Chapter Five
Ziva showed up and checked in at the front desk of the Grand Hyatt at Grand Central Terminal. After being given a key card she headed to her room. She was surprised that they were being put up in such a luxurious hotel, but as she checked out her surroundings she realized it has tactical advantages. Within minutes they could lose themselves in the heart of Grand Central with its crowd and a variety of commuter and subway trains to take them away if need be.
Arriving at her room she let herself having refused a bellhop. Within moments of putting her bags down in a room, which she would have thought romantic if she was there with Tony, there was a knock on the door. Ziva pulled her Jericho, having left her Sig Sauer in DC, and checked who it. Malachi and Michael Rivkin were on the other side of the door. She let them into her room.
"Ziva," Malachi said as she entered.
Michael looked at the California King bed and smirked: "Ziva, do you need help in breaking in the bed?"
"Don't remind me of past mistakes, Michael," she hissed.
Malachi looked over at the Michael, who was darkly handsome and charming at times yet not his favorite officer to work with. He thought Michael was too undisciplined and willing to take short cuts. The fact he was on this mission was because he was willing to do anything Deputy Director David asked.
"Malachi, how do you want to get started on this?" asked Ziva.
"I am going to talk to a friend of mine at Interpol, who knows something about the Mafia in New York," said Malachi. "I'll get us some background intel to work from her on these Dons."
"How fucking pretentious these Mafiosos are," Michael chuckled. "They call themselves Dons and Godfathers and Capos. Little boys playing grown up games. I can't believe that we have to deal with these insignificants."
"Careful, Michael, and don't underestimate these people. They are dangerous. You might find yourself," Malachi paused to smile, "whacked."
"I shall start sniffing around for some information that may help us," said Ziva.
"And I will tag along with one of you, Ziva," Michael. "I enjoy protecting your backside."
"Not with me. I work alone," Ziva stated then she walked over to the window and look down on forty-second Street.
Tony was somewhere in the city and she wanted to find him before too much more time passed. She had to figure out a way to protect him from Michael and her father.
"You used to enjoy my company very much, Ziva," said Michael.
"You were right to use the past tense, Michael," she said coldly. "I was younger and stupid."
Michael's eyes narrowed in jealousy at her words, which Malachi noticed.
"Michael, go explore the city. I will call you when I have information to share," said Malachi.
"If I must go then I must go," he said then left Ziva's room.
Malachi faced Ziva: "He was your father's choice not mine, Ziva."
"My father would like to see me in a relationship with him again," said Ziva. "He likes Michael. He was happy when I was with Michael."
"I never understood that," he said. "Why did you ever have a relationship with him?"
"In hindsight, I don't understand it either," Ziva smiled. "Call it the undue influence of my father."
"So, what do you think of these five Families?" asked Malachi.
"They have been responsible for great moments of bloodshed in American history. From what I've read they can be quiet capable at what they do, which is make money, break laws, and kill," said Ziva.
"I agree," Malachi said.
"We have to be careful," Ziva said.
"Your friend Agent DiNozzo, he knows a great deal about them, doesn't he?" said Malachi.
"I assume so otherwise they wouldn't have made him co-lead on the Task Force," she said.
"Your father wants him dead. I think this silly and potentially dangerous," Malachi said. "It would be better if we talked to him, got information from him. Kill him and there will be an investigation."
"Gibbs will investigate and he will not stop until he finds the truth and I will…," she stopped.
I will help him. If anything happens to Tony then I will help Gibbs take my father down, she thought.
"I would like to see that Agent DiNozzo gets through this alive, Ziva," Malachi told her. "I have no grudge against him. As a matter of fact I think it is important that this DiNozzo lives."
"Why?" she asked.
Experience and years of Mossad training had taught not to trust. Her few years at NCIS she started to trust, started to believe that there were people you could count on no matter what happened, but Malachi wasn't NCIS. He was Kidon; he was Mossad. Yes, she was growing weary of Mossad.
"Because your father fears losing you to this Italian American Mafia prince. He is hoping that the Family that sold the weapons is the Genovese so he can kill off the Dinozzo clan, including the innocent federal agent who is fucking his daughter," said Malachi. "You are your father's blind spot. He'd rather sacrifice you than lose you."
"I do not believe what you are saying," she spat.
