Cracking of a Fragile Eggshell Mind
a tale spun by Mayor Tokey
Rating: R
Summary: The local police have all but given up finding the evidence necessary to put Mort Rainey in prison. That doesn't mean The CIA doesn't have plans in store involving a young rookie named Sheldon Jeffrey Sands.
Disclaimer: I own nada. I'm pretty sure my cohort owns nothing either, but then again, I never asked. This is just a twisted little tail with characters belonging to Stephen King and Robert Rodriguez. Even the title partially belongs to someone else, i.e. The Doors from their song "Peace Frog." We're not worthy!
Psychoanalyze Me Cap'n
Sandy, the lady cop, was about half a mile away, when she saw the roadster swing out of control. She was a quarter of a mile away when she saw the control resumed, going the wrong way.
"Shit!" She swore and radioed for backup, it was already one huge mess. She just hoped that none of them had been too seriously injured, although she wouldn't have any objections to Agent Sands getting a bump or two.
When she reached the carnage, she was only grateful that the pig of a cop drove nearly as slowly as he waddled. She helped him out of his vehicle-he only had a couple of scratches really. Then she turned to assist the other men.
She peered in the passenger side window, and saw that the 'Farmer John' was unconscious, even had a growing bump on the side of his head that looked suspiciously the size of the barrel of a Glock. She then turned her attention to the prick on the driver's side.
Sands was, more or less, unconscious. The impact had thrown him back against the seat and kicked him forward into the steering wheel. There was blood dribbling down his lip and a cut on his forehead. Being a somewhat outdated car, there weren't any airbags. This meant he'd more than likely be sporting a stylish bruise down his torso from the seatbelt as well.
The pig cop had fallen out of his car after he'd managed to unstrap himself from the twisted wreckage. His cruiser had faired better than the other, being of sterner stuff than the little sports car.
"I couldn't stop," he panted. "They were just in front of me. They're still alive, aren't they?"
"Yeah, yeah, they're fine." She said looking over Sands' injuries. "I'm sure the boss will want them taken to the hospital though."
She looked at Mort's unconscious figure, wondering what the CIA could want with the renowned author. She'd heard about his wife and her boyfriend, and how he'd been suspected in their disappearances, but she doubted the man could so much as harm an ant.
She turned around as another patrol car pulled up, this one with the Sheriff's logo emblazoned on the side. She walked up to the car to greet her boss. Sheriff Dave Newsome climbed out of the vehicle.
"What is it Officer Lehmann?"
"Well sir, it seems that Agent Sands of the Central Intelligence Agency, requested our escort services to his place of residence. Somehow he lost control of his vehicle and collided head on with Barney here. I don't know what happened for him to lose control, but I'm guessing with the unmistakable knot from a Glock on his head, it would have something to do with his passenger." She spoke as if she were bored; one hip jutted out as she mindlessly tapped her foot.
"Passenger? What would somebody have to do to get conked on the head?" Dave's brow furrowed in thought. "What's the Central Intelligence Agency doing up here in Maine?"
Sandy just shrugged her shoulders. "Couldn't tell ya boss. By the looks of him though, he needs to be stitched up a bit, so I'm sure we'll have a chance to question him properly. Did you call for the ambulance like I requested?"
"I sure did. They should be coming any minute."
"Should we keep watch while we wait for them to show?" Barney asked.
"It's our duty." Dave paused. "I know that passenger. That's Mr. Rainey. Do you think this has something to do with the murders up by his cabin?"
Sandy frowned a bit. "I thought there wasn't any proof of those "murders"; I thought it was just rumor... There was no evidence was there?" She asked genuinely confused now. She'd never been informed of the whole story.
"There was no concrete evidence that we've found, but there's no doubt in my mind that he's the one who killed them." There was steel in Dave's voice as a siren screeched and an ambulance skidded to a halt beside the totaled roadster.
Sandy just looked at the sheriff quizzically. She'd been trained that nothing is until it's concrete: until there's solid evidence.
She answered the EMT's questions, and watched as they extracted the men from the wreckage. Then she radioed the towing company, who said they'd be there in a little less than an hour. Great, she thought. A whole night wasted on a dumb ass like Agent Sands! She returned to her patrol car once everyone else had left the scene. After about 20 minutes, she got restless and decided to look in the car. Perhaps there would be some clue as to why the CIA was interested in Morton Rainey.
