AN: This chapter was nowhere in my original plan, but suddenly it feels like the heart of the whole story. It took long enough to write, and rewrite, and edit. This chapter has a bit more salty language in it, since it is from the POV of a career criminal (Aaron Pulaski) but I have kept it as clean as I could while still maintaining some semblance of authenticity. It may even seem that I've made the bad guy too nice. But I am setting the stage for big changes. And as my Grandmother says, "There's enough good in the worst of us, and enough bad in the best of us, that it behooves every one of us to put up with the rest of us."
Also, none of the wonderful characters that grace these pixels is my intellectual property. Thanks to the creators and writers of the Mentalist for letting us play with their toys.
Marked
The inside of an FBI interrogation room was not much different the second time around. More comfortable than your average jail, a bit more upscale in design than most local police departments that he'd been through. It probably wasn't the same facility that Aaron Pulaski had occupied last time. In fact, while the ex-con recognized a previous questioner (Agent Spike, or something like that?) among the team that had arrested him, that man was evidently not in charge this time.
"Have a seat, Mr. Pulaski," said the apparent leader of this sting operation. His dark face and bald head were easy to recognize, but the glasses, the suit, and the more official manner made it plain that the guy Aaron had met in a bar the other night was more than he had at first appeared to be. "We will get back to you in due course. In fact, you should have plenty of time to think about what you can tell us about the creep that kicked you down the stairs while we settle him in."
"You caught McKay?" Man, that was fast! Aaron didn't know what to think. He had been weighing his options on the drive to headquarters. Should he give up that back-stabbing bastard who was ready to let him take the fall, literally, for his art ring? Was there any way to salvage this without doing more jail time himself? Was it time to call his lawyer? Would the lawyer be able to get him off this time?
But McKay had always paid the lawyers. They were good, but they might not even help him now. McKay had talked a good game about backing up his employees, but today he showed his true colors by throwing Aaron to the wolves to save his own skin.
Aaron didn't know whether to be glad that they caught the SOB, or really worried that he didn't have the bargaining chip of telling the FBI where to find him.
"We did indeed." Dennis Abbott was the name on his ID, now prominently displayed. He hadn't even used a fake name, Aaron mused, impressed in spite of himself. He sounded confident to the point of smug, but there was a hint of compassion as he turned his direct gaze on his prisoner. "So if you had been thinking that you could stonewall the FBI again I am afraid that you will not find it a viable option. You might be able to plea down your sentence by giving us information on the crimes that your boss has planned and committed, especially the murder of John Hennigan." The big man actually pulled out the chair for Aaron and gestured at him once more to sit, with the air of a host bidding his guest to be comfortable. "If it makes you feel better about informing on McKay, you should know that we could easily make the case without your help. McKay led us straight to his stash, which included stolen artwork from the Hennigan job. You might want to finger your boss before he tries to claim that you were the one pulling the trigger."
"You know that he did it." Aaron dropped into the chair. It was hard to take all this in. McKay had always talked as if the Feds were complete morons, and he had outwitted them again and again. But somehow this time he had miscalculated. And now Aaron was going back to prison.
He hated it. But he knew in his heart that he had it coming. And then some.
"I'll just leave you to think about that for a while," said the stranger in the suit, smiling his almost familiar smile. And he closed the door as he walked out.
That his new friend Dennis would be the one who directed him to this quiet holding area was still mind-boggling. He sure wouldn't have guessed that the guy who shared his drinks and punched out a thug for him as a supervising agent in the FBI. But then, it turned out that the thug who had started that fight was an agent too.
But why should all this surprise him? It was like that Patrick guy said. Aaron didn't exactly look like an art lover, either. You can't tell a book by its cover and all that.
The car should have been his first clue. Aaron's first thought when Dennis offered him a ride was that he couldn't afford to be caught in a stolen car with an intoxicated driver. Not with his record. But Dennis did not seem worried that he'd be caught with it. So maybe it really was his car.
How did a working-class bruiser like Dennis score a ride like that?
And then there was the house. The palatial structure just exuded wealth, much as the light streamed from the many large windows. Dennis acted like it was no big deal, which was either extreme humility or audacious pride. Only in hindsight did it look like an obvious scam.
But it was the woman who met them at the door that really should have given it away. On reflection, Aaron should have known that Teresa was no art thief. But she had dazzled and distracted him in so many ways that the idea of her as a cop just never occurred to him.
**********The previous evening**********
Dennis' assurance as they ascended the steps toward the entry way was disconcerting. Aaron hadn't pictured his new drinking buddy as a man who rubbed shoulders with a crowd like this. He had to revise his estimation of the man. His boss was clearly loaded, but Dennis was somehow on good enough terms with him to drop by unexpectedly during a party, with an uninvited guest.
