Atop the Broken Universal Clock
Fandom: CSI:NY
Author: Kimmychu
Rating: FRM (but it'll probably go up later)
Pairing: Danny/Flack (slash yet to be determined)
Content Warning: Violence, language, disturbing imagery, angst
Spoilers: Set after 'Heroes', so spoilers for any episode previous to that
Summary: In the aftermath of his brother's near-fatal beating, Danny must deal with the consequences of his past ... and finds himself losing the battle little by little. Will Flack be strong enough to be Danny's anchor in his darkest days?
Disclaimer: Nope, characters still don't belong to me. But, man, I sure wanna give Danny a big hug after what happened in RSRD.
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Author's Notes: Okay. Things start to pick up now … the main villain of the story is going to make his first major appearance in the next chapter. Lotsa important conversation in this one. Fans of evil!Sonny should enjoy the last part. There's this CSI Fanfic Awards going on at Livejournal, so if you know where it is, be sure to check out 'cos there's TON of stories listed. And I'm vewy happy someone has nominated One Week, Sweet Talk and Apple Pie … and this story! Woo! Only problem is, it's still currently a WIP, so One Week has been slotted into that category instead. There might be tons of updates to this story, 'cos I hope to finish it before September 3rd, when the nominating ends. Crazy, aren't I?
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Chapter 9
"You will find some of the names on the list recognizable, Detective Taylor," Agent Ransome, a pale-skinned, silver-eyed man, said.
Mac skimmed over the white piece of paper in his hand, reading the first few names. His brows lowered in a frown.
"Yes … Some of these names belonged to victims in recent cases my lab investigated." He tapped a finger next to one particular name. "Sandra Carpenter, for one."
"It was your investigation into her case that led us to you." Agent Ransome sat back in his seat, then glanced at the other federal agent beside him, an Agent Demille. "As well as that of the Brandon Hall case, and the Lucy Dahl case."
Hearing those two names intensified Mac's scowl. It had been several months since he and his team processed those two child murder cases. The graphic, alarming nightmares had yet to cease for him.
There was the possibility they never would.
Not as long as the Body Hacker was still loose in the city.
"They're not on this list." Mac continued to scan down the page, his lips a thin line of premonition.
"No," Agent Demille replied, her large, brown eyes impartial and luminous in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through Mac's office windows. "But those cases have very similar MO with the Carpenter case. Extreme evisceration, rearrangement of the facial features into a smile, major organs missing or partially eaten."
Mac released a quiet sound of consensus.
"This list … it was faxed to you over six months ago?"
"Yes, to our headquarters in Langley, anonymously," Agent Ransome said. "We were unable to track the source." The slim man shifted minutely in his seat. "We discovered it was a hit list after cross-checking with homicide cases in the past year and coming up with matches to murders all over the country."
"Clara Atwood, waitress. Murdered in her apartment in Baltimore, Maryland. Her liver was partially eaten, and her hair was shaved off. Antony Cavelli, owner of a club in Los Angeles. Found dead in his mansion with his genitals and face missing." Agent Ransome nodded in the direction of the paper in Mac's grasp. "Edmund Pierce, lawyer with a firm in New York city. Found hanging from the bathroom rail in a room in Washington Court Hotel in Washington DC. His wife lodged a report with the police after receiving an anonymous package containing her husband's entrails, heart and liver."
Mac sighed and pinched the flesh between his eyes. A terrible migraine was beginning to pound its way through his skull.
A visit from FBI agents had been one of those matters Mac expected to occur sooner or later in correlation to the Body Hacker murders, but subconsciously dreaded. The last time he was obligated to co-operate with the Feds was for a major homicide case involving a high profile, national politician and his family. And it went badly. Bad in the kind of way that the most arrogant asshole of an agent had to be sent for that case. And bad in the sort of way that the FBI agent ended up in a near fistfight with Flack and Stella, of all people. Perhaps he should have let them punch the guy's lights out.
The ex-Marine furtively studied the two agents who sat before him now, via half-lidded eyes. Agent Ransome appeared to be the typical Fed, immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit with a pin-striped tie, with neatly cropped hair, clean shaven. Agent Demille was also garbed in the standard suit jacket, dress shirt and skirt, her black hair tied up into a neat bun behind her head. Her dark skin contrasted starkly with the pristine white of her dress shirt.
Mac cast an intense, questioning gaze on the two agents.
"How many on the list are already dead?"
There was some silence before Agent Demille spoke up.
"Eighteen."
The CSI glanced sharply at her.
