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 Tokey (I'm entitled!) but we don't own Dangerbabe. Funny ol' world, innit?
Author's Notes: Sands isn't enjoying the view, but we sure are! This is for Dangerbabe who said that she would enjoy it if we butchered her image too, thereby dragging Tokey along to help, kicking and screaming all the way, of course. ;-) Hope we didn't do too badly. Honor roll at the end.
A Good Night's Sleep
Nicole was CIA. In fact, she had been for quite some time now. As a senior officer, she volunteered to train innocent, young rookies who-more often than not-didn't have a fricken clue what a CIA agent was required to do. But she didn't mind; it was fun to torture the little hellions. It was an earlier, less than thrilled rookie who'd given her the nickname "Dangerbabe," and it had somehow haunted her ever since. She had to admit though, that it was very appropriate.
Especially on an assignment like this. She was hunting a crazy fledgling agent who had caught her attention multiple times. She liked his personality, but he was more than a little psycho. S. J. Sands was a regular lunatic. After three days without word of sight of him, the Company was sending for the agent. Normally, Nicole wasn't up for playing messenger girl, but it didn't stop a mote of curiosity from creeping into her brain. That was probably why she was trying to pack for a trip to Maine.
"I hope these are pants," she sighed. Her room was impeccable for easy access, but things still had the tendency to get lost. She heard soft shuffling from the other room. Agent Tokey-the silly girl-was her newest sidekick. She was the reason things seemed to get lost.
"DB, where's the sunscreen?"
"Sunscreen? Tokey, it's almost winter!"
"And probably covered in snow already. Have you ever seen how the sun reflects off snow in New England? Or, uh…" she paused, trying to think how best to proceed. "Maybe you haven't."
Nicole snorted, her way of expressing annoyance for a tired topic. She couldn't exactly roll her eyes anymore. It was something she didn't talk about often, not seeing the need to, so to speak. One of her reasons for training young agents was her need of a pair of eyes in the field. It allowed her the freedom of escape from HQ when things got dull. Tokey, while absent minded, was taking to the job easy enough. DB saw a genuine badge in her future. Har, har.
Tokey wasn't the girl's real name. Tokey was the name she'd picked out for herself when Kaleigh simply wasn't good enough. Something about Fear and Loathing and a late night involving cold pills and medicinal marijuana jokes. She'd hailed from New England and was clearly not the orthodox agent. But she worked in a pinch. With Maine as her first true field assignment, Nicole had no doubt she'd do fine.
She heard the snick of a lighter and cigarette smoke drifted into her room. "Smoking again?"
"Hm." She just made the noise in response, not denying it.
"That's not an answer," Nicole called.
"So what? Didn't you used to smoke?"
"I try to stay clean," she smirked.
"Trying's not always good enough."
"And what's that supposed to mean? When did you start with Yoda-speak?"
Tokey blew out a long plume of smoke. "Will you quit bickering with me so we can go?"
"Changed my mind. Smoke more. You really need the nicotine," Nicole, a.k.a. Dangerbabe laughed.
"C'mon DB let's go!" She put the cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. It was conveniently located on the nightstand near DB's bed because she "liked to have it nearby."
"Why are you in such a hurry? Haven't you ever just wanted to stop and smell the roses?
"You're the one who said this guy is dangerous. I myself am just a bit stir crazy."
"No, not dangerous. Just a little insane. Good insane. You can relate."
"How so?" She asked her interest piqued.
"Well…who are we talking about here?"
"I really don't know," she blew out her breath in impatience. "Can we just go now? Please?" She started fiddling with the pack of cigarettes in her pocket anxiously.
"I don't know about you, but I'm not quite packed yet. Give me another couple of minutes, all right?"
Tokey just put her hands up and left the room, lighting up again, knowing DB would hear her leave. Nicole wanted to roll her eyes and mentally did so. The kid was great, if not for that damn nicotine addiction.
XXX
Tom sat in the truck while Sands and Mort stood outside waiting for the cab. Sands was more leaning against the truck with a god-awful look on his face though. Tom just shook his head and emitted a long sigh. He didn't understand why the man was so hard headed. Oh well, it really wasn't his problem to worry about.
When he saw the bright yellow of a cab lumbering down the highway in his rearview mirror, he pushed opened his door and climbed out. The cab came to a stop on the side of the road right in front of Tom.
"You the one callin' for a taxi?" The driver stuck his head out the window. Sands gimped around the Ranger and waved.
"Nah, that bastard's not associated with us. Just me and him," he gestured at Mort.
Tom turned to watch as Sands made his way to the cab. "I'm comin' too. You aren't just gonna leave me here in the middle of nowhere without any frickin gas are you?"
"Sure I can, Tommy Boy. Watch me." Sands didn't spare a passing glance for Tom as he eased Mort in first and slid inside himself. Tom grabbed the door, preparing to slide in as well, but Sands yanked it shut behind him.