"If you don't mind me asking, what kind of business are you in?" Aaron hated being in the dark. Something didn't add up here, and he was determined to figure it out.
"Whatever needs doing," was the cryptic reply, as the other man brushed the doorbell and the door opened at once.
The light from within stamped Aaron's eyes with the shape of a woman. Her face lit with pleasure when she saw them. "Dennis! You wicked man, where have you been?" Her accent rang with the affectation of the wealthy and worldly, but her voice was smooth and welcoming. Aaron's jaw dropped as she embraced his new friend.
She seemed genuinely glad to see Dennis, although something seemed off in her mannerisms. Her eyes were a bit too focused, with a burning intensity that seemed at odds with her warm greeting. This one has some fire in her, Aaron thought, but what is she so worked up about?
As Dennis walked past her to the spacious room beyond, she turned her luminous eyes on Aaron. His breath caught in his chest. It wasn't just that her eyes were beautiful, although they were. It was more that he saw in their depths a vulnerability that caught him off-guard. They were also slightly reddened behind the meticulously applied make-up. Had she been crying? She didn't give him long to ponder the question. "And who is this handsome brute?" She leaned in, and Aaron inhaled the intoxicating scent of woman. Not the mere trace of perfume that she wore but all the natural and alluring scents of a clean, healthy, energetic female. He had to lock his limbs against moving closer to catch another whiff. He held her eyes, hoping that his physical response to her was not too obvious.
"Teresa, this is my friend Aaron."
"Fabulous to meet you, Aaron, any friend of Dennis…come on in."
Aaron was not used to such frank attention from a woman of this quality. It was both flattering and unnerving. He took her at her word, accepting her welcome in silence. To speak might betray his unsettled feelings, might make him seem weak. But before he joined his friend inside, he couldn't resist taking one more look. While Aaron had never claimed to be a gentleman, he was half ashamed of the way his eyes drifted to her chest. Her dress was a display of playful concealment that at once enticed and announced in no uncertain terms: "Too hot to handle. Out of your league. Don't even think about it."
He realized, with some shame, that she had seen his eyes follow her plunging neckline. He wondered how she might feel about that. Insulted? Gratified? Amused? He didn't dare look back to her face as she closed the door behind them, or as she and Dennis flanked him, like escorts for a visiting dignitary.
It had been a long time since he had been with a woman, so he supposed that any woman might catch his fancy if she were reasonably attractive and available. But Teresa's appeal went way beyond reasonable, and in spite of her interest (could it be just a hostess being friendly?) he suspected that she could not be available. Certainly not to him. So he followed Dennis' lead. He and Teresa had some unspoken agreement on where to go next.
It appeared that they were leading him to the royalty of the revels. The man who rose to meet them wore his golden curls like a crown, with a beard scarcely dark enough to be seen against his fair skin. His suit was modest rather than flashy, and he wore a ridiculous scarf. Probably thought it looked dashing and debonair, or something. Aaron disliked him at once, but managed to maintain a reserved neutrality.
"Dennis, you old rascal. I am so glad you came." Dennis approached the man with a gesture of brotherly affection. Another friendly embrace ensued, and Aaron was now certain that this must be the boss. But did that mean the beautiful lady playing hostess was…
A quick glance at Teresa confirmed his suspicion. She aligned her posture and position next to the man they had come to see. The two were a couple. Damn.
His glance and his reaction to this news were not lost on his host. "And who do we have here?"
"This is my friend Aaron."
"Aaron. Pleasure to meet you." The man eyed him measuringly. "Pisces?" he asked inquiringly.
It took Aaron a moment to process the question. "Uh, no, Sagitarius." Finally he had found the excuse to loathe this man that he had been groping for. He was obviously a complete flake, into astrology of all things.
"Ah, close but no cigar. I like you anyway." The host's obnoxious smile was already grating on his nerves, and Aaron noticed how Dennis laughed like a sycophant at the lame joke. Aaron glanced at Teresa. She was still standing close to her partner, but her eyes were on Aaron. If the blond lame-o noticed this, he hid it well as he graciously announced, "and you can relax, make yourself at home, grab a drink…"
Rather than feeling welcomed, Aaron felt singled out, off-balance. Why was he here? He had only planned to watch the fights at his favorite watering hole tonight, and suddenly he's in the home of a pretentious creep who for some reason was attached to a woman that Aaron was sure was way too good for him.
Too good for Aaron, too, but that was beside the point.
Teresa's voice drew his attention again as she commented in an amused drawl, "Isn't he fabulous? Such a mean face." His confusion made him scowl. The feeling of affront heightened as she murmured, "mmm, yeah, there it is…"
What was she doing? Flirting with him? In front of her… boyfriend or whatever? Was she trying to make the dimwitted himbo jealous? Was she teasing Aaron, trying to see if she could make him want her, knowing that it would never be followed through?
