Hello, my little heffalumps and woozles. Got some author's notes to discuss before we get into the chapter.
This part was completely unplanned by BillAtWork and I when we outlined things. That being said, I think in a way it needed writing. It also marks the beginning of a trend where Devon, and then Ellie, really get some juicy stuff to do.
Also, I've pretty much decided to write a Sarah/Rachel centric prequel serial entitled "The Glasgow Job". I'm actually looking for someone to do story breaking with, a co-executive producer, if you will. If anyone's interested, please visit my profile and drop me a message.
And finally, just because I can, this chapter goes out to crystalelements for satisfying my curiosity. Thank you.
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CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TWO DISTINCTLY DIFFERENT CIRCUMSTANCES
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BUY MORE
BURBANK, CALIFORNIA
Jeff, Lester, Morgan, and Anna stood around the Nerd Herd desk pretending to work. They watched the chaos around them.
The floors were littered with bits of trash. The shelves were only half stocked. Angry lines of patrons gathered at the cash registers, only half of which were occupied by cashiers, despite the register lights on all being active.
Things had really gone downhill in the two weeks since Chuck disappeared.
An elderly woman approached the Nerd Herd desk, a digital photo frame in hand. "Excuse me," she said sweetly to Morgan. "Can one of you help me with this?"
Morgan turned to the woman, incredulous. "Do you not see we're talking here?"
The woman reacted, contrite. "Oh. Sorry." The woman walked away.
Morgan turned back to his coworker. "Man, this place has really gone to hell."
"Two weeks without Chuckles," Anna said. "He's the glue that holds this place together." With a pointed look at Jeff and Lester: "I'm surprised you two losers haven't managed to burn the place down."
"We resent that remark!" Jeff declared. But then, with a confused look to Lester: "We resent that remark, right?"
Lester nodded, though he did admit: "Chuck is the welcoming lighthouse in this Buy More sea of confusion."
The other three nodded solemnly. Then a tortured scream resonated from Big Mike's office. He wasn't taking Chuck's disappearance well. Every 80 minutes or so he erupted like Old Faithful. Too many responsibilities were now resting on his shoulders.
They would have expected Big Mike to be uttering obscenities, declaring he was going to fire Chuck the instant he returned to work. And for the first day or so he did. But then the nice men in suits came and talked with Big Mike...
"And you really don't know where Chucky's at?" Anna asked Morgan.
"Nope. I guess being someone's bestest bud doesn't mean what it used to." Morgan turned away. He couldn't let them see him cry.
"Well, you don't suppose..." Anna began, but didn't finish, leaving the boys in suspense.
"Suppose what?" Morgan asked.
"Well, Sarah's gone missing, too. So have Devon and Ellie. Maybe they decided to pull a double elopement."
"Gwah!" Morgan cried to the heavens. The love of his life and his best friend married, disappeared, without even telling him! Morgan threw his arms around his girlfriend and bawled into her shoulder. Anna gently rubbed circles on his back. "My life partner," he whimpered into her shoulder. "She took my life partner."
"Morgan," Anna sweetly cooed, "you know how it creeps me out when you call Chuck your life partner."
"Sorry, Anna-banana," Morgan pouted.
"Maybe Chuck killed the others, disposed their bodies in the dark, murky waters of Port of Los Angeles, then skipped down Mexico way where he's currently lounging about, drinking mojitoes, and seducing the senoritas," Jeff suggested. The others turned a strange look upon him, which Jeff naturally misread. "Senoritas means women."
"Thanks, Jeff, for that comforting alternative," Morgan said.
Jeff blinked slowly in response, first his left eye, then his right. The obvious result of fetal alcohol syndrome.
"C'mon," Anna soothingly spoke to her boyfriend. "Let's get you some grape soda on the rocks. Will that make you feel better?"
"What would really make me feel better..." His hand wandered down to her butt.
