

"The feds have tentatively tied them to at least 80 hits...and not just Russian. These guys are free lance."

"...And since they are making their lives so much easier, the feebees turned a blind eye..." Woody laughed mirthlessly.

"You said it, not me..."

Eddie was interrupted by Roz's phone ringing. His voice dropped, "...That was until they capped a government official on a dog and pony tour for a possible government supply contract down south somewhere..."

"Which put them on the Homeland Security watch list..." Woody concluded.

"From what they can decipher the brothers are enjoying a true retirement in the Cayman's."

Woody chanced a grin. "That's good. They're not our guys."

Eddie passed another fax across the desk. "Central Casting intercepted a phone call from a strip club over on Broad to the Cayman's.."

Woody looked at the name of the bar on the paper. The club in question was a known Russian mob cover.

"I'm sure Homeland is on top of this..."

"Don't be so sure, Cowboy..." Roz cut in as she hung up her phone. "Two marks fitting the Krouchkovs' description landed at Logan yesterday."

"And they just let them walk!" Woody said incredulously.

"We're talking Logan here Woodrow, Fuckup Central. Security lost them shortly after they left the terminal."

"And nobody thought it was important enough to tell somebody!"

"Yesterday afternoon the Krouchkovs were just a couple of questionable islanders breezing into town for a Bruins game," Roz said calmly.

"They're here to clean up lose ends," Eddie stated simply. "We stirred the pot and now they're here to finish it. Campbell...and then Jordan."

"...Not before I say something about it. First things first. We need to get Jordan under wraps. Roz! I need a big favor...Get on the phone and get a black and white over to the morgue to pick her up and bring her here..."

"I'll go," Eddie said. "Until we're sure, this should be a need to know..."

Woody was about to argue no, but then thought the less people that knew about this the better. Somehow these assassins had gotten past the best Boston had to offer and got to Campbell. It was only a matter of time before they were able to track Jordan down. Without protection she'd be a sitting duck. Woody nodded his head and turned his attention to finding a place to stow Jordan. He picked up his land line and began to call in a few favors of his own. The lieutenant could rip his hide off later. He was going to take care of Jordan under the table. Even though it killed him to admit it, there were only a handful of people he could trust right now...and Winslow was one of them.

The sun was a cold yellow disk on the horizon outside the precinct building that was quickly becoming a battle field. Those in the need to know were secretly placing bets on who would leave the small integration room alive. The opinions were pretty well spilt down the middle. One thing was for certain. The volatile Doctor Cavanaugh did not like being forcibly removed in the middle of an autopsy.

"Protective custody? You've got to be kidding me!" Jordan exclaimed.

Woody stood with his back against the mirrored wall with his arms folded confidently across his chest. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

"This is ludicrous! I've got work to do...for your case, if you didn't notice."

Jordan argument fell on deaf ears when Woody's phone rang. He answered with a few brief words and hung up with an almost undistinguishable flip of his wrist.

"We're ready."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

"That's not what I'm worried about. I'm a little more worried about the bigger, bad guys on this one..."

"I'm not going and that's final."

"I have handcuffs Jordan...and I know how to use them," To prove his point Woody reached around his back and produced a pair.

"No..."

"...Try me."

"Screw you Hoyt."

"Take a number and get in line Doc," Woody cut back. It wasn't like he was going to win any popularity contest in the near future...At this point, what was one more 'no' vote?

Jordan simply glared at the wall beyond the bed of her new found hell. A day-glow print of a still water lake hung above the heavily scared pressed wood headboard. It looked like something that happy tree guy paints on PBS on Sunday mornings. Only this painting bounced in time with the heavy thumping coming from the adjacent room.

"Come on, come on, you sexy son-of-a-bitch...that's it...that's it... more!"

"You like that don't you? Ride it baby, go, faster. Yeah...Shiiiit, that's good."

The paper thin walls only added to the ambience of the rented room Woody had her dumped in.

"Where the hell did you find this place..?" she asked rhetorically to the empty room.