Of course nothing could come of this attraction, Aaron was not a complete idiot. Too bad his body kept reacting to all her signals in spite of this. He really, really needed to find a woman...
The host seemed to recognize the awkwardness of the moment, so perhaps he wasn't completely dense. His discomfort was exhibited in an attempt at humor. "Down girl," he joked, but Teresa's face showed satisfaction as she registered her partner's response. Aaron gritted his teeth into his social smile and walked away.
He saw Dennis getting a drink just beyond and nudged him, extending a hand to take the glass that the other man passed him. "So that blond guy is your boss?"
He nodded. "That is Patrick. He's in charge here."
"Must be new money," Aaron toned down his disdain to its lowest notch. After all, he was a guest. "Is he from California?"
Evidently surprised and impressed, Dennis replied, "as a matter of fact, that is where I met him. He's what you'd call well-travelled though. Why did you guess California?"
"He has that 'vibe.' Plus the astrology thing. No man of substance takes that stuff seriously except in California." Dennis chuckled quietly. Apparently loyalty to the boss did not squelch Dennis' sense of humor or his appreciation of Aaron's savvy.
"I notice that you corrected him right away, though. If astrology is hokum, why not just let him call you a Pisces?" Dennis seemed to enjoy figuring out how Aaron's mind worked. It was gratifying to be taken seriously.
"Well, I had to study up on that stuff for the ladies, you see," Aaron winked at his new friend. "Speaking of which, it looks like there are some fine women here." He cast his glance around the room and the well-dressed guests, but his eyes found their way back to Teresa, who was looking at her boyfriend with irritation. The blinding smile had been discarded, replaced by a weary, defeated expression. Patrick didn't even meet her eyes as they walked together.
What had this Patrick guy said to make her look so miserable? Or was there more to it than just that moment? Rich as he was, could this jerk be stupid enough to mistreat a woman like Teresa? If he had been fortunate enough to win the favor of someone like Teresa, Aaron told himself, he would treat her like a queen.
Her pained expression troubled him, and he looked away to avoid meeting the eyes of the pair as they glanced in his direction. How did a man that clueless get a woman so vivacious, and why would she let him make her so unhappy, he wondered. Aaron's curiosity got the better of him. "What's Teresa's story? You can't tell me she's from California. And she's not particularly well travelled, either, though she puts on a good show. Does she come from money?"
Dennis shifted his weight and avoided Aaron's eyes. "I don't know her that well myself, really. They were already together when I met them. She doesn't talk about her past, much." Aaron could see that his friend knew more than he would say. Well, that was understandable. The man knew where his bread was buttered.
*******time shift************
The door suddenly opened, and Spike (or whatever his name was) entered with McKay in tow. He stopped short on seeing Aaron, his prisoner bristling. Aaron felt his own hackles rise and was on his feet in an instant, but a word from outside made them all turn towards the door.
"No, Agent Pike, that room is already in use. I meant the one down the hall." Dennis Abbott placed a restraining arm on McKay as Pike backed the former boss of his art ring out of the room. "Sorry about that," said the FBI bigwig, with a wry smile.
"Hey," Aaron interjected, before he could leave the room again, "were all the people at that party Feds? Teresa? Patrick?"
A shrug and a nod. "Yeah, pretty much. Although technically, Patrick Jane is a consultant." It was part of the game, Aaron knew. Abbott wanted to put him at ease, make him more willing to share information himself. But it was stated with the same easy confidence the senior agent had used in discussing the fights. No deception here.
"Are they really a couple?" Aaron's eyes probed the reaction, almost pleased to see the other man drop his eyes for a split second.
"You aren't really in the best position for asking questions right now."
Aaron smiled to himself as the door closed. The small evasion told him two things. The first was that Dennis Abbott was not completely in control here. If he had been, he would have promptly and proudly declared the relationship between Patrick and Teresa to be part of the ruse. Or not. And the second, as galling as it was to know that Patrick and Teresa were really emotionally involved, was that the marks of genuine personality that he had seen in the main players were not entirely put on. And if so, the things he had felt and observed might have been, to some degree, real.
Certainly Abbott had shown the same real discomfort in discussing Teresa on a personal level before. But Aaron felt certain that Abbott had not manufactured details about his colleagues. He had been just honest enough to make the cover story work.
In retrospect, the little evasions and the vague half-truths should have been obvious. Aaron generally prided himself on being a good judge of character. Now, sitting at the table in the interrogation room, he had to laugh at his own hubris. He had been fooled every which way in this situation. At the time, his new friend's crowd had seemed like an intriguing mystery to be solved, and the more evasive they were, the more he wanted to know their secrets.
And he had learned some secrets, alright, but they were the wrong secrets.
