Slight crossover with CSI: Miami (no prior knowledge necessary)
Part II
Chapter Eight:
~Two weeks later~
Wo Fat has not smiled since he woke up in police custody. He's been cleared for prison again, and even his lawyer is pushing for him to be in solitary confinement.
This time he's got Governor Jameson's death, Jeannette Dawson's death, and the kidnapping, rape, and attempted murder of Steve McGarrett hanging over his head. The unlawful imprisonment of Joe White is laughable. And, yet, Wo Fat does not laugh. He sees no amusement in his predicament. He had cleared all the scenes of evidence against himself, except that last safe house, but still his interrogators have revealed unnamed sources pointing fingers at him.
His outside source, a more reliable one than Jeannette, tells him McGarrett is still in intensive care at Queens Medical Center. There's a twenty-four hour guard on the door, and all the visitors have to be known by hospital and guard staff, and even after that, visitors can be turned away by either Detective Williams or Mary McGarrett.
Wo Fat's source is not on anyone's list.
A guard walks by, glancing in to see if he's still in the cell. In fact, in addition to not smiling, he hasn't moved aside from the mandatory steps of prison life.
When he gets out of here, Steve McGarrett will die.
Of that, there is no doubt. Steven J. McGarrett must expire if Wo Fat is to continue living in this world.
"Visitor," another guard hits the bars to get his attention. It does not work. At least, the guard thinks it didn't, as he hits the bars again. It isn't until the guard shrugs and starts to turn away that Wo Fat stands up from his bunk and assumes one of the various positions they are always told to perform when a guard opens their doors.
Wo Fat thinks about killing this guard, a scrawny kid nearly twenty years younger. But, even as he prepares himself to jump, to reach forward and break the kid's neck, a glint from the balcony above his cell block checks him.
While the guards aren't allowed live ammunition, their rubber bullets sting, and sometimes stun. It's a chance Wo Fat cannot take right now, so he settles back into his robot-like movements, keeping his muscles tense, head up, eyes straight, no acknowledgement of the guards or other prisoners.
The kid leads him to the room his lawyer always meets him in, the glass between them is cloudy, and Wo Fat sees red streaks near the top.
So that's why they were in lockdown this morning. One of the inmates attempted to kill his visitor.
His lawyer does not look nervous to be sitting so close to a scene of carnage. In fact, his lawyer looks happy.
"I've convinced the judge to dismiss the eye witness testimony against you."
"Really," Wo Fat says. That means they don't have anything to tie him to Jeanette Dawson's murder.
"Unfortunately," his lawyer, Michael Cusac, says, now uncomfortable, "the fire was interrupted before all the evidence was destroyed. They know you had McGarrett there. They are looking for evidence linking Dawson's death to McGarrett's time there."
Wo Fat digests this new information. He can't prove himself innocent, but perhaps he still has the influence needed to make all of this disappear. A few well-planned deaths should do the trick.
Cusac rambles on about appeals that he knows he can't beat, so he tones him out, starts thinking of whom to send after Five-Oh's favorite lab technician. McGarrett is too well-guarded for now, but his partner, Danny Williams and Williams' daughter are both exposed enough.
"Paper," he demands of Cusac, who obediently takes a fresh sheet of legal paper and pen. Wo Fat dictates a set of specific instructions that seem far less menacing than they are. Dry cleaning and a short foodstuffs list, along with a request for a change of address. His lawyer does not look puzzled, despite the randomness of the instructions. He certainly knows by now that he's carrying an encrypted message ordering a dastardly deed.
"I will see you in two days for the dismissal of the eyewitness."
Wo Fat is immediately gathered by the guard, the same scrawny kid, and taken back to his cell. Shortly after he settles on the bed, another guard brings him lunch. Ever since he started a riot simply by being marched into the cafeteria for food, the guards kept him separate. Another reason to continue the track for solitary confinement.
He doesn't mind; it gives him more time to plan his escape and continue dismantling the cases against him without having to watch his back constantly.
The food, a grilled chicken sandwich with canned potatoes and green beans, is unappetizing as ever, but it is nourishment, and so he eats it.
After a guard collects the tray and plastic utensils, Wo Fat takes a piss. His day is almost done now. All he has to do is wait until lights out and then sleep until first count.
So much time put to use. His brain never shuts off, and he makes sure it never will. No one can make it into his cell without his knowing it.
He settles back on the bed and thinks of the ways he will kill Steve McGarrett after eliminating all the people McGarrett loves.
