A/N: This is where I thank ladygris for her assistance with Beta work and more than one very long IM session that lasted late into the night.
Many thanks to LoneRanger1 for help with the Spanish.
Grazie,
~Sandy
Not a Hero
Chapter 20
Only One Candle to Burn
Though it was still daylight, the front of the casino was lit up, the sign advertising a Johnny Cash cover band called, appropriately, The Men in Black. John tossed his keys to the valet, slipped into his jacket, adjusted his clothing and brushed at his hair. He didn't know why he bothered. Mickey didn't care as long as he ponied up his losses eventually, including interest of course.
John ignored the hundreds of one-armed bandits, roulette wheels, craps and blackjack tables, and made his way to the back of the room. He ran into someone, helped her pick up her winnings then stopped at the entrance of the night club to listen to the band. All four men were dressed as the group's namesake down to the pompadour hairstyle. At the moment they were doing a fair rendition of Hurt.
Going to the nearly invisible private entrance, he rang the bell and waited for the bouncer, Joey Frigata, to admit him.
~~O~~
Michael "Mikey" Moretti sat at his desk watching the live feeds on the bank of television screens along one wall with only passing interest until something he saw made him sit up and take notice. Using the remote, he transferred the image to the giant plasma screen on a second wall. "Well, I'll be…look who decided to show his ugly mug."
On the screen, Sheppard was making his way through the main floor. He bumped into an older lady causing her to drop her bucket of quarters. Mikey's jaw dropped to his chest when Sheppard stopped to help the woman pick up her winnings, giving her a smile and saying something that made her smile back. She shook her head, gave his arm a squeeze and went on her way. He'd never seen the man do that before. Usually he just bumped and ran.
Activating the radio, he spoke to Joey. "Sheppard's back. I'll be right down. Wait three minutes and let him in."
~~O~~
Joey opened the door and John stepped into the short hallway that led to the longer one where he'd chased the Wraith up to the roof. Through hidden speakers he could hear the band playing the tail end of Hey Porter just as he reached the private room where he'd sat in on numerous poker games as one of the privileged.
In return for a high line of credit, he'd managed to keep other cops from looking into some of Mikey's less-than-respectable yet very lucrative business deals. He had no idea how he would take the fact that John could no longer continue that arrangement. Not if he wanted to keep his current job instead of going to jail for a really, really long time.
"Come va, Sheppard?" Mikey didn't offer his hand.
"Bene grazie, Mikey."
"Where you been hidin'?"
John, still standing in the hall, shrugged one shoulder. "Around." He tried to peer into the room, but Joey blocked his view. "Was hoping I could get in on a few hands."
"I dunno. You go missin' for weeks and suddenly show up one day wantin' I should let you play just like that," Mikey snapped his fingers. "You should know that one o' your pals from the precinct was in here trying to take over your little side business."
"I don't have any pals at Metro and going underground was not my idea." John's eyes flicked from Mikey to Joey and back.
Mikey made a side to side motion with his head as he thought it over then nodded to Joey. The big Italian stepped out of the way and John could see that the room was filled with smoke and the usual suspects. The smell of liquor, the shuffling of the cards and the chink of chips pulled at him drawing him a step closer. "Come on in. Your balance is now zero so your credit's exceptional."
"What? I mean great. I…" Just as he was about to take Mikey up on his invitation he tuned in to the band playing Solitary Man.
Don't know that I will but until I can find me,
The girl who'll stay and won't play games behind me
I'll be what I am, a solitary man…
He realized that he no longer was a solitary man. It made him think of the people who were becoming his friends and support system: McKay, Woolsey, Lorne, Dora, Ana, Slater, Dr. Adams. But at the top of that list was Angel and how disappointed she'd be if she knew he was here. Just seeing her face in his mind made him feel thoughtless and foolish for risking everything he'd gained since his encounter with the Wraith. He doubted he'd be able to withstand the full force of her distress live. "Thanks, Mikey, but I've changed my mind. Think I'll pass."
If Mikey were surprised at John's turn down, he didn't show it, though he did grin. "You got a little bit of fluff waitin' at home, don't ya?"
Grasping at the straw handed him, John shrugged. "What can I say?"
"Never woulda thought you of all people would go soft over a woman." The casino owner chuckled. "La vita è come un albero di natale, c'è sempre qualcuno che rompe le palle."
Shrugging and giving him a sheepish grin, he responded, "Quel che non ammazza, ingrassa."
~~O~~
Out on the main floor, John slipped into a chair just inside the night club entrance. He ordered iced tea and sat back to listen to the band. The server refused his payment telling him that Mikey had ordered that anything John wanted was on the house. That'll stop as soon as I tell him our arrangement is over.