"Eighteen out of twenty." Agent Demille sat straighter in her seat, returning Mac's gaze with similar concentration. "By the time we determined it was a hit list, fifteen were already dead. So far, even with ongoing investigations for all homicide cases matched to the list, we've been unable to find a common denominator to connect them. Apart from the fact they were killed by the same person."
"Which was why we couldn't find the fifteenth and sixteenth victims after Sandra Carpenter until it was too late," Agent Ransome added in a low tone.
"You found the eighteenth," Mac swiftly construed.
The two FBI agents glanced at each other, Demille with an uneasy expression.
"Yes. Actually, he found us. Quentin Ryman. He was the owner of a chain of bars in San Francisco. Moved there from New York city a few years ago," Agent Ransome said. His silver eyes were nearly transparent in the sunlight. "He contacted us, convinced he was a possible target of the Body Hacker since he recognized some of the names of the serial killer's victims. And he personally knew Antony Cavelli and Edmund Pierce. The moment we verified that his name really was on the list, we posted four agents to guard him in an undisclosed safe house in San Francisco."
Agent Ransome paused.
"By the next morning, we discovered Ryman in the bedroom, with his body slashed open from neck to groin." For the first time, Mac saw palpable emotion in the agent's light eyes. "Our four agents … were found inside the dishwasher, washing machine and refrigerator."
Being the former Marine that he was, even Mac had to grit his teeth at the horrendous imagery that came to mind.
"Ryman never talked. All he would tell us was that he believed the Body Hacker was going to go after him. That someone wanted him dead," Agent Demille said. "It was his testimony that brought up the likelihood the serial killer was working as a hired assassin … killing on the side between targets."
Mac placed the paper with its list of names flat on his desk before him. He was troubled by the edginess he saw in the eyes of the FBI agents.
"Ryman also had links to the mafia. Cavelli too."
Agent Ransome's statement made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
The mafia?
Mac scrutinized them with narrowed hazel eyes.
There was more to things here than he could see at the moment. He could sense it in the air.
"You already have access to our evidence, interviews and data logs for all the Body Hacker cases we investigated." Mac's gaze shifted from Agent Ransome, then to Agent Demille. "You're here for another reason." He made a gesture over the list. "Unless this is all you want to show me."
Agent Demille sent him a meaningful look. "The last name on the list, Detective Taylor."
Mac stared at her for a second or two, then looked down.
His gaze fell on the very last name on the paper.
And his heart stopped.
The CSI couldn't tear his eyes away from those two words that formed an extremely familiar name.
"You have a Daniel Messer in your staff, is that correct?"
It took Mac a long while to answer the silver-eyed agent.
"Yes ... Yes, Danny Messer is one of my CSIs."
Agent Demille was pulling out what appeared to be a printed picture from a large, brown paper envelope.
"We'd like to confirm something with you. Is he one of the men featured in this photo?"
Mac gingerly accepted the photograph from her, and examined it in detail. It was a color image of Danny and Flack standing side by side in a bustling crowd, outside somewhere with lots of trees and foliage in the background. Mac stared at Danny's gaunt visage, at how the younger CSI was hugging himself with his arms, as if he was cold even on a hot summer's day.
Wait. He knew where this was shot.
"He's the one wearing the spectacles. The man beside him is Detective Flack, NYPD Homicide. This picture seems to have been taken when we were at Central Park … processing the Brandon Hall scene." Mac placed the photograph on top of the paper with the list on it. "That was months ago. When did you get this?"
"The day before. Like the fax, it was mailed to us anonymously. No return address, no fingerprints, nothing," Agent Ransome said. "Turn it over."
Mac did so.
On the white back of the picture, someone had written a single sentence in black ink and roundish, clear print.
I save the best for last.
Those six words caused his chest to be filled with freezing ice that robbed him of his breath.
"We believe Detective Messer is the final target on the Body Hacker's hit list," Agent Ransome continued, his face professionally blank. "Do you know any reason at all why someone would want him killed?"
The sudden memory of watching an enraged animal of a gangster, handcuffed and being hauled away to a lifetime of incarceration, came to the forefront in his mind.
"Ya think this is the end fer me, huh, Taylor! Ya think this is IT! HUH! Fuck you, ya rat bastard cop! I'll be out in no time! You'll see! … I'll be out, and I'll have my revenge on everyone who fucked me over! EVERYONE!"
"Detective Taylor?"
Mac's hands clenched into fists on the table top.
