Justice by InSilva
Disclaimer: only borrowing them, promise to look after them. Mostly.
A/N: oh, I have to apologise to Goldberry and otherhawk and anyone else who read the last chapter before I inserted a quick rewrite to avoid confusion. Because Danny and Rusty were not looking at the same person in court. Which will become clear in this chapter. I am so sorry. I am completely useless…:-)
Chapter Three: Decision
Not long after the jury had been chosen, the clock turned five and Judge Everton Fuller adjourned the court. Danny was waiting outside. Rusty talked little and answered him in monosyllables all the way back to the hotel and Danny was willing to put it down to the whole court experience.
"Let's eat," Rusty said tersely and Danny nodded; it was never too early to eat. Not for Rusty, anyway.
They sat in a booth in the main restaurant and ordered steaks which were duly delivered. Rusty pulled the glasses off and threw them down on the table; he ran his fingers through his hair, looking happy to ditch Robert Charles Ryan.
Danny was patient but when he realised he was half-way through his meal and there was still food on Rusty's plate, he put his knife and fork down.
"Alright. Enough. Tell me."
Rusty pushed his plate to one side and looked across at Danny.
"He didn't do it."
"What?"
"He didn't do it," Rusty shrugged.
"You know that?"
Rusty nodded. "You would too if you looked at him."
"And that's why you're staying put," Danny said heavily.
"Yeah."
"It could be the Mob."
"It could."
"You could be targeted."
"It's possible."
"Someone was watching you," Danny volunteered. "Someone who looked like he might mean business."
"Probably just fancied me."
There was a pause. They stared at each other, Danny asking sharply and Rusty levelly responding.
"You're not changing your mind, are you?"
"No."
Danny tried again. "The law can handle this."
"This isn't about the law," Rusty corrected him. "It's about justice."
You are one stubborn son of a…
You know it.
Danny held his gaze, long and searching and realised he was not going to win this one.
"Just don't go all Henry Fonda on me," Danny sighed.
Rusty's face loosened into a smile for the first time all day and pulled the plate back in front of him. His appetite had returned.
The dishes had been cleared away to be replaced by a plate of long, elegant chocolate sticks that Rusty had introduced into the restaurant as an after dinner piece of added value to accompany coffee. They sat drinking the lattes, discussing the day's events in low tones.
"Mr Ryan?" a man's voice - educated, articulate - interrupted them. "May I and my colleague join you?"
Danny's mouth set in a straight line. It was the man he'd sat behind in court, the man with the slow, unblinking gaze – grey eyes, as Danny now saw - who was so very interested in the jury in general and Rusty in particular. Danny flashed Rusty a quick look. Careful…
Without waiting for an answer, the man sat down next to Danny and his colleague squeezed his considerable bulk in alongside Rusty.
"And you might be?" Rusty asked mildly.
"Time for introductions later. Let's just say I'm an interested party."
"Does your colleague have a name?" Danny asked.
"I imagine you can find out all you need to know just by looking at him."
And that was true. No nonsense, no sense of humour, no arguments.
"A nice business you've got here, Mr Ryan. Smart hotel, good location…I can see a lot of people flocking here…"
"Really?" Rusty was non-committal.
"Oh, yes," the man nodded vigorously. He picked up one of the chocolates. "Or, you know, not. Business can be brittle." He snapped the stick in half.
"A bit like people really," he picked up another chocolate. "They can continue as they are, growing, developing, flourishing…or they can break." He snapped the second stick.
He sighed.
"I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot, Mr Ryan, I just want to make sure you know where I'm coming from. I was close to Marcello Tiberi. I want to see the man who killed him get what's coming to him. I feel certain you can help with that. My name is Vincente, by the way."
He extended his right hand, slim but powerful, two words tattooed in flowing script across its back that Danny could not decipher.
Rus...?
Rusty looked at the hand, showing no inclination to respond in kind. Vincente's colleague came to life, taking hold of Rusty's right arm and forcing it across the table.