Just before the break, the band played Ring of Fire. He thought it very prophetic because getting involved with Angel as anything but a friend would be like stepping into a ring of fire. Do I want to risk getting burned? Yeah, I think I do.
His smile changed to deep thought as Mikey's words came back to him. Your balance is now zero so your credit's exceptional.
Woolsey paid Mikey off! That led him to remember one of the "deal-breakers" in his contract. I wonder what he really wants.
By the time the song ended and the band had left the stage, he hadn't come to a conclusion as to Woolsey's possible motives. Knocking back the rest of his tea, he took out his SmartPhone, accessed the Internet and did a search. He found what he wanted easily enough and tapped several keys in succession to send the information to the GPS in the truck. Taking the last couple of bills from his wallet, he tossed them on the table dialing his phone as he went. "Hey. It's Sheppard. Can we meet? I…we need to talk."
Area 52
After Sunset
Night fell and shifts ended leaving the building nearly deserted due to the upcoming holiday. There were parades and barbeques planned, friends and family getting together for fun, games and remembrances of those who'd given their lives in the defense of their country.
Though it wasn't known by most, it was also a day to remember those who'd perished in the defense of their world, of Earth, and many other planets.
Evan's father was in the first group, having died in a mortar attack on the base he was stationed at in Beirut. Evan had been out with friends when his mother and sister got the news from a somber-faced Army Colonel. When he'd returned home just after sunset, the house had been dark though the car was in the drive. His mother and younger sister were asleep on top of the covers on his parents' bed and dinner hadn't been made.
When Mom told him what had happened, he'd gone into a sort of shock. There were no tears, then or since, for his father. And in that shock, he'd taken control of his emotions with a firm hand. A control that would continue throughout his life, giving him a reputation for being cool and unruffled in all but the most extreme situations.
He'd gone to the kitchen, picked up the phone and ordered their usual from the Chinese place up the street. When it arrived, he'd called Courtney and Mom to the table where they'd eaten in silence.
A week later, they'd watched his father's coffin being lowered into the ground accompanied by the haunting strains of Taps. As befitted a war hero, a folded American flag had been presented to Army Colonel Richard Lorne's widow, Susan. On that day, Evan had made the decision to enlist in the military as soon as he as old enough to carry on the legacy of serving his country.
On behalf of the President of the United States and the people of a grateful nation, may I present this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one rendered this nation.
The memories of his father's funeral morphed into the one for Lee, seeing again the Naval officer kneeling in front of her mother and father with the folded flag.
Movement in the corner of his eye turned his attention to the present. His partner had finally returned from his mysterious appointment that had taken all afternoon and part of the evening. He reserved opinion on where Sheppard might have gone until he had more information though he did have suspicions.
"Sheppard."
The taller man seated himself at Evan's table without invitation, opening his tub of Jell-O and taking a bite. "What's up?"
"Woolsey wants to see us ASAP."
Slurping another spoonful of Jell-O, Sheppard shrugged. "Any idea why?"
"No." Evan glanced at the clock and pushed away from the table. Sheppard did the same, tossing the remains of his snack in the trash on the way out.
Watching his partner, Evan noticed that he didn't seem as tense as he had earlier in the day. In fact, he was more relaxed then he'd ever seen him, almost but not quite content. Most people wouldn't notice the change. But to a trained observer like himself, or Doc Adams, the difference was perplexing. He pushed those thoughts away to knock on Woolsey's door.
~~O~~
After the briefing, John and Evan went to their rooms to pack. They'd been told to be at the largest of the bases hangars no later than 2115.
"So what d'you think? Private jet?" John asked as they crossed the tarmac in full dark, duffle bags slung over their shoulders. The only spots of light visible came from the runways and sides of the buildings.
"Why would they have a private jet just to ferry us around the country when we're perfectly capable of flying commercial, driving or even getting a lift from one of the spaceships?" Lorne's tone was reasonable, not at all like the one he'd been using that had an underlying layer of contempt.
John didn't have an answer for that, choosing to remain silent for the rest of their walk.
When they arrived, the hangar was empty of all but one small plane that was obviously under repair. There they were met by a burly Marine Lieutenant. "This way, sirs."
John and Evan followed him through the hangar and out the other side. "Please get on board and stow your gear. Take-off is at 2230 on the nose."
After the Lieutenant had gone back inside, the partners just stared at their mode of transportation. Before them, the cargo hatch open while soldiers loaded supplies onto it, sat a Lockheed C-130 Hercules. Evan and John exchanged a sardonic glance as they carefully avoided the tons of supplies already on board and found seats near the cockpit.
Once in the air, it was too noisy to communicate verbally so Evan held up his SmartPhone and indicated John should activate the IM capability on his own. They used it to plan how to handle their first mission as partners.