******time shift*********
Always the lone wolf, it took Aaron a long time to get comfortable at the party. He circulated with Dennis, noting the names and faces, but mostly looking at the art on the walls. Tasteful, well placed. Clearly whoever did the interior here had an artist's eye for design and placement. He wondered if it was Patrick or Teresa. He wondered how long they had been here, and how long they might stay. He wondered intently what they did to afford throwing lavish parties in a house like this.
Dennis introduced him around, using only first names. All of them were friendly enough, although some were clearly uncomfortable with his presence. They tried not to show their distrust, engaging him in polite conversation. They were all dressed like people with money, but they acted like people with secrets.
Aaron kept his guard up, trying to make his probing questions seem offhand. How did you meet Patrick and Teresa? How long have you known them? What else do they like to do for fun?
The tell-tale signs of concealment were everywhere. Some of them seemed more comfortable with small talk than others, but all of them were vague about their relationship with the host and hostess. It seemed that the pair had been in town for several months, were very tasteful and generous, and enjoyed the finer things in life. People would volunteer information about a fundraising event, or a gallery exhibit, or a theatrical performance that they had attended, and describe what Patrick and Teresa had worn or some clever bon mot that one of them had said. But personal details were sketchy at best.
Getting bored with the banal chatter, Aaron found himself watching Teresa as she flitted from guest to guest. Her smiles were genuine, and she talked easily with an open, welcoming posture to everyone present. He caught glimpses occasionally of fatigue or discomfort. A slight awkwardness to her gait told him that walking in heels did not come easily to her. She repeatedly went back for more and more food, and encouraged the guests to do the same. That she remained so slender in spite of a healthy and unselfconscious appetite suggested an active life, absent the compulsive dieting or passive pursuits common to many wealthy women. All this confirmed Aaron's earlier guess that she had been born to a working class family, had risen through education, and had only recently hooked up with Patrick and his money. Wherever that money had come from. No wealthy relatives' names were dropped into the anecdotes. Neither was the name of a company or line of business. The source of Patrick's income was a complete mystery.
Speaking of the pretty-boy, he was not socializing as much as Aaron expected from a guy that ditzy. Whenever he glanced in Patrick's direction, he saw him observing his guests from his perch at the bar, smiling and chatting pleasantly at anyone who approached, but mostly following Teresa with eyes almost obsessive in their focus.
Controlling, jealous type, Aaron decided, and hated him even more.
So far, most of the women he had spoken to were attached, and not really his type. But he had imbibed enough alcohol even before the party that it was getting harder for him to guard his tongue or his physical appetites. And those appetites seemed to be further stimulated every time he looked in Teresa's direction. Bad idea, he kept telling himself.
Even if she weren't formally attached to the host, who scarcely let her out his sight, Aaron knew that what he wanted from a woman right now would be wrong to take from someone like Teresa, even if she were willing. Because what she needed from a man was something he couldn't give. Teresa's pretense of being rich and bland and snooty like their party crowd didn't fool Aaron. Whatever she was trying to be for Patrick, Aaron was certain that she was at heart a simple woman, raised to take responsibility and do the right thing. She wasn't really at ease here, among the high class and heartless. And Aaron's world of crime and violence would be no improvement.
Dennis, who had recently left him for the men's room, intercepted Teresa upon his return and engaged her in a quiet but intense conversation. Aaron was embarrassed when she raised her eyes from Abbott to him and caught his penetrating gaze across the room, but he refused to make the awkwardness worse by looking away. He wasn't a chump who would apologize for appreciating a beautiful woman, even if she was way out of his reach.
She smiled, almost ruefully, excused herself from her discussion with Dennis, and walked towards Aaron with a purposeful stride.
He froze, heart pounding. What had Dennis said to her?
But her manner in approaching him was like her friendly way with all the guests. "Hey, stranger. You're keeping to yourself over here. Aren't you having a good time yet?" Some of her pretentious accent and posturing seemed to have worn away over the course of the evening.
"Uh, sure." He lifted his drink as evidence. "I just don't know anybody that well, and I'm not really good with crowds."
Teresa's expression was politely veiled skepticism. "I'm glad you've got a drink," she said, "But you've also got your back to a wall and your arms crossed. If I didn't trust you to be honest with me, I might think that I had made you uncomfortable earlier." She looked briefly downward and away, but forced her eyes back to his face with an earnest appeal for understanding. "I didn't mean to distress you. I was trying to be friendly and got a bit carried away."
"Well, did you make your point to Patrick?" He said, before he could stop himself.
Her eyes widened and she went very still. But then she recovered. "Yes, I suppose that I did. I don't like it when he takes me for granted. But it wasn't right to use you to get his attention. I hope you can forgive me."
Aaron felt almost dizzy. He knew that his judgment was somewhat impaired, but he couldn't remember all the reasons for being polite and distant, or why showing his interest in Teresa was a bad idea. "You don't need forgiveness. That lout does if he forgets how lucky he is. Have you been together long?"
