Chapter 3
Later…
"Well, Timothy," said Doc Mallard, the old Scottish sawbones as he unwrapped McGee's bloody bandana from his head in the ONI office, "what mischief have you gotten yourself into this time?"
"I'm alright, Doc," McGee said with a slight grin. "You should see the guys Miss Ziva took on!"
She smiled, pleased, and then grew sober. "You fell off your horse when we got here, McGee. That is not normal. Let the doctor see to your head wound."
"Yes; getting me out of my nightly glass of whisky and a good card game at the saloon means you had best cooperate, Timothy," Mallard scolded. "Sometimes I think working on the dead might be easier than tending the living. The dead don't fidget, nor talk back."
"That so-called forensic medicine?" Gibbs spoke up. "There any future in that, Doc?"
"A future, perhaps; but no real money now. I must content myself amongst the living and breathing, I am afraid." The doctor sighed; thoughts of his waiting glass of whisky in his mind. "I'll have to take a stitch or two after I clean that out, Timothy. With what did they hit you?"
"A lead pipe."
"Well, that's not too bad, then. I'll just give your wound a thorough cleaning, and—"
"Doc," McGee interrupted, "do you believe that a fella can get tetanus from rust? Folks say that that's so."
The doctor hemmed. "Well, Timothy, we just don't know for sure. I personally have some doubts but…you're not going to get tetanus. Gibbs won't allow it, for one thing."
"Darn straight. You got that, McGee? No tetanus."
"Okay, boss," McGee grinned.
Doc Mallard looked in his bag and grunted. "I am low on treated surgical gauze. Miss Ziva, would you run to Miss Abigail's apothecary, and—"
The young woman was already out the door.
While the doctor put in a few stitches, Gibbs handed McGee the telegram reply from Baltimore.
ONLY ANTHONY DINOZZO KNOWN TO US IS ANTHONY OR ANTONIO DINOZZO SON OF VITALE DINOZZO OF BOWKER STREET FORMERLY OF ITALY STOP THIS IS FROM CITY CENSUS STOP NO CRIMINAL RECORD STOP
"No record? What is he running away from, then?" McGee murmured.
"Or does he just cover his trail well?" Gibbs wondered.
"I think you investigators are too suspicious, perhaps," Mallard offered. "Your man may just be seeking opportunity, like most of the other people here."
"DiNozzo was seen at the waterfront twice, Doc," Gibbs growled. "I don't believe in coincidences."
A lanky young man with spectacles clambored up the stairs. "Doc! Sheriff says there's been a shooting at the butcher's. You're needed."
Mallard sighed. "There goes my whisky. All right, Jimmy. You have the wagon?"
"Yes, Doctor Mallard."
"Try not to get us lost this time. Jethro, when Miss Ziva returns, you know how to put on a gauze bandage. Timothy—nothing strenuous for the next few days, and see me if you develop symptoms."
"Like if my jaw can't move?" McGee pretended to have difficulty talking.
The doctor gave him a that's-not-funny look. "Yes, like that." He pretended not to see the mild head-slap Gibbs gave his man.
There was little for the ONI team to do for the next couple of days. A report that a shanghaiing might have occurred came in, but turned out to be a dead end. No persons had been reported missing, and the only ship to have left the harbor was a Navy ship.
On Sunday, McGee escorted Miss Abigail to church, as he always did, and stayed on for the box social as he always did (when she was there). He was happy to bid high to secure the lunch box she'd packed, full of cold chicken, a sweet fruit salad, and other homemade delights. The cost didn't matter to him; his pay for the ONI was ample, and his lifestyle simple.
Gibbs' shadow loomed over them as they sat on a blanket on the spreading church lawn. That was odd; he wasn't much one for hanging around after church and socializing.
"A new development in the case," he said, without preamble. "Stop by my place at 6 tonight. Miss Abigail, you're more than welcome to come, too. I value your opinion. I'll cook dinner. And I promise we won't talk shop the whole time."
"Oh, but I love it when you talk shop, Gibbs!" Miss Abigail enthused. "I wish there was a job in the ONI for me."
"We'll be there," McGee said, his hand lightly resting on Miss Abigail's. "Can you give us a clue as to what this is about, boss?"
"You'll find out soon enough." Gibbs put his Stetson back on, looking a little grim.
Miss Ziva was the first to arrive at Gibbs' house on the edge of the neighborhood. It was a neatly-maintained building, and in the back yard was a shelter under which a partially-constructed boat was housed. McGee and Miss Abigail, and then Doc Mallard, arrived just as she was about to knock.
Gibbs opened the door and nodded to all of them. "Come in; come in. Doc, help yourself to the whisky, to make up for the other night."
"You needn't ask me twice, dear fellow," said the doctor, heading for the decanters on the living room side board.
"You!" McGee exclaimed, and both Miss Abigail and Miss Ziva put a gently restraining arm on his.