Anna mocked huffed. "If that will make you feel better." She then bellowed loudly: "Clear the break room!" She proceeded to grab Morgan's hand and haul him towards the employee break room.
After a few moments, Lester turned to Jeff: "You know, with everyone out of the apartment, we should check on Chuck's electronics. Just to make sure no one's messed with them."
"Let me call my buddy, Lyle the Fence, first. He can meet us there."
"Good thinking."
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MEANWHILE, SOMEWHERE IN LAS VEGAS...
Specifically, the hotel room where only a day earlier some very interesting events occurred.
Casey grimaced at the leopard print sheets. Grunt #2 escaped his lips.
"I feel like I need a shot of antibiotics just standing here."
Devon, meanwhile, was unperturbed. Frankly, he was grinning ear to ear. "Wow!" he declared. "This place brings back memories. Reminds me of the hotel room Ellie and I stayed at the first time we hit Vegas. Let me tell you, I may not have won at slots, but I still hit the jackpot."
Casey shuddered. "Every heard of 'TMI', frat boy?"
The grin disappeared from Devon's face and the young doctor dropped the fist he wanted Casey to pound. "You should turn that frown upside down, dude. You'll find more harmonious outcomes."
Casey glared at the younger man. Then, very slowly, he brought a single finger to his lips. Silence.
When Casey turned away to examine the room, Devon brought a single finger to his lips, imitating the agent. "Don't mock me," Casey warned him.
Devon immediately dropped the finger. "How did you--?" He was wary of any other super-senses the agent might have.
"I can see you in the mirror, dumbass."
Both men looked to the mirror above the set of dressers. Sure enough...
"Oh. I knew that."
Casey rolled his eyes. "Morons even run in the extended family."
It had taken surprisingly little work to find the hotel where Rachel and Chuck had stayed. Casey simply had to find the sort of place an off-the-grid agent might go to lay low. This place was off the main strip. It specialized in cash transactions and discretion.
Plus, the leopard skin sheets reeked of Rachel's brand of humor. Well, they reeked of other things too...
After showing the desk clerk a photo of Rachel and Chuck – and slipping him a couple twenties – the portly man showed Casey and Devon the room. After Devon warned the man about the clubbing of his fingers – a possible sign of heart disease – the man left, leaving Devon and Casey alone in the room.
"Smell that?" Casey asked.
"Be more specific?"
Casey took another sniff. "Peroxide. Either Rachel touched up her hair, or..." He ripped away the leopard sheets, revealing nothing underneath. "They took the sheets. Somebody's wounded."
A sinking feeling developed in Devon's gut. It was fear for his future bro-in-law. He really hoped it wasn't Chuck who was wounded.
Suddenly, Casey's iPhone chirped. He glanced at the phone. "Let's go, Dr. Dorian," he quipped. "There's nothing more to learn here."
"Where?" Devon asked.
"Hospital."
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A minute later, Casey and Devon exited the hotel room. They walked across the courtyard towards the former's Crown Vic.
Across the street, a man watched. As the Crown Vic drove away, he pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial.
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Forty minutes later, Casey and Devon were walking the eighth floor hall of Las Vegas Memorial Hospital.
"Why are we here?"
Casey shot him a dirty look. For a moment Devon thought he might not answer. To his surprise, Casey grunted softly before beginning his explanation.
"Old Air Force buddy of mine is now a detective here. When I learned we'd be coming to Vegas, I asked him to do some digging, see if anything strange has happened in town the last few days."
"Has there?"
Casey grunted in acknowledgement. "Two nights ago. A dive called the Over/Under was torched. Run by a real piece of work called Joey Murphy. He and a bunch of his equally skeezy counterparts got shot up before the joint went up in flames. From what my buddy says, Murphy claims it was the work of, as he put it, The Bitch From Hell."
"And you think it's Rachel."
"He wouldn't be the first to call her that."