She let out a long breath. "Sometimes it feels like far too long. But I'm not complaining. He's given me a good life. And an appreciation for some of the finer things in life. He makes me happy."
"Has anyone ever told you that you aren't good at lying?"
Teresa colored. Took a deep breath. Then laughed. "Yes, I believe that I have heard that somewhere before." Her eyes shone, but it was hard to tell if it was mirth or tears that made them glisten. Or possibly both. "Look, think what you want to think," she said earnestly, "but I don't need anyone else to solve my problems for me. You do the strong and silent act well, but maybe instead of playing knight in shining armor, you just need to relax and stop taking it all so seriously. Finish your drink, have some more. Try some of the food, we have plenty."
She gestured hopefully towards the table of party fare, just visible through an archway. Aaron knew that she wanted to make him comfortable, even though he had just seriously encroached on her comfort zone. Maybe she still felt guilty about flirting with him to make Patrick jealous. Maybe she was just being a good hostess, talking down an emotional and slightly inebriated guest to make sure that there weren't any scenes at her soiree. But Aaron's instincts told him that there was much more to her solicitous attention. She had noticed him, God knew why. She wasn't about to jeopardize her relationship with Patrick, but Aaron wanted to believe that she cared. He felt that she was a truly good, honest, compassionate soul, and she deserved someone to understand and cherish her. Patrick didn't seem like the man to plumb those emotional depths, to guard that kind, vulnerable nature. Aaron wished ardently for a moment that he could be that man.
But he knew better. So he thanked her and headed towards the other room. Deep in thought, he forgot to raise his guard again. And it was then that he saw the woman he'd been wanting to find all night.
*************time shift*******************
When she walked into the interrogation room, Aaron almost fell out of his chair. Even though Abbott had confirmed that everyone at the party had been FBI, somehow he had left her completely out of the reckoning. At once he was humiliated, aroused, and very, very confused.
"Kim..."
"Agent Fischer," she corrected him, calmly. Wearing a business-like blouse and skirt, far more manageable heels, and minimal make-up and hair dressing, she seemed even sexier than before. But perhaps knowing that she was completely out-of-bounds added to the allure.
She sat down across from him, placing a folder on the table between them. His face was featured prominently on the paperwork. "So, Aaron Pulaski" she began briskly, "You were apprehended in the act of armed robbery, attempting to steal paintings from a locked vault. Your accomplice, McKay, temporarily eluded capture, only to be arrested in a warehouse full of stolen art. The art included pieces taken from the Hennigan Gallery, where John Hennigan had been gunned down." She snapped the folder shut and looked intently at the speechless prisoner. "Would you care to comment?"
Aaron stared, unable to speak or think until she began to rise. "Wait!" he sputtered. "I didn't say I wouldn't talk. But shouldn't I wait for a lawyer?
"That is your right," Agent Fischer intoned, coolly, resuming her seat. "Do you have someone in mind, or should a public defender be called?"
Once again struck dumb, Aaron marveled at the smooth sophistication of the woman who was currently reminding him emphatically how helpless he was. All the nonverbal signs which had once said welcome now said not on your life, and adding insult to injury it was plain that all her previous interest was merely part of an elaborate trap. But there was no look of triumph in her eyes. Nor was there pity. She regarded him as if waiting for an opponent to make a chess move, confident of her skill to mate the king, and not bothering to state how many moves it would take.
Aaron wondered if she had been the one controlling the game all along.
*********time shift*********
Her attire said that she was on the prowl, hunting for some fun and frolic. Which was something Aaron desperately needed. The stresses and tensions of the party so far, and his infatuation with the untouchable hostess, had scarcely been set aside, when she appeared like a shiny consolation prize. Her gaze and her body language drew him in. Talk to me, her eyes said. If I like what I hear, I'm all yours.
Oh, yeah.
Reasonable thought and behavior went right out the window. It didn't take much to catch her attention and secure her interest. A few compliments, a pick-up line to demonstrate his intentions, and it was clear that they were on the same wavelength.
When she walked away from him he had a momentary doubt. Had he misread the signs? But she sauntered in the direction of the spiraling staircase, and threw him a beckoning glance that assured him that she wanted him just as badly as he wanted her. Aaron didn't hesitate to follow.
The dark of the waiting bedroom drew him in, and he expected her to make the most of their time. Yet she pushed him back to the bed. "Hold on, tiger," she purred. Aaron's mind was befogged by drink and lust. He was barely coherent enough to ask himself why she hesitated. Maybe she liked it rough? It wasn't really his thing, but if that turned her on...
He grabbed her around the middle and pulled her in hard. Her arms, more muscular than he had thought at first, held him at a distance, her hands clutching his shoulders, and Aaron's mind could only read it as a passionate response. He was ready to make it hard and fast and physical, but he was pulled back from his overwhelming desires by a sudden flood of bright light and the loathsome voice of his host. It was like being doused in cold water.
