Entry #3 in the "A Year in the Life" series. The Brillows clan takes a somewhat unplanned family vacation, and run into trouble in a little mountain town called Jackpot. You know the drill -- CSI is not my sandbox. If it were, there would be more exciting night-time chase sequences.
99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall
by Alice Day
CHAPTER SIX
Brass watched his daughter's expression change, sliding back into the angry mask of her teenage years. "Great -- what did I do wrong now?" she said.
"I just need to talk to you," he said, his eyes glinting. "Outside."
Scowling, she turned to Sterling. "I'm sorry about this. Just...wait here, okay?"
Brass ignored the vet's concerned look and escorted Ellie to the coat check room, then to the lounge's parking lot. Once there, she spun and glared at him. "Okay, I'm outside. What the hell are you doing?" she demanded.
"I could ask you the same thing," Brass growled back. "When the hell did you start doing public lap dances?"
She snorted. "Oh, please -- if I did a lap dance you'd know it," she said. "I just wanted to make that skank from the diner squirm a little."
His jaw muscles bunched. "For Christ's sake, Ellie, you had half the guys in there squirming, all over you," he said. "And what the hell were you doing dancing with that scumbag, anyway? Or is your abusive loser magnet still on--"
The moment the words were out he wanted to pull them back, but the damage was done. Ellie jerked as if slapped, her eyes narrowing to furious slits.
"Screw you, Jim," she snarled, spinning on one booted heel and storming out of the parking lot.
Brass sagged inside his winter coat, knee-jerk anger overcome with an abrupt wave of regret. This wasn't supposed to happen anymore, dammit.
"Ellie," he called, starting after her. "Honey, wait--"
Someone grabbed his arm, and he realized it was Catherine. "Let her go, Jim," she warned.
"I can't--"
She took his other arm, making him face her. "I'm telling you, you go charging after her like this, and you will never get her back," the CSI warned. "I don't know what you thought you were doing, hauling her out of there like that, but she's got every right to be pissed off at you right now."
"She's pissed off at me?" Brass sputtered. "I wasn't the one out there whoring it up like a str--"
This time he managed to stop, swallowing the rest of the word, but the context came across loud and clear. Catherine's blue eyes grew chilly. "You know, you can be a real prudish pain in the ass sometimes," she said in a clipped tone.
Before he could say anything, her phone rang. She fished it out of her purse and flipped it open, hitting the Speaker button. "Willows."
"Hi, Catherine," Archie Johnson said. "Aren't you supposed to be on vacation or something?"
She frowned at Brass. "It's a long story. You pulling a triple?"
"No -- Dana on swing shift had something at her kid's school, so I'm covering for her," the A/V tech explained. "I just finished processing that footage from your surveillance tape, and I ran it through a couple of facial recognition databases. We got a hit."
"Tell me."
"Your perp is Willard Jefferson Moses, 31, lives near Elko, auto mechanic and member of the Greater Nevada Militia," Archie recited. "They're pretty much the premier survivalist group in the state. Your boy's rap sheet is pretty impressive -- possession of a gun, possession of explosive materials, assault, vehicular assault, etc. He's currently on parole for beating holy hell out of a security guard -- apparently he's got a particular grudge against anyone with a badge."
"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," Catherine said. "Get his rap sheet, mug shot and fingerprints, and fax them over to the State Police station in Elko and the Jackpot PD. And thanks, Archie."
"You bet -- have a nice Valentine's Day."
She clicked the phone closed. "Well, that explains the way Mack and Slugger were attacked," she said, her tone clinical.
"Yeah. We better get Brooks," he said heavily. "And Catherine--"
"We'll talk later. Right now, let's just catch this asshole."
Stiffly, she headed back into the lounge. Brass watched her go, then turned and stared after Ellie for a long moment.
Nice job, Jim -- a twofer. You're getting really good at pissing off the women you love.
