VII
"Are you sure you don't want to tell me your story?", Frankie repeated patiently, getting up from the box to untie Sam's feet. "Because if you don't, I don't have a reason not to deliver you to them." Sam smiled humorlessly at the criminal, not expecting for a moment that Frankie would reconsider selling him out. Hence, telling him about the Brannigan operation would only complicate things further, so he remained silent.
"Let's move out", Frankie said, snapping his fingers at Boyden. Both of them carefully undid the knot-work around Sam's ankles and wrists while the Detective watched them impatiently. Wait, he told himself. Wait a moment longer. Wait for the best chance. But damn, it was hard to stay placid while all his instincts urged him to run. Which of course was exactly what Frankie was expecting and why he was holding a black 9mm pistol with a silencer.
"Try to run and I shoot you", the criminal explained and waved Sam in front of him after Boyden had cuffed him with thick plastic zip ties. At least his feet were free, Sam argued, struggling to stay upright on his tingling legs. Frankie waited for his captive to stop swaying, then wordlessly pushed him up the stairs and through a tiny kitchen. There, Des was waiting, but he didn't get up from his chair and avoided eye-contact.
"Move." Out the back door they went, entering a dead-end street. The parked car was already waiting, its trunk open and only a few meters away. Boyden was grinning wickedly at Sam from the co-driver's seat, but the Detective ignored him, astonished by the red glow of the sun in the distance. Had he really spent a whole day in that cellar? No wonder he was feeling weak with hunger, considering his last meal had been more than eighteen hours ago.
"Get in. Now", Frank ordered cheerlessly.
"Alright, alright", Sam said, half-pretending to stumble on the threshold. When Frankie reflexively reached out to stabilize his prisoner, Sam brought back his head to slam their skulls against each other forcefully. The Detective then kicked out behind him, catching the criminal in the groin, before he took off through the alley as fast as his tired feet would let him.
"Oh, bollocks", Sam heard Frankie groan and allowed himself a small smile of victory. Just then a flame-hot pain raced through his right leg, instantly bringing him down. His face made contact with the asphalt as he agonizingly slid to a halt.
"Wh-what? You bastard shot me!", Sam exclaimed, hissing through his teeth. Once the initial shock wore off, he got to experience the whole sensation and nearly blacked out. Boyden whistled appreciatively and took a good look at the carnage, but it was Frankie who pulled the Detective back to the car. Each step vibrated through Sam's leg, who now wished he'd never tried something so stupid.
"Should have taken a piece of my own advice. Now the package is even less intact", Frankie muttered under his breath and grinned dryly at his semi-conscious captive. "And in the trunk you go. Could have had it easier, lad." Sam just groaned in return and closed his eyes.
VIII
The 911 call reached them while they were exiting the station. Andy froze on the spot, listening to Dove's voice that echoed through her microphone. "We just received an emergency call. Apparently a middle-aged man shot a dark haired stranger on Biltmore Avenue, then dragged the victim to a car and drove off. The witness didn't get a license plate, though."
"Gotta be Sam", Tracy pointed out. She and Detective Peck were rushing towards Peck's car, got in and turned on the engine. Oliver and Gail were waiting for Andy, who seemed rooted to the spot, her eyes wide with terror and grief. Finally, Oliver turned around and took hold of Andy's rigid body.
"He might still be alive. Sam Swarek is one of the toughest people I know", he said, looking a little helplessly. Andy gulped and clung to the straw as if to a lifeline.
"They shot him and dragged him into a car, but that doesn't... it doesn't mean. He's not... gone."
"Right. We've got to go now, McNally. He might need our help", Oliver urged, at which point Andy let herself be ushered into the backseat of the patrol car. She was blinking in slow-motion and both Gail and Oliver were beginning to worry, but after a minute, Andy suddenly snapped out of it.
"He isn't dead. As long as it isn't confirmed, he's still alive. And we're gonna find him", she said, shooting a death-glare at Gail's skeptical expression. "We are. And then I'm gonna kick Frankie's ass."
"That's my girl", Oliver muttered and drove like the devil himself. Nevertheless, when they reached the crime scene, Nash and the older Peck had already secured the area and were questioning the witness from the house across the street. Oliver, Gail and Andy got out quickly and efficiently began to work. Andy even managed to pretend the situation wasn't personal until Gail called out.
"There is a trail of blood over here", she stated. With a look at Andy, she added that it wasn't enough to jump to any conclusion. "It ends right next to where the witness saw the car, which backs up his testimony. I doubt we'll find anything out here, let's check inside."
"Good idea", Andy replied grimly and entered first, gun drawn. "Police! We're inside the house. Come out with your hands raised." Silence. After a moment of consideration, Andy chose the cellar door behind the dirty kitchen. "You and Oliver go upstairs", she directed, not caring who was the commanding officer. They needed to find Sam, nothing else mattered. Her steps faltered, though, as soon as she flipped on the light in the room and the sheen illuminated an old bed without a mattress. There were several pieces of rope left abandoned around its ends. And there was blood on one of the metal support bars. Sam's blood. At the thought of her boyfriend down here, Andy got sick to her stomach. Why hadn't she called him? Why hadn't she checked on him earlier?