"You know, when I said to make yourself at home, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."
Patrick stood calmly at the bedroom door, cold amusement in his crinkles of his eyes and his hard smile.
This was something of a social faux pas, Aaron knew. He mustered a barely passable apology, and listened uncomfortably as Patrick berated Kim for her lack of self-control. Evidently, the foxy lady worked for the mystery man as well. In what capacity? He couldn't help but wonder.
As she left the room, Patrick shook his head with an air of tolerant annoyance. "Anything that moves," he murmured, but his voice carried easily in the almost empty room. Aaron swallowed his frustration and fury. Pretended to take his disappointment with good grace, while wondering just how familiar Kim was with this bedroom. It was odd that their private party had been broken up so quickly, he thought. Patrick must have been watching Kim like a hawk to have stepped in so promptly. Was Patrick cheating on Teresa with their employee? And Patrick criticized Kim's judgment and self-discipline? Ohhh, he would just love to take the womanizing scumbag down a peg or two.
Angry as Aaron was, he didn't want Patrick to recognize his ill will. Avoiding the master of the house's gaze, he glanced around the room with its vibrant colors until his eyes fell on a very familiar pattern. That's not... could it be? Here? "Is that a VanGogh?" he asked, stepping closer to examine the brush strokes. Oh, yes. Yes it was. It was even a painting that he knew had been noised about on the black market since its disappearance some time ago.
"I would never have pegged you for an art lover. It's a fake." Aaron noted the flat tone, so different from blondie's usual mannerisms, which marked the statement as a lie. But he had known already that the painting was the genuine article. Patrick's blatant dishonesty only confirmed that he knew it, too.
The man was an art thief. A purveyor of stolen artifacts.
Scanning the room, Aaron saw several pieces that he knew had been stolen, and others that suggested an infamous past.
Suddenly Aaron's brain kicked into high gear, and the pieces of the intricate puzzle began to fall into place. That's where the money came from. That's why Dennis and so many others at the party were so vague about their line of work, or how they knew Patrick and Teresa, or both. It explained why Teresa would stick with slime like Patrick. There was a glamor to this business, Aaron knew that well.
And the path to vengeance was clearly marked. How easily he could get a piece of this pie, and get his own back from the mastermind of this team of crooks. His boss would commend his quick thinking and loyalty. And it might even be a good service to the women who had been drawn into Patrick's orbit. All it would take was one phone call...
*********time shift**************
"I get one phone call, right?"
Aaron tried to make his voice even and calm, like hers. He knew that he had been played for a fool, and he felt like he might shake apart from the shock of the realization. But he didn't want to shame himself. No, it was too late for that. He wanted to rise to the occasion in spite of himself.
"Your lawyer?" Agent Fischer queried, resigned but unsurprised.
"No. My sister. She's all the family I have left. She deserves to know what's happening. Right away, from me. You can call in the public defender for me. Just so I can get a good plea deal. But rest assured, I intend to talk."
Fischer allowed herself a satisfied smile. "Very wise, Mr. Pulaski."
"Before I tell you what I know, there are a few things that I'd like to know."
Fischer shook her head minutely. "I'm not at liberty to discuss..."
"Listen, you people tricked me. I'm not going to claim entrapment. I take responsibility for my own actions. But for God's sake, you messed with my head. Doesn't that entitle me to some consideration?" Aaron found that he could not be angry at Kim. Agent Fischer. Whoever she was. But his fury at his own stupidity made his voice harder, sharper, louder than he intended.
Fischer leaned forward, her calm expression replaced by a severe ferocity that was even more intimidating. "You listen, Pulaski. You held weapons on members of my team." The force of her glare made it plain that this was a major mistake. Fischer cared about her team, it seemed. Pulaski wondered if she and Teresa were friends. The woman's lip curled in contempt. "And you expect me to pity you, like you're some kind of victim?"
"No!" Aaron gritted his teeth, took a breath, and began again in a quieter voice. "No, I don't deserve pity. I deserve a good long prison term, or worse. I deserve death and hell. I put a woman in danger who had done me no harm. Out of pride and vengeance. I get no pity, not even from myself." His voice broke. It took him a moment to compose himself, avoiding Agent Fischer's eyes from shame. "But... I need mercy. Just mercy... please. I need to know that Teresa is alright."
There was a pause. "Teresa...?"
"The hostess from the party, the woman with Patrick. McKay told Staines to kill her if there was any lack of cooperation. I made sure that Staines was our third party on the job, because he's slow on the draw. It was the best I knew how to do to keep her safe. But even so, accidents can happen. Like with Hennigan." Aaron's voice was tense, strained with anxiety. He took a shuddering breath and repeated each word emphatically, "Please tell me. Is. Teresa. Okay?"