Mort moaned, and tried to turn over, but he couldn't. His head was much too heavy, and there was a dull ache. He lay still for a moment, and listened to the noises around him. He heard the unmistakable sounds of a hospital, along with the familiar ranting from a certain agent.
"No, you bastards, listen t'me! I know who the killer is! I can bring th'bastard dowwwwwwwwwwn! He stole my grape juice and I'm gonna tear his balls off! Twist and... and... yaaaaaaaaank..."
Mort's eyes flew open, and he squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights. He sat up as quickly as he could without making himself any dizzier than he already was. He reached out and yanked the curtain separating their beds.
"What the hell are you..." He trailed off as he noticed that Sands was still sound asleep. He shook his head in disbelief. "That man is crazier than I am," he mumbled to himself. He pulled the curtain closed as a nurse rushed in upon hearing the agent's yelling.
Mort lay back on the bead, his head throbbing. He looked around him in the bright room, wondering where his clothes were. Spotting a closet, he made his way over to it, to see that indeed his clothes were inside. He quickly shed the flimsy hospital gown and replaced it with his familiar pants and sweater. His glasses were on the table by the bed, so he slid them onto his nose.
Mort cautiously made his way to the door, and peeked behind the curtain once again to see the man still sound asleep. He quietly slid from the room, into the hall.
He knew the hospital well; it was the only one within a 30 mile radius. He went down the hall a ways and slipped into a room. He paused for a few minutes, then peeked back out into the hall. Make sure no one was following; he wouldn't want any other agents to come after him. After the coast was clear, he took a deep breath causing the blood to pound even worse in his head and slid down the laundry chute. When he emerged in the basement of the building, the janitors looked at him oddly. He just waved at them and made his way out the side entrance. Once he was outside, he took a deep breath of the fresh air. He looked around, and spotted the sheriff's car. Uh-oh, he thought. Better get out of hereand fast! He quickly bummed a ride with someone unfamiliar with his face and was soon on his way home.
Sands jerked awake with a snort. The blinding whiteness burned his retinas and nothing registered with his last clear memory of zooming down a highway. There was a strong feeling a grape juice too, come to think of it. He shook it off and blinked. A nurse was standing right above him.
"Do not move, Mr. Sands. This is a delicate procedure and if you move, there could be some bad healing in your future."
"Wha-?" he croaked.
"Don't move, Mr. Sands!"
"Wha? Where am...?" He jerked upright, eyes burning and now a searing pain from his forehead. If he wasn't mistaken, this was a... oh fuck... "No, get the fuck away from me!"
He kicked away from the orderlies trying to keep him down and fell out of the gurney. Oh Christ, not a hospital, anywhere but a fucking hospital.
Sandy stalked down the hall to Agent Sands' room, the sheriff and Barney following behind her as quickly as they could. Her face was set, her eye twitched occasionally. Ever since she'd spotted the man the day before, she wanted to nail him, and now she had her chance. When she reached his room, she pushed open the door hard enough for it to knock against the wall, and took in the scene before her.
Sands was on the floor, arms and legs flailing, fighting off 2 nurses and a janitor. She shook her head not in the least bit amused.
"What the hell are you doing? Stop playing games and get in the fucking bed." She spoke sternly, giving him a pointed look. "We've got business to discuss." She gave him a sick smile.
Sands didn't seem to hear the command. He fought like a wild animal, trying first and foremost get away from the immediate danger. A nurse was trying to prep a syringe of some sleep inducer or another, something Sands wanted no part of. He slammed a fist against the janitor's jaw and scrambled away.
Freedom! his mind screamed. Get out! Get out of here!
He never saw the well cushioned stomach of Barney the cop until he'd ricocheted off it. It didn't take Sands long to realize that he was cornered. That was when the nurse took the opportunity to stick him in the arm with the needle and the world swam out of focus.
"Just take it easy chump! Have a seat." Sandy smirked at his reaction when he ran into Barney. She couldn't help but chuckle as he stood swaying.