"Michael was forced on me because he is jealous of this Agent DiNozzo. He wants an excuse to kill him. I want to do my job efficiently and make sure that Mossad leaves no traces," said Malachi. "DiNozzo, your DiNozzo, dies then our fucking fingerprints will be all over this. Your father will be pushed out of office again and Israel will be weakened because of it. I won't allow that."
"I did not know you were such a patriot," Ziva said sarcastically.
"Just because of have acted with the cynicism of an assassin it doesn't mean I'm not an idealist, Ziva. I am. I will protect Israel and I will protect Eli from himself," said Malachi.
"I will give you my support, Malachi, until you prove a liar or a fool," said Ziva.
"Good enough," he said.
"They we have an agreement," she said and he nodded.
"Check around, do what you think best, and then check with your boyfriend. He may have information which can help us," said Malachi.
"Keep Michael away from him," said Ziva.
"I'll do the best I can. But remember that he is not really taking orders from me," he said then left her alone in her bedroom.
Ziva sat down on the bed. She was her father's blind spot. He either wanted her under his thumb or sacrifice. She didn't want to believe what Malachi said but it sounded like the truth. And he needed her. No, he probably wasn't lying.
She needed to see Tony, to touch him, and to talk to him. Gibbs, McGee, Ducky, Abby, Jenny, and especially Tony, she trusted them. Yes, she needed Tony right now. Yet, how much could she tell him before he saw her for the tool of the state she was. Would he listen to the truth and see her differently? Would he see her as a spy, an assassin, the sharp point of the spare that her father loved to wield?
NCIS
After dealing with the New York police Tony needed to vent. He left Fornell to begin the legitimate part of the investigation. Mullen being his temporary partner convinced him to go into the heart of the Westies territory to find out about their allegiance with Tommy Scalia. Tony met Mullen in the lobby.
"Thank God, jeans, shirt, and a leather jacket. I was afraid you were going to dress for your people not mine," laughed Mullen, who also wore jeans and a leather jacket.
"Believe it or not I think I have some Irish blood on my mother's side. Here name was Paddington," he said.
"Like Paddington fucking Bear," Mullen laughed.
"Yeah, like Paddington Bear," smiled Tony.
"We ate well with your people. With mine we should drink well," Mullen said.
Most of Hell's Kitchen had been partially gentrified or one racial group had replaced another, Latin Americans replaced the Irish. Yet, there were still a few spots for the latest incarnation of the Westies called their own. In this case it was a Blarney Stone on Tenth Avenue between 51st Street and 52nd Street.
The first thing Tony noticed when he entered was the smell of stale liquor and illegally smoked cigarettes. Mullen sized up the bar and immediately found the man he was looking for. He was sitting at a corner table with four men who looked to be linebackers for the New York Giants. The man had balding blonde hair and looked like he was a boxer at one stage with a thrice broken nose and scarred eyebrows. Eddie Collins viewed himself as the latest Celtic chieftain leading the Westies. Mullen he knew kind well; the Celtic warrior king. His own father liked to think himself another Brian Boru.
Mullen and Tony walked up to the table. The four linebackers were nursing beers, while Collins was having an Irish whiskey on the rocks. He looked at them like they were something he stepped in on his way to the bar.
"Eddie Collins, I heard you eat the scrapes off some Wops table," Mullen grinned.
He was combative and sometimes obnoxious, but Mullen was really growing on Tony.
"Who the fuck are you?" Collins asked.
"Special Agent Patrick Mullen and this is Special Agent Anthony DiNutso," Mullen said using the Italian pronunciation of DiNozzo.
"DiNutso, you related to The Butcher?" asked Collins.
"Uncle," said Tony.
"And you're a fed. How the fucking greasy have fallen?" laughed Collins.
His men laughed along with him.
"Look, Tony, this is what happens when the Irish inbreed," Mullen as he gestured at the table.
One of the linebackers got up from his chair to take down Mullen, but was met with a right quick elbow to the jaw and a left hook to the temple. He went wobbly legged then Mullen gave him a solid push and the linebacker fell into and out of his chair.
"Paddy Mullen from South Boston, you related to him?" asked Collins.
"Father," said Mullen.
"Yeah, you look like him. I saw him once in action with a I was twenty and spent a summer with living with a cousin in Southie," said Collins. "Father died… what is it… ten years now."
"Ten years," said Mullen.
"You three," Collins looked at his men, "pick up the overgrown pussy and drag him out back and leave him there."