"Don't you do it, Sands! Don't you fucking do it!" He yelled, watching as Sands gave the driver instructions, and they began to pull away. "Dammit Sands!" He ran, keeping up with the window by Sands and gave it a few smacks before they had sped up too fast for him.
Tom sighed and returned to his truck. "Goddamn you, Sands!" he shouted and kicked one of his tires. "Shit!" He cursed as he hopped around on one foot then leaned up against his truck with a sigh. He closed his eyes wearily, and when he opened them, they lit up.
The bike. He'd forgotten all about the bike. A grin spread across his face. He'd ride the bike to the nearest gas station and get gas.
He frowned. He hadn't ridden a bike in years. He blew off the little worry that nagged in the corner of his mind. It couldn't be that hard... He climbed up onto the bike and stared blankly at the handlebars. Now, how do I start it again...?
He reached out and played with the key and several knobs and such until he revved the engine so hard, he jumped. He swallowed hard, and kicked the kickstand up, straddling the bike. He revved it up again and took off. A scream was lost on his lips as he throttled off, swaying from side to side dangerously. He looked like he was seriously drunk, when in fact he was more sober than he'd been in 10 years.
It didn't change the fact that there was soon a set of flashing lights in his rear view mirror.
Tom glanced in his mirror and almost lost control of the bike. "Shit!" he cursed, as he struggled to slow the motorcycle down. He wobbled from side to side as it slowed and finally came to a stop on the side of the road. Tom stood straddling it as the patrol car pulled up behind him.
He sighed and got off the bike and went around the side to put the kickstand up. He fumbled with it for a minute, before he was able to get it out. He stepped back almost triumphantly, as if admiring his work.
"Oh shit..." He mumbled as the kickstand slid back up, and the bike fell on its side, shattering one of the mirrors. Tom winced and looked up at the cop that had emerged from the car. He smiled sheepishly at him.
"Well...if it isn't my old friend," Barney grinned. "Do you have any idea why I'm pulling you over?"
Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "No, as a matter of fact, I don't. Would you mind explaining it to me?"
"You're riding without a helmet. That's against the law."
This time Tom did roll his eyes. "I am so sorry, Billy! I promise it won't happen again. As a matter of fact, I was just heading to get one. Know any good helmet vendors?"
Barney avoided Tom's questions. "As an officer of the law, I'd expect you to know this."
Tom smiled tightly, "I truly am sorry, Bobby."
"I don't think sorry's going to cut it this time, sir."
Tom looked shocked. "Well, whudda ya mean, Officer Bradley?"
"Put your hands behind your back, sir."
"What? Why?"
"Put your hands behind your back!" Barney snarled.
"Whoa, don't get your panties in a wad!" he said as he slid his hands behind his head. "You're going to arrest me because I was driving without a helmet?" He snorted. "How strong do you think that's gonna hold?"
"I'm arresting you for insubordination, resisting arrest, driving without a motorcycle license and driving without a license," Barney smirked. "That'll hold up fine."
"What? I have my license! You haven't even asked for it! And as for resisting arrest, what the fuck is that? As for insubordination..." Tom smirked. "Well..."
"You may have your license, but nobody would issue you the right to drive a motorcycle driving like that. Resisting arrest, for not complying with my requests when I demanded them."
"What the fuck? My hands are behind my head are they not?"
"After I yelled at you. Trust me, when you're already on thin ice, there's no end to the stuff the department will believe about you."
"Wait just a minute there, Benny! Thin ice? I'm on thin ice? What the hell for?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Barney sighed, dragging Tom towards the car.
"Yes as a matter of fact. Mind sharing?" He didn't struggle with the cop, only allowed himself to be led resignedly.
"You let our friend escape," he said as he cuffed Tom.
"WHAT?" If Tom thought he couldn't get anymore confused, he was wrong. "What the hell are you talking about? Or rather who?"
"You know," Barney shoved Tom into the backseat, closing the door and lumbered around to the front. After Barney had slid into the drivers' seat, Tom resumed his questions.
"I know? I know what?"
Barney sighed. "You know who I'm talking about. No more questions."
"But-ah-" The words died into a sigh. Barney wasn't going to give him any answers. "You won't be able to hold me, you know. You can't keep people in jail without any prior offenses, for ones such as minor as these."
"We can keep you in there long enough to annoy you, sir. Know that. Now keep quiet."
Tom made a sound of frustration, but said nothing as Barney maneuvered the large car in a U-turn. Tom sat back and stared out the window. He watched as his truck came into view. "Shit," he mumbled under his breath. The biker's body was in the bed of his truck right off the highway. He made a point to look straight ahead. Thankfully, Barney drove past it, wanting just to get Tom to the station. He might come back later, but for now, this guy had to get his just desserts.