The nurses helped him to the bed where they brought in restraints. They wouldn't want the man hurting himself, much less someone else. The janitor glared at him, before grabbing his cart and wheeling it out of the room noisily. Once Sands was strapped to the bed semi-conscious, Sandy walked to and stood over him. She dangled a sandwich bag above his nose.
"Mind telling me what this is about darlin'?"
"Ugh."
Sandy rolled her eyes, and turned to stare at the nurse who'd given him the drug. "Just how much of that shit did you give him dimwit?" she asked. The nurse's face tinged pink, but she held her head high.
"Exactly what the doctor said. He needs to relax and calm down. He was hyperventilating."
"No shit Einstein." Sandy muttered under her breath. She let out an agitated sigh. "Looks like we'll be here a while," she said aloud to Barney and Dave. "In the meantime maybe we can wrangle some answers out of 'Farmer John'." She walked across the room and pulled back the curtain. "Shit," she spat as she saw the empty bed. She went back to where the sheriff and Barney were standing by Sands' bed.
"Well, looks as if 'Farmer John's' pulled one over on us fellas. He's flown the coop." She gave a tight lipped smile as she looked down at Sands' face, and saw something click when she'd said something about Mort being gone.
The meds were fast acting, whatever they were, and had completely incapacitated him. He'd flinched at the noise that was being made around him, unable to stop it or cover his ears. It was alternately infuriating-this weakness-and horrific. Things were happening and he couldn't control it. What was it? The last bit of sentient thought Sands had was devoted to cursing every single thing that could possibly be cursed. The rest of his brain couldn't think of much to curse, so he gave up. After about an hour, Sandy began pacing the room. She continuously looked at her watch. This was not her ideal way to spend a Friday morning. Finally she went and retrieved a nurse.
"I was told this stuff would start fucking wearing off after an hour! Look!" She gestured to Sands. "He's still got the stoned grin on his fucking face!" She looked at Barney sheepishly for her strong language. She was glad that Dave had other business to attend to, and was not there to witness her impatience.
The nurse spoke falteringly. "Well… erm it depends on if he fights it or not-"
Oh he's fucking enjoying being doped up. Sandy thought to herself. "How much longer?" She cut the nurse off.
"Um-I-maybe another hour..." When she saw Sandy's anger, she spoke up quickly. "Maybe less..."
"Fine. Thanks. Go," Sandy bit out. She let out yet another irritated sigh, and told Barney to keep an eye on him. "I've got to get some fucking caffeine." She muttered to herself as she left the room.
Barney sighed. She was always like that. Office Lehmann may have graduated first in the Police Academy, but she had no patience for incompetence. That was more than likely why he was partnered with her so often. He was about to catch a nap to await her return when he heard a grunt.
"You awake, bucko?" Barney mumbled, poking the restrained man in the ribs. The poke caused a ripple of tension up and down the other man's body. "Guess that's a yes."
"Shove it, cabrón. Untie me right this... instant and I promise not to castrate you."
"What the hell does cuhbrown mean?"
"Like I'm going to kiss and tell," Sands growled. "Get me the fuck out of this place."
"No can do, bucko. You're committed," Barney gave a toothy grin. It was lost on Sands, however, as he was unable to roll over and look.
"You fucktard," he muttered bitterly.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing, nothing. Just... nothing."
Sandy went down the cafeteria, and bought stale coffee from a machine. She took a sip as she walked back to the elevators, and grimaced at the bitterness. She was a black coffee gal, but this stuff tasted like cow piss. She swallowed the scalding sip, and stepped into the elevator.
As she neared the room, she heard muted voices, and hurried in. The sooner she convicted the man of whatever heinous crimes she could, the sooner she could get the hell out of this hospital. It was giving her the creeps.
"Well, well, well... Looks like sleeping beauty decided to wake," she said as she strolled into the room and taking another sip of the cow piss.
"Oh you give your partner entirely too much credit," Sands cocked his head, vaguely recognizing the voice.
Sandy just smiled and ignored the comment. "Hey Sandsy, mind tellin' me what this is?" She jumped straight to the point, anxious to get out of there. Once again the bag of goods was dangled before his face. He had to jerk his head away from the bag bouncing against his nose.
