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 11]

George descended the steps. Something felt off. His captives' conversations seemed weird, stilted, almost rehearsed. He stopped a moment and listened, trying to figure out what they were saying. They were talking to someone else.

George quickly patted his pockets. His cursed to himself.

Troy was going to kill him.

Blondie said it right to their face, that he was a con man, and he was taken in by his act. To make it worse, he took his phone and his wallet.

They only need one hostage. He pumped the Mossburg and continued down the steps.

"Great. Then we can finally get the hell-"

He heard the door unlatch, and gripped the arm of the chair tighter. Rigsby took a step back, into the door's blind spot, ready to get the jump on Humpty as he took a few steps in.

The first thing Rigsby saw was the barrel of the shotgun.

"Jane, move!" His instincts kicked in. Rigsby threw his full weight into the heavy oak door. He saw the muzzle flash and hoped Jane got out of the way.

Humpty's aim was askew, the barrel flew to the left, but still hit its intended target.

"Jane!"

The consultant fell to the ground clutching his leg.

Humpty pushed the door open all the way and smacked the agent with the door. Rigsby grunted and fell to the ground, briefly dazed. The agent rolled, then threw his makeshift weapon at the ovoid man. Humpty snarled, and rubbed his cheek where it struck.

"Screw this..." Humpty cocked his weapon again and took aim towards Rigsby.

Rigsby scrambled up and lunged, making a grab for the weapon. They struggled for control as each man tugged for the shotgun.

Wayne put all this weight towards pulling the shotgun towards him. He changed direction and pushed towards Humpty. The egg shaped man was caught off guard from the sudden slack. George was momentarily dazed when his head made contact with the wall.

Rigsby yanked hard grabbing the butt of the gun, then kicked his captor in the knee cap. He threw an elbow into Humpty's gut, then threw a jab towards Humpty's head.

Rigsby yanked the gun. It flew out of their hands and skidded across the dusty floor.

They both made a break for it. Rigsby was ahead, but Humpty grabbed his shoulder, swung him around, and threw a right hook. Humpty bolted, but Rigsby tackled him from behind sending them both crashing downward.

Humpty fell awkwardly. His head hit the concrete with a thud.

Rigsby rolled him over, threw a left, a right, and another left into the egg shaped man's face, smashing cartilage and teeth.

Rigsby swiped the sweat of his brow, and carefully watched his captor. The man was unconscious. Rigsby hurried over to Jane to see if he was all right.

"You're right. We should have went with your plan," Jane hissed in pain. The consultant was bleeding badly from the thigh and arm.

"Damn..." Rigsby pulled his tank top off and tied it around Jane's thigh. The consultant grunted in pain and tried to pull away. "I'm applying pressure. Stop moving."

"How bad is it?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to slow the bleeding. Doesn't look too bad..."

"You're not lying to me, are you?"

"Did I duck my head?" Rigsby helped him to a sitting position.

"Don't make me laugh," Jane chuckled, then winced in pain.

"Do you think you can stand?"

"I don't know, give me a minute." Jane leaned his head against the drywall.

Rigsby walked over to where the shotgun slid. He picked up the weapon. It still had a few rounds in the chamber.

"What about Humpty?" Jane asked.

Rigsby walked over and kicked Humpty. "He's out."

"Do something for me."

"What?"

"Kick him again."

Rigsby indulged the consultant and kicked Humpty once more in the gut. The man didn't stir, and Rigsby didn't care.

"Is he dead?"

Rigsby reached down and felt for a pulse. It was still there but it was slow and thready. "No, but I don't think he's gonna get up anytime soon. We need to get out of here. We don't know where Troy went."

"Let's go. At least we're by the road." Jane tried to get himself to a standing position. After failing twice, he closed his eyes and took a short breath. "I don't want to be laying on the dusty floor while I bleed to death. I'm liable to catch something."

"Easy. You're going to be all right. You're not going to die in this hell hole."

Rigsby threw Jane's good arm around his shoulder and pulled the consultant vertical. They almost lost their balance, but managed to stagger to the door.

"You ducked your head when you said that. If I die here shoot Red John for me. Say he was resisting or something."

"I had to duck my head to get you up. You're not going to die. In a couple of days you'll be sitting on your couch annoy the crap out of me. I don't think I can toss you over my shoulder. Not today at least. I need you to bare at least some of the weight on your good leg."

He knew Jane should be laying still, but their situation was less than ideal. There was no cover in the basement, just a bunch of scattered junk. The staircase could be used as a choke point, but that left them cornered, with only one weapon between them.

"Don't let them serve me any lime jello," Jane said between pained breaths. "I want ice cream."

"I know the first ones on me, mint chip. We'll get out of this and I will buy you ice cream for a month."

"Make the first one a sundae."

"You're fine. You'll be eating cobbler in no time," Rigsby assured. "You'll be okay. And your going to catch Red John. Grace said Cho and Lisbon are close. Help is on the way. Do you still have the phone?"

"It was in my hand." Jane waved the injured hand at Rigsby.

"You know, I'm not even gonna stress it."

The radio sat on the Prius' dashboard, its speaker crackled in and out as it picked up random police chatter as Troy sped down the road.

"... 11-24... Sprinter... with caution..."

Living on the lam was taking it's toll. He'd been doing it for months and for once wanted to stop looking over his shoulder. Troy couldn't remember the last time he had a full nights sleep. Paranoia would creep in as he approached REM and he'd jolt awake, thinking the Marshals finally caught up.

Troy just wanted to leave the country.

He had no capital.

Conventional employment was out of the question, and his connections wanted little to do with him due to his fugitive status.

"... 11-54... unit Charlie 15 and Michael 15 responding... made contact with the missing parties... all units head south eastward... copy..."

The only option he saw out of this was to hand Rigsby over to his employer and let them work it out. There had to be some monetary compensation for that.

Troy whipped a u-turn and headed back to the house.

TBC