XXX
Mort stared up at the brown cabin very similar to his own while Sands paid the cabbie. He swallowed a feeling of nostalgia and sighed deeply. He wished Sands would hurry up; he didn't like being outdoors. He turned to face Sands' back, mentally willing him to hurry.
Sands wrapped it up quickly. He didn't like talking to people when he didn't have to. He limped towards Mort, watching him quake like a leaf.
"You okay, John Wayne? I don't scare you, do I?"
Mort met his eyes, the fear was quite palpable, yet it wasn't fear of Sands himself. It was more a fear of the unknown. Despite his trembling, Mort's voice was strong. "No, I'm not afraid of you." It was all he said. All that really needed to be said.
"Good. That'll make things easier." Sands walked past Mort to unlock the door to his cozy Maine shack. Mort followed a bit slower, cautiously entering Sands' domain. He stood in the entryway a moment, looking around.
It wasn't bachelor-messy, but it wasn't OCD driven either. Sands refused to add that to his steadily growing list of disorders. The skylights allowed for a good amount of light, despite the dark wood paneling. There was a couch beneath the big bay window and an electric fireplace. The kitchen connected to the dinning room which connected to the living room. There was an upstairs, but it wasn't easily visible. What could be seen were the socks tossed carelessly on top of a red duffel bag, the rumpled blanket tossed aside on the couch, and the Playboys lying conspicuously on the table. It wasn't lived in. Sands obviously didn't intend to stick around long.
Mort gave a little shrug, and limped over to the couch. He sat for a moment, his glances kept flickering around and back to the magazines on the table. He resisted the temptation to grab one and look through it. He looked up to see Sands watching him amusedly. He frowned, his eyes narrowing.
"Christ, what do I care if you read one? Go take one to the bathroom with you if you have to. They're magazines."
Mort's face turned beet red, and he looked down at his feet. The 4 extra-strength Pain-Aids had long since worn and his head was throbbing from the beaning Sands had given him at the airport, but he wasn't about to ask for anything from his captor. Or maybe he was...
He stood shakily to his feet, and made his way towards where Sands stood. "I want answers, and I want them now!"
"Uh huh, good one, Sherlock. I'm the one that asks questions."
Mort moved even closer, his hand snaking into his pocket. He was almost exactly the same height as the man before him, give or take an inch. He moved where their noses were almost touching. "You're gonna be answerin' questions tonight mister." Shooter said. "Otherwise I'm a need to use this here pen-" He held the pen in between their faces. "-and shove it up your-"
"You really need to learn some new lingo, Shooter." Sands casually plucked the pen out of Shooter's hand. He'd heard the southern accent.
Mort's eyes narrowed further to the point where one would think he couldn't see, but he could see just fine. "Thas not a good idea mister." He smiled evilly, then reached back into his pocket for the treasure he'd captured whilst loading the dead body into Tom's truck. He dug the tip of the Phillips screwdriver under Sands' chin causing his opponent to raise his head. "Now I want some answers," he drawled calmly.
Sands wasn't one to be easily swayed by thoughts of fear and his mortality very often. The times he could count were brought on by severe cases of insanity. This wasn't insanity. This was a calm, rational instance where someone had actually gotten the better of Sands. Therefore, his thoughts weren't exactly concerned with trivial matters such as life or death. Damn those are big pockets for such small pants.
"Well. That's interesting, isn't it?"
"It's about to get a lot more interestin'." Mort drawled, pushing the screwdriver harder into Sands' chin. He gave him a false smile. "Now then, would you be so kind as to enlighten my friend here why you're so keen on 'capturin' him?"
Sands blinked slowly, keeping things in check. He was going to have a hell of a bruise in the morning. It was hard to talk, with his jaw wanting to move down and impale itself and all. He settled for a gagging sound to alert Shooter to the fact that he couldn't talk.
Shooter gave one more hard jab, breaking the skin, before lowering the screwdriver to rest against his Adam's apple. "Well? Let's hear it."
Sands hissed in pain.
Well golly, I do so hope you've had your tetanus shots updated.
"Me too," he whispered. To Shooter, he gave a defiant smirk. "Hear why I'm stalking Mort?"
"That'd be a good starting point." Shooter said, then he opened his mouth wide, cracking his jaw. "Why are you after me?" Mort asked almost gently, but his hand with the screwdriver stayed firm.
"CIA told me to go after you," Sands shrugged as best he could.
Mort's jaw cracked again, as the screwdriver drove into the tender flesh of Sands' neck. "Not good enough. Why did the CIA tell you to go after him?"
"You accidentally screw that into my neck and you aren't getting any answers. Then you'll just have another luckless CIA agent on your tail and you're back to square one."
Shooter gave Sands a tightlipped grin. "Really now. How's about if I changed tactics?" He emphasized his point by stepping ever so softly on one of Sands feet.
He smiled lazily in response. "Ain't got no feeling there, sugarbutt. Try again."