"It looks like oregano. What do you want?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Oregano my ass! What the fuck were you doing with this shit in your car? Or should I ask what you were planning on doing with it?" She lowered the baggie a bit more to where it was once again touching his nose. He sneezed and gave the cop a pointed, one-eyed glare.
"Where do you get the right searching my car without a warrant?"
"Where do you get off attempting to take civilians hostage?" She retorted.
"Well, sugarbutt, that's kinda my job."
She snorted. "Well, looks like you suck at it!" She gestured to the empty bed.
"Well, if you hadn't been blocking my way when I was trying to escape, I might've had a good run at it. As it is, when these starchy bastards decide that they've done enough tests and figure out I'm healthier than the metaphorical horse, I'll mosey on out of this hospital, track Mr. Rainey down and be right back where I started. Cruising down I-95. Going the right way, of course," Sands added.
"That's if you're not convicted..." she trailed off. She wasn't sure of what she would be able to convict him of, but she knew she'd have to think of something.
"Well shit Barney, we didn't get no answers," she said quietly to the other cop. "Let's get outta here." She gave one last glare at Sands, then turned and led the way from the room.
"Hey, whoa, wait a minute! Get a nurse in here and tell her to untie me," Sands demanded at her retreating back. Sandy let out a laugh, and continued supposedly ignoring the man. A few minutes later though, a nurse appeared by his side.
"Miss Lehmann said you requested assistance?"
"Miss Lehmann is a prick, but yes, I did request assistance. I want to be let out. I'm asking as a calm, rational human being. Don't make me angry. You won't like me when I'm angry."
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't do that. I was told that under no circumstances are your restraints to be removed until you're released." As she said this, she took a step away from the side of his bed, subtle but definitely noticeable.
"Then get me a fucking doctor, or somebody who's competent enough to realize that I'm fucking FINE."
The young nurse ducked her head. "Yessir, right away sir." She said inwardly cringing at his anger. About 10 minutes later, an older gentleman with graying sideburns strode into the room authoritatively.
"Good afternoon Mr. Sands." He spoke smoothly. "How are you feeling? Any better? You were pretty banged up last night." He gave a warm smile, not at all deterred by the man's furious demeanor.
"Oh don't be such a bucket of fucking sunshine. Tell me what the fuck is wrong with me and send me on my merry way."
"We've been told to keep you here for psychiatric evaluation and our local psychiatrist has already left for the day. Fridays are his half days. So you'll have to remain here until Monday morning when he'll return at 9:00 A.M." he smiled apologetically.
"Psychiatric-! What the hell are you talking about? I already passed a fucking psychiatric evaluation!" Sands struggled to calm down. Now was not the time to freak out. "You're going to let me out of your own volition, or I get to place a phone call. Your choice."
The doctor held up his hands. "There's a phone right there." Before Sands could make a smart remark about being restrained, he continued, "I'll send Betty Sue back in to assist you. Have a good evening Mr. Sands." He nodded his head and left the room before Sands could utter another word. Moments later the young nurse timidly came in.
"You wanted to make a phone call, Mr. Sands?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. Are you going to hold the phone up to my ear? Or do I get temporary use of my hands?"
"I can hold the phone up to your ear. Th-they don't want your restraints removed." She eyed his hands at his sides nervously pondering the reasoning behind the restraints. She hadn't been there when he'd fought earlier, but she'd heard about it, and seen the bruise on the janitor's face.
She walked over to stand by his bed, feeling comforted by the fact the he couldn't express his anger with his body. She picked up the receiver of the phone, and waited for further instructions.
"Dial 538-0927. Put the phone beside my head and beat it. I'll give a shout when I need it hung up."
She nodded, and dialed the number. She put the receiver to her ear to make sure it was ringing, only to receive a warning glare from Sands. She swallowed hard, and set the phone on his pillow near his head. She waited until he spoke to someone on the other line then gave her yet another hard stare, before she turned. She nearly tripped over her feet in her haste to get out, she saw something eerie in his eyes, and it unnerved her.
"All right Tom, did you stay home like a good boy?"
"Who is this?"
