Chapter 5 – Sharp Dressed Man (From the ZZ Top song)

"I had a team on the MTA car," Ray explained to them as he came into his office. She sat at his desk, Laurie beside her, leaning on his cane because he insisted that Callie take the only extra chair. "There weren't any leads there – too many people come and go on public transportation. Your cab wasn't much good either, although I'm sure his prints were all over the back seat. It was the bag that he dumped – got rid of it when you took him to the airport. I finally got a hold of it, and after we screened out all the employee prints, we had two that we couldn't match. So we started making the rounds. Its tedious work, but it pays off sometimes."

Callie shot Laurie a look. He just looked innocent.

"We got a hit on one of the fingerprints in Indiana – Gary, Indiana, to be specific. With a juvenile detention center. He has a record." He handed Callie the packet, as if it were some sacred thing. "I think you should have a look."

Callie took it with trembling hands. Her eyes flickered over the names – she didn't care what Vincent's last name was. She never had. It wouldn't make him any smaller, wouldn't make him any less terrifying. The names of his parents mattered little, as well…although the fact that his mother, Veronica, died in childbirth got her attention.

"According to the files," Ray was saying to Laurie, "he killed his father when he was twelve. Took a handgun that his dad kept in the house and shot him right in the head. He'd been in and out of foster homes – his father beat him up regularly."

Callie looked up at Ray. Her face was twisted. She didn't want to feel sorry for Vincent, didn't want to empathize or even sympathize with him at all.

"A history of alcohol abuse with the dad…and combined with the death of the mother. This guy had a miserable childhood. When we went into juvie after murdering his father, he was treated like he was going to end up institutionalized. He lived there until he was emancipated on his eighteenth birthday."

"Only one place for a guy like that," Laurie said softly. "Back to prison."

"That's what I thought too," Ray said, sitting down at the head of his desk. "But he didn't, surprisingly enough. This guy didn't do any time at all after juvie. He joined the military, and from there his record was sealed. Only thing I could get was that he was honorably discharged about seven years ago. Then he vanishes."

"Someone like that," Laurie said, going with his earlier thoughts from before, "would have been idea for the military to program. He would have been perfect for black ops operations, the kind of stuff you only read about in spy novels. God knows what kind of missions he was on." He was looking at the file over Callie's shoulder. "From the look of these dates, he would have been going in during the middle of the Cold War. Looks like he was discharged soon after it ended. They didn't need him anymore."

"And someone with those kind of skills would be perfect to go into the assassination business," Ray quipped. "I was talking to our Fed contacts – they were full of stories. Apparently guys like Vincent are a dime a dozen."

Callie met her brother's eyes. "So what does this mean now?" she asked in a very quiet voice. "I mean, what do we do with this?"

"Well, it means that now the Feds are going to do everything they can to connect Vincent to Felix Reyes-Torrena. And if they get lucky…well, that means that you're going to be called on to testify to what you saw that night."

"Wonderful," Callie moaned, closing the folder and setting it on Ray's desk.

"This is as good a time as any to tell you," Laurie said to Ray, coming around to stand in front of the desk. "Callie is going to come stay at the institute."

"As a guest or a resident?" Ray asked with an arched eyebrow.

"As a guest," Laurie replied dryly. "The place is secure – she'll stay in the resident doctors' wing, and I'll even give her an orderly for her very own. Won't that be fun?" He tossed Callie a look.

"Does Dad know about this?" Ray asked her.

"It was his idea," Callie replied.

Ray was thoughtful for a long, quiet minute. Then he said, "I think…I think you should pack your stuff, Callie. I think if it's possible you should stay there tonight."

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It was an incredibly long trip, with two stops along the way. One of them, he didn't have to get off, but the other he had to switch planes to a commercial jet.

Normally, he didn't care much. He had his I-pod and his jazz, he had a good book to flip through when he got bored – he hated spy novels, it was either too close to work or it was so ridiculously off that he was insulted. He grabbed either romance novels, simply because he found them incredibly amusing, or he picked up some science fiction, because it was so far removed from the world he knew. Sometimes he went for the classics, and it so happened that he had grabbed a copy of "Crime and Punishment" off the discount rack because he was in a hurry. He was in a sentimental mood.

Problem was, if you weren't reading, watching the movie or listening to music, all there was else to do was think. And he'd been doing too much thinking as it was.