"Shit", Gail uttered when she entered the cellar. They stared at each other until the two Detectives joined them with Oliver in tow. All faces were dark as none of them had any good news.
"We need another plan", Tracy conceded.
"We could look for the other kid... Desmond Connigh. Witness says he saw Boyden and Frankie in the car, but we might still find Desmond", Oliver suggested carefully, "He might have a thirty minute head start, but we have Dove. I'll get on it right away."
"Perfect", Gail interrupted, "What else is there? How do we find Detective Swarek?"
They thought about it for a minute, until Andy spoke. The words tasted like ash on her tongue, but she forced them out. "Let's play this through. You have a Detective in your nephew's basement. What do you do? Why bring him outside and risk detection?"
"Perhaps they were afraid that they would be discovered", Tracy responded uncertainly. It didn't make sense, though, with Jeremy being in protective custody the criminal's couldn't have known they were already being targeted.
"It's tricky, but it would be worth the risk if there was something bigger to gain. Like the money Frankie would receive if he sold Detective Swarek to the Brannigan family. He'd of course have to move Swarek to make the deal", Detective Peck said into the following silence.
"Shit", Gail repeated when nobody offered any alternatives. Andy had her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest, trying to shield herself from a reality where her boyfriend was most likely dead.
"We've got to do something", she whispered.
"There's one possibility, but the Captain won't like it", Detective Peck admitted after another pause, "I go back undercover. My identity should still be a secret and if we claim that I went to prison because of Swarek's testimony, I might be able to get through to where they're holding him."
"That's insane!", Tracy shouted, looking angrily at the blond man. He smiled at her outrage, then looked at Andy. "O'Sullivan, the local kingpin, he has a thing for pretty girls. I want you to come along, Gail looks too much like my sister."
"No. Absolutely not", Tracy said, "Andy is too close to this. Take me."
"Wrong skin color, no offense."
"Then... take Officer Price."
"Look, Tracy", Detective Peck said, stepping closer to the woman, "I need to convince a group of criminals that my new girlfriend wants to stay and watch me torture a guy. From what I heard, Officer Peck is a nice girl, but she wouldn't be able to pull it off. I need McNally."
"Fine! Fine. But you clear it with the Captain." He smiled at that, clearly at ease now that he'd won the argument. With a look at a very determined Andy, he strode out of the house. "No time to loose, let's get this party started."
IX
Even through his hazy vision, Sam recognized the red double doors in front of him. His personal gates of hell, formerly known as the entrance to one of O'Sullivan's clubs. For a moment he debated another flight, but he would never get away in his current state. They might have stopped at an abandoned parking lot to fix up his leg and might have injected him some pretty strong pain killers, yet his leg was still useless.
"Lean on my shoulder, tough boy", Boyden finally told him and Sam was too exhausted to object. His black hair was matted with sweat when they passed the outer doors, went down a stone stairwell and entered the wide open room where the dance floor had once been located. Due to Sam's heavy limp, they were only halfway across the bar area as two muscular men in intercepted them. Quickly, Boyden stepped aside, almost making Sam collapse in surprise. Only his pride kept the Detective upright, his fierce desire not to show how breakable he currently was.
"Frankie", the bigger of the two newcomers acknowledged and Sam remembered that rough, whisky-and-smoke voice. Connor had grown a curly beard and become a little gray, but the same wolfish eyes from years ago were examining the Detective.
"And little Sammy. A pleasure to meet you again."
"Can't say I missed you much", Sam replied and showed his teeth in an attempt of a smile. The Irishman did bark a short laughter, then he punched Sam right in the face, forcing him to stumble and put weight on his bad leg. All color vanished from Sam's features as he tried to stand upright again. Before either of them could comment, Frankie interrupted gently.
"I'd like to close the deal now. Considering his state, I'm willing to lower the price one third."
"That's fair", Connor said and snapped his finger at his companion, who produced a black suitcase, the like of which were carried by lawyers. Seconds stretched into minutes while Frankie counted one third of the money and set it back on the counter of the bar.
"I'll show you to the door", Connor's partner suggested smoothly as soon as Frankie was done. Together with Boyden, they disappeared around the corner.
"Alone at last", Connor said and Sam didn't like the satisfied gleam in his green eyes one bit. However, with only one Irish criminal present, he might get one last chance to escape. His bound hands itched to be free and even the odds a little, but his mind was already working on the escape route. Back when he'd been working here as a bouncer, there had been a back exit. Cautiously, Sam tried to back off a few steps and promptly collided with the lackey's chest. How had that guy returned so fast?
"Damn", Sam muttered when thick hands clamped down on his shoulders, "Guess I won't be going anywhere any time soon."
Connor barked again and rolled up the long sleeves of his lumberjack shirt. "No, Sammy. You won't be leaving."