"Teresa Lisbon... Agent Lisbon, to you, is unharmed. She left with your buddy Staines before you came downstairs." The agent's face was impassive, but her voice revealed puzzlement.
Aaron relaxed. Now that he knew he was going back to prison, there was only one thing remaining that mattered to him, the most important issue to be resolved. "After I've had my phone call, I'd like to talk to her. Alone, if she'll allow it. Patrick, in particular, is not welcome."
Agent Fischer raised her eyebrows at the distaste in his voice at the mention of the consultant. "That's not for you or I to say, Mr. Pulaski."
"Oh, I'm sure Patrick won't be too happy with the idea." Aaron's grim smile was pained. "But please tell Teresa that I asked for her. If she... if she doesn't trust me to talk to me without Patrick, that's her call. But if she is willing, then Patrick won't refuse her. And neither will Dennis."
The calm woman was taken aback, but she hid it reasonably well. "I will inform Supervising Agent Abbott of your request."
Aaron took slow breaths and finally allowed his eyes to meet Agent Fischer's, making an effort not to flinch away from her steady gaze in his mortification. "Thank you."
**************time shift********************
As expected, McKay had been very interested to learn that there were unknown competitors in town. He took the address from Aaron, and directed him to leave a side door open so that he could see the bounty for himself. He was also advised to wait for McKay outside. He had to be on hand in case his muscle was required to compel the cooperation of their unwitting hosts. Aaron very much hoped that the pair would be sensible. Working over the blond guy, who was as smug and smarmy an SOB as he had ever met, would not have bothered him. It might even have felt good. But Teresa… well, hitting women in general was not something Aaron could feel right about. And if it came right down to it, he didn't know how he could live with himself if he hurt her in any way.
He could imagine now how a bright, energetic woman like her could get caught up in the excitement of their work. No doubt that was how Patrick had enticed her away from the simple, honest life that she could have led. Money alone, even with all the comforts and pleasures that it could provide, would not have tempted her. But the thrill of defying authority, of using your brain and skills to capture something beautiful and valuable, that would be hard for anyone to resist.
Aaron was certain that Teresa had come from humble beginnings. Everything from her accent to her posture evidenced pretense, and Aaron was sure that it wasn't just the secrecy of hiding their illegal activities from their high class connections. She was pretending to be rich and boring and amoral like their party crowd, but Aaron knew that Teresa was none of those things. He had no idea how she could hook up with a slick character like Patrick. But before she had met him, he felt certain, she had been a good girl that just wanted to do the right thing and be happy.
He wondered what this pretty boy had offered her to get her in bed. He wondered if she had followed him because he could give her nice things or if he had charmed her and made her feel special. Maybe she had even loved the guy. But if that was the case, she sure wasn't feeling it tonight. After she and Dennis had introduced him to Patrick, Aaron hadn't seen them together for the rest of the party.
For Teresa's sake, and a bit for Dennis', too, Aaron's conscience pained him. He felt bad about turning them in to his boss. Even though they were intruding on McKay's turf, Aaron couldn't see them as a threat. No doubt their style and their targets were different than the McKay's typical hits. And while Dennis was a fair fighter for his age, it didn't look like any of them were comfortable with firearms. The security system at their clearly temporary home indicated rather laughable naivete regarding the physical and tactical threat of serious competitors. They simply weren't on their guard, which made them completely susceptible to McKay's brand of ruthless bullying.
It was hard luck on them that they had been unaware of McKay's claim on Austin and surrounding areas. But perhaps a major setback might give Teresa a wake-up call and help her get her life back on track. Show her that pretty boy Patrick was not as smart as he seemed to think he was. A woman like that was too soft-hearted for a grim business like this one, anyway. Dennis could be invited to work with McKay. Even Kim might be tempted away. Which would leave pretty boy with nobody and nothing. Exactly what he deserved, to Aaron's way of thinking.
Yeah, taking that jerk down a peg or two might even be an act of kindness all around, and McKay was just the right sort of guy to teach that sort of lesson to a pretentious reprobate.
But while his mind was occupied with gloating over Patrick's comeuppance, his physical appetites were still clamoring for attention. Thankfully, he didn't have to moon over Teresa anymore. Nothing could come of that, even if she did leave Patrick over their ensuing disaster. She would probably hate him for ruining their art ring, and maybe she should. But it was for the best for her, too. Maybe someday she would understand this.
Meanwhile, he set his sights on Kim. She was evidently very popular with Patrick's crowd. She made the rounds, talking animatedly to everyone, and even helped Patrick clear some of the remaining food as the party wound down. It wasn't until the guests were leaving that he finally saw a chance to get some time alone with her. Unfortunately, someone else was taking her home. Just as well, Aaron admitted ruefully. Dennis was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn't exactly ask Kim to wait around until he was done backing up McKay's strong-arm tactics with her employers.