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Ellie stalked down the street, cursing lawmen, cold weather, dances and whatever made her think it would be a good idea to come to Vegas for Valentine's Day. Jesus, I can't believe I actually thought about staying with him. Yeah, that would work, as long as I put my hair up in ponytails and pretend to be six years old again so that Mister Bigshot Lawman doesn't feel like a fuckup. God help me if I act my age -- then I'm just some coked-up slut who has to be rescued. Well, fuck him, and fuck his money -- I'll move back to Jersey if I can't find another job. I can take care of myself. I don't need him.
She swiped the heel of her hand across her eye, hating the moisture there. "Don't cry, you fucking idiot," she muttered to herself, kicking viciously at a small rock on the sidewalk. The back of her neck tingled as she heard a car pull up alongside her. She hunched into her jacket, seething. If that's Dad, I swear to God I'm gonna punch him. And if some douchebag asks how much--
"Miss Brass?"
She almost stumbled, and turned. A battered Jeep Grand Cherokee idled at the curb; Dr. Sterling was just visible through the open passenger window. "Hi. I wanted to make sure you were all right," he said apologetically. "Your dad looked kinda upset back there."
Ellie gave him a furious look. "My dad is a screaming, bleeding asshole," she grated.
He blinked. "Wow. That's a little harsh, isn't it?"
"You don't know him like I do."
"That's true. Um, can I give you a ride somewhere?"
She threw her arms out, gesturing at the almost deserted street. "To where?" she demanded. "I'm not going back to that house, and as far as I can tell this place doesn't have a Greyhound station."
"We have a bus service to Reno and Vegas, but the next one won't come in until tomorrow night," he admitted. "Look, it's cold out and you're not really dressed for it -- how about you get in and we'll talk about options? There's got to be a way you can get back to Los Angeles."
She scowled, hating the way his reasonable tone made her want to curl up and cry. It didn't help that he was right; her leather jacket cut the wind but did nothing for insulation, and her new boots already hurt. For a moment, she felt a horrible temptation to offer him an all access pass -- anal, oral, whatever he wanted -- if he just drove her back to nice, warm LA.
Yeah, except that he wouldn't go for it -- guys like him never do. And the last thing you need is another wannabe white knight.
"Miss Brass?"
She ran a hand through her hair. "A ride. Fine, whatever," she muttered, yanking open the passenger door and climbing in. Along with the welcome warmth was a strong smell of dog, and she winced.
Sterling noticed her reaction. "Sorry. I have to transport animals in the back sometimes," he explained. "I should've asked -- are you allergic?"
"No. Don't worry about it." She grabbed her seat belt and buckled it. "So where are we going?"
"Ah. Good question," he said, obviously thinking. "Well, you already saw most of downtown, such as it is. How about we go down our version of the Strip, then maybe do a tour of the foothills? It's kind of pretty -- lots of folks have cabins up there, and you can see the whole town from Wilson Point."
She shrugged, folding her arms across her chest. "You've got the wheel -- drive."
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"I think I know where they are," Brooks said, buttoning up his uniform shirt. His dress shirt from the lounge lay where it had been tossed in his office chair; Catherine quietly stepped out into the bullpen when it became apparent the lieutenant was too intent on their news to notice he was changing in front of her. "Mack had this old cabin up in the foothills -- used it for hunting. Sometimes a bunch of us would go up there and play poker with him on our days off."
"A cabin. Yeah, a survivalist would definitely go for something like that," Brass allowed. "But if he had any brains, you'd think he'd hit the border and head up into Idaho."
Brooks pulled his gunbelt on. "You run into a lot of criminals with brains, Jim?" he asked, pulling his sidearm and checking the clip. "I don't. Besides, I got the feeling Moses is looking for something that he didn't find at the house."
"Like what?"
"Oh, like seventy-five thousand dollars or so."
Brass blinked at the figure. Even for him, that was a lot of money. For a survivalist who lived on mountain meat and was happy with a shack... "Sounds like a lot of cash for a retired cop to have," he said carefully.