"Detective Messer's older brother, Louie … was once part of a gang called the Tanglewood Boys, along with Salvador Zabo and Sonny Sassone, who was the leader. Earlier this year, Zabo committed suicide, and recorded a confession about a murder that happened at the Giants stadium in East Rutherford, New Jersey. During our investigations, we found a cigarette butt that contained Detective Messer's DNA, and he became the main suspect. Without further evidence, he would have been charged with the murder … so his brother wore a wire, and succeeded in taping Sonny Sassone admitting to the crime."
The CSI took a deep breath.
"Louie Messer was severely beaten up afterwards, and is now in a deep coma, being cared for at Mount Sinai hospital. As for Sonny Sassone … he was tried and found guilty. He's in Sing Sing, serving a life sentence for first degree murder."
Mac's facial features contorted into an angry frown. "If there was anyone who would want Danny dead, it would be Sassone." He looked at both FBI agents, his hazel eyes blazing. "He might just be the connection you've been searching for."
Agent Ransome's face was as emotionless as ever, but Mac perceived a brightness in Agent Demille's brown eyes that wasn't there before.
Mac picked up his cel phone from where he'd left it on the right side of his desk, on some thick case files nearby. "I need to inform Detective Messer about this -"
"No. We can't allow that."
The CSI went still in his seat, his eyes wide. "What?"
"Detective Taylor," Agent Ransome carried on, now sitting ramrod straight in his chair. "It's important to us that Detective Messer not know about the situation at this time. We would definitely prefer it if you didn't -"
"And I would definitely prefer it if I did," Mac snapped back in a sharp tone.
"Detective Taylor, we understand your urgency," Agent Demille said placatingly. "But it is very vital that he does not know about this. Yet. Hear us out, please."
Mac kept his cel phone flipped open, staring at the female agent with a livid gaze.
"We have had Detective Messer under our surveillance ever since we received the photograph, and we will continue to do so until the Body Hacker is apprehended. We need him to be unaware that he is one of the serial killer's targets, because his behavior will surely change should he learn about it."
Slowly, Mac sat back in his seat, retaining his deep scowl. He gazed downwards at the photograph on his desk.
"Because the Body Hacker is watching him."
"Exactly," Agent Demille said. "The serial killer has already disappeared once, and we can't afford to lose him again. As proven by his previous murders … he has no second thoughts about killing anyone else who isn't on that list." She sighed, her eyes pained. "Brandon Hall and Lucy Dahl were not the only child victims."
Mac ground his teeth together.
"There are, at the last count, at least thirteen others with the same MO. In three other states in the country."
The migraine in his head was transforming into a hundred-ton steel pounder that was crushing his brain bit by bit. Mac reflexively pinched his forehead.
"You can understand why we need to capture this murderer immediately." Agent Demille gesticulated with her hands. "Even if he succeeds in killing everyone on the list, he won't stop. He'll continue to kill. Until someone stops him."
Mac scrunched his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again. "What you're asking me to do, is to let you use my employee, my friend …" Mac's hazel eyes were full with anger once more. "As bait. For one of the most vicious serial killers in the United States."
The FBI agents glanced at each other, their expressions tinted with tension.
"Yes," Agent Ransome replied coolly.
The silence in Mac's office was heavy and stifling.
Mac rolled his cel phone round and round in his hand.
"Four of your agents were assigned to protect one of the targets." He stared pointedly at the Feds opposite him. "And they all died."
For the first time since the Feds entered his office, Agent Ransome was visibly incensed.
"We can't promise that Detective Messer's safety is completely guaranteed twenty-four hours a day under our protection. We're as human as you are." Silver eyes gleamed dangerously. "Or would you rather he had no protection at all?"
Mac virtually felt the pressure rise in his blood.
There was a resolute knock on his office glass door.
Mac eventually broke eye contact with Agent Ransome, shifting his gaze to his office entrance.
It was Flack, standing behind the closed door, attired in his usual mixed combo of a pin-striped suit, a baroque tie and checkered dress shirt. And he was already giving the two FBI agents in his office suspicious looks. Mac waved him in.
"Mac, I got yer message … what's goin' on?" Flack kept taking quick looks at the agents as he stood in the doorway, one hand on the door handle.
"Thanks for coming on such short notice. Come in, and close the door."
The homicide detective stared at him for a minute or two, his handsome face deceptively vacant. Flack had been around the labs long enough to know Mac never closed his office door whenever he was in there. Not unless he wanted some privacy.
Or something big was going down.