"Cut the shit, Tommy Boy. You know very well who this is. I've got myself a little predicament."
"Sands!" Tom set down his Corona. "Where the fuck are you man? They've been asking me all these questions. You were supposed to check in last night when you had the guy!"
How the hell long was I out for? Sands wondered mildly. He shook his head as much as he could to clear any stray thoughts out of it.
"I had the guy, then the dumbfucks that run the hospital out here let the little… biddy escape. Not my fault. Now they won't let me do the same." He let out a sharp bark of laughter, "Why, it's almost as if they don't love me. Imagine that! Strange how quickly these things turn on people, hm?"
"No shit." Tom muttered in shock. "So what do you want me to do? What's the plan?"
"Well, you always were a wuss. You want to drop by with your credentials and demand that they let the CIA's most prized and decorated first year officer out of this hell hole, or did you grow some balls while I was gone and want something more daring?"
"Hmm..." Tom mused, "I'll see what I can do. Give me an hour." He replaced the receiver on the base. "Damn rookie's always fucking getting into trouble." He muttered to himself He hefted himself from his recliner, and turned off his big screen TV.
10 minutes later he was in his Ford Ranger heading to the hospital. He formulated his plan as he drove.
Sands sighed, wishing he could just rub his aching wrists and get some blood flowing again. He settled for whistling his request for the nurse to return and hang up to phone.
The nurse shuffled into the room, and without a word replaced the phone.
"Thanks, hon. You're... swell," he grinned at the ceiling. The way he figured it, if the staff already hated him for being a bastard, why not go all the way with a bit of sexual harassment thrown in as well? It wasn't as if he planned on coming back to this place.
Tom sped up the driveway of the hospital, coming to a screeching halt outside the doors. He left his truck parked illegally on the fire lane, as he strode in through the automatic doors. He found the elevators and took them to the third floor. He read the directory inside the elevator that said Level 3: Respiratory and Psychiatric. Tom couldn't help but snort in amusement. He was pretty sure that Sands didn't have respiratory problems, thus meaning he was in the Psych ward. He chuckled as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open. He strode down the hall like he was God. He passed the nurses' station, and gave the young nurse with the name tag that read "Betty Sue" a curt nod, and continued on his way despite her cries.
"Sir! Sir, you can't go down that hall!" Betty Sue ran after the tall blonde haired man.
He continued passing the doors, watching the numbers as they increased. Betty Sue finally caught up to him, but didn't know what to do. She couldn't very well grab him and physically stop him from continuing down the corridor, he was twice her size!
"Sir! Please-you're not supposed to be down this wing!" She tried pleading with him some more. She didn't want to lose her job-it was the first true job she'd had and she'd only had it for 3 months.
Tom swung around, and gave her a charming smile. "I'm CIA darlin'. If you don't know what that means, I've got this little badge here that basically says I can do whatever the hell I want!" He clicked his tongue and gave her a wink, before turning to go into Sands' room.
Sands heard the commotion outside before he saw the great shadow loom into the room out of the corner of his eye.
"I didn't order a pizza."
Tom was standing over him in a second, biting back the laughter at seeing the rookie strapped down like a psycho.
"Well that's good, 'cause I didn't bring no pizza." He grinned at his partner of 9 months.
Sands nodded, a great, fine smile plastered on his face. "I forgot my ID card. They found the one that said 'Norman Bates' instead."
"Tsk tsk. Whatever would you do without me?" He shook his head. Then he turned to nurse who'd followed him into the room. "If you'd be so kind..." He nodded his head toward the restraints that held Sands to the bed. Betty just looked at him wide eyed.
"I-I can't. They said under no circumstances-"
Tom was getting annoyed with this blubbery little child. "Well this ain't no circumstance darlin'," he grinned cheekily. "If you don't get these restraints off my partner here, I'll be forced to report you to not only the Director of the CIA who reports directly to the Secretary of Defense." His face was dead serious, as he watched her eyes widen in fear. She dully nodded her head, and went to unstrap Sands. Tom grinned at Sands from behind her. It was unfortunate that Sands' attention was elsewhere.
"Easy, easy down there. That's some powerful equipment that I don't want damaged-"
Betty made a little noise of surprise, and immediately stopped removing the restraints to look nervously at Sands. "I-I didn't mean..."