Finally, Wo Fat smiles.
ooOoo
Danny wakes up with a hand over his mouth and someone holding him down. He still fights, bucking and twisting, even as a third person joins the others. They pin his legs first, aan overweight assailant sitting on them while the other two pull his arms away from his body.
There is no light, aside from the nightlight Grace insisted he have, but it's enough for Danny to see the hypodermic needle in one guy's hand.
Danny's glad of only one thing as he fails to move away from the sharp object aimed at his neck: it's not his turn to have Grace. His baby girl is safe at her mother's house instead of here with him where she could be abducted or worse.
Whatever was in the syringe burns as it spreads through his veins, and the light blurs as tears fill his eyes. Why is he crying? Maybe the pain? Maybe the thought of never seeing his daughter again? Or, maybe it's a combination of the two.
Either way, he sobs once before the stuff finally, finally knocks him out.
ooOoo
Charlie Fong sets the table for one. He's made a delicious traditional luau meal, minus the whole roasted pig, but he hasn't got anyone to share it with. Kono Kalakaua is the obvious choice, and if Charlie is honest with himself, still a liked possibility, but tonight is not an abnormal night. So, Charlie puts on some music, slow dances by himself, and tucks into a meal that is every bit as delicious as a traditional luau feast.
Leftovers are quickly stored, dishes are done, and Charlie dances again, this time with the broom, as he sweeps his kitchen.
Later, after a nice shower, he settles in bed with a book on new DNA procedures. There is a conference in Miami, and one of the authors of this book is going to be speaking. If Charlie can convince his superiors of the necessity of this seminar, he fully intends to meet Natalia Boa Vista.
As it is, he needs to appear well-versed in enough of the new procedures that training would be beneficial. Boa Vista is an excellent author, and Charlie finishes the first few chapters of her section before his self-imposed lights out at 10:00 p.m.
He settles, curling on his left side with the blanket, a thin sheet really, wrapped tightly around his body. Sleep comes quickly as he dreams of talking to Ms. Boa Vista and of learning how to process DNA more effectively.
Sometime in the night, he awakens. He can't find his clock, even after running his hand over the bedside table where it's usually located. Alarmed, he climbs out of bed, quietly pulling an aluminum bat from beneath the bed.
Brandishing it, he slips through the hall, his thick carpet making his footfalls absolutely silent. At the foot of the stairs, he flips the switch to turn on the overhead, unsurprised when it doesn't work.
A streetlight outside his home provides enough illumination for him to see a figure clothed in black, with a mask over his face, creeping along the wall. Before the man, a gun already in his hand, can react, Charlie swings the bat, knocking the intruder, and, more importantly, the gun down.
The man climbs to his feet, and Charlie switches the bat with the gun. He points it at the man, one hand holding it steady. Seemingly unhurried, the intruder draws another gun from his person. Charlie pulls the trigger but nothing happens.
The man laughs quietly, cocking his new gun and aiming at Charlie. Charlie throws the gun he's holding at him, dropping to one knee to find the baseball bat again. He swings from his lowered position, catching the side of the man's leg with a solid hit just as the gun goes off. The man screams in pain, while Charlie whispers a thank you to his ancestors for protecting him.
He strikes the man again, this time on the wrist of the hand that is still holding the gun. It's a small caliber, Charlie notes as he nudges it away from the man. He grabs the mask and rips it off. He doesn't recognize the hard face of the kama'aina in his living room.
"Well, you made a mistake, didn't you?" Charlie says, finding some climbing rope he'd left in a corner from the last time he'd done endurance training. He secures the man to a chair, and then he locates his cell phone. His first call is to HPD. His second is to Detective Williams.
Danny answers on the third ring with a sharp, "What?"
"Someone just tried to kill me," Charlie says, hurt that Danny's already mad. "I got him secured, and HPD is on its way. Just thought you'd like to know."
"I, uh, I appreciate your call," Danny says, gentler now. "Please call Kono or Chin. I've got my own work right now. Have a good morning." He hangs up before Charlie can say anything else.
"Good morning to you too," he grumbles, but he does call Kono and Chin, both of them already on their way to his place to help him with the intruder. Charlie sits on the couch, facing the man still tied to the chair, waiting for relief.
ooOoo
Chin taps a button on the phone trace generator. Fong had sounded so…Fong when he'd called Kono to tell her about his conversation with Danny. Kono felt something was wrong, and she usually has great instinct, so Chin sets up a trace on Steve's hospital phone while Kono distracts Mary, and Kamekona mutes a late night/early morning infomercial.