Try again he most certainly did. Shooter rammed the elbow that was holding the screwdriver into Sands' ribs, and consequently scraping a layer of skin off Sands' neck. "How bout there?" He chuckled maniacally at Sands' hitched breath tinged with a hiss of pain.
Maintain, maintain, maintain!
"Good one," he grunted.
"Now then, are ya going to be co-operative? I want some answers, and I want em right this here instant." His demands were so calm, it made them even more eerie.
"You know the CIA trains its agents for torture. You haven't even gotten me excited yet," Sand murmured.
"Oooh! You wants ta be exicited do ya?" He reached down to Sands' groin, and twisted. "That done gonna be enough excitement fer ya?" He stared hard at Sands.
He felt the blood drain from his face. Damn it. Oh Christ. Fuck.
"That the best you got?" His voice didn't betray the pain he was feeling.
Shooter didn't need to hear his pain voiced, he could see it in his eyes. And he thought he could very faintly smell the tinge of fear mixed with the scent of Sands' sweat. "I don' believe you c'n handle much more, Mister Sands." He dug the screwdriver further into Sands' throat, where, if he were to push harder, it would pierce the skin. "Now then, are ya goin' ter answer mah question or not? What you want with this here boy? Why you chasin' Mort?"
You were better off with Doctor House.
"Doctor House beat me with his cane and tried to amputate a toe," Sands murmured. He could fidget all he wanted, but it would only drive the screwdriver further into his neck. He didn't need a tracheotomy. He needed to reason with Mort. "You know I can't tell you."
Shooter smirked as Sands talked to himself. When he was certain that Sands was addressing him, he frowned. "An' jest why can't you?"
He shrugged awkwardly. "Well, Shooter, it's one of those damned if you do situations. I'm damned either way, you have a chance of getting away clean if I tell you. If I'm going down, you're going down. Sorry, Mr Shooter."
"Oh no, you're wrong there, Mister Sands." Shooter shot him a toothy grin. "Yer goin' ter tell me one way or the other. If I have to 'amputate' every single toe on your feet, yer goin' ter tell me what I want ta know. This has got to be solved."
"You can hack me into itty-bitty pieces and bury me in my very own garden, Mr. Shooter, and that's not going to change one thing. There will just be a CIA agent fertilizing your corn field," he hissed. He'd read up well on the Rainey case. Of course, Shooter had no idea how close he'd come to slipping up and adding "second" to CIA agent.. If Sands had anything to say about it, he wouldn't either.
"Well then, I guess the secret garden is out. Don't suppose you had one here anyway?" Shooter's smirk returned, and he recalled an earlier conversation, or rather argument Sands' had had with himself. "Perhaps I could feed you to the fish? I'm sure them fishes jest love freshly gouged eyeballs." His smile was cold, as he watched waiting for Sands' reaction.
Sands closed his eyes. The pit of his stomach had dropped, leaving him cold, shivery, and sweaty. The metal of the screwdriver had effectively sucked out every bit of warmth in his body. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?" he asked tonelessly.
Shooter gave a cold chuckle. "I see that I have your attention now." He'd felt Sands shiver. "If you do not answer mah question within the next 30 seconds I will shove this screwdriver through yer eyeballs, repeatedly until there is nothing left but an empty bloody socket, blood running down your face." As he said this, Shooter lifted the screwdriver from Sands' throat, and slid the tip along his jaw line and up his face coming to rest at the corner of his eye.
Sands yanked his head away as his knees gave out. The impact with the hardwood floor shocked just enough reason into his addled brain to realize he had to run. Now. He rolled away from the vengeful Shooter and scrambled towards the door. His fingers had wrapped around the door knob when he felt his heart stop.
Someone had knocked.
Shooter seemed to not notice that someone had knocked on the door. He came towards Sands, yielding the screwdriver as one would a butcher knife. The look he gave Sands was one of pure insanity. As Shooter reached Sands on the floor, his grin grew.
There was another knock, and then a familiar voice called through. "Mr. Sands! Mr. Sands! Open the goddamn door!" There were muttered curses, and then more pounding.
At the sound of Sandy's voice, Shooter's smile froze, and his eyes widened. He blinked once, then twice, then stared down at the screwdriver in his hand. Mort's eyes grew wide in surprise at the way he was standing over Sands and holding the screwdriver as if he was planning on attacking him. He immediately dropped it, and began to back away as the pounding resumed.
Sands dragged himself to his feet, eager to give any and all appearances of normalcy. A small tendril of doubt began to creep into his brain, wondering if maybe he was still a little green to be taking something like this on. All of this vanished when he opened the door, a steely look in his eye.
"Listen, I'm having a bad day, please don't take a picture. If you could be brief, I'd appreciate it," he glowered. Before Sandy could speak up, there was a new female voice that effectively cut Sandy's reply short.