Suddenly, the verbal foreplay from next door disintegrated into a hodge-podge of animal grunts and groans that rose in a fevered pitched ending to an unearthly crescendo.

Jordan rolled her eyes upwards. "Thank God."

In the calm, Jordan pulled the sun bleached curtain back and glanced out at the parking lot. Other than Romeo and Paris's rotating acronyms, not much had changed in her twelve hours of exile. Her jail guard of the hour was sitting at the uncovered window of the room directly across from hers. She was tempted to give him a five fingered wave...but was afraid she'd turn into a one fingered one. Instead she just grinned. They were stuck just like she was. The two eighteen wheelers that were in the parking lot when Eddie dropped were gone and replaced by a third. She could only assumed the rusted out powder blue Trans Am parked out front belonged to the sex machines next door.

She dropped the curtain and leaned warily against the press board dresser that matched the natty headboard cigarette burn for cigarette burn. It was almost midnight and she was still fully dressed. She couldn't bring herself to take off her shoes and walk across the grimy, olive green carpet let alone climb between the sheets of the camel backed bed.

The place had charm to spare. Jordan had stayed in places that made this look like a dream. It was just the fact that Hoyt forced his hand and put her under house arrest that made her mad. She tried to reason with Eddie, but to no avail. For once, two men that couldn't agree on the color of white, agreed on putting her in some no-tell motel in the middle of nowhere.

Seeing no point to put off the inevitable, Jordan flipped off the bedside light to get ready for bed. Not surprisingly, the room was still bright enough to see in nauseating detail. There was a row of fluorescent lights that ran the length of the overhang outside the motel's doors. The bug yellow light seeped under the curtains that barely skimmed the windowsill making the room glow like something out of an old film noir.

The only saving grace Jordan found with the whole situation was the six-pack that Eddie had dropped off earlier. She had begged him to help her escape and he offered her a bag of hot burgers and cold box of imports instead.

The burgers had long since been tossed in the trash but the beer remained. It was piss warm and flat by then...but Jordan didn't care. She popped open a bottle and peeled off her boots and jeans. Cautiously she pulled the bedspread off the bed and tossed it in the closet like the toxic waste it was. Finally, one toe at a time, Jordan climbed into the bed and shut her eyes.

Her dreams came quickly. Muffled gun shots and bitter poison. First Max, then Eddie...finally Woody...next...

With a gasp, she shot up. A fine film of sweat covered her body even through the chill of the room. The dry, musty smell coming from the window unit was almost reassuring. A fact she'd never admit it in a million years. Jordan curled back up and stuffed the wafer thin pillow under her head trying to shake the dreams and close her eyes again.

"...I can't get enough of you baby. It's so God damn big..."

The gunshots from her dreams were echoed in the steady pounding from next door. The rabbits were at it again.

"Fuck darlin'...you could suck an olive through a straw..."

"Oh...give me A BREAK...!" Jordan exclaimed flopping on her back. Exasperated, she pounded the wall with the heel of her hand. "GIVE IT A REST...!"

There was a brief blessed moment of silence. Then a round of high pitch giggles. Jordan decided the idea that they had an audience didn't seem to faze them. There was barely a break in the squeak of the bedsprings.

When it became apparent that the show next door wasn't going to end anytime soon, Jordan climbed out of bed and debated on whether to try to make a break for it. She was about to look out the window again when there was a knock on her door.

Woody double checked that Jordan was alone before he pulled his old Chevy into the parking lot of the Isle of Capri Motor Lodge. Even though The Isle was known more for its hourly rates than its cozy comforts, a little voice in the back of his head warned him not to be surprised if Winslow helped Jordan settle in. It was late. Too late for a social call, but this wasn't social. Jordan's safety was his responsibility. He knew he wouldn't be able to get an hour or two of sleep until he saw her face.

At first, Jordan thought maybe the human piston from next door was paying her a visit to discuss her interrupting his good time, but the knock came with a cadence. It was a series of knocks that meant it was one of her official captors. Through the peephole, Jordan made out a walleye view of Woody rocking back and forth on his feet in the cold wearing a pizza delivery uniform. She arched an eyebrow and opened the door a crack.

