Chapter 10

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"No ... But I think I know someone who does."

Finch ended the call with Detective Carter without further elaboration, and Fusco - who had plenty of experience with the duo's absent to vague explanations and cut-off calls himself - could easily picture his most likely pissed-off partner cursing her phone. But then again, Finch clearly had more important things to worry about.

The moment he'd ended the call the hacker had been out of his seat, and was now quickly making his way back to the living room.

"Hey Finch, hold up," Lionel said as he hurried after him. For a guy with a limp the Professor certainly could move pretty fast if he wanted to. Turning around, Finch gave the detective a look that clearly stated that they had no time for this. However as much as Fusco agreed with that assessment, he needed some information first if he wanted to be any help at all.

"Listen, Reese didn't trust the guy and I don't feel too fuzzy about him either. I can help you question him, but I need some background. Like, who is he? What's he done?"

"Well," Finch began, straightening his glasses and clearing his throat. "He claims to be Douglas Mitchell. Mr. Mitchell was a material witness to a mob killing forty years ago, who disappeared on the day he was supposed to testify. And apparently the mob knows how to hold a grudge."

"Forty years?" Fusco's voice was oozing skepticism. "You buying that?"

Harold sighed. He had to admit that it seemed to be far-fetched, but ... "His story has checked out so far, but I really haven't had time to dig deeper. And speaking of time, I'm sure Mr. Reese would appreciate it if we didn't waste any more."

Pulling aside the dividing door, Finch stepped into the living room area with Fusco right behind him. The old guy was sitting on the sofa, staring at Bear who had taken up a position of attention in front of him and was not letting the man out of his sight. Jeez, not even the dog trusts him, Lionel thought.

"Mr. Candrall," Finch said, sounding both apologetic and urgent. "I know I promised you answers, but I'm afraid I will have to ask you some more questions first."

Candrall turned his head away from Bear to face the two men. "There's something wrong with your dog," he said. To prove his point the Malinois growled at him.

"Bear," Finch said, pointing to the dog's bed. "Plaats."

Bear's head swiveled back and forth between his master and the man on the couch before he trotted back to his doggy-bed. He lay down with a grumble, putting his head on his paws and keeping his eyes on the man with the weird smell.

Harold sat down beside Louis on the couch, and Lionel took up a standing position behind and slightly off to the side of them. He deliberately wanted to loom over Louis's shoulder, ready to play 'bad cop'.

"Mr. Candrall, the people who tried to abduct you tonight..."

"You mean the people who tried to kill me tonight?"

"Yes," Finch nodded, not fazed by Candrall's interruption. "What can you tell me about them?"

Louis stared at Harold with a dumbfounded expression. "What do you mean?"

"Well, for starters, who sent them?" Fusco spoke up from behind, propping himself on the sofa's backrest to lean into Candrall's personal space.

Louis looked back and forth between the detective and Finch. "You mean you don't know? Then how the hell did you know they were coming for me?"

Harold had been both expecting and dreading that question. Under the circumstances, he knew that any reply he could give would be unsatisfying at best. Now, two pairs of eyes were looking at him - Detective Fusco was clearly as curious as their Number. Finch swallowed. "I didn't know they - whoever they are - were coming for you. I have ... a source that informed me that you were in some sort of danger. And although my source is never wrong it's ... a little sketchy on the details.

"That's why Mr. Reese was at your senior center tonight. To keep an eye on you and to gather intel."

"So, you just figured you would help a total stranger?" Louis asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

A humorless smile stole across Harold's lips. It was a valid question. Simple and innocent, yet the true answer was much more complicated. On so many levels.

In a way Finch was certain that the only person who truly understood and accepted his need to save the Numbers was Mr. Reese, even though Harold had never shared the whole story behind his reasons. And he most definitely was not going to start sharing now. So he opted for a simpler reply, which technically wasn't a lie either.

"Because we can."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." Apparently Louis Candrall was not of the thankful type.

"We still saved your ass tonight," Fusco said, figuring a little reminder of that fact wouldn't hurt. "How about some cooperation in return?"

Finch shot the detective a look. Not that he didn't appreciate Fusco's help, but Candrall didn't strike him as the kind of person who'd fold under intimidation. More like the exact opposite, if the knitted brows and set jaw were any indication.

"Mr. Candrall," Finch said, aiming for a diplomatic tone. "The reason I ask ... well, I have strong reasons to believe that whoever was trying to get their hands on you has taken John."

At that Louis's eyebrows shot toward his hair line. "They've got him? Does he know about this place?" He practically jumped off the sofa. "Never mind. We have to leave. Now."

Holding up both his hands in a placating gesture, Finch tried to calm the man down. "Mr. Candrall. Please, I assure you, you are safe here.

"Yeah? Wait until he gets his hands on him!"

Harold had gotten up as well, and Fusco made his way around the sofa - ready to physically intervene.

Finch's patience - as limitless as it might seem - was rapidly coming to an end. He knew that he didn't possess an imposing stature, but if he had learned anything from Mr. Reese over the last year-and-a half, it was that a quietly intense demeanor carried a threat probably even better than a display of exaggerated anger.

Dropping all niceties, Finch stepped close to Candrall and with a voice that allowed no argument he said, "My confidence in Mr. Reese to not disclose our location is 100 percent. And I promise, you will not leave this place until I know what happened to my employee."

Candrall's eyes roamed over Harold's determined face and he involuntarily took a step back at the intensity of the hacker's gaze.

"Now," Harold continued, pointing to the vacated furniture. "Sit down and answer my questions." Louis did as he was told, however this time Finch remained standing. "I'm assuming that the he you were talking about is Silvio Taldore?"

"Yeah." Louis nodded. "He's been trying to kill me ever since I agreed to testify against him."

Finch and Fusco shared a look. "Mr. Candrall," Harold said and crossed his arms over his chest. "Mr. Taldore is 91 years old and currently resides in a nursing home with 24-hour-care. Are you sure about his involvement?"

"So what? That doesn't mean anything. I hid in one too, in case you forgot." Finch arched an eyebrow. He had to concede that their Number had a point. "Listen," Candrall sighed. "There's really not a lot I can tell you. I have been trying to stay well below Taldore's and his men's radar for the last forty years after all. All I'm certain of is that this is a waste of time. Just let me go and I swear you'll never see me again."

"I hardly think you should view trying to save the person who saved your life tonight as a waste of time, Mr. Candrall," Finch said icily. He was starting to understand why both Mr. Reese and Detective Fusco had issues with their latest Number.

"Oh trust me, it is a colossal waste of time," Louis replied testily. "Because - unless Taldore has changed drastically since the last time I've seen him - your friend is already dead."

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To be continued...