Disclaimer- They are like little action figures I do not own, but have the incisive need to play with. CBS owns them. Mr. Heller made them. No money is, was, or ever will be made from this.
[Chapter 9]
They followed the path downward going about five miles an hour. A feeling of dread engulfed Lisbon. They could barely steer though the dense path. She half expected to find the truck wrapped around a tree and chastised herself for thinking so negatively. They were fine. She would find them, and they would be fine.
Cho stopped the car in a clearing, a few yards from a white pickup truck. The truck was empty.
"Dammit." Lisbon pounded the hood of the truck.
"Easy boss. We'll find them."
"I know. It just gets so frustrating."
"Yeah. We're just one step behind the whole time..."
"I think I'm going to smack the next person to say 'that was quick' to us."
Cho nodded. "Boss, there's some blood on the wheel not enough to denote severe injury and an evidence bag on the floor. It's one of ours." Cho showed her the imprinted logos. "Powdery substance. Looks like meth."
"I've got tire tracks here," Lisbon said a few yards away. "They don't match the pickup. The tire imprint is larger. Could be our van."
"I'll call another team with CSI's to process this." Cho pulled out his phone. "I've got foot prints here. Two different sets looks like they headed in this direction, could be Rigsby and Jane."
Lisbon stared at both paths.
"Which should we follow?" Cho asked. "Should we split up?"
They heard two shots ring out in the distance.
Rigsby glared at the man holding a Smith and Wesson on him.
They always painted an idyllic picture of what life should be on the sitcoms he watched when he was younger. Young Wayne knew his life, by that standard, was far from normal. He barely saw mother, who worked three jobs to get by, and his father terrified the other parents so much, that the kids his age were not allowed to play with him, leaving him with no friends.
He made the best of his situation, and played outside by himself, using his imagination to get by.
Wayne was five when met his first law enforcement agent. For most kids his age this would have been in school learning about safety. For Wayne, it was being scooped up by a riffled armed ATF agent in combat gear, as he played outside his Uncle Lee's residence. He watched from the passenger seat of the armored van as they stormed his house and took his uncle, dad, and two of their associates into custody.
He met Troy that same day. Troy's grandfather was picked up by law enforcement. They spent an afternoon bonding in interrogation, coloring on requisition forms, eating cookies, drinking milk, while the people responsible for their welfare were being booked and processed. They became friends.
The friend who was once his best, now held him at gun point.
"I'm kinda hurt. After all these years, this is how you treat me?" Troy asked.
"Friends don't kidnap friends at gun point."
"You still on that?"
Troy shoved Rigsby into the van hard. The agent crashed into the left over cargo boxes and out rolled a few bottle of hot soda and condiments.
"We grew up together, best friends," Troy told Humpty and Jane, "and this is how he is, dwelling on the past. Next thing you know you're gonna still be mad about the whole having you jumped thing..."
"You had bikers beat me up for not doing what you wanted. I told you I was done."
"See dwelling," Troy said. "Well? You didn't really answer my original question."
"Keep your hands where I can see them," Humpty warned from the last row of seats, where he kept the shotgun trained on Jane and Rigsby. The van normally had four rows of seat but the middle two were removed to accommodate cargo. "I will shoot blonde there."
"What do you want me to tell you?" Rigsby asked as he laced his fingers behind his head to placate Humpty. "My uncle's dead. He died in a car crash fifty seven days after my mother was killed."
"No, he isn't. I want to know where your uncle is."
"Cremated. His ashes in the wind. I have his death certificate in my house. We can go there and I can show it to you."
"It's a lie. My employer tells me to find him."
"Employer? He sent you on a goose chase. My uncle is dead."
"The photos."
"Fake. Photoshop."
"I have the negatives." Troy threw them at Rigsby.
"Fake. The old guy just looks like my uncle. Why do you want him any way?"
"I've got them from someone who said he joined witness protection. Your uncle's a damn snitch," Troy frowned. "We need to switch cars. This cops are looking for this one."