Palm Bay, NC
Midtown Motel
Tossing his bag on the bed, John went to the window and looked out onto the pool area in back of the hotel he and Lorne had checked into. Letting the curtain drop back into place, he kicked off his shoes and lay down on the bed. Thumbing the speed dial, he waited for his party to pick up.
"It's Sheppard. We're here…Yeah, we went over the details of the assignment…We're gonna need a few things…If it'd been up to me, I'd've picked up the supplies using the company credit cards you gave us and dealt with the consequences when you got the bill. However, my partner insisted we call, as a courtesy…Just off the top of our heads, we need clothes, a car, first-class quarters, cash. Lots of cash. I'll send an email if we think of anything else…Got it." He hung up and dialed a local number from memory.
"Como estas, mi querida? Estoy bien. Que? Oh, North Carolina. Si, vacaciones." John waited while his friend expressed her surprise. He hadn't taken a vacation since they'd known each other. "Julietta, I need your car contact in Wilmington. Could you give him a call? Gracias, querida…No. I trust your judgment and you know what I like. Can it be delivered mañana? Perfecta. Room 302." He provided the name of the motel and the address. "One last thing, por favor. I'm looking for a weapons broker…No. These weapons are a bit…unusual…"
North Side of Town
The Next Morning
Three men sat around the kitchen table eating leftover pizza and drinking coffee. All were about the same age, but looked older. It was a testament to the lives they'd led since their teenage years and continuing to this day. Each had done at least one stretch in prison but had been lucky enough not to have to worry about the three-strike rule. At least not yet.
Boxes were stacked in the back room, filled with new weapons. It hadn't taken long to find more buyers than they knew what to do with. However, one stood out among the rest. Kenny "Parker" Talbot, the defacto leader of the group, had gotten word via a circuitous route that the two men were already in town. All that need be done now was make contact and seal the deal. Parker, Dak and Fischer had agreed that this would be their last job together. The amount of money to be made from the sale of the weapons would set all of them up for life on some sweet, unspoiled island with no extradition treaty with the US.
"What time?" Dak asked for the tenth time since rolling out of bed that morning. He was a thuggish, tattooed and worn-out version of Jaleel White without the charm or appeal. His brown eyes stared at his plate and seldom met those of the people around him whether friend or foe. The trait went unremarked upon due to his habit of always wearing dark glasses even at night. Not that he feared locking eyes with anyone. He just didn't want to.
Fischer snorted in exasperation, his words coming clipped and angry. "We already told you. We meet the buyers at the cabin this evening and tomorrow we're on a plane out of the country."
"I was just askin'. Stop bein' such an f***ing whiner. You act like I'm stupid or somethin'."
"Then stop askin' stupid questions you've asked a hundred times."
"Would the two of you just chill?" Parker snapped at his cohorts. "You sound like an old married couple." He pushed away from the table. "I'm getting in the shower. When I get out, I suggest the two of you do the same. Shave, dress up a little, and see to it you conduct yourselves like civilized human beings for a change."
Dak and Fischer stared at Parker as if he'd gone insane, Dak asking, "What's that mean?"
Rolling his eyes, their leader, the only one of them with a college education, elaborated. "A little less talk and a lot more shut the f*** up.
"These guys come with impeccable references from unimpeachable sources. They have the means to make us rich beyond our wildest dreams or take us out without compunction." Knowing they would obey, Parker headed down the hall to the master bedroom where he took out the clothes he would wear for the meeting and laid them on the bed. Reaching into the bottom of the closet, he took out a shoe box and removed a pair of black Tony Lamas, checked them for scuff marks and set them at the end of the bed.
He wanted to get to the meeting place in plenty of time to check it out before the buyers arrived. Stripping down, he went into the bathroom.
Palm Bay Resort and Spa
It was a car that was noticed everywhere it went, just as the driver and passenger wanted. The rumble of the side dual exhausts caught the attention of every person, employee, guest or visitor, standing in front of the Palm Bay Resort. Screeching to a stop, the men didn't wait for the doors to be opened by the awed bell staff.
Both men acted as if they expected the best of everything, clothing, cars, food, lodging, whatever, and were prepared to pay for it.
John and Evan got out of the black 1967 Chevy Stingray convertible, John handed the keys to the bell captain and entered the lobby just behind his partner. Evan was already at the desk checking them in. John joined him just as he handed his black American Express Centurion Card to the desk clerk. They were assigned suites on the highest floor possible facing the Atlantic Ocean and escorted up.
~~O~~
John knocked on Lorne's door and was admitted. Both suites had similar floor plans but with different color schemes.
Gesturing at the plush surroundings, Evan sat in the armchair while John took over the sofa, "Why the fancy rooms? It's not like we're inviting them to spend the night."
"That's what being undercover is all about, the show, playing a part. If they have us followed and see us staying in a cheap motel it blows our cover. We're supposed to have more than enough cash on hand to buy their entire stock of these what did you call them?"