"'McGee', is it?" DiNozzo asked, rising from a chair, with a guarded look.
Dinner was ready, and Gibbs bade them all sit around the table. "DiNozzo came to me with information," Gibbs said, handing out the platter of steaks. "Trouble is, he may have been seen, so he's going to be hiding out here for a spell."
"You mean you found someone to help you with that boat of yours, Gibbs," Miss Abigail teased.
DiNozzo smiled briefly, and then hung his head. "I don't have woodworking skills, much. Don't really have many skills at all."
"That's the nice part about the West," Mallard said breezily. "There's lots of work for anyone willing to learn, and work hard. For many people it can be a new beginning."
"People are less likely to judge you here, I have found," said Miss Ziva. "There is not the class society that you find in the East. Here, I wear dresses, mostly. But it would not shock people too much if I chose to wear breeches."
McGee cleared his throat. "Gibbs says you've got information on our shanghai cases?"
DiNozzo met his stern gaze, and nodded. "I think so. I've spent the last few days in a temporary job, sweeping the docks, and have kept my ears open. There's a fellow who keeps coming in, watching the schedules, watching the ships, looking at the people who pass by. He doesn't handle them himself, but I've seen him pointing to people as he talks to other men."
"Do you know his name?" asked Miss Ziva.
"Not entirely. I've heard people call him 'Kort', though."
"Well, that adds a wrinkle to things," McGee sighed. "Trent Kort, up to his old tricks. Last I knew he was in a jail in Washington."
"It was rumored that he'd joined up with the feds," said Gibbs. "He's too skilled not to be put to work somewhere. And too slimy not to have to be watched, wherever he is."
"Could he be working both sides of the offense?" asked Miss Ziva.
"'Fence', Miss Ziva," McGee groaned. Not 'offense'."
"I think Ziva's right," Miss Abigail said, patting her friend's hand, and grinning. "Trent Kort gives plenty of offense."
"Thank you, Abby," Ziva smiled.
"I don't pretend to know the intricacies of the law the way you people do," said Mallard, scooping up more mashed potatoes. "Will the government really hire someone so untrustworthy?"
"They have in the past," said Gibbs grimly. "Worse; it would be a courtesy to keep me informed of any new postings to San Francisco. But some agencies guard their personnel lists, and don't do that."
"Can we bring him in for questioning, boss?" asked McGee.
"Not yet. I don't want to cause a rift. I like my job." Gibbs looked at his team. "McGee, you and I will go to the waterfront tomorrow and take a look for ourselves. This time, at dawn. That's when you said you saw him, right, DiNozzo?"
"Yes, sergeant. Only at dawn."
"Good. Miss Abigail, if we bring you back some clothing, or other things from the waterfront, would you be able to tell us about them?"
"Test for sweat, salt water, blood and so on? I'll give it my best, Gibbs."
"Atta girl. Miss Ziva, the telegraph office is closed for the night, but in the morning I'd like you to telegraph the agencies in Washington about Trent Kort. You know what to ask."
"Yes, Gibbs."
"Doc, you've met Kort, haven't you?"
Mallard shuddered. "I have had the displeasure; yes. It was your case of the sailor whose arm had been chopped off after his death. It reminded me of the time that I was on Cape Horn. There I and a band of sailors on shore leave met a one-armed fortune teller who—"
"Another time, perhaps, Doc," said Gibbs mildly. "Give me your profile idea of Kort. What would bring a man like that so far from the civilization of the East Coast?"
"It's unlikely to be power. There's not enough out here yet to be recognized. It's also not likely to be for San Francisco's remarkable weather—" Indeed, a typically chilly fog had rolled in. "Perhaps he's in love? No, I joke. There's only one real reason, for someone with his skills who could get almost anything he wanted in the East or in Europe.
"No, it must be that base greed: Money. Trace the money, Jethro, and you will find why Kort is here."
At dawn, dressed as poor stevedores, Gibbs and McGee walked to the waterfront. "Keep your cap down over your face," Gibbs directed McGee in a whisper. "And don't get close to Kort. If he recognizes us, it's all over."
"Well, he might come out and tell us what he's doing," said McGee. "He had to take the loyalty oath when he entered government employment, after all."
Gibbs didn't say anything. His young associate could be too trusting of his fellow man, sometimes. "There he is," he remarked. "Over by that Chilean ship."
McGee nodded. "You know, boss; every time there's been a report of shanghaiing in the last few months, there's been an American Navy ship in port. This is the first time one's been here in four or five days."
Gibbs nodded. "I think you're right. The rot extends into the Navy itself. When we get back, we'll go over the officer and crew lists, and look for connections."
"What the—?" McGee turned as a sixth sense warned him, and brought up a hand to ward off an attacker. A kick disabled the man. But he turned only to see an unconscious Gibbs being dragged away before a blow to his head knocked his lights out, too.