Just then, a detective approached the pair. Mike Ellis. About Casey's age and height. Maybe ten or so pounds heavier. But he had a look in his eye. That of an old soldier. A kindred spirit to Casey.
"Hey Mike," Casey smiled genuinely, clasping his old colleague's hand in a hearty shake.
"Johnny, what you been up to?" Mike smiled in return.
"Oh, you know. I could tell you..."
"But you'd have to beat, waterboard, then kill me," Mike finished. The old soldiers laughed at the joke.
"Put on a few pounds since leaving the Air Force," Casey joked.
"Hey, I'm a civilian now. And a Lieutenant. I can afford to pack on a few pounds." He glanced over to Devon. "Who's the frat boy?"
"Eh, some stiff along for the ride. What you got for me, Mike?"
Mike indicated for the duo to follow him down the hall. "Joey Murphy, the slimy bastard. Know him?"
"By rep, vaguely."
"Yeah, well, he's got a certain unsavory rep in these parts. Which makes what happened two nights ago... poetic."
"You sound heartbroken," Casey grinned.
"It's a blow, but somehow I've found the strength to go on," Mike dryly retorted. "Anywho, the bastard's been whining non-stop. I mean seriously, one bullet wound and a few bruises and he's crying every ten minutes for painkillers."
"Wuss," Casey agreed.
"Now beyond the Bitch From Hell comment, old Joey's said squat. Of course, I'm only a Vegas badge. He might have more to say to an NSA agent."
As they reached Joey's room, Mike turned a glance to his friend.
"So what does an NSA agent want with our favorite local bookie?" Casey simply quirked a brow. "Yeah, yeah," Mike said. "Beat, waterboard, kill. Gotcha." Mike patted his old friend's shoulder. "See ya around, John." The man walked away a few steps, then turned back. "You should drop into town on a Thursday night. Some of my cop buddies put on a poker game. We'll deal you in."
"Yeah, I'll drop by sometime."
"And Casey... try not to leave any bruises."
Casey smiled that sinister smile. No promises. "Frat boy," he said to Devon. "Why don't you grab some coffee?"
Casey entered Joey's room, explicitly barring Devon entrance.
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"Who are you?" Joey fearfully asked as the very large man entered his room.
"My name's John," Casey cheerfully informed. He proceeded to draw a full hypodermic syringe from his jacket pocket. "And I'll be your doctor today. Now open wide and say ah."
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Four minutes later, Casey exited Joey's room. "Hope you packed some sunscreen," he told Devon. "We're going to Miami."
As Casey walked off, Devon spared a glance at Joey's room. He wasn't sure how Casey got the information so quickly. What he was sure of was that he didn't want to know.
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A few minutes later, Casey and Devon stepped out the elevator into the parking garage. Being the middle of the day, the garage was packed to near capacity. And despite it being midday, the garage was cloaked in shadows... which instinctively put Casey on alert.
As they slowly walked to their car, Casey turned to Devon and asked, "You know any fighting skills? Self-defense?"
"Dude, you're talking to a jiu-jitsu blackbelt. Plus, I did the Golden Gloves thing back in college," Devon said proudly.
"Bully for you," Casey said, wholly unimpressed. Sizing Devon up, he reached a sad conclusion. "Hell. I guess you're all I got."
"Got for what?"
"To beat off the guys who are about to come at us."
Devon's head immediately went on a swivel. "What guys?" he asked in alarm.
"Probably Murphy's goons," Casey answered. Then, louder he bellowed, "Or do you boys prefer lackeys?"
"Actually," a voice sounded from the darkness, "I always liked henchmen." A man stepped from the shadows, a wry grin on his face. "Then again, I'm old fashioned." Five other figures appeared, encircling Casey and Devon. "Please, deposit your weapon on the ground."
Casey nodded, expecting the request. He lifted up his shirt and removed the pistol tucked into his jeans. As Casey tossed the weapon away, the lead henchman said:
"I imagine you know why we're here."