Steve watches Chin closely. He still doesn't remember the last week he's been awake because of his concussion (or because of the nature of his injuries, doctors are unhelpful information-givers when they're trying to protect patient privacy), but he trusts Chin, even when Chin shoves a script under his nose. Steve practices quietly, voice tripping over a few syllables before catching on a cadence Chin likes.
He presses another button, and then dials Danny's number. When Danny answers, Steve plays his part perfectly. Danny sounds exhausted and hurt, but, and it pains Chin so much to do it, as soon as he has Danny's location, he terminates the call.
Steve doesn't move and doesn't put the phone down. Kamekona turns on the volume, and Mary, tailed by Kono, returns.
Chin leaves the room, Kono on his heels now, before Mary can yell at him for breaking her brother.
He's already got his phone out, onto the next stage. "Hey, Duke," he says, "we've got him."
ooOoo
Danny huddles against the wall, glad that, for the moment, the men are more interested in eating than in beating him.
The chains on his wrists are chaffing, as is the iron collar wrapped around his neck. So far, he has several bruised ribs, a split lip, a black eye, two loose teeth, and an almost irresistible urge to piss.
One of the men, a chubby fellow who looks as freaked out about torturing a cop as Danny is about being the tortured cop, and the one who sat on his legs when he was injected with that god-awful drug, approaches him with a pastry in the palm of his hand.
"I can't eat it," Danny says thickly, trying not to displace the loose teeth with his tongue.
"Don't bite me, brah," the guy replies, holding the pastry gingerly between two fingers.
"I told you," Danny growls, "I can't eat it. My teeth are hanging in by a thread and anything, even talking could dislodge them. I won't risk doing that. Not when I need all my teeth for my charming smile."
"Whatever, brah." The guy goes back to the others.
"He bothering you, Junior?" the leader, a thick-headed ruffian, says, already on his feet, heading toward Danny, who hunches down as best he can.
"No, brah," Junior says, stuffing the pastry in his own mouth so he has two sticky hands to grab at the leader. "He ain't bothering me n'tall."
"Well he's bothering me." Ruffian grins as he shakes Junior off.
"Please, please, you do not want to do this," Danny says, twisting one way and then the other as much as his restraints will let him. "You can let me go, and I won't press charges. You really don't want to do this." Ruffian drops to his knees and grabs Danny's chin. With his other hand, he flips open a blade. He uses the tip to trace the curve of Danny's cheek, down to the collar. Then, he lowers his other hand until it is resting just above the collar.
"Stop talking," he orders, digging the blade in a little, just until Danny can feel a drop of blood roll down his neck.
"Okay," Danny breathes, falls silent. The knife runs over the collar, metal scraping metal that has Danny wincing, and lowers to his collarbone.
"Inhale," Ruffian orders. "Exhale. Inhale. Exhale." The other four men, including Junior gather around them, and they breathe on command too. "Inhale. Exhale. Inhale." Danny sucks in a breath. "Exhale." He lets it out, and as he does, the blade angles in and plunges deep into his shoulder. He chokes on his exhale, tears coming to his eyes.
"That's the way," Ruffian soothes him as he manages a few hitching breaths. "That's good." Then he draws out the knife, angling it again, and stabbing it back into Danny's shoulder.
"Bastard," Danny spits out amidst the pain of his flesh tearing. Ruffian-Bastard just laughs.
Danny's phone rings again. He'd almost forgotten Fong's call—the reason for his loose teeth. Now, it seems someone else requires something. He could have told Ruffian-Bastard and his crew that kidnapping a cop was a really bad idea, but they didn't like listening to him. Ruffian-Bastard puts the call on speakerphone and holds it near enough that Danny can see "unknown caller" on the screen.
"Danno?" a rough voice asks, and god almighty, it's Steve. "Danno, where are you?"
"Hey, babe," Danny says like everything's okay, except he can hear the waver in his voice. No doubt Steve can hear it too.
"Danno, I'm scared. The doctor says she's gotta tell me something. She said it's not good. Where are you?"
"I'm close, babe, real close. I'll see you when I've finished what I'm doing."
The phone goes dead, and Danny stares at it. He doesn't see the fist that clocks him, but he sure as hell feels it. More fists pound against his body, striking him in several vulnerable spots as he jerks away as much as he can.
And then something crashes against the back of his skull, and he sags, darkness obliterating everything except the words Junior speaks, "You've killed him," admonishing the person who bashed in Danny's head. It was probably Ruffian-Bastard, the asshole.