Chapter 39

Welcome Mat

Intro Song: Don't Come Around Here No More, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers

"You have this under control." It was a statement, not a question. Durand looked at his subordinate, waiting for reassurance.

"I do, Christophe. I talked with McDowell several times this week. It's all laid out. St. John be in San Diego by now, with this L.A. detective in tow. They'll meet with the detectives, visit the morgue, and then head out to the crime scene with the border agents. The ambush is all set up."

"I hope you impressed upon Mr. McDowell the need for this to go smoothly. Crucis cannot be exposed - nor can we risk vampires gaining knowledge of our strategy. You know we are still in the process of establishing our network in California and plans are at a critical juncture. After what happened in New York, however, I don't want to have to worry about dealing with Mick St. John when the operation reaches California. That would not be in any of our best interests. He is clearly a threat to our plans."

"McDowell understands, I promise you. St. John will be injured in front of human witnesses - in a way that will make it impossible to explain when he gets up and walks away. They will take out at least one of the border guards too. That will ensure that there is enough attention and publicity about the incident that St. John will be forced to leave L.A. - or risk exposure as a vampire, which he will never do."

Durand nodded, but said nothing. John's promises of smooth operations had not been coming to fruition of late. If this, too, went wrong, his operative was poised, awaiting word from him, to execute retribution on Giles for his mistakes. Secundum rationem sui peccati punietur homo. According to the nature of his sin shall a man be punished…

Beth eyed the stack of clean clothes with satisfaction. It wasn't that she couldn't do laundry at Mick's. In fact, she had been surprised to find that he had a high-tech washer and dryer in a small laundry room off the master bedroom closet. She smiled, remembering Mick's reaction when she first set eyes on his laundry. Arms crossed, he had shaken his head, blue-green eyes shining with amusement as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"What did you think, Beth? That I sent my underwear out to be laundered?"

"Noooo," she had responded, even though that was exactly what she had thought.

"I'll have you know that my mother taught me how to do laundry when I was a kid. And, I had to do all my own stuff in the army, too - I can wield a mean iron. Don't confuse me with Josef. Now, I seriously doubt that he would know what a washing machine is!"

Just the thought of Josef Kostan measuring out laundry soap or folding clothes had been enough to send her into gales of laughter. The idea still brought a smile to her lips. That conversation, and Mick laughing with her over the idea of Josef doing laundry, felt like a lifetime ago, even though it had been just a few short days.

Washing clothes, going through the mail, dusting and straightening the already neat apartment, had at least eaten up a couple of hours. But now what? With a groan, she flopped down on the couch, for once at a loss as to what to do with her time. She propped her stocking feet on the coffee table, carefully pushing aside the wine glass she'd left there. The evening stretched out ahead of her like a long road, strewn with potholes. Abruptly, she sat up straight and dropped her feet to the floor as an idea occurred to her.

Logan!

"Why not?" she muttered out loud. It would take her mind off Mick and, at least she wouldn't have to watch what she said, the way she would if she were with any of her friends. She just didn't have the mental energy for that tonight. Besides, she liked Logan. Maybe he could teach her about this on-line gaming thing he was always going on about...Rummaging in her purse, she pulled out her phone and found Logan Griffen's number. He picked up on the first ring.

"Beth! What's going on?"

"Hey, Logan. Hey, if you aren't busy, can I stop by?"

"What's wrong?!" His voice, coming out of the speaker, was concerned.

"Nothing. I just wanted to, um... hang out." Embarrassed, Beth tucked some errant strands of hair behind her ear and adjusted an already-straight throw pillow. Now that she said it out loud, it sounded foolish, even to her ears.

There was a long pause before the vampire answered. "Oh... Um, sure, come on over. It is Tuesday night though and -"

"I know, it's World of Witchcraft night. I'm sorry, Logan. Forget it. I'll come some other time."

Logan laughed long and hard. When he caught his breath, he corrected her. "Um, first of all, it's World of War-craft, Beth, not world of Witch-craft." Suspiciously, he added, "Secondly, what brought on this sudden interest?"