"Agent Sands, have you been screwing the pooch or are you just being lazy?" Nicole asked sarcastically. She turned to her cohort. "That is Sands, right?"
Tokey shrugged, but quickly caught herself. "Yeah, I think so..."
"And just who the hell are you?" Sandy turned to glare at the newcomers. If they screwed up her investigation she was going to be seriously pissed off.
"Dangerbabe" turned smartly to face Sandy. "CIA. This is no concern of yours, ma'am, the government takes precedence over city law enforcement."
Sands sighed. "Will you both please just shut up and tell me what the fuck each of you is bitching at me about?"
Sandy ignored him, and took a step closer to the offending woman. "Well if you don't mind we have a dead body on our hands, and I need to get some answers." She stared hotly at "CIA agent."
While everyone was arguing, Mort was slipping into the depths of the house. The only one not involved in a heated argument, or lost in a web of confusion, was Tokey. She kept an eye on the small framed man that was lurking within. She was about to say something to DB when she was forced to answer the cop.
Sands wasn't nearly as amused as he thought he'd be by the cat fight. So he closed the door quietly and wandered back inside, hoping to find Mort before he escaped again. It didn't take long for the annoyed thumping at the door to start up again, but he ignored them for the time being.
"Mort Rainey, where the hell are you?"
Mort had hidden behind a staircase, and froze when he heard Sands approaching. His breathing was raspy, and he quickly shut his mouth and concentrated on breathing through his nose so as to make as little noise as possible.
Sands knew the cabin inside and out. As long as Mort hadn't escaped outside, Sands would find him. Besides, if Mort went outside, the harpies would have caught him.
"Come out, come out, wherever you are…"
Mort held his breath as Sands came ever closer. As Sands went by without spotting him, Mort let out a relieved breath that was a little louder than it should have been. His body went rigid as Sands also froze and turned around, making his way clumsily towards the dark where Mort hid.
Mort took a chance and jumped out of the darkness tackling Sands, with a yell. He began to claw at Sands frantically, his arms, chest, head, and face.
Sands couldn't hide the strangled gasp that was torn from his throat. The momentum that had thrown him to the floor allowed him to summersault and throw Mort off him. He had to lay still for a moment to catch his breath, and when he finally got back up, Mort was poised to flee again.
"Jesus, can't you just cooperate? I've got nothing against you and the guy you killed was an ass, ok? Stop trying to fucking kill me!"
Mort froze at that. "W-what do you mean? The guy I k-killed? I ha-haven't killed anyone!" He looked at Sands, his lips quivering.
"I know what you did, that's why I'm here. I'm quite up to date, thank you. Ted was a bastard. I know this. I'm fine with you killing him. I would have if you hadn't, now that I'm being frank," he frowned. "I'm just here because I'm told to follow orders, savvy? I commend you, but I've got to pretend I don't. Understand?"
Mort frowned, and blinked at him. "B-but they're gone. They've been missing f-for a couple weeks now. I didn't kill anyone!" His brows puckered.
"Just take the credit already," Sands growled. "You killed them. Get over it."
"I didn't kill them!" he hissed through his teeth. He once again lunged for Sands, this time pinning Sands to the floor. "I didn't kill them!" He yelled, shaking Sands' shoulders that were pinned under Mort's body.
"Just my luck, I get the-" He winced as his shoulders hit the floor- "guilty sociopath."
"Stoppit! Stop saying it!" He slapped Sands across the face, not hearing what he was saying; he just saw his lips moving, watching them form those words. You killed them. You killed them. You killed them. "Stop saying it! Arrrrgggghhhh!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, shaking Sands' shoulders so hard that his head began to come in contact with the hard floor of the cabin.
Sands' eyes were going out of focus and he realized that he really had to stop it soon or he'd get a concussion. "Sorry, Mort," he whispered before kneeing the other man hard in the groin. Mort's grip tightened on Sands' shoulders as the pain shot through his groin. He moaned, then collapsed exhausted on top of Sands.
"I didn't kill them," he whispered.
"You did, but I forgive you," Sands murmured, rolling Mort off his chest and stumbling to his feet again. The knocking had doubled in pitch and the door was beginning to cave. When he finally yanked it back open, there were two pissed off women and one indifferent one who looked to be some sort of tagalong.
"Did we kiss and make up?" he asked.
"What the fuck just happened? Did you just kill Morton?" Sandy tried to push her way into the cabin, having spotted Mort lying on the floor.
"He's fine, his masculine pride may have been bruised, but what are you going to do? Now, what do you want?" Sands hadn't moved from his spot blocking the doorway.
Sandy's eyes narrowed. "You're going to have to come with me. You need to come in for questioning."
"Uh no, next caller," he turned to Nicole.
"You know why I'm here."
"I know why you're here."
"Why are we beating around the bush then?"
"Because it's my favorite game. Who's the youngster?"