As he was getting ready to slip out and meet his boss, Teresa addressed him. "Looks like your ride ditched you," she noted. "Can I call you a cab?"
With a pang, he took a final look at her face. If he ever saw her again, would she hate him for what he was doing? Could even a soul this kind and compassionate forgive him for overturning her whole life?
I'm getting soft, he told himself as he declined her offer. A man had to do what he had to do, and regrets were no use. He only hoped that his plans ultimately would turn out for her good.
******time shift*************
It felt like hours before the door to the interrogation room opened again. But it was probably only 20 minutes or so. This time a very young agent entered. Yellow hair, like Patrick's. But not a hint of arrogance as he handed Aaron his cell phone. "Here you go, Mr. Pulaski, as requested. Jane told me to stay with you while you made the call, though. So, uh, no funny business, right?"
Aaron took the phone. He couldn't think who Jane was. He didn't like having an audience for this call, but since he couldn't remember Tabitha's number without his own phone, he had bargained to get it returned temporarily in exchange for allowing an eavesdropper.
He turned his back on the fresh faced agent. At least he could pretend that this was a private call.
It had been too long since he had talked to Tab. He hated going to her with his hand out. She had no idea of the sordid details of his current career path, but he knew that she disapproved of the company he kept. Not that she tended to preach at him, but just her voice could make him feel guilty, even when she didn't say a word about Jesus or church or the Bible or anything like that.
The phone rang only three times, long enough for Tab to check caller ID and decide to take the call, even though she was probably making dinner for her kids. "Aaron! What's up, bro? We've been missing you!" Her voice changed as she shouted over the noise on her end "Drew, Paul, be quiet, can't you? It's Uncle Ay on the phone." She spoke into the receiver again. "Hey, do you think you might be free for Independence Day this year? Sam's planning a barbecue."
Aaron winced at her excitement. If only this could be just a social call. "Hey, Dorkus," he joked, "I'm... I'm in a bit of trouble, and I knew that you'd want to know."
"What's wrong?" A new tone. Intense urgency. "You aren't hurt or anything..."
"No, no, not like that," he reassured her. Just like Tab to worry first about his safety. "I've been arrested. I'm at FBI headquarters in Austin."
"Oh, Lord...have mercy..." she whispered. "FBI? What... is anyone else hurt?" Aaron could hear an unusual quiet on the other side of the line. Tab's zoo of a household had heard her tone and fallen silent, straining to hear the details.
"Not exactly. It's a long story. But it looks like I might be going away for a while. And I wanted you to know I'm sorry for doing this to you. Again. And tell the kids never to be like Uncle Ay. And if you don't want me to write this time, I understand."
"Shut up. You're my brother." She interrupted forcefully, then continued with determination. "Where are you again? What's the address? Sam, can you Google FBI in Austin?! Hold on, Aaron, we'll be there as soon as we can." There were sounds of bustle, as Tab and her family leapt into action. Jangling car keys, the scuff of feet.
"No, don't...You don't need to be drawn into this."
"This is not up for discussion. I love you. I'll be praying. I'll see you soon." The line went dead. Aaron blinked. His eyes stung with unshed tears. Tabby never gave up on him. He'd probably get an earful, when she saw him next, but she would fight tooth and nail for him. And she'd tell him again like always that he needed to give his life to Jesus.
She meant well, he knew. But how could she possibly understand? It's so hard even to think of turning over control of everything you are to someone who has every good reason to despise you.
A gentle hand on his shoulder made him startle. The baby faced agent was standing beside him with a box of tissues. "You look like there might be something in your eye," he said, off-handedly. "Here, I'll take that back."
Aaron relinquished the phone. He couldn't speak or look the young man in the face. But he gripped his hand for just an instant in gratitude.
Then the door opened. Aaron turned to see the face of the Asian thug... well, FBI agent... who had started a fight with him at the sports bar last night. "She's decided to see him," he informed the younger man brusquely. "Jane and the boss are trying to reason with her..."
"It's alright," the young man said quietly. "He's no danger. He'll help us. What will it hurt to let him work things through however he can?"
"You want to tell Jane that?"
"Sure. I'll tell him." The angelic face turned on Aaron with a look of calm authority. "It won't be long, Mr. Pulaski. Just sit tight." And he left the room.
The other man remained with a look of sober judgment. "You don't mess with Lisbon. Understood?"
Aaron shook his head. "Never. Never again."
Thank you who were waiting, and I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you who read 8,278 words worth of story. And thanks in advance to anyone kind enough to review. I am anxious to know what you thought of this episode, for good or ill, and welcome as much detail and constructive criticism as you can spare time for. It's you readers that force me to stretch myself, and keep on plugging, and make all the hard work and perseverance worthwhile.