"I was just at loose ends and thought it might be fun to have you teach me about all this on-line gaming stuff. I'm sorry, Logan, I didn't mean to interrupt your evening. We can do it another time."

Logan thought fast. Beth had never called him like this before. Knowing what Mick was up to, he figured she was probably not only at 'loose ends', as she put it, she was also fretting. Beth being Beth, she'd probably be more likely to stay out of trouble if she were with him than if she were off on her own. Giving Beth time alone to think could be a dangerous thing - he'd learned that much about her since she started hanging out with Mick. It might be a good thing to have her where he could keep an eye on her. He just couldn't let her know that he was monitoring a certain vampire's whereabouts tonight...

He made up his mind. "No, no, I want you to come over, Beth. You just caught me by surprise, that's all. Where's Mick?" Mentally, he high-fived himself over the question. Good one, Logan!

"He's off on some case and he probably won't be back till late. What am I doing? This is stupid... "I thought maybe you could introduce me to World of Warcraft?" Her tone was hesitant.

Logan responded with genuine enthusiasm. "Hey, that'd be cool! Sure, come over. Just remember, you need to bring your own refreshments." With a laugh, he hung up.

"I'm nuts," Beth announced to the silent apartment, then got up, snagging the empty wine class to wash it out, a smile on her face. She may be crazy, but the idea of hanging out with Logan made her feel much better. Beth moved with purpose to pack her clothes and the pictures she had selected, closing the windows she had so recently opened. Finished, she stood in the entry for a moment, suitcase in hand. With one last wistful look around the homey space, she locked the apartment door behind her. As the young woman stowed her suitcase in her car and set off for Logan's, she did not notice the figure watching her intently from a darkened car across the street.

Speaking into his cell phone, the man said, " Yeah, she was here for a little over an hour. Just left with a suitcase... No. No sign of St. John."

"I'm sorry, but that's about all we have to tell you."

Carl Davis felt like his head might explode at any minute from the anger he was holding in check. He could not believe that he had driven over three hours to hear what the San Diego detectives had just relayed. If that was all they had from their so-called investigation, he could have saved himself - and Mick - a trip and just had a phone conference with them. Hell, no wonder they haven't solved this case!

Mick could see the vein throbbing in the L.A. detective's forehead, his enhanced senses detecting the increased heart rate and breathing - not that he needed to use his vampire abilities. Anyone with eyes could tell that Detective Carl Davis was edging towards being pissed off. He moved to diffuse the situation.

"So, who exactly found these bodies out in the desert? I understand that this area has been a scene of drug wars and illegal alien murders before, so there was probably someone patrolling the area, right?"

Mick directed his questions at the detectives, but focused on Detective McDowell. He had sensed - and been the brunt of - animosity coming from the man since they first met, but he could not, for the life of him, understand why. McDowell had even been reluctant to shake his hand, staring at it for long seconds as if it were a poisonous snake about to strike.

The blond detective glared at St. John, setting his jaw. When he at last acknowledged the P.I., it was through gritted teeth. "Yeah. That kinda goes without saying, hot shot."

St. John exchanged glances with Davis, who shrugged. Not only was the detective not forthcoming with any new information, he acted as if being in the same room with the visitors from L.A. somehow contaminated him. Mick could almost smell the hatred oozing out of him, and he could easily pick up on his agitation - McDowell's heart rate and respiration had been elevated since the minute he had walked into the station. What is this guy's problem? He tried again. "So, the border patrol found them. Did they see anything unusual at the scene? Anything at all?""

This time, Detective Latham, who didn't seem to share the puzzling hostility emanating from his partner, took over the conversation. "Ah, yes. The border agents were on patrol; the night team found the victims." He hesitated briefly. "The word 'normal' around that area is a relative term - there isn't much that hasn't been seen in some way, shape, or fashion out there."

"Including children being decapitated?!" Mick snapped at the detective, his ire aroused at the nonchalance exhibited by the San Diego team.