"That had better have pineapple..."

Woody took in the sleep tossed hair and deep circles under her eyes and smiled. "Black olives and bacon."

"You like black olives and bacon," she said opening up the door to let him in.

"..And they were stingy with the bacon this time," he finished tossing the empty box on the top of the dresser. He peeled back the curtain and nodded to the window next door.

Woody took a moment to notice the blanket in the closet and the empty beer bottles scattered around. He also noticed she stood there in nothing but a pair of thin white panties and deep red camisole top. Suddenly warm, he tossed the uniform hat on top of the box and unzipped the jacket.

"I see you've made the place home..." he commented grimly.

Jordan snorted. "When can I get out of here?"

"As soon as the coast is clear..." he answered matter-of-factly. A loud bang against the bedside wall drew Woody's attention to the x-rated ruckus from the other side. In spite of the situation, Woody had to grin. "I'll be..."

"She's been polishing his balls all night. Right friendly place you've got here, Wood."

"That's the point. Nobody sees anything going on in a place like this. That's what makes it safe."

"Well, next time I want five star and room service..."

"Looks like you already had room service," Woody said warily pointing to the beer.

"Eddie's idea of a peace offering. And here I thought you were the one who was supposed to be full of chivalrous charm. You bring empty pizza boxes."

"Well damn. I must have misplaced the glass slipper somewhere along the way of trying to protect your pretty little ass." Woody lowered his voice when the rhythm of the bed springs next door began to slow down. He pulled Jordan bodily to the opposite side of the room and hissed. "If you and your friend were up front about this from the beginning Jordan, we wouldn't be playing catch up right now."

Jordan pulled her arm out of grasp and planted her fists on her hips. "I was honest when I said I didn't know anything, Woody."

"Funny how you and your boyfriend discuss a pair of international assassins the second I let you go," he squinted at her.

"You still think I'm covering for them..."

"If it looks like a duck, Jordan. This is a big case, real big..." he said sternly.

"Oh yeah, you're the big D.I.C. I forget. This is all about you isn't it?"

"Yes, damn it, I'm in charge," he continued hotly. "But this is about justice, Jordan. I need to have all the details...no matter what they are. Nothing comes before that, not your precious Captain Winslow, nothing."

He was so close she could feel the warmth of his breath stir the tiny hairs that clung to the side of her cheek. She was in protective custody to keep her away from people that wanted to hurt her physically. Nobody even thought about what this whole situation was doing to her emotionally. She back away and wrapped her arms around her waist.

"When did you become such an asshole?"

"I wanted to fit in," Woody whispered checking the parking lot one more time. "It seems to work for Winslow."

"Eddie's a man of conviction...He doesn't go around making unfounded accusations."

"Speaking of the devil, I half expected to find Mr. Integrity here. You can tell me, Jordan. Couldn't he keep up with the action next door? Or was he just worried about getting his suit wrinkled?"

"When did you become such an asshole?" she asked again, her voice shaking.

He must have liked what he saw outside because he let the curtain go. "When I stopped worrying about what everybody else thought."

"I almost feel sorry for Luanne."

"Leighanne," he corrected her.

"Whatever." Jordan reached for the doorknob. "I should ask you why you're still here, Woody. I'm still in one piece. Why don't you go home? I'm sure Leighanne is getting tired of warming the bed all by herself."

"...Not anymore. We...broke up."

The wind was temporarily taken out of her sails. "I'm sorry."

Despite his mood, he stifled a sarcastic laugh. "Yeah, well, ironically she blames us."

"There's no 'us'. There never was," she said with false bravado.

"Oh, there was an 'us' Jordan. As truly pathetic as it was...there was an 'us'," Woody spit out, venomously.

"You know, you're not one of my favorite people anymore," she whispered.

If possible Woody's face turned stormier. "I never really got the impression that you had to be all that wowed by a guy to sleep with him. Tell me Jordan...why was I so different?"