"Sidekick. Agent Tokey."
"Sidekick? You must be the infamous Dangerbabe," he smirked.
"That's what they call me. Are you going to let me and Tokey in or do I have to fight my way in?"
Sands stepped aside and allowed DB and Tokey to enter, much to Sandy's anger.
Tokey eyed Sandy as she led DB inside. The lady had long red hair and hard green eyes, and she had an accent that Tokey couldn't quite place. As Tokey went in, she spotted Mort curled in the fetal position on the floor.
"Should I see if the guy's ok? He doesn't look too good."
As Sands began to close the door in Sandy's face, she stuck her hand out preventing him from doing so. "You're going to need to come in for questioning. Your friend's down at the station and he's not cooperating much more than saying that you were with him." She gave him a yet another hard stare.
"I haven't got any friends," Sands snarled, leaning against the door.
She was braced and ready, and stepped over the threshold. "That's not a good idea, Mr. Sands," she said warningly. "I suggest you come with me. Otherwise we'll be forced to put a warrant out for your arrest."
"Fuck it. I don't care anymore." Sands managed to muscle the door shut to the point where only Sandy's foot was still wedged in the crack.
"Shit!" She managed to yank her foot out before it was shattered. "I'll be back, Mr. Sands!" she shouted at the door. "And I'll have a warrant for your arrest!" She "harrumphed" to her car, got in and slammed the door shut. She left Sands' cabin; her tires spewed gravel all over, some even pinging off windows of the building.
Tokey just watched with somewhat mild amusement, then turned her attention back to Mort. She cautiously approached him, not knowing exactly how dangerous he was. "Hey, you!" She nudged him with her foot. "You ok?" His body twitched, but he didn't look up at her. "Uh, DB? I think there might be something wrong with this dude."
"Can you elaborate?"
"Heh," she smiled sheepishly. "He's not really moving. He's curled in a ball as tightly as possible. Plus, it looks like he's got a couple of bandages..." She looked pointedly at Sands, but at the look he gave her, she quickly averted her eyes.
"Would I be right in guessing that it's not his masculine pride that's bruised, but his manhood?" DB quirked an eyebrow.
"You might be," Sands shrugged.
Tokey looked over Mort skeptically, and rolled him over until she could see his face. "Did he kick you in the..." He looked upward, as she nodded her head. Mort gave a grunt in response. A broad grinned spread across the young 'kick's face. "Yup, his pride is most certainly bruised," she informed her trainer.
DB sighed. There was the regular way, then there was the Agent Sands way. "What'd this poor guy do to deserve a kick in the nuts?"
Sands blinked. "He escaped too many times to count, almost stabbed me open on numerous occasions. Did, in fact, stab me open not too long ago and about five minutes ago, just leaped out of the shadows and tackled me. That good?"
"He sounds like a feisty critter from the way you tell it, But I don't hear him moving around. Why's that?"
Before Sands could speak, the sidekick answered.
"Because he's been shot in the shoulder and the leg. I imagine it's pretty difficult running around on an injured leg, eh?"
Mort looked up at the girl who was not much more than a kid and felt a little hope stirring in his mind.
"That's not the only reason," Sands rolled his eyes.
"Are you insinuating that he's even more injured than my sidekick is claiming?"
"When your life is threatened, aren't you going to fight back? Besides, he's not totally harmless. Just mostly harmless."
Mort didn't know which side to play. He could continue lying there pretending to be helpless, or he could "fight back" as Sands said. He decided he'd wait it out.
"What do you mean by 'mostly harmless'? And why has his life been threatened?" Tokey looked Mort over curiously.
Sands tsked. "You're clearly not that well read, are you? Douglas Adams. Read him. And it wasn't exactly his life that was threatened either," he remarked sourly. Nicole simply stepped back and watched the two younguns' duke it out.
"Then why did you say that? You said, and I quote, 'When your life is threatened aren't you going to fight back?' Why would you say that if his life was not threatened?" She glanced back down at Mort. "From the looks of things he looks as if his life was threatened. More than once I might add. Do you know how far the shoulder is from the chest? How far it is from the brain?"
"I was implying that it was… in fact…me…who was threatened," he smiled dangerously. "Now if you don't stop snooping, I'm going to have to do something kind of rash-"
"And if you're going to go around threatening my sidekicks, I'm going to draw the line and call you out," DB announced.
Tokey stepped closer, having no qualms about antagonizing the somewhat dangerous looking agent. "Are you saying that this man-" She gestured behind her. "-with a wounded shoulder and leg was a threat to your…life?" She smirked as she saw the annoyance flare within him.
Mort saw his chance as their discussion became heated. He didn't know what to do though: fight or flight? Which was safest?
Sands shifted his weight to look around the pushy rookie. Tom still called him one, but Tom was an asshole and Sands wasn't thinking about him now.