"I understand, chica." Sands immediately extracted his hands from the leather bindings and began rubbing furiously. "You're madly in love with me. Happens all the time. Just keep telling yourself it'd never work out," he smirked. She just stared at him for a minute, until she was reminded of the job at hand by Tom clearing his throat.
"We don't have all day. Or night as it were..." He said looking at the setting sun in the window.
A couple minutes later, Betty finished with the restraints, and stepped back. She stood there for a few minutes watching as Sands rubbed and stretched his aching joints. Tom cleared his throat again, breaking her out of her reverie.
"Thank you Betty. You can go now," he said curtly.
Betty nodded, and dashed out of the room as quickly as she could without seeming too conspicuous.
"Well done, by jove," Sands nodded sharply. There was a silly grin on his face. "Too bad I'd never make it with a British accent."
Tom shook his head and rolled his eyes. Sometimes he felt too old. He was a good 10 years Sands' senior-which wasn't saying all that much-but he had trouble keeping up with the man.
"Are we ready to get out of here?" he asked, anxious to get back home to his beer and baseball.
"Sure, govenor. You'll be driving."
As Sands stood up, Tom eyed the gray hospital gown. "You'll need to be changing first hombre."
"Why? Does it make my ass look big?"
Tom sighed in exasperation. "Just put your fucking clothes on," he said tiredly.
"You'd be loopy too if you were doped to the gills," Sands answered sourly. He moved away from the bed and swayed on his feet. The hours of rest hadn't agreed with his tense muscles which were now weaker than ever. He cursed under his breath and grabbed the gurney sheets to steady himself. "Make yourself useful, Tommy Boy, grab my stuff."
Tom nodded, and reached into the closet and retrieved Sands' clothes. He tossed them onto the bed and turned to look out the window to give Sands privacy.
"Shit."
He turned to see how far Sands had progressed and was met with a very pale ass. "Shit!" he said a little louder and turned quickly back to the window to watch what was going on 3 stories below.
"Oh come on, it's not that bad, is it?" Sands was trying to tug his clothes onto the appropriate body parts, but things weren't really working. Grumbling and snapping weren't helping the problem and damned if he was going to ask for help again. Not from Tom. "Oh hell, can't I just go like this?"
He was still stark naked. Tom turned around assuming Sands was at least semi-clothed by then.
"Fuckin' hell man!" he yelled. "Get yourself put together! We've got company." He continued to watch from the window as a fat cop inspected Tom's bright blue Ford Ranger and a female cop stomped into the hospital clearly having a bad day. Sands had to practically drag himself around the bed to the window. Once there, he had no trouble spotting what was causing Tom so much trouble.
"All the more reason to be naked. She just wanted to get in my pants anyway," Sands frowned.
Tom shook his head at Sands arrogance. "Come on Sands get dressed-quit fooling around!"
Sands always got him into deep shit-even though he always got him out-but that wasn't the point. He shouldn't even be in deep shit to begin with, but that was part of being Sands' partner. The man threw shapes, watched them catch 'em. He set them up, and watched them fall. To quote Sands, he was "Livin' la vida loca."
"Well Christ, Agent McCarthy, did you forget to take your Centrum Silver today or what? If you'd quite dicking around, maybe you'd realize that-"
The door slammed open.
"Cover that shit up! I don't want to see that!" Sandy grimaced in disgust upon seeing Sands standing at the window in his birthday suit. She had her gun out and pointed at his lower torso where her eyes were undoubtedly trained. "And just where the hell do you think you're going?"
"Out. Where are you going?" Sands cocked an eyebrow.
"Nowhere. And neither are you. You've got an appointment with the local shrink Monday morning."
Tom couldn't help but snort, but was quickly silenced by a look from Sands.
"Really? Well you can tell the good doctor that I'm not going to be there. And since I'm going to have to assume that you're the one that put this hospital up to it, why don't you just give the doc a big old kiss for me. Would you?"
"I can only imagine giving Dr. House a kiss," she muttered to herself. "You most certainly are going to be here Agent Sands! Just how do you plan on 'escaping?'" She cocked the gun and aimed it suggestively lower. "Wouldn't want to lose any vital organs now would we?" She gave him a self satisfied grin.