"Because somebody's gotta pay," Casey ventured.
"Because somebody's gotta pay," the henchman agreed. "Plus, Mr. Murphy believes Miss Roe might just roll back into town if she knows we captured her good friend John Casey."
"Jeez," Casey muttered to himself. "Do they post our names on a forum now?" Louder, he asked, "So, you got orders to simply take us in, or you supposed to work us over first?"
"Oh, we're supposed to work you over, certainly. But as for the whelp," the henchman said, nodding at Devon, "I have no clue who he is. And since we don't really need him, and I can't very well leave witnesses, I guess he just has to die."
Casey scratched at his head, contemplating this. "In theory I'm all for that. The boy just irks me."
"Hey!" Devon exclaimed.
Casey shrugged, making no apologies. "But thing is, I can't really let you kill him. If for no other reason than it'd be a pile of paperwork for me to do."
The henchman nodded. It was a fair point. "Well, I don't suppose it will hurt to let him live a bit longer. My guys are itching for a fight, isn't that right?" The other henchmen nodded in agreement. "And two heads to smash are better than one."
"I've always thought so," Casey agreed. "So, we fight now?"
Lead Henchman shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it atop the hood of a nearby Mustang. "I'm good to go. Guys?" The other baddies nodded their agreement.
"Uh, John..." Devon started anxiously.
"No sweat, kid," Casey assured. "You take the two on the left, I take the four on the right."
"Okay, I think we're ready," the Henchman said. An instant later, the fight began.
Murphy's lackeys rushed the other two men. In an instant, one of the baddies went down with a shattered nose as Casey landed a vicious roundhouse punch. Another tried to grab the burly agent from behind. Casey flipped him over his shoulder and delivered a harsh boot to his gut before Lead and another lackey pounced upon him.
The other two lackeys jumped on Devon. One grabbed the doctor from behind to hold him steady for the other. Before the other man could strike, Devon lashed out with both feet and delivered a hard shot to the sternum. He then snapped his head back, driving the back of his skull into the man's nose.
Momentarily free, Devon turned to check on John's status. Wide eyed, he saw that John had the Lead Henchman in a headlock and was delivering a series of vicious shots to his skull. Then, his right leg extended high into the air, he had another lackey pinned against a concrete pillar, his boot in the man's throat, choking him. The two other lackeys were still laid out on the ground.
"Wow," Devon said. "Amazing dexterity."
He didn't see that the man he'd booted earlier had recovered. The man charged Devon, slamming into the doctor and driving him atop the hood of a Chevy Malibu.
The man's hands went to Devon's throat, choking him. Devon responded by slamming the heels of his hands into the man's ears. Suddenly free, he slid off the car hood. The man he'd headbutted was struggling to his feet. Up to a knee, the man suddenly received a boot to the face, drawing even more blood from his broken nose. And in a fluid motion, Devon clocked the other man with a right hook to the jaw. The man spun and cracked his head against the Malibu's hood.
Looking back to Casey, he saw the three supporting lackeys on the ground, each flirting with unconsciousness. He had Lead Henchmen pressed against the concrete pillar and was driving heavy fists into the man's gut. Finally bored with this, Casey cracked the man across the jaw, knocking him out.
The NSA Agent wore a happy smile as he approached Devon. Obviously relishing a fight. "You okay, kid?" he asked. Devon nodded as he tried to catch his breath. Getting into a brawl in a parking garage was so much more exhausting than biking 20 miles.
Casey surveyed the damage Devon had inflicted, then checked over the doctor. "Look at you. Two knuckleheads down, barely a scratch on you. You might prove useful yet."
"Thanks. I think."
Casey patted the doctor roughly on the shoulder and offered an almost friendly grunt. It was as much affection as he would ever show. He grabbed his pistol and tucked it back into his jeans. "C'mon, kid," he said. "We gotta go. There's a long drive ahead of us."
END PART