"That man right there is no threat whatsoever. He's harmless. You haven't met Mr. Shooter. He's to be watched. The man as a whole… is mostly harmless. Comprende?"
Mort decided to take action.
Tokey frowned. "Mr. Shooter? Who the hell is that? I thought he was…" She turned to gesture once again to Mort, only to see an empty spot on the floor.
Mort shakily got to his feet, and cracked his jaw. Shooter stood as straight as he could and threw his good arm around the kid's neck. "Pleased ta meet ya, missus." He grinned as he spoke into her ear. Tokey's eyes were wide, not with fear, but surprise. Sands really couldn't have cared less. The kid was annoying. It was when Dangerbabe tried to leap into action that Sands grabbed her arm and yanked her back.
"None of that. He might have found his screwdriver and for all we know he could have it at the small of your sidekick's back. Would you condemn her to that?" he murmured. She groaned, knowing Sands was right, but needing to do something. Tokey frowned, and croaked as best as she could with Shooter's grip around her neck.
"Now wait just a minute, who's this Shooter guy you were talking about? And what's this about a screwdriver?"
Shooter looked over his shoulder, and spotted the screwdriver on the floor. His grin widened, and he moved backwards, pulling Tokey along with him. Sands pulled out his crotch gun and aimed it at Shooter's head, knowing he'd never get a clean shot, but thinking that perhaps he might corral Shooter where he wanted him. The farmer had to know by know that Sands had no problems about shooting people. He just hoped that he wouldn't have to hit the girl either.
Shooter froze, seeing Sands aim the gun squarely at his head. He gave him an icy glare, then ducked down behind the kid. Even if Sands shot her, he'd have his screwdriver. He could always use her as a body shield.
When Tokey felt "Mort" duck behind her to avoid the aim of Sands' gun, she tried to look over her shoulder to see what he was doing. She gave up after a couple of tries, and turned back to see the barrel of the gun pointed at her head now. "Oh hell no," she whispered, seeing the clear intent in the other agent's mind. She could still feel "Mort" behind her, and she braced herself. After mentally counting to three, she rammed her elbow back and felt it connect smartly with Shooter.
"Oh shit!" Was the muffled cry that came from Mort as he released the grip Shooter'd had on Tokey. He cupped his nose in his hands, and cowered back into a corner, his shoulder and thigh screaming.
Tokey turned to look at Mort with a satisfied expression, dusting her hands off. Once she saw that he would be no more trouble for a while, she turned back to agent who held her trainer. She bent over, picked up the screwdriver, and strode toward Sands. "Now, then, I think it's time to release my friend there."
"Hm?" Sands' eyes narrowed and he looked at the unconscious grip he had on the older woman's shoulder. She was carefully avoiding movement, keeping the bruising he was causing to a minimum. He let her go and returned the gun to its holster. "See what I mean about mostly harmless?"
"Uh-huh." Tokey rolled her eyes. "Just what was he planning on doing with this?" she asked, holding up the screwdriver.
"I'll give you one guess. And it's not 'tighten the screws in my bookshelves.'" Sands turned away from the duo and went into the bathroom to right himself.
"What are you holding, Tokey?" DB asked softly when she heard a door slam.
"A screwdriver," she shrugged, and stuck it in the waistband of her pants. "Might come in handy." She went over to the couch and plopped down picking up one of the magazines on the table. She promptly threw it back down, muttering something about guys being pigs. "So…why is Sands after that guy anyways?" she questioned DB.
While DB was answering, Mort, who was still cowered in a corner, had spotted a door just through the kitchen. He eyed the two women as he shuffled a couple of inches in that direction. Neither seemed to notice, but when the sole of his sneaker came in contact with the linoleum, DB decided that it'd better if someone kept an eye on him. She had a pistol out in no time flat where she'd heard the squeak of rubber.
"Stop right there, Mr. Rainey. Get back in here and I won't shoot you."
Mort froze, grimacing at the thought of yet another bullet wound. He tentatively put his hands up and turned around. He limped over to the couch where Tokey looked at him amusedly. He sat down at the opposite end of it, and glared at her making her chuckle.
Mort turned to DB and gave her a smart, tight lipped smile. "Yes please do share. Why is he after me?"
"If he hasn't told you, who would I be to let slip this sacred secret?" DB shrugged.
"An evil little harpy who has no business being here," Sands muttered. He'd come out of the bathroom, face wet, hair dripping and smelling of bath salts. Nobody had noticed him beforehand in the midst of Mort's attempted escape. Sands sauntered over to Mort and quickly snapped a cuff around his wrist. Before he could protest, Sands dragged him over to the front door and cuffed him to the handle. "Now no more escaping, you hear me?"
"You're a low son of bitch you know that?" Mort growled, tugging on the doorknob uselessly.