"You didn't know Mack -- man would pinch a penny until Lincoln screamed," Brooks said. "When the economy started taking a nosedive, he figured he'd rather have the cash on hand, so he pulled everything out of his savings account and money market fund."
"And you didn't mention this when we were at the crime scene why?"
"You didn't need to know." Brooks shrugged. "Now you do. Considering that the house wasn't tossed, I'm guessing Moses knew the money wasn't there -- he must have been beating on Mack to get the location out of him."
The repeated blows to Mack's head and body and the abuse of Slugger made more sense now, Brass thought. The survivalist wasn't just taking his frustration out on an ex-cop and his dog -- he was torturing them for information. It didn't need to be said that the initial info about the money's existence had to come from Janine Jones -- Mack would have made sure that his only daughter knew about the cash in case he died. Hell, Ellie checked on my pension when I was in the hospital, didn't she?
Where the hell are you, Ellie?
"How do you know the money wasn't there?" he said out loud.
The lieutenant's expression went closed. "No cop in his right mind would hide that kind of money in his house, or anywhere else he lived. Too easy to get to."
"Yeah," Brass said slowly. "He'd want to keep it somewhere safe, but where he could get at it in an emergency." The two lawmen locked gazes for a long moment, then Brass looked away. "And that's none of my business," he said gruffly. "But you know this isn't looking good for Janine, right?"
Brooks sighed. "I know. We'll get into that when we find her. Come on -- time to talk to the troops."
They headed for the squad room. The bulk of the Jackpot police force was waiting for them; judging from some of the clothing choices, Brooks wasn't the only one who had been pulled away from a date. Both Willows women were in the back, arms folded identically as they scanned the room. Brass left the lieutenant, making his way through the uniforms to Catherine's side.
"All right, listen up," Brooks said. "We're looking for a Caucasian male in his early thirties, name of Willard Moses. Andy, pass out those mugshots."
Andy started handing around printouts. "Mr. Moses is a member in good standing of the Greater Nevada Militia, which means he's probably packing everything he can carry," Brooks continued. "Plus he knows explosives, which is just gonna make this even more interesting. We figure he's holed up at Mack's cabin right now -- he has Janine and Missy, too, so we can't go busting on in there." He gave his crew a long, steady look. "We've handled these militia types before, so you all know what to do -- everyone dig out your vests and wear the damn things, make sure you're loaded for bear and you've got extra magazines, then stop by the armory and sign out a rifle." He pointed at a group of men clustered near the door. "Andy, Rich, Dave and Jackson, I want you to set up a perimeter around Mack's cabin -- nobody goes in, nobody comes out. Delilah, Jerry and Bill, you go door to door outside the perimeter and check cabins -- you find anyone, shoo 'em back into town. Dan, Pete, Katie, you check out the usual kid hangouts and bust up any parties. I want that area deserted by midnight. Once it's clear, we're going to make contact with Moses and see if we can talk some sense into him." His face went grim. "And if that doesn't work, we may have to let some daylight into him. Go."
Brass leaned against the back wall, arms crossed as he watched the officers file out. "I still think you ought to wait for the state troopers," he said when Brooks came up to him.
The lieutenant shook his head. "Jim, I play poker with those good ol' boys -- they'll come storming in here like Rambo on 'roids," he said. "I don't give a rat's ass about Moses, but they'd probably get Janine and Missy killed in the process. I am not gonna let this turn into another Ruby Ridge -- we'll take Moses down ourselves."
The Homicide captain nodded tightly. "Need any help?"
Brooks considered him. "Officially, you're not a member of this department, so I'm supposed to consider you a civilian and tell you to stay the hell out. Realistically, my momma didn't raise any stupid kids. Consider yourself deputized. But." He pointed a finger at Brass. "That means you work for me, so you stay with me and do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. You don't know the area like we do, and I'll be damned if I turn Ms. Willows into a widow before she's had a chance to be a bride, comprende?"