Flack unhurriedly shut the door, and went to stand with his hands crossed in front of him next to Mac's desk. Now the lanky detective was blatantly eyeing the federal agents, not bothering to conceal his disdain. It was obvious Flack hadn't forgotten his last brush with the FBI.
"Flack, Agent Demille and Agent Ransome," Mac introduced briskly, nodding to each agent respectively. Then he gestured towards the homicide detective. "Detective Flack."
He gazed up at the lanky detective.
"They're here about the Body Hacker."
The mere mention of the serial killer's moniker caused Flack to noticeably stiffen up and tighten his hands into fists. "What 'bout the Body Hacker? Hasn't been a homicide case with his MO for months."
Mac ascertained that he looked the tall homicide detective in the eye while he told Flack the sinister news he had only learned minutes ago himself. It was one of the most difficult things he ever had to do, to keep his mien and voice neutral as he watched the blood drain from Flack's face, as Flack rested one hand on the table to support himself.
The FBI agents were exceedingly quiet.
"The Body Hacker … is after Danny?" Flack rasped. His blue eyes were wide in shock, to the point Mac could clearly see the whites around the irises. "And that sonofabitch Sassone is the fucker behind it?"
"That's purely speculation right now, Don," Mac said calmly, maintaining his gaze on Flack, who had begun to pace to and fro in a very agitated way. "It's the most logical avenue to purs-"
"Danny's name is on that fuckin' list." Flack wasn't angry. He was furious. "And eighteen of the people on that list are dead. Sassone has the best motive for wantin' Danny dead, Mac." Flack stomped back to Mac's table, pointing irately with one forefinger at photograph and list on the desk top. "And this photo here? I bet ya a million bucks it was that fuckin' green-eyed creep who took it."
Flack shoved himself away from the table and resumed pacing, rubbing at his mouth and chin with his hand, the other a fist on his hip.
"I think you should tell them about him," Mac advised.
Agent Ransome had one fine eyebrow raised. "The green-eyed creep?"
Flack slowed to a standstill back beside Mac's table, perceptibly calming himself down. He took a deep breath, letting it out in an audible sigh.
Mac patiently waited for the younger detective to speak. He knew that Flack was not used to being the one on the other side of the table, to being the one made to answer the questions.
"There was an unidentified man who was present at both the Brandon Hall crime scene and the Sandra Carpenter crime scene. While they were still being processed by the CSIs."
That got both Agent Ransome and Agent Demille to sit up in attention.
"First time I bumped into him, I didn't think much 'bout who he was." The homicide detective stared at the full-color picture. "Not until he insinuated that he had photographs of me. Who woulda thought he really meant it."
"The second time 'round, I caught him outside Sandra Carpenter's apartment buildin'. Chased him down into an alley." Flack paused. "He … disarmed me … and while I was down, he heavily implied that somebody was threatening Danny's life. He didn't specifically mention Danny's name." He shook his head from side to side, biting his lower lip, lost in thought. "But I know. I know what he was sayin'. I know he's the guy."
Whatever exasperation Agent Ransome developed before Flack arrived had vanished in light of the homicide detective's account. "Will you be able to identify the man should you meet him again?"
"Yeah," Flack answered. "Yeah, I would. Definitely. Even got a facial composite done of the guy, by one of the lab technicians here."
Agent Demille turned her head to look at Mac. "We'd like a copy of it. This man could very well be the serial killer."
"Or some random, mentally unstable man who thinks he's one."
Mac was starting to form the opinion Agent Ransome was not a very optimistic man.
"It's the best lead we've got so far," Agent Demille said in a hushed tone.
"He hasn't popped up in a couple of months."
Mac and the FBI agents retrained their gazes on Flack.
"Not since the Lucy Dahl case," Flack concluded. He then glanced at Agent Demille, who was closest to him.
"Eighteen on the list are dead. That leaves two. Ya know Danny's one of them. What 'bout the other person?"
"He's already under our custody."
"Doesn't mean he's outta harm. Yer people couldn't stop the Body Hacker last time he struck when ya had somebody under yer protection." Flack's blue eyes were hard and cold. "How can we be sure Danny will be safe at all with ya, if that's the case?"
Agent Ransome was displaying signs of stress. "As I've told Detective Taylor, we can't guarantee a hundred percent that no harm at all will come to your co-worker. But what happened was a one-time occurrence." The agent's eyes were equally hard and icy. "It won't happen again."
"And you're so sure a' that, huh?"
Mac stared at the glowering silver-eyed man, then at Flack, gently drumming his fingers on the armrests of his chair. He sighed inaudibly.