Carl put a warning hand on his companion's arm, saying quietly, "Hey, Mick, take it easy... " Given the circumstances, he empathized with the P.I.'s anger; even he wasn't used to seeing cases this brutal on a regular basis. Losing composure was not going to win them any friends, though – especially since it seemed that McDowell already viewed them as the enemy.

Mick allowed the L.A. detective to take the lead while he struggled to rein in his feelings. Maybe Carl could get more out of them, one cop to another…

Davis tried to keep the dialogue going. "Sorry, guys, but this case... I've had years on the force, and I tell ya, it affected me too. I can only imagine what it must have been like to catch this one."

"Yeah, well, it was no picnic," McDowell acknowledged, muttering, "There are a lot of monsters out there." He almost spat the words in the general direction of Mick St. John.

Mick shifted his feet, fighting the urge to take a swing at the jerk. Does he know about me? The idea seemed preposterous; he was sure he had never met McDowell before. He hadn't been down to this area in several years and even then, it was for a minor case of a missing teen with no cops involved. Was he misinterpreting the detective's comments? Being overly sensitive? It had happened to him before, especially in his early days as a vampire when he thought everyone must know his secret just by looking at him. He shot a questioning look at McDowell's partner.

That was Latham's cue to intercede. "Excuse us just a second." He pulled his partner into the far corner of the room and talked to him heatedly in a low voice. "David, come on. They're just here to help. Remember, the higher-ups put this together. You don't want these guys going back and having to report to their DA that San Diego was hostile." He jerked his head toward the two men from L.A.

Mick was easily able to hear the conversation, although he didn't think Carl could. When the detective looked at him questioningly, he shrugged and spread his hands, palms up. Even eavesdropping on the conversation gave him no real clue as to why this cop would be so hostile toward him. It only confirmed that Latham didn't feel the same.

McGowan glowered at Mick as he walked back toward them, but grudgingly took his partner's advice. "Look, I'm sorry. We're short-handed and we've been pulling double-duty for weeks now, with no end in sight. This case was just the icing on the cake – and you guys being here means that some pencil-pusher, behind a desk somewhere, thinks we're doing a shit job." He paused, then smiled coldly at the P.I. "Why don't we all get some coffee and go over the file with a fine-toothed comb?"

Mick responded the only way he could. "Sure, sounds good to me. Carl?"

"Sounds great, guys, but, if you don't mind, let's skip the coffee. I'd rather just focus on the case and get this over with so we can get back to L.A. and out of your hair." The cold welcome from these San Diego cops did nothing to encourage the more social aspects of Carl's nature.

"Well, at least let's take this conversation out of the information highway that seems to run down the middle of this office," McGowan said. "The end conference room is open." His blue eyes bored into Mick's back as he gestured for his guests to walk ahead of him.

Carl nodded in agreement, puzzled by the treatment Mick was receiving. He knew that police didn't always like having contractors around, but this was far beyond mere professional rivalry. It all seemed to be coming from McGowan, however; Latham, while not exactly embracing their presence, was behaving cordially.

Mick entered the conference room with McGowan on his heels. It felt unsettlingly like he was being caged.

Picking up on his colleague's uneasiness, Carl situated himself between Mick and the San Diego detective. "So, Detective McGowan, when did your department get this? Why didn't the feds handle this one?"

"They are handling it... sort of." McGowan was obviously unhappy, making a face as he shuffled through the file. "There's been a huge amount of bad press down here over this because of the level of violence and some of the victims being children. I don't know how it is in L.A., but here, the DA's office here is pretty much run by politicians. It's in their best interests to put a very visible face on the investigation. So, here we are...caught in the middle." He shook his head as he added, "Where nobody wants to be."

"I hear ya," Carl added empathetically. He knew what it felt like to be someone's pawn - and said so.

"Glad you understand. Sorry if we're a little testy over this - it feels like we're under a microscope. And, the feds don't want us poking around in it any more than we want to be doing it."

"No harm." Davis added casually. "I hate to be the one to rush this, but... is the coroner's office still on for today?" I want to get the hell out of here.