Brass saw Catherine flush. Like she'd have me after what I said. "Got it," he said.
"Good. Let's move out."
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Ellie leaned her forehead against the passenger side window, watching the dark foliage of the foothills roll by. Below, the twinkling lights of Jackpot glowed in the darkness like a toy Vegas plunked down in the middle of a plateau. "This is sort of pretty," she murmured.
"Yup. Used to come up here all the time with my friends when I was a kid," Sterling said. "We'd camp out over a weekend, take potshots at birds with BB guns, and think we were all grown up." He laughed. "There was this rock formation behind a stand of pines that we called the fort -- I think we fought off everything from Indians to aliens there."
"Aliens?"
He shrugged. "I watched Star Trek when I was a kid. Always thought those blue-skinned aliens with the antennae were kind of cool."
They passed a short entrance to a parking lot on a ridge. "And this is Wilson Point," he said, slowing down. "Like I said, you can pretty much see the entire town from here."
Ellie studied the parking lot. A number of cars were already parked there, all of them with steamed-up windows; it was fairly obvious what else the vantage point was used for. "So you brought me to the local makeout spot?" she said, amused.
Sterling's eyes went wide in sudden horror. "Oh. God, no, I'm sorry," he stammered, "I didn't mean--"
Nice guys, I swear. She reached over and patted his arm. "It's okay, Doc -- I'm just teasing."
"Oh. Okay. Let's, um...let's get out of here," he muttered, hitting the gas.
They drove along in silence for a couple of minutes before he cleared his throat. "I really am sorry about that," he said. "I haven't been up here in awhile -- I forgot about Wilson Drive after dark."
"It's okay, really," she said. A sudden playful urge hit her. "Although I think I'm a little insulted. I mean, you didn't even try to talk me into a tour."
He glanced at her. "You're teasing again, right?"
"Maybe." She grinned. "Maybe not."
He thought for a moment, then nodded. "You're an evil woman, Miss Brass," he said solemnly.
She preened. "I know--"
A shockingly loud bang ricocheted through the car, and the rear windows exploded in a shower of glass. Ellie yelped, hunching into a ball as the vehicle lurched forward.
"What the--" Sterling flinched hard as the back seat window exploded next, the whine of the bullet obvious now. "Jesus!"
A third bullet took out one of the tires. The Jeep skewed sickeningly across the road, bumping into the right-hand ditch before coming to a jolting stop. Panting in fear, Ellie realized Sterling had bent over the center console; he grabbed her shoulder, roughly pulling her lower. "Stay down," he hissed, reaching for her seat belt release. "Open the door, jump out and head down the hill. Stay as low as you can."
Her belt popped open. "What--"
"Do it!"
She fumbled for the door handle and jerked it open, rolling out of the Jeep. The cold dirt of the ditch slapped against her palms, and she struggled into a crouch. The only light came from the quarter moon overhead, dimly illuminating the dirt road, and next to it a slope surfaced with dark scrub, trees and rocks.
Another bullet smacked into the vehicle. Stifling a scream, Ellie scrambled down the hill. The loose, dry topsoil slid badly under her boots and she grabbed at anything she could for balance, trying to stop herself from tumbling down the slope. She gasped as her foot slammed into a rock and she tripped, grabbing a scrubby pine at the last minute. Using the springy branches to slingshot herself behind the tree, she risked a look upslope. Sterling was clambering down the hill in a much more controlled slide than her own, something long in one hand.
"Over here!" she hissed.
He slid to a stop next to her tree, copying her move and twisting into the tree's shadow. "You okay?" he rasped.
"Y-yeah." She stared up at the dark hill. "Who's shooting at us?"
"Don't know--"
Another bullet whined down the hill and they both ducked. "But they're not stopping," Sterling said, grabbing her wrist. "Come on."
Swallowing hard, she obeyed.
A/N: Yes, that was a deliberate in-joke for the Trekkies. Just be grateful I didn't add a reference to glowing green syringes.