No, Danny read before he began to move. Let it play.
Vincente seized Rusty's hand, holding on, his knuckles going white. "Do I make myself clear, Mr Ryan?"
"Crystal."
"I hope I do," Vincente said wonderingly. "I've been told communication is one of my weaknesses."
He suddenly shifted his grip on Rusty, holding his wrist fast. He reached over with his left hand, digging his thumb down deep into the fleshy part of Rusty's palm, just below the base of the thumb itself, his index finger closing around the opposite side, pinching hard.
Danny looked at Rusty. He was giving nothing away to Vincente: his gaze remained steady, his eyes amused. He wasn't fooling Danny though; Danny knew it damn well hurt. Let it play be damned.
"Enough," Danny said brusquely. He put his hand on Vincente's arm. "Let him go."
Vincente turned as if seeing Danny for the first time properly. "You come as quite the little package, don't you?"
Dropping Rusty's hand, he shook Danny off. "I hope I made my point, Mr Ryan. I hope you take me seriously."
He stood up and then picked up another chocolate stick and bit into it. "These are really good. Nice touch."
A nod of his head and his colleague stood up also.
"Think about it, Mr Ryan. Be smart," Vincente advised. And they were gone.
Danny watched them go and then looked across at Rusty, rubbing his injured palm.
"Let me see," he said in a voice that would not take no for an answer. He reached over and took Rusty's hand in his. He ran a thumb lightly over the spot where Vincente had applied pressure and shook his head. "Damn it, Rusty!"
Rusty pulled his hand free. "It's nothing."
"Nothing," Danny repeated, allowing the current of anger to show just a little. "That was nothing. That was in no way a suggestion that you should perhaps change your mind."
Rusty stared at him. "I don't like being told what to do."
"It's about being practical, Rusty. It's about keeping your head down and your nose clean. I know these things and so do you."
Rusty's mouth set a little more firmly and Danny recognised the obduracy. It had meant them spending two weeks hiding out in the Louisiana bayou. It had led to them staying in more than one high stakes poker game longer than would have been advisable. It had on one occasion aged Danny more than he cared to imagine as tied up and gagged, he'd listened helplessly to Rusty taking a beating rather than give up their inside man.
"Will you at least consider it?" Danny asked.
Rusty looked at him. Why are you even asking?
"Will you at least pretend to consider it?"
Rusty nodded. "That, I can do."
It was later, it was Rusty's suite and while Rusty was pouring two glasses of Shiraz, Danny was busy with his cell phone. Rusty didn't realise until he handed him his glass exactly whom he was calling.
"Don't you tell him-"
Danny cupped a hand round the phone. "You go and sit down on the couch, Henry, I need to make this call."
"Danny-"
"Choices, Rusty, and this one's mine. Hello?"
Rusty hung at his shoulder, gripping his own wine glass, scowling, listening to the one-sided conversation.
"Bobby? Wonder if you can help me with something. Trial going on in LA. Gino Passinetti accused of killing a guy called Marcello Tiberi." He spelled the names. "Can you do a little digging for me? Check out the parties involved? Yeah, I'm thinking that. Worrying about it a little, actually."
Rusty pulled a face. Danny saying he was worrying about it was shorthand that let Bobby know it was a high priority as far as Danny was concerned: Bobby would react accordingly.
"Another thing, Bobby. Can you check out the name Vincente for me? Sorry. No, that's all I've got. Five eleven, I'd say. Grey eyes. Tattoo on his right hand. Yeah," Danny's eyes swivelled round to Rusty. "He's fine. Yeah. Yeah. No washing or cleaning. I know. Thanks, Bobby. I'll wait to hear from you."
He hung up and turned to Rusty. "He's going to call us back tomorrow night."
"Was that strictly necessary?"
"Yes, Rusty, it was." Quietly, defiantly. "Because if you won't look after yourself, I'll have to."