"How do you know?" Humpty asked.
"Police radio," Troy pulled a small device from his pocket, "was in the van."
Troy pulled over to the side of the road and opened the hood of the car. He waved his arms in the middle of the road and a blue Prius stopped.
"Having car trouble?" The owner asked.
"No, you are." Troy pulled his gun. "Get out."
"Easy. You can have it. I won't fight." The man started emptying his pockets, dropping his cellphone, change and wallet onto the ground. "Take it all. Please. Don't hurt me."
"Don't kill him!" Rigsby pleaded as Humpty pushed him out of the car.. "Just take the car. Leave him on the side of the road."
"Run," Troy pointed to the forest . "Run. If I see you in the next five minutes. I'm going to send my friend in there with the shotgun to shoot you. Do you understand?"
A few minutes later they drove off. Humpty and Rigsby sat in the backseat while, Jane sat in the passenger set. The ovoid man had the muzzle of the shotgun pressed against the passenger seat, guaranteeing that no one would try any anything stupid.
It was a short ride. They pulled up to a dilapidated, two story, the only house on the dead end street. Troy parked the car behind the house away from prying eyes.
Humpty motioned to Jane to sit down on an adjacent couch. The consultant complied and George kept his weapon trained on him.
"I'd never expect you to be come a cop," Troy said as he tied Rigsby to a chair with duct tape.
"I was an arson investigator first," Rigsby quipped. "The state agent thing was little later."
"You think you can change, but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Troy said.
"No, people change. You could have too, but this is the path you chose."
"I'm a product of my environment."
"That's bullshit and you know it. I made it out. You made your own decisions. You chose to stay in that life-"
"I'm not involved in this," Jane seethed from the couch. "You're messing up my plans."
Troy turned around and watch the once silent man turn red with anger.
Jane stood up fists balled, blood dripping from his injured hand as he continued his rant. "I only joined your agency to kill the murderer of my family."
The consultant charged Rigsby knocking him sideways. Wayne's shoulder slammed hard into the floor.
Jane flipped the chair so he was on his back and yelled, "your messing up my con. I will not die in this hell hole."
The consultant put the bloody hand down on his chest and reeled back, ready to swing with his good hand.
Humpty grabbed Jane by the arm and threw him back onto the couch. "Stay there."
Jane began to laugh hysterically, then stood up again and began to pacing. "I don't care about any of this. I was only giving him a lift so I can get friendlier with the group."
Rigsby stared at him in shock at that admission.
"I use to be a star. Sold out every night! Patrick Jane, world renown psychic."
"That why you looked so familiar to me." Humpty exclaimed. "I used to watch your on the cell block's TV."
"I use to be." Jane continued ranting. "I'm not going to die here."
"Sit down or I will shoot you," Troy warned.
"Fine." Jane sat down on the love seat with his arms crossed. "Just keep in me out of this."
"Looks like you're on your own again Wayne," Troy threw him a feral grin. His phone gave off a shrill ring and he reached into his pocket to answer it. "What? No. Calm down. I'll go check it out. Yes sir. I will check it out myself."
Troy clutched the phone so hard piece of the bezel cracked. Everything was coming apart. His current employer was now pissed at him and the promise of getting out of the country with some scratch began to slip away. He would not go back to prison. All he had to do was one thing. One thing. Find Leland Mathers, his former best friend's uncle.
"Lock them in the basement and this time watch them," Troy warned Humpty. "You don't want to wind up like Jimmy."
"What happen to Jimmy?" Jane asked.
"He should have wore his seat belt." Troy answered. "I'll be back in a bit. Looks like his friends found the stash."
Troy threw out a warning as he headed for the door. "Don't screw it up like last time. Remember what happens when you screw up."
"Go." He motioned for Jane to head down the basement stairs. Once downstairs Humpty locked the door.
A few minutes later the door reopened. Humpty flung Rigsby down the steps, still tied to the chair.
TBC