Sands felt his mouth creep into a half smile as life stirred below. He wasn't much for modesty to begin with, and this cop was sure being playful.
"You're a feisty niña, I'll give you that much. But golly, you're just giving me all kinds of wonderful ideas. Dr. House might have to wait until I wear myself out. Or would he enjoy taking notes on that kind of display? It still stands that I've already gotten my psych eval by the best in the country. The Company only wants the brightest and... most stable… in its workforce. I'm in top mental shape if you must know, if a bit of a weirdo."
"Get over yourself you worthless prick! I-"
She was cut off by Tom's smooth voice. "Ma'am, I don't believe we've met.I'm Special Agent Tom McCarthy, United States Central Intelligence Agency, and this man is erm..." He looked at Sands and stepped closer to Sandy so only could hear his whispers. "He's a wee bit psycho as you've noticed, and he's under my supervision. He managed to break out of my barn yesterday afternoon, and decided he'd play CIA. You see, he's read about Mr. Rainey and the suspicion, so he thought that since we were so near, he'd take the situation into his own hands-so to speak." He gave Sandy his most charming smile. "I'm sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you, but I do need to take him in to Headquarters, and they're mighty impatient," he gave her a wink.
Sandy's eyes narrowed, not buying the story in the least. Before she could voice her opinion, a badge was thrust under her nose. She quickly studied it and was disappointed to see that indeed Tom was a member of the CIA. Tom gave her another winning smile and ushered her out of the room.
"Now if you'd be so kind as to wait and escort us out of the building. It would be greatly appreciated." He shut the door in her face and turned to face Sands, grinning broadly.
"What'd you tell her?" Sands asked, more than a little suspicious.
Tom chuckled. "Oh nothing really except that you're just a psycho that likes to play CIA." He gave Sands a broad grin.
"Oh," Sands frowned. "I'm not?"
"Heh, heh, heh." he chuckled again. "Oh Sands, would you just get dressed?" He said lightly.
"I can try, but I'm not promising a hell of a lot."
Sands began working his way back to the pile of clothes. The standing up had been somewhat beneficial and he could feel more than just the tingle of pins and needles in his extremities. His movements were still slow and drawn out, but they were more effective than his earlier ones.
The cotton boxers were first, then the black jeans and the t-shirt with the line "Kiss me, Ah'm a hick." He decided to forgo the boots; it'd be too much effort to bend over to lace the bastards up. The belt he slung over his shoulder, even as he withdrew the Glock and stuffed it into his pants.
"I want to be able to whip the fuckmook who asks why I'm not wearing shoes," Sands answered the unasked question. Tom just shook his head, and opened the door to allow Sands to go out first. Sandy stood outside the door and glared at Sands as he hobbled through the doorway. He smiled jauntily and flicked her a salute before continuing on his way.
"Asshole." She muttered under her breath.
"Ah, ah, ah..." Tom stepped through the door and gave her a look. "Trust me, you don't want to fuck with a psycho like him."
"You trust me; he's already been fucked way too much for his own good." She bit back, following him down the hall. She didn't like either of the men, but had come to some sort of silent agreement with Tom. He was at least civil to her.
Tom pulled out his pack of cigarettes, and tapped the pack absentmindedly while waiting for the elevator. It was a habit he'd formed, much like Sands' habit of fiddling with his Zippo.
When the elevator reached the floor, the bell "tinged," and the doors slid open. A sweaty pig of a cop came rushing out, nearly barreling over Sands. He didn't have time to grunt as his old pal Barney the cop came to a stop on his foot. He bit his lip to keep from yelping and had to grab onto the bar at the back of the elevator to prevent a fall.
"Officer Lehmann, there's an emergency!"
"Get off my foot," Sands ground out.
"Excuse me?" Barney turned to the pale man.
"Get off my foot before I shoot your leg off."
Barney retreated, hurt in his eyes. Sands sincerely hoped nobody could see him shake from the exertion. That would be bad.
Sandy rolled her eyes at the exchange between the other cop and Sands. She pushed her way through the two men before her, pushing especially hard on Sands.
