Justice by InSilva
Disclaimer: oh, not mine.
A/N: I give in. Naked!Rusty.
Chapter Twenty-Four: Hunt
Eight weeks later.
It was midday. Rusty lay naked on the bed in Rio and tried to decide whether or not it was hotter than yesterday. The humidity was draining and he thought longingly of a roach-free room with air-conditioning. Tracking someone who didn't want to be found never seemed to take you to the more salubrious parts of cities.
The door closes on Danny and Tess and he stands on the outside and leans his head against it. He can understand the hurt and the pain and the blame. Hell, he can feel the hurt and the pain and the blame.
As he stands and listens to Saul's fitful snoring behind him, he decides his options are two in number. One, he can wait for Danny to come round and explain and then he can walk in the room and see Tess who would be sorry for some but possibly not for all, and see Danny who would be anything but reproachful and who would ask him with his eyes once again to stay with him. He could do that.
Or he can do what he's planned to do in a few days' time anyway when Danny is further along the road to recovery. And the plus side of doing it now is that the trail will be fresh.
The pursuit had started with a visit to the other member of the jury who'd been visited by Vincente, one Zachary K Watson. Bizarrely, there were fourteen Z Watsons in the phone book. Only one had the middle initial that had been monogrammed on the handkerchief with which Zach had spent most of his time in the jury room mopping his brow.
Zach lives on his own. His flat is simple to break into and he is equally easy to surprise, quivering in bed in his pyjamas, empty cup of cocoa and novel with a bookmark on his bedside table.
Rusty has decided that he really doesn't have time for politeness and since he's seen how effective threat has been with Zach, he elects to use it.
Zach Watson is soft and easy and Rusty doesn't need to hit him to get him to talk although when Zach says, "All I did was call him. All I did was tell him the verdict", Rusty finds it difficult to unclench his fist and tell his arm to keep at his side.
"You have a number for him."
Zach does and Rusty takes it with him.
He rolled over on his side and caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror propped up on the table. He had gone a deep bronze and his hair was bleached almost white with the sun. His beard was showing a full eight weeks' growth and was well past the itching stage.
Robert Charles was non-existent and you had to look quite hard to find Rusty. Except that there were the eyes, of course: focused, controlled, resolute.
He is on his way to the airport with his three passports and his toothbrush when he calls Vincente. There is no answer, just an impersonal messaging service and Rusty hangs up. Every chance that Vincente will have ditched the phone anyway. If people are after him – if other people are after him – he won't plan on answering.
He thinks about calling another number. His fingers hesitate over the keypad but they don't dial. He hates the thought of Danny's phone in Vincente's hands.
With disinterest, he listened to the arguments being carried on in strident Portuguese outside the window. Apparently Silvia had caught Renato around his sister's flat. With her sister. And her sister's best friend. Who was called Ricardo. And a watermelon was involved. Actually he had to admit that at that point his interest was a little piqued.
He figures he has a bit of lead time and apart from the priority of buying a new outfit, he wants to make the most of it. He's toyed with the idea of a trip to West Virginia and a little dinner date with Thalia. Thalia is the other Fed whose first thoughts about Rusty are sympathetic in nature; Bobby has intimated that the Feds have information on Vincente and Rusty is certain that with a little persuasion, Thalia might do a little digging on his behalf.
Reluctantly - not least because while Thalia's thoughts wouldn't go down the path to arrest any more than Bobby's would, they might involve a little up close and personal interview - he decides that he can't take the time to make the trip. He doesn't know when Danny will wake up and although the pain-killer dosage was high, he doesn't want to take any chances. When Danny wakes up and finds him absent, he'll know. And Rusty regrets the pain that will cause Danny almost as much as he regrets being the cause of the physical pain Danny is in now. In a way, he wants to thank Tess for shutting him out. Because he wonders if he would have found the strength to leave without her being there for Danny.
Instead, Rusty sits in the coffee shop at the airport and calls round his contacts, offering up a name and a description and the knowledge that a favour would be owed.
Eventually, he strikes gold with Letitia who likes to flirt as well as give out information. Rusty does a good job of balancing the two.
"I know a Vincente…works for the Mob…about your height, grey eyes, brown hair, not as pretty as you though…"
"Oh, you know all about pretty, Letitia."