The homicide detective hadn't been told yet about the FBI's plans for Danny.
Before this meeting was over, someone in the room was going to get hurt.
"Well, you're gonna get him to one of yer safe houses at least, right?"
"No." Agent Ransome's voice had gone an octave lower.
The CSI never realized how wide Flack's eyes could go. "What? What the hell do ya mean by that!"
"It is imperative that Detective Messer not know about th-"
Flack caught on really fast.
"You're gonna use him as bait. You're gonna use him as fuckin' BAIT." The homicide detective's features were in a rictus of sheer wrath. "Are ya kiddin' me!"
Agent Demille certainly didn't look like she expected such fury from Flack. The younger man was quite frightening when he was outraged. "Detective Flack, we will do the very best we can to protect him at all times -"
"Danny deserves to know that some PSYCHO FUCKER out there wants to KILL HIM!"
Flack's deafening roar cowed both agents into an uncomfortable silence.
When neither Fed was going to reply, Flack looked to Mac for a response, guidance, anything.
"Mac, ya aren't gonna go with this bullshit plan a' theirs, are ya?"
The older detective was deeply grateful his migraine was fading away. He rubbed absent-mindedly at his temple. " … I don't know."
"Mac, c'mon! They want us to keep this hidden from Danny!" Flack stared imploringly at him, his expression an amalgam of ire, frustration and trepidation. "I know the top priority is to get the Body Hacker, but ya gotta think 'bout Danny too!"
The CSI picked up the photograph from his desk, studying it for the second time that afternoon. Sometimes, he still felt bewildered at how long it'd taken him to see the severity of Danny's eating disorder. Sometimes, people were blind to so many things till they were shown reality from a different perspective. Right now, Flack was thinking with his heart, rather than his head. The younger man was seeing the situation through the eyes of someone who was emotionally linked to the target. And everyone knew how close the two detectives were.
Like brothers.
"I am thinking about him, Don."
Flack tensed up, mouth opened, ready with a comeback, but then he quietened. The tall, blue-eyed man stared at Mac with a reflective look, and nodded faintly.
Good man, Mac thought. Flack understood. The Feds didn't need to know about Danny's other problems. That was something that stayed solely in the team.
"Which is why you're here," Mac adjoined.
Flack perked up from his hunched, head-bowed pose, gazing questioningly at the CSI.
"You're one of his closest friends, someone who knows him well. Someone he trusts. And I trust you." Mac sat up in his seat. "The FBI already has Danny under surveillance, but you'll be the perfect additional protection he needs. You'll be able to follow Danny around without arousing any suspicion, even to his apartment. And I can assign him to lab work only, if it means keeping him here under constant security."
Flack eventually nodded. "Yeah." Then he glowered at the FBI agents. "I'm more than willin' to stay with him twenty-four seven, but there is no way in fuck all I'm gonna keep quiet 'bout this. Danny deserves to know the truth."
Agent Ransome sighed heavily. "Can you ensure he won't up and run on you if you tell him?"
"Gee, I dunno, if ya found out some serial killer wacko out there who hacks people up and eats their insides was after you, would ya feel like stickin' 'round much, huh?" Flack threw up his arms in displeasure. "What's wrong with you? You Feds … thinkin' ya could just come in here and tell us what to do, hahn? This is somebody we care 'bout that ya want us to put on the line here! Do ya even know what that feels like!"
Mac remained silent. Flack had pretty much verbalized his thoughts on the matter, albeit in a fashion that was more coarse than Mac would have liked.
Again, it was Agent Ransome who spoke up.
"Detective Flack. Two of the agents watching Quentin Ryman who were killed by the Body Hacker … were my friends."
Agent Demille's was staring at a spot on Mac's desk, expressionless.
Flack looked like he just slammed headlong into a brick wall.
Mac glanced sharply at Agent Ransome, stoic on the outside but inwardly empathizing with the man. He had lost friends of his own to war and bloodshed during his Marine years.
"One of them was a good man I'd known for more than fifteen years. I had to identify his mangled body parts for burial because his wife couldn't bear to see what remained of her husband." The man's silver eyes were old and dejected. "Yes, I do know what it feels like, to have friends on the line … and to lose them."
The hush that reigned was a different kind now.
"You must believe me, detectives, that we would never have brought up such a plan unless it was a final resort," Agent Ransome said after some time. "If you have any better ideas at all, we'd be happy to hear you out and compromise a new plan."