McGowan moved around to the opposite side of the table from St. John in order to sit down and scan through the file. No way was he going to turn his back on...well, he'd said the word 'monster' out in the office. And I meant it. For the sake of the mission, though, he needed to keep his disgust - and yes, fear - in check.

"Yeah, there will be someone there for you in about forty-five minutes. In the meantime, we can go over these ballistics reports with you if you want."

The four men sat around the conference table in an uneasy truce, as they reviewed the details of the investigation. With McGowan periodically glaring at him with venom in his eyes, it was one of the more uncomfortable thirty minutes Mick St. John had ever spent in the presence of men, and he was thankful when it came to an end without further overt hostility.

As the two Los Angelinos headed down the front steps of the police station toward their car after thanking the local detectives, Carl asked with mock casualness, "So, what did you do, knock up his favorite sister and leave her at the altar or something?"

Mick groaned, biting his lip to keep from saying what he really thought. He had his suspicions, but he couldn't voice them, of course. He decided that the best approach with Davis would be not to hide his confusion or explain away the behavior. "Man, you'd think so, wouldn't you? I mean, I know the St. John charm is an acquired taste, but that guy hated my guts from the word 'go'. I'm sure I've never met him before today"

Carl laughed. "Ah, well... Cops are very...what's a good word...tribal. Hell, I'm on the force and I wasn't treated much better. Don't take it personally."

St. John forced a grin. "Nope, I don't. It goes with the P.I. territory - it's not exactly considered an honorable profession by most people. Anyway, we have bigger issues. Let's get over to the morgue and see if we can find anything that Turner and Hooch in there missed."

Davis laughed. "Yeah...I started out feeling badly for them, but not now. They've made their bed, they can lie in it as far as I'm concerned. Once we're done with them and the coroner's, we just have a stop at the border patrol... and then I'm breaking all kinds of speed laws getting back to L.A. If there is any connection to Josh's murder, we can work it from there."

"Sounds good to me." Mick put on his dark glasses as he squinted up toward the sun, still far too bright in the western sky.

The detective held up a hand. "Well, maybe not too fast... there's this really cool jazz spot I found hidden away downtown. Great single-malt and a smoking room. Yeah, I know, technically against the law…" he added when he saw Mick look at him over the top of his sunglasses, "…but hell, I think scotch and a Cohiba are just what the doctor ordered, especially after that." He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the building they had just left.

Mick re-evaluated his opinion of his companion yet again - the man was really growing on him. He stopped with one foot in the Escalade as he pretended to consider the invitation. "Gee, I don't know, I might still be taking daggers out of my back... but I guess I could squeeze in a Cohiba."

"Hey... before you make any real plans, you'd better check with your keeper first. I don't want you getting in any trouble on my account – because, by extension, I'd be in trouble too!"

"Keeper?" Mick snorted. "Beth is many things, but my keeper, she isn't. I think you should worry more about whether you can stay up past your bedtime to drink with me, Davis." Eyes hidden behind his sunglasses, his smile took any sting out of the words.

Carl winced. "Wow... it's like that, huh?"

"Uh-huh - you start it, you gotta finish it."

"I know a dare when I hear it. Game on! Just as long as you don't blame me if you get in trouble. I don't mind saying, I wouldn't want Beth Turner on my case."

A smile tugged at the corner of Mick's mouth. You don't know the half of it

… "I'll shoot her a text on the way over to the morgue. Maybe I should have her check into McGowan - it'd serve him right to sic Beth on him after the way he treated us."

"I disavow all knowledge of this," Carl intoned pompously as he strapped himself into the driver's seat and started the engine. "But I like the idea."

As they eased into the late afternoon traffic, Mick said quietly, "You know, we planned this all wrong. Given what we're going to see, we should have built in drinks before the morgue..."

"Nah, after," Davis countered. "Trust me, when you've seen some wild shit, a good stiff drink afterward takes the edge off."

The vampire's mouth twitched in dark humor. Oh, if you only knew the wild shit I've seen, Carl, you'd be asking for the bottle right now...

End Song: Born To Be Wild, Steppenwolf