It was the first time in a long time that he was going in without a set plan. Usually, his jobs were laid out for him. He was the third act in a play that had already been going on for two acts before him. He was the last minute, shadowy figure that stepped in from the wings and wiped everyone else out. But now, he didn't know his environment, he didn't know his entrances and exits, he was lucky he was going to get a weapon, but he had little else.

His thoughts turned to Rochester. He'd met him, once or twice, in passing. A long time ago, Rochester had worked for the competition, until Peter had decided to take him under his umbrella. But Rochester had…ticks. Ticks were dangerous for men like them. Vincent killed because he was skilled at it; he could do it, quick, clean, neat, and no fuss. He took no pleasure in it, but he took no pain as well.

Rochester, however. He was like the big bad wolf. He liked to play with his food. He liked to shit where he ate. He was a particularly nasty piece of work, and the thought of him getting his hands on Callie made Vincent squirm.

Vincent didn't squirm.

On the outside, Rochester looked like him – good suit, elegant manners, although he wasn't prematurely gray like Vincent. Although Vincent suspected Rochester dyed his hair. Rochester struck him as the vain sort, the kind obsessed with his own good looks. Vincent knew he was attractive, but he didn't care much about it. Rochester preened himself, like an arrogant peacock.

Vincent had never much liked him anyway.

From his accent, Vincent suspected that Rochester was originally from New Zealand. A Kiwi, as they were called. He wasn't sure if he lived there now. Rochester would have the balls to live somewhere heavily populated, somewhere where he could blend in and still stand out. Or maybe he moved around a lot, simply for the variety of life.

Which meant that he might try to get Callie's attention. Try to charm her somehow – make it a meet-cute situation, catch her in a café and start talking to her. Somehow lure her back to his hotel room.

It wouldn't work, Vincent thought with a malicious smile. First of all, Callie wasn't stupid or slutty enough to fall for it. And second, well, Vincent was quite sure, from what he read in her manuscript, that he had pretty much scared her away from sharp dressed men for a while.

So, once Rochester figured that out – and it might take him a bit of time do to it – he would go for the more direct approach. Which put them on more equal turf. Vincent remembered well the house in the hills of L.A. where Callie's father lived; she might be staying there, especially after the apparent trauma her experience with him had caused her. If not, then she had told him that she lived in student housing on the campus. It wouldn't take long to track her down either way.

Question was…did Rochester know this?

Peter had told him that he was going to give Rochester the job, which meant Rochester got all of the intel. If Rippner was in charge of that, Vincent had to admit, it would be pretty thorough. If it was Felix's people, then it was questionable. And he wouldn't know until he got his own intel through Cash at his bag drop point.

He just couldn't wait that long. But did he have a choice? He could contact Peter through a satellite phone on the plane, but how secure would it be? Satellites projected information. Even if he somehow got a hold of a cellular phone at his layover, there was still the possibility of things being picked up by a scanner.

There was no help for it. He had to wait, and use a land line.

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"It's not so bad, really," Laurie was telling her as they walked the late afternoon corridors. The sun cast long, dust-filled beams through the windows, giving the place a feeling somewhere between creepy and angelic. "I'll stay here, too, if you want."

"No, I don't want to inconvenience anybody," Callie said as they paused at her dormitory. "And your security system going in looked pretty good."

"Yes, and Bill should be here any minute now. You'll like him, he's alternate easy going and full-on intense. Takes his job very seriously but doesn't hesitate to laugh, either."

She gave him a look. "I would have thought you'd prefer straight-laced orderlies, like soldiers, existing only to kick ass and take names."

"Hey, just because these people are criminals doesn't mean that they're not human beings."

"Which, considering your view of human beings, still doesn't speak much for your opinion of them."

"Hush, you. Now this is your room." He turned on the lights. It was a two-person room, like a college dormitory, two twin beds, two desks, and two closets. Simple, done in shades of beige, with simple plain blue comforters and white sheets. One of the beds was already taken, as was evidenced by the stuffed animal by the pillow and the various personal items on the adjoining desk. Callie walked over to the other and put down her bag. "You're sharing with an intern, her name is Lucy. You probably won't see her much, she pretty much lives in the psych ward."

Callie raised an amused eyebrow.

"I didn't mean that how it sounded," Laurie amended. "She's actually the perky type. You'll probably hate her."

Callie grunted, pulled open her bag and started to unload her clothes into the drawers and hang them up in the closet. There was a light knock on the door and both she and Laurie turned around to see a young man standing in the doorway.

"Dr. Gregg?" he said, looking at Laurie.