Mac glanced at Flack from the corner of his eyes. The homicide detective's large eyes were shuttered, his lips downturned. The agents weren't going to receive an answer from him anytime soon.
"We'll go along with it. For now," Mac responded, looking at Agent Ransome in a somewhat altered light from before. "But Detective Messer will be informed of all this."
"Very well." Agent Ransome appeared very tired in the wake of his surprising disclosure.
The sudden shrill ring tone of a mobile phone echoed loudly in the glass office.
It was Agent Demille's phone, which was in her jacket pocket.
She answered it with her last name, and after a minute or so, she removed it from her ear and replaced it in her jacket pocket.
"He wants to meet us now. He's not happy with the current arrangements."
Whatever it meant, it was apparently something crucial to Agent Ransome as well. The agent got up to his feet, facing Mac, who had also stood up.
"My apologies for cutting our meeting short, but we have to leave. We'll contact you again very soon to smooth out all the details." Agent Ransome looked at Flack. "If you still plan on telling Detective Messer … please let us know when you do. He may wish to speak with us."
Mac placed a hand on top of the picture and list on his desk. "I'd like to keep these for additional processing in my labs. Particularly the photo."
"Certainly," Agent Ransome said. He plucked out two cards from his jacket pocket. "My contact, as well as Agent Demille's."
"Thank you." The CSI took them from the agent, gazing at the numbers and instantly memorizing them.
The two FBI agents were already almost out of Mac's office when Flack suddenly called out to Agent Ransome. The silver-eyed man halted at the doorway, pivoting around.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Agent Ransome gazed intently at Flack for a moment, then merely nodded, a small, melancholic smile on his lips as he left with his partner.
Once they were on their own, Mac sat back onto his office chair, running one hand down his face. His hands and feet felt prickly, as if countless needles were jabbing him. It was easy to ignore the gory images flashing in his mind with the Feds preoccupying him. But now, he couldn't stop seeing visions of Danny, sprawled on a leaf-covered ground, his pale corpse slashed open from neck to groin.
Those blue eyes staring at him.
Demanding to know why he failed to protect his protégé.
"I don't like this, Mac." Flack was sitting in the chair Agent Demille sat previously, his handsome visage set in a grim expression. "I don't like it all."
"You're not the only one, believe me."
"I wanna be the one to tell him."
Mac wholly anticipated Flack's request.
"Okay. But you have to let me know the moment you do."
Flack nodded.
Mac leaned back on his leather chair, pinching the flesh between his left thumb and forefinger. It helped to alleviate headaches whenever he applied direct pressure to the bundle of nerves there. Damn migraine. He probably had more of them in the last six months than in his entire life.
Flack was lost in contemplation, his thick eyebrows low in one of his broods.
"Flack. What do you think about Danny hightailing out of town when you tell him about all this?"
The homicide detective was taken aback by the question.
"Hell, no. Danny isn't like that." Flack sat back on his seat, thinking it out, his gaze darting here and there. "He isn't gonna just up and run … he's not a coward."
For some reason, Mac was grudgingly reminded of a near-skeletal Danny, sitting with his shoulders hunched on his couch, months ago. Peering at him with those big, fearful eyes. Admitting to Mac he'd quit the eating disorder program.
Danny had broken his promise to Mac about that.
And at the time, the younger CSI barely had a clue how close to death he was.
If Flack informed him about being a target of the Body Hacker, about a horrible death looming over him at any given time … could Danny still be trusted to keep his word to them?
The tall detective seemed to know precisely what Mac was thinking.
"You're thinkin' 'bout Danny and that Mount Sinai program, aren't ya?"
Mac locked eyes with Flack, then nodded quietly.
"I know." Flack bowed his head, his eyes half-lidded. "Yeah, I know, he promised us he'd go with that program and then he quit … but …" He sighed. "That was different, Mac. He was on the brink. Thought he had nobody, ya know?" Flack lifted his head.
"It's different now. Now he knows he's got people he can depend on. People he can trust, that he can go to for help." The late afternoon sunlight gave Flack's pale skin a glowing vibrance. "Danny didn't quit the program 'cos he was afraid. He quit 'cos he believed the people there didn't care 'bout him, didn't give a damn 'bout him, ya know what I mean? He …"
Flack was at a loss for words for a second.
"He believed that I was the one who would be able to help him."
Mac sent him a warm, minute smile. "You did."
The words made Flack smile bashfully. "My friend was in trouble, and he needed my help. That's all I needed to know."