She laughs. "You are such a flatterer."
"This Vincente that you know…"
"Ugly Vincente…"
"Ugly Vincente…do you know where he'd go to hole up?"
"He travels all over…but I heard tell he's got contacts in South America. You might want to look up a man called Corrigan in Mexico City. He knows everyone's business."
Rusty nods to himself. He knows Corrigan.
"Thanks, Letitia. You stay being beautiful."
"You, too."
Mexico City had been fruitful and discussion with Corrigan had led him down to Cartagena and from Cartagena, where he'd nearly caught up with Vincente, he'd made his way to Rio and a casual acquaintance who had been no help whatsoever. Rusty had had to start from scratch and painstakingly build up his lines of enquiry. It was not easy working blind but he had the advantage of the language and currency was easy enough to acquire. And although the speed of knowledge gathering was frustrating, in a way, Rusty severely relished the amount of effort he had to put in. It kept his mind occupied.
Even as he worked, he'd remembered to do the one thing that he knew he had to. Because if the shoe were on the other foot, it would be the one thing he would depend on. He glanced at his watch. Time to do it again. Sitting up, he picked up his phone and dialled the number.
"Kirsty!" he said with a smile. "Do they still have you working evenings? I asked them to move your rota."
"Oh, I don't mind, Mr Ryan," she said with a hint of a giggle. "It has its compensations."
He heard the hint of flirt in her voice and smiled again. Good job it wasn't a video-phone. It was often Kirsty when he called. It had been Kirsty who had passed on the message from Vincente two days after he'd left Danny at the hospital.
"A man called and asked for you, Mr Ryan. He said to tell you something you value more than anything can be found in a warehouse…"
He listens to Kirsty stumble over the address, all the time his fingers gripping the phone, thinking what state Danny would have been in by that point if they hadn't found him…
Rusty discovers his desire to find Vincente reinforced a thousand-fold.
He tucked the phone under his ear and started dressing.
"You know what I'm going to ask, Kirsty."
"Same text message?"
Rusty could tell she thought this was a crazy game.
"Hershey's shipment intact," he confirmed, fastening his belt and then grinned. "You can add "though slightly melting"."
"Actually, Mr Ryan…"
His senses were suddenly on full alert and his finger hovered over the button to end the call. Too late, he heard Saul's voice.
"Robert."
"Damn it, Saul," he said without anger, "have you been hanging out at the hotel just waiting for me to call?"
"Pretty much," Saul confessed. "Since you're not answering your phone." He added quickly, "It's Danny's idea."
Rusty'd been about to end the call again but that stopped him in his tracks. Trust Danny to work out he was using the hotel to launder his messages to Saul. He asked the question he'd been desperate to ask since he'd left.
"How is he?"
At the other end of the phone, he could almost sense Saul's hesitation because this was one sure way to bring Rusty home.
"He's healing," Saul said eventually. "He'd heal faster if you were back here."
"He's got Tess. As long as he's got one of us," Rusty said without emotion and added, "I'm keeping in touch. This is just as it would have been if things had gone to plan."
"Rusty…" Saul's disapproving tone was loud and clear then in a different voice, he went on, "Danny's doing OK, I suppose, he's out of intensive care and got his own private room. He's stable and everything internal seems to be on the mend plus he-"
"What do you think, Saul?" Rusty cut across him. "Three minutes for Bobby's men to find me? Tell me that I'm wrong."
There was silence.
"Be careful," Saul said.
"Look after him," Rusty replied and hung up.
He got to his feet and pulled the rest of his clothes on. Then he picked up the gun, spinning the barrel and checking it.
The bar was heaving and Rusty hung back against the wall with a beer, watching and waiting. This was where the intelligence had led him. This was the hunting ground. This was where he would find him.
He let the party people push past him and studied the crowd with interest. Olive-skinned beauties of both sexes…a few pale tourists who had definitely wandered into the wrong side of town…a few dealers and those in the know hanging round them… Rusty sighed. It was going to be a long stakeout.
Two am, he spotted him walk in. Shaven-headed, wearing a linen suit, carrying himself with that familiar air of invincibility. He ordered a drink at the bar and leant back against it, eyes on the room, watchful. Rusty wondered if he was waiting for someone or simply being cautious. Then he decided that the two were not mutually exclusive.