"Yes, Bill," Laurie said, then turned to Callie. "This is her. Calliope Fanning. Callie, this is Bill, your shadow."

Callie extended her hand for Bill to shake it. He was a large man – six feet at least, not quite stocky, but definitely wide shouldered and build compactly. He had feathery brown hair, deep blue eyes, and a pleasant expression. She'd met her share of orderlies and had found a good portion of them to be bully-like. Bill struck her as a notable exception.

"Good to meet you," Callie said.

"I'll try not to be too underfoot," Bill said, tilting his head to her. "But Dr. Gregg was pretty specific that you weren't to be left alone when you leave your dormitory."

Callie turned her eyes to Laurie. "You were?" she asked.

"Come on, this isn't a big shocker to you," Laurie replied dryly. "Before Bill was an orderly he was a bodyguard. Took on a few celebrities, but figured out he was wasting his life and making too much money in the process. Somehow he figured out that he wanted to make less money and do more worthy work. Sometimes I think he should be checked in as a patient, but nobody listens to me."

Bill chuckled. His smile lit up his face, made him handsome. "Dr. Gregg gives me too much credit. I was a patient here, but they made me an orderly because all the other patients listened to me. Figured they'd put me to good use."

Callie blinked, and then laughed. "Well, that's reassuring," she said. "So, what, you going to stand guard outside my door?"

"We do a walkie talkie system here," Laurie said. "I'll get yours for you tomorrow, the batteries are charging right now."

"Great," Callie said. She plopped down on her bed and stared out the window – which had bars across it. "When is this mess going to be over?"

"Maybe a week," Laurie suggested hopefully – although for Laurie, it came out more sarcastic than anything. "Maybe a little more. You know how the legal system works."

"Quite frankly you're lucky you haven't been arrested as a material witness," Bill added. "I've seen it happen."

Callie looked at them both. "Okay. Well, if the Lollypop Guild is done cheering me up, I'd like to get on to clicking my heels three times and saying there's no place like home."

Laurie cleared his throat. "Yeah, well…I have some paperwork to do before dinner. Bill?"

"Yeah, fine," Bill said, stepping a little closer into the room. Laurie frowned, shrugged, and left them to it. "Callie?" Bill said, getting her attention. "If you're feeling cooped up…I mean, what Laurie said before was right. I was a bodyguard for a couple of celebrities. It wouldn't be any problem if you wanted to…go out."

"With you?" She resisted the urge to smirk a bit at the suggestion. It sounded like they were going on a date.

"I'm actually a lot of fun at parties," Bill said cheerfully—although she swore she saw a tint of a blush on his cheeks. "And I know a good bar not too far away from here. Doogans. The woman who runs the bar makes the best martinis in town."

"I'm a bit of a bourbon girl myself," Callie said. "But that sounds good, actually. You don't think we'll annoy Laurie if we don't invite him?"

"I'm sure what Dr. Gregg doesn't know won't hurt him."

Callie considered it for a minute. She had just met Bill…Laurie trusted him enough to leave her in his care, but she could see the expression on both her father and brother's face. "Yeah. Would it be all right if I invited my brother?"

"No problem. You need some alone time? Just call extension seven-eight on the phone when you're ready an we'll go. I'm going to change into some civies." He pulled at the sides of his blue scrubs. "This is more of a day look." He grinned at her and left.

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Vincent: So I thought I was supposed to be in this chapter lots and lots.

Me: Well, uh…

Vincent: That's what you said. "Lots and lots." I was barely in it for two frickin' minutes! That's your definition of lots? And who the hell is this Bill guy? Why does he look familiar?

Me: Because he's in all my stories. He's the only one I think that's in all of them.

Vincent: (disbelieving) All your stories? He gets to be in all your stories?

Me: He has different names. I call him Nate in my Dukes of Hazzard story. And in the Convergence story he goes by the name of Alex Tully. He does all kinds of things. He's very versatile. Usually he plays Malcolm Reynolds in Firefly, but I've never written a Firefly fic. Maybe I should…

Vincent: (beyond outraged) I can't believe you're mooning over another guy in my fic.

Me: Well, I can't play too easy to get, can I? You'd lose interest.

Vincent: You need a trip to the closet.

Me: Oh sht. No, really, that isn't—

(The closet magically appears behind them and opens, the inside dark and inviting. Vincent seizes the writer and shoves her in, her protesting all the way.)

Vincent: (standing in the doorway) Go read and review, folks. This may take a while.

(He shuts the door behind him)