Mac's closed-lipped smile broadened. In only two sentences, Flack had unwittingly proven himself to Mac that it'd been an excellent idea to call the homicide detective to attend the small meeting in his office earlier on.
"Shit."
Mac raised his eyebrows at Flack's rather non-sequitur comment.
"Shit." Flack scratched at the side of his head. "How do ya tell yer friend a psychotic serial killer has got him on his hit list and wants him dead?"
Mac picked up his mobile phone from where he placed it on his desk, ready to dial a number he'd assumed he wouldn't have to for a long, long time.
"The same answer to the following question ... How do you make an imprisoned gangster admit he's hired a psychotic serial killer who's murdering people off his hit list?"
Mac began pressing the first few buttons, then smirked mirthlessly.
"You just do it."
OooooooooooooooooooooooooooO
Sonny Sassone had changed a great deal since Mac last met him in person.
"Well, well … if it isn't Deeee-tec-teeeve Taaaylor."
There was nothing of the flabby, cocky gangster he'd confronted at that construction site, when he arrested Sassone for the murder that imprisoned the man in Sing Sing. For one thing, Sassone's skin was littered with scars, fresh and old. One crawled up the right side of his face like protruding, fleshy veins, from his lower jaw below his right ear up to the corner of his right eye. Another long one ran along his left forearm, as if he'd used it to block a knife attack. Mac was certain there were more beneath the man's prison garb.
Sassone's hair was gone. As well as any fatness he had before his incarceration. The gangster turned prisoner was all brawn and brute strength now. It showed in the bulging muscles of his arms and chest, and in the leanness of his face. However, it was the man's eyes that warned Mac he was dealing with someone much more vicious now.
They were chock-full of arrogance, rage and hatred.
And, oddly enough … satisfaction.
Truth be told, Mac wasn't even sure anymore if there was anything remotely human in the person sitting before him anymore.
The CSI stared at the man whom he'd apprehended, cautious but unafraid.
Sonny was chained at the wrists and ankles to steel hoops embedded in the floor, efficiently hindering the prisoner from doing any harm to his visitor.
"So nice to see ya again, Taylor," Sassone said in a sarcastic tone, lounging in his seat with his fingers pressed together in a steeple. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your illustrious presence?"
Mac kept quiet, continuing to stare at Sonny with hazel eyes of steel.
"Wha, ya here 'cos ya missed my gorgeous face, Taylor?" Sassone sniggered. "Ya know, if ya wanted to be the president of my fan club, all ya had to do was ask." He narrowed his eyes pointedly. "I'll even let ya suck my dick in the mornin' and evenin'."
Mac didn't show the tiniest bit of a reaction.
However, it simply amused the former gangster.
"Oooohhh, ya like that, huh?" Sassone waved his hands in the air. "Wanna play it cooool, hah?" He snickered once more,. Then his expression fell solemn.
"Ya know somethin', Taylor. I oughta thank ya for puttin' me into Sing Sing." Sonny began drumming his fingers intermittently on the table between them. "Betcha didn't expect that, ah? But it's true … I'm glad I ended up here."
The convict truly did appear to be grateful, which made Mac's hackles rise.
"'Fore I got here, I was a total fatass. A lazy fatass. I admit it, it's true. I was gettin' weak. Gettin' soft." Sassone flexed his arm and flaunted the swell of his muscular, right upper arm. "But now … I'm back, I'm back to the guy I once was … the tough, muthafucker bastard everybody's afraid of. And it's all thanks to you, Taylor."
Sassone leaned forward as far as he could across the table, staring Mac in the eye. "Ya sent me here to hell, thinkin' I'd be tormented by the demons here … didn't ya?" He flashed an malevolent grin. "Betcha never thought I'd end up the king of hell … did ya?"
Sonny sat back, laughing to himself. "I like bein' the king of hell."
At long last, Mac allowed himself to respond.
"I know what you're up to."
Sassone clutched at his heart in a mock action of shock. "Oh, Detective Taaaaaylor! I'm here in Sing Sing …" - he held up his hands and shook them, jangling the chains connected to the steel cuffs around his wrists - "And there ya are, accusin' me a' doin' more bad things, while I'm chained up here and I can't even piss without guards watchin' me day and night!"
He turned his head in the direction of the closed door of the private visitor's room. "Hey! I know you're standin' out there listenin' to us talk! Are ya listenin' to what this cop is sayin'? Hah? Is this guy crazy or what?"
Sassone fell backwards on his chair, cackling like a madman.
Mac was pretty sure at this point the guy had gone insane.