"What's the problem Barney?" She asked with exasperation. He had a tendency to blow things out of proportion.
"There's a robbery downtown and we need as many people on it as we can spare!"
Sandy's eyebrows furrowed. "A robbery? For crying out loud!" She turned and addressed Tom, glancing at Sands. "Looks like you'll have to do without that escort gentlemen," she said and stepped into the elevator. "Oh and Mr. McCarthy. Next time, use the parking lot."
"Sure thing Miss Lehmann." He clicked his tongue and gave her a wink. "We'll just take the next one," he said, pushing the button to close the elevator doors. "Have a good night officers." He addressed the cops jovially as the doors slid shut.
As soon as the doors were closed, Sands allowed himself to sink slowly to the floor of the elevator. Barney could really hurt a person, even when he wasn't trying. Sands was almost willing to guess his foot was broken. But he'd spent more than enough time in this hospital to want to undergo any more tests. He had to get out now. He didn't give a thought to the man standing beside him.
"Hey! Sands...Yoohoo!" Tom waved his hand in front of the man slumped on the floor below him. "Yo! You ok, man?"
"I don't let my guard down for just anyone, Tommy Boy. Either shoot me in the back of the head now or keep quiet," Sands muttered. Tom raised his hand in a gesture of surrender, just as the bell "tinged" and the doors slid open.
"Think you can make it to my truck?" He smirked as he stepped out of the elevator. The Ranger was quite visible through the front doors of the hospital. Sands picked himself up and steadied himself on the bar again. He glanced at the truck outside, then the grinning face of his partner.
"Just because I'm in trouble doesn't mean you're allowed to forget how to park. Or do you just love me that much?"
"Is there a problem with my parking? Does it not meet to your standards?" Tom questioned. "You probably would've driven right through the fucking doors and parked here in the lobby, am I right? I was in a hurry."
"You know, that driving into the lobby sounds like fun-"
"Don't even think about it. The less attention drawn to you, the better off we are," Tom said as they walked through the automatic doors.
They were met with a blast of cold air, and he couldn't help but hug his body attempting to stay warm the few feet to his truck. He unlocked Sands' door, then went around to the driver's side and slid in. He started the truck, and cranked on the heater.
Their breath was immediately condensing into the familiar fog of a winter day. Sands was convinced the soles of his feet had frozen to the black top and his attempt to walk had ripped them clean off. The not wearing boots might have been a bad idea after all.
"Next time I'm being an ass, please, for my sake, tell me to swallow my fucking pride," Sands groaned. He shivered, trying to warm himself up in front of the heater and rub his bare arms for extra heat.
"With pleasure," Tom said as he put the truck in gear and pulled out of the hospital drive.
"You wanna crash at my place tonight?" Tom extended an invitation. "I have that new big screen, and a 12 pack of Corona." He peered through the windshield looking both ways before pulling out into the early evening traffic. He glanced at Sands to gauge his reaction to the invite.
"Corona? Who the hell drinks Corona anymore?" Sands shook his head. "Just tell me it has heat."
"Yeah it has heat, dimwit!" he chuckled. "I take that as a yes then?"
"Drive faster."
"Maybe if you'd quit breathing so fucking hard I could see where the hell I was driving!" Tom retorted.
Sands glared at Tom. He proceeded to place his aching feet on the edge of the truck seat and wrapped his arms around his knees. Still watching Tom, he began to breathe into his little cavity of warmth to keep the fog out of Tom's line of sight.
"Better?" he asked with a roll of his eyes. It was muffled, but understandable. Tom did little than grunt, although his foot got quite a bit heavier on the gas.
Author Thanks: Neon Daisies: A cameo now? Well, we'll have to do some high end consulting and see if impossible ends can, in fact, meet, but I'm pretty sure we can get you a role in here somewhere. ;-) Oh, and there's definitely more Mort torture ahead. Couldn't stop that for anything. Merrie: We've got more. Like now. Poor SJ's car. pats it Depplove: Welcome to the JA Response Club, DL! It's always good to know Sands is evil and maniacal enough, even as a rookie. Sandswich: Any time, chica! Laughter is better than any cough medicine I've tasted.