"And a Merry fucking Christmas to you, too." Sands flipped Mort off before dragging himself to the couch and flopping into Mort's spot. His head lolled back and his eyes drifted closed. His wrist watch had read 11 PM when he'd checked in the bathroom. Considering he'd been up since 5 that morning and had been going just about nonstop, he could honestly say that he was tired. He didn't even care that he had company watching him doze.
Tokey looked over at the dozing agent skeptically, then just shrugged her shoulders. "What about that agent friend of his? Aren't we supposed to find him too?"
"Agent friend?" DB asked.
"Yeah…I thought we were supposed to find him to. Didn't they say that he's part of it too? The other trainer?"
Before DB could answer, there was a sharp knock on the door which caused Mort to jump. Once his heart returned to its normal pace, he peered through the peephole. A wave of relief swept over him upon recognizing the man on the porch. He opened the door and somewhat welcomed the man.
"Dave! Look! Look what he's doing to me!" he almost moaned to the sheriff. He gestured to his hand that was chained to the door.
Dave frowned at the site of his enemy chained to the doorknob. It would have given him more pleasure if he'd done it himself, but at least it didn't look like the murderer was going anywhere for awhile. He stepped by Mort and entered the living room, seeing three occupants-four if he counted Mort. A man was passed out on the couch and there were two women huddled together.
"I was told this was a Mr. Sands' house and judging by Mr. Rainey in the corner, I'm going to assume it is."
DB raised her head towards Dave's voice, "What's it to you?"
"Mr. Sands and his partner were supposed to come by my office today to pick up something, but they didn't show. I figured I'd drop if off, but I'd rather not have it fall into the wrong hands. I guess I'll just be going." Dave turned around when DB spoke up.
"We work with Mr. Sands, are you sure you can't trust us?"
"Very sure. Just let him know he should drop by the office tomorrow." And with that, Dave Newsome was gone, leaving a confused party left. Sands hadn't woken up.
Tokey looked at DB confusion written all over her face. "What do you think that was all about?"
"Might have something to do with the dead body," Mort muttered.
"The one you killed?" DB asked stiffly.
"No, the one your fucking friend killed," he snarled.
If that was true, the Company was going to have a hell of a time justifying it. DB didn't want to think about such matters right then, after the plane ride and the layover and everything else today. Finding out from Sands would be only slightly better than finding out from Mort. At least if she asked Sands, Nicole would be awake enough to realize what was being talked about.
"Well, seeing as how I don't have a key, I think you're stuck there. Good night, Mort. Tokey, I've got the bed upstairs, you can sleep wherever you want," DB addressed her sidekick.
Tokey made a noise of acknowledgement and sighed tiredly. She didn't know how many beds there were upstairs, or if there was even more than just one. She didn't feel as if she could make it back down to the couch if she went upstairs, so she just curled up on the sofa. The tips of her toes were touching Sands' legs where he sat slouched at the far end.
Noticing everyone was turning in for the night, Mort began to grow irritated. "Hey!" he shouted. "What about me? You're not just gonna leave me here chained to the fucking door are you?"
Tokey lifted her head to look at Mort and shrug her shoulders. "Not my deal buddy," she said sleepily and laid her head back down.
"Hey!" Mort shouted louder this time and began to jangle the handcuffs on the doorknob.
The noise finally got to be so unbearable, that Tokey stretched out her feet and gave Sands a kick, almost knocking him to the floor. "Take care of your friend over there," she murmured drowsily.
Sands snorted and blinked dazedly. His head felt heavier than it should be. The jingle of handcuffs eventually brought him back to the present and a distressed Mort bathed in moonlight. The digital clock in the kitchen said 12:05. He hadn't even been sleeping for an hour. That's why he still felt like shit.
He wobbled over to Mort, his eyes dead in the silvery light. When he saw Mort start to cow under his gaze, he allowed himself to blink. "You make one more fucking peep; I'll blow your head off. Now shut the fuck up and go to bed. Some of us don't get naps when we're taken over by alternate personalities."
"How the hell am I supposed to sleep when I'm chained to the goddamn door? I can't fucking sleep standing up!"
Sands didn't have the patience he normally did. Mort had used up more than his quota. So he punched Mort in the face. The dull thump of the writer's skull connecting with the door was satisfactory, especially when Mort didn't move a minute later. Sands smiled wearily and made his way back to the couch to find Tokey stretched along the entire length. He had a feeling the bed was taken as well. This only left the reclining lawn chair on the screened-in porch.
Minutes later, after gathering up all the free covers he could, Sands curled up inside his nest of blankets on the porch-ignoring the frigid Maine wind-and fell back to sleep.
Honor Roll: Merrie: Of course crazy SJ is fun! He's like a barrel of monkeys or something! And as for Aida and Tom…well they'd certainly have a lot to talk about. loosens collar BraveSymbol: You made it! And you lime it! Here's Chapter 8, just for you. ;-)