He kept in the shadows, his eyes on him the whole time. He hadn't come so far to lose him now.
After a couple of hours, Vincente said farewell to the barman and walked towards the exit. If he had been waiting for someone, they hadn't shown. Rusty moved casually through the crowd, tracking him, careful to blend, careful not to make any sudden movements that would draw attention.
Once they were outside, it was harder. There were fewer people around this early in the morning and the streets were littered with bottles and the occasional body where someone hadn't quite made it home before collapsing.
Rusty was as good a tail as you would find. Calm and relaxed and confident and he gave Vincente a good lead through the streets until Vincente turned into a dense and winding area of the city where houses fell on top of each other and doorways were numerous and gaping. Then, he had to get closer. Still, Vincente did not see him. Still, Vincente headed onwards. Rusty followed stealthily.
They entered a little square with numerous exits and Rusty hung back slightly, not wanting to get caught in the open. As Vincente was on the verge of leaving, Rusty walked silently through the lightening shadows at the side and then, with unfortunate timing, a pair of cats scooted across his path, hissing and fighting. Vincente's head half-turned and Rusty froze, backing in to the wall beside him. Then Vincente continued on his way with not even a backward glance.
With foreboding, Rusty hurried after him but the street Vincente had chosen was empty. No sign of him anywhere. Throwing quick glances at every door, Rusty broke into a run trying his best to pick up the trail. It stayed cold.
Retracing his steps through the square, the squabbling cats reappeared and Rusty scowled down at them: he really was more of a dog person.
He hit the same bar the following night. It was the best lead he had and there was always the thought that Vincente might be back to meet whomever he didn't get to meet.
Vincente didn't show.
The next night, he sat on the bed and looked at his phone and sighed. The hotel was out. He thought about the contacts he could trust to pass the message on and there were several but the ones that he could trust to pass it on exactly and quickly…
It was possible that they'd called him. But they wouldn't think of him as Rusty's first choice. And Rusty could talk him through the text message. He made his mind up and punched the number, keeping an eye on the clock.
Three minutes…
As soon as the phone was answered, Rusty knew they had indeed called him. A string of fast and furious Cantonese flew his way.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm being careful."
The words became disbelieving and Rusty heard the equivalent of a "huh" which told him Yen was picking up far too many bad habits.
"Yen, I need you to do something for me."
Two and a half minutes…
There was silence and then Rusty frowned because something had changed. Something…
Oh…
"Yeah."
"What did you do? Get them all along to your bedside?"
"Pretty much."
Unbelievable.
He could see the shrug and he heard him say, "They all came".
There was another pause while Rusty thought about the implications of that. And aside from a very crowded hospital room, it said a lot about the lot of them and the two of them: Rusty swallowed a little at the sentiment expressed.
One and a half minutes…
"How you doing?" he asked quietly.
"Probably get out of here the next week or so."
"Good." Relief flooded through him.
"And then I'm coming after you."
"Danny..." Rusty shook his head.
"You know it's happening."
"It's a stupid idea."
"You'd know all about that."
Rusty said nothing.
"Come back, Rusty," Danny said, his voice raw with emotion and Rusty knew how much it would hurt to let that show in a room full of people. "Please."
One minute…
Rusty leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He thought about the phone conversation with Vincente and the chase to find Danny and finding him and the feelings of fear and pain washed over him as biting as ever.
Half a minute…
"I will. Just not yet."
"Rus…" And there was pain and fear almost too much to bear in his name.
"Bye, Danny."
And he hung up.
Still holding Yen's phone to his ear, Danny frowned as the line went dead. He hung up and passed it back to Yen. Yen took it off him with a few choice words that ended in "fuck up". Danny nodded in complete agreement.
He looked round the hotel suite at the other men and Tess. Her eyes were full of concern and he gave her a quick nod of reassurance. Part of him was absurdly relieved that he hadn't had to try to lie to Rusty about still being laid up. Even at the end of a phone he doubted he'd be able to do that easily.
He turned to Livingston.
"Tell me you got him."
"Takes the Feds three minutes," Livingston said, adjusting the tracer. He beamed at Danny. "Takes me two."