"You're funny, Taylor. Ya oughta go try out and be one a' them stand-up comedians or somethin'."
"I know you're the one who set him loose."
Sonny made a face, and shrugged his shoulders in a dramatic manner. "I have no idea what you're talkin' 'bout. Wha, am I sucha damn awesome bad guy that ya gotta blame me fer every crime that happens in the world or what?"
"The Body Hacker." Mac narrowed his eyes in a ferocious glare. "I know you hired him to do your dirty work, Sassone."
Sassone stared blankly at the CSI, then burst out laughing. "Oh man, you've got one hell of an imagination, ya know that? Think I told ya that a couple a' times already." He poked at his own chest with a forefinger. "Me? Hire the Body Hacker? Ya mean that crazy wacko who goes 'round hackin' people up and eatin' their liver and hearts and all that crap? Ya gotta be kiddin' me."
"The FBI has a copy of your hit list."
Oh, that got Sassone's condescending grin to waver a little.
Mac inclined forward, with it being his turn to steeple his fingers instead. "They know you're connected to the Body Hacker. And it's only going to be a matter of time before they figure out who he is, and catch him."
Sassone stared at Mac with wide, calculating eyes.
And gradually, the ex-gangster started to smile.
"Ya know what I'm thinkin', Taylor?" Sonny leaned forward again, smirking. "I'm thinkin' … you've got nothin' on me at all. Just specu-laaaaaaa-tiooooooon. And you're hopin', hey, maybe you'll come visit yer old pal Sonny in Sing Sing … and maybe, maybe he'll be stupid 'nough to be my scapegoat for a fuckin' serial killer you can't catch."
Mac's hand involuntarily curled into a taut fist.
"See? Between you and me? I'm the one who's got nothin' to lose. And ya got nothin' on me. Nothin'." Sassone was snickering. "My old man, right now, is already gettin' our lawyers to bust me outta here. I got out before, Taylor. And I can do it again." He made a derisive noise with his tongue. "Ya can buy anybody off with enough dough these days."
"You may get out … but I'll put you right back in." The CSI sustained his apathetic mien. "You're here in Sing Sing, just as I promised. Aren't you?"
The convict finally lost his composure.
"Fuck you, ya lousy SONOFABITCH COP!"
Mac swiftly leapt back, avoiding the table that toppled over onto the floor with the brutality of Sassone hurtling himself at him. The chains holding Sassone at bay made piercing, metallic sounds as the former gangster attempted his hardest to break the shackles binding his wrists and ankles.
"I'LL KILL YOU, YA RAT BASTARD!"
One of the steel hoops in the floor began to loosen.
The room door was flung open, revealing three wardens, armed with black batons.
Sassone became even more frenzied upon seeing the guards, screaming incoherently, aiming his insurmountable wrath at them. He was still howling and thrashing about while two of the wardens rushed forward and promptly hammered at him with their truncheons, slamming him to the cold floor.
"Detective, you alright?"
Mac could merely nod, watching the violence die down with wide, hazel eyes. Sonny lay motionless on his side on the hard floor, his frightening roaring and struggling ended at long last. A red trail of blood trickled from the man's left temple, into his left eye and down his cheek. It made Sassone appear like he was weeping blood.
"Taylor."
One of the wardens surrounding the fallen convict fingered his baton, but Sassone ignored him, ignored everyone except Mac. Sonny spat out some blood on the floor in front of him.
"How's Danny Messer doin', ah?"
Sassone raised his head when Mac didn't reply.
"You and Danny … gotta be good pals." He smirked, displaying teeth splattered with red. "Hah, am I right? Chasin' me like ya did just so he'd get outta trouble for that stupid kid's death."
Sassone slowly sat up, staring into Mac's eyes, into his soul.
"If I were you … I'd spend time with the people I care 'bout. Maybe go for a baseball game, ah? Take him to the stadium to watch the dream he'll never live."
The bleeding man cackled maniacally.
"Boy. It felt good to snap his wrist … ya know that?"
Both of Mac's hands clenched hard. For an instant, all he saw was red, a red glaze over the horrific scene of a younger Sassone breaking an even younger Danny's wrist, laughing his head off while Danny screamed in pain.
"Snap … crackle … pop."
Mac could see the growing insanity, the darkness in Sassone's black eyes.
"Sometimes … sometimes, you'll never know … when ya lose somebody ya love, Taylor."
Sassone grinned like a devil.
And his malicious, echoing laughter followed Mac in his mind all the way back to the hustle and bustle of New York city.