"Zat'ni'katel. They're usually referred to as zats and there're two types." Evan took a pad and pencil from the end table, making a quick sketch of the before and after of the original version. While John looked at the drawings, Evan sketched the palm-sized zats he, Anthony and Weir had used during the peace conference. "This one fits in the palm of your hand. It's easier to conceal but not as powerful though it still does damage."
John wrinkled his nose at both drawings. "The first one looks like a snake and the other looks like the head of a snake. I hate snakes almost as much as I hate clowns."
Evan drew his eyebrows together. "What have you got against…never mind." He got up and went to the small wet bar in the corner, returning with a bottle of beer for each of them. "One shot stuns, a second kills, the third disintegrates."
Still staring at the well-done renderings of the zats, John thought about what he'd overheard about First Lieutenant Lee Womack and her relationship to Lorne. Again, a wave of guilt made him want to apologize but he clamped down on it. Now was not the time for sentimentality.
They went over everything again, even working out signals for when things weren't going according to plan, preparing for every possible contingency.
John left, headed downstairs and off on a personal mission of his own. Evan decided a nap would be just the thing so he went to the lavishly appointed bedroom, kicked off his shoes and lay down with a groan. He'd never been undercover before, not counting the peace conference, and the stress, which he knew was only just beginning, was already wearing on him. Sleep came quickly.
~~O~~
As he crossed the lobby to the elevators, John saw his partner sitting on the sofa facing the window that looked out onto the beach. Going to his side, he waited to be acknowledged. "Lorne?"
Lorne shook his head as if coming out of a trance. "Yeah?" He looked around, confused, as if he had no idea how he got there. He took a deep breath. "What's up?"
"Nothing. I'm gonna go get ready for the meeting."
Pushing off the sofa, Lorne followed him.
~~O~~
John parked in front of the beachfront cabin, shut the engine off and pulled his Glock from the shoulder holster knowing without looking that Lorne was doing the same. He ejected the magazine, checked it was full and reinserted it. He returned it to its hiding place, got out and waited for Lorne to join him. The show was officially on.
The door of cabin seven opened within seconds of their knock and they were ushered in by an African-American man wearing dark glasses, a tattoo of a skull and crossbones showing below the edge of his short sleeved cotton club shirt. His cotton slacks were neatly pressed and his shoes shined.
Before either man could even remove their sunglasses, the man stepped in front of them. "Gotta search ya."
John grinned, unbuttoning his jacket to show the grip of his weapon strapped securely in its holster. Dak still gave him a quick pat down then did the same to Lorne with the same result. Nodding, he indicated they should enter.
Totally at ease, John made himself comfortable on the sofa while Dak knocked on the bedroom door then opened it just a crack. "One piece each. Glocks."
Snorting, John kicked back, one arm flung over the back of the sofa, one ankle resting on the knee of his other leg. "Yeah. More than one would be showing off." His genial attitude changed abruptly when a voice from the past spoke to him just as he heard a .44 Magnum round being chambered.
"Never expected to see you again."
Still with a show of casualness he no longer felt, John looked above the Magnum to a face he hadn't seen in years. He got to his feet and the men gave each other a quick once-over before the gun was put away. "Likewise, Kenny."
Wariness came from both men as John resumed his seat and Kenny took the armchair. "Fischer." Kenny pointed at the blonde man standing behind his chair. He shifted in response but didn't speak. "Dak." The other man was leaning against the front door though it seemed more like he was guarding it. "John Sheppard."
Without changing expression, John nodded at his partner. "Lorne."
"Boys, John here…" he paused, deliberately letting the tension build, "…is a cop."
Several things happened in quick succession. Dak and Fischer suddenly had weapons in their hands and Lorne had stiffened in place near the television, his right hand twitching slightly toward his own weapon. John and Kenny, however, never moved, their eyes still watching each other.
"Not anymore." In his head, John snickered because it was the truth.
"Since when?" Kenny demanded, waving his hand in what was obviously a signal. His cohorts again tucked their weapons out of sight.
"A while ago." While vague, it too was the truth.
John's old acquaintance sucked on the inside of his cheek. "What happened?"
Both shoulders lifted in a shrug as John rubbed his nose. "Didn't work out."
"Those are some fancy wheels you rolled up in. What did work out?"
"This." Before anyone could move, John's Glock was in his hand. A blast filled the room, a thump, and Lorne lay on the off white carpeting bleeding from a gaping wound in his chest. He groaned, his breathing becoming labored, a combined look of surprise and shock on his normally stoic features. A trickle of blood oozed out the side of his mouth.
Now Kenny, Dak and Fischer had weapons out pointed at John. For his part, John ignored them, flicked the safety on and calmly returned his weapon to its place of concealment. "He was the cop. You're welcome, by