"Sure, boss," said one of his men.
The got up and dragged the one Mullen knocked out away.
"You two sit down," Collins said then he looked at the bartender. "Jamey, bring a bottle of Jameson's and two glasses. We are going to do some serious drinking and talking here."
"Got it, boss," the bartender yelled in return.
For the next two hours they drank and talked. The bottle of Jameson's was emptied and replaced with another one was put on the table as a replacement.
"Do you ever fucking eat?" asked Tony feeling a little more drunk than he wanted to be.
"Get all the nutrients necessary in Irish whiskey," Collins said.
"I'm hammered," said Mullen.
"Listen, I've enjoyed our conversation and I'm glad you warned me about Tommy Scalia but I really don't give a flying fuck how you think I should run the business," smiled Collins.
"You're going to have your boys kick the shit out of us now to give us a lesson in manners, aren't you?" asked Tony.
Collins smiled deepened. He nodded towards some men at the bar.
"And you're going to use the excuse that we were two drunk feds and causing trouble, so you don't get into trouble," said Mullen.
"Not as dumb as you look," he laughed.
Mullen was up like a shot. He grabbed the front of his shirt with his left hand and started throwing hard right hands into his face doing as much damaged as he could in a short period of time. Mullen wanted to make sure Collins' remembered them.
Tony got up and noticed that six large men with potato faces were coming his way. He grabbed the chair he was sitting on and threw it at them, hitting one in the shins and taking him down. Knowing that it was impossible to avoid a beating in this situation, he decided to take them fight to them. He grabbed another chair and tossed it at them then ran and tackled two of them. His old football coach would have been thrilled to see that this the one-time quarterback still remembered how to tackle. In high school he played quarterback and safety. This was the tackle of a safety not a quarterback.
Mullen let the bloody faced Collins go and turned to see Tony struggle to get back up as two men were kicking him to keep him down. He grabbed the half full bottle of Irish whiskey like it was a club, walked over to one of them and crashed the bottle upside his head. The man screamed in pain and grabbed hold of his bloody ear. Mullen then proceeded to get into an exchange of punches with the other man.
The fight went on for about three more minutes, which was an eternity in barroom brawls. Finally, Tony was able to drew his sidearm and fire it at the large, long mirror behind the bar shattering it and scaring the shit of the bartender. The fight stopped. A blood faced Collins looked at the damage done and laughed.
"Not a bad showing by you two," he said.
What was meant to have been a one sided beating had turned into both sides looking worse for wear.
"Fuck you," said Mullen.
"I'm paying you a compliment," chuckled Collins. "Get out before we finish this fight ."
"Let's go, PJ," said Tony.
Tony didn't know what he looked like but Mullen had a bruised jaw, a nasty cut above his right eye, a bloody lip, and red and raw knuckles. Those were the visible signs of a fight. He could only guess at the black and blue marks over his body and potential damaged ribs.
"When we take down Scalia, I guess I see you again," said Mullen to Collins.
"You got a lot of your father in you, kid. Too bad you wasted it as a fed," said Collins.
Tony and Mullen stumbled out of the bar. It was seven in the evening and dusk had embraced the city. They attempted to wave down cabs, since they had taken one there. The two men used each other to support each other, as they waved at yellow cab after yellow cab. Finally, a cab with a Jamaican driver stopped for them.
"Ah, you two look bush," said the driver.
Tony looked at his hack license for a name.
"Laurence, Chelsea Hotel, please," he said.
"You a bit beat up and frass," Laurence said.
"We just got our asses kicked," Mullen growled.
"We did okay, PJ," said Tony.
"I hate losing a fight," hissed Mullen.
"Breathe easy, mon," said Laurence. "Any fight you can walk away from is tun up. How many men were there?"
"Six or seven," said Tony. "It was hard to tell after a while, too many fists and boots. The whole bar was sort of against us."
"You two should be swaggerific," laughed Laurence.
Laurence pulled up in front of the Chelsea. Tony pulled out a fifty and handed it to him through the security barrier.
"Keep the change," he said.
"To di worl, mon," Laurence smiled.
The two federal officers limped into the lobby of the Chelsea Hotel. Guests and long term residents alike stared at them. They managed to ignore the looks and made their way to the small elevator instead of the spiral staircase. Getting on the elevator they scared people from taking it with them.
Tony pressed five and the elevator jerked into motion.
"I wish we brought a bottle of whiskey with us," said Mullen. "I think alcohol poisoning would be a good idea tonight."
"I wish Ziva was here," mumbled Tony.
"Ziva?" he asked.
"Female friend," said Tony.
"Is she hot?" smiled Mullen then he quickly grimaced because it caused him pain.
"She's… she's something," Tony smiled then found himself grimacing in pain.
The elevator door opened and Fornell was standing there with Special Agent Angela Manetti and Stabile. When he saw the condition of the two federal agents his face became a mask of annoyance.
"What the hell happened to you two?" he barked.
"Westies," said Mullen.
"Jesus," he sighed. "You two take Mullen to his place and get him cleaned up and I'll take DiNozzo."
Stabile and Manetti grabbed Mullen, who smiled at Angela.
"Are you going to be my angel?" he said.
"Shut up, PJ, or I'll hurt you," she said.
"I might like that," he said and she slapped his ass.
Fornell helped Tony.
"Those two remind me of you and Officer David," said Fornell.
"Yeah, well, Ziva can kill ma'am me with a paperclip. I like playing with fire," he said.
"What happened?" asked Fornell, as he let them into Tony's room.
"Eddie Collins, the head of the new Westies, got us drunk then decided to teach us a lesson about telling him what to do," said Tony.
Fornell lowered him onto the bed.
"So Scalia and him are in bed together," said Fornell.
"Oh, yeah, they are," he said.
Fornell went into the bathroom dampened a towel with warm water then came in and gave it to Tony, who started to clean up his bloody face.
"This is going to get nastier, isn't it?" said Fornell.
"If the Westies are working with Scalia, oh, yeah," Tony said.
"You hear from your uncle yet?" asked Fornell.
"Not yet, but I expect to. Unlike my father, he doesn't want me dead. He actually like me for some reason," said Tony.
"You live a complicated life, DiNozzo," said Fornell.
"Oh, you have no idea, Fornell," Tony laughed.
"Do me a favor and try and not get maimed or killed otherwise I'll never hear the end of it from Gibbs. He likes you for some reason," said Fornell.
"The boss doesn't like me; he is used to me being around," said Tony.
Fornell smiled. He wondered if Tony didn't really see the truth that Gibbs thought of him as a son. The man was overprotective of him on some levels.
"You need anything?" asked Fornell.
"Sleep."
"I'll let you get it," said Fornell, who then left him alone.
Tony lay on the bed wishing Ziva was there to take care of him. On the whole he liked, if not preferred, the way Gibbs took care of him over the over nursing of Abby and over concern of Ducky. Gibbs growled at him, lectured him then made sure he was alright and stayed until he was sure that Tony was alright.
Yet, he had grown used to Ziva's concern for him. He let her past some of his walls and defenses. When she showed concern for him it didn't make him feel uncomfortable; it made him feel wanted because he knew that she wasn't one to like fussing or attention, either. He missed his ninja.
NCIS
Ziva had found out where Tony was staying. She found where the Task Force was headquartered at 26 federal Plaza. Waiting for Fornell to show himself, she followed him back to the Chelsea Hotel then waited across the street the doorway of a YMCA for Tony to show up. When he did show up beaten up with another agent, her heart started to beat more rapidly. She followed them into the hotel and watched as they got on the elevator then she watched as the elevator stopped on the fifth floor.
Staying in the shadows she waited several hours before she asked for Tony Dinozzo at the front desk and got a room number. Taking the spiral staircase up to the fifth floor, she picked the lock of his door and entered the room. He was sound asleep in his clothes and with the light on. She needed to know that he was alright. It was a strange compulsion that she felt for him and no one else. As she got close to him, she smiled as she smelled the whiskey on him. He was not waking up any time soon.
Taking the damp towel out of his hand, she cleaned his face some more then kissed his forehead. Carefully, she unbuttoned his bloody chambray shirt. When she had finished she saw the welts and bruises on his ribcage and abdomen and a flash of anger passed through her. She suddenly wanted to hurt those who hurt Tony.
"Ziva," he mumbled in his sleep.
The anger passed quickly, as she thought of him dreaming of her. Part of her wanted her to stay there the night in bed with him, so she could take care of him in the morning. But she knew it was time yet to speak to him. She needed to do a few things on her own before that. Kissing his forehead, she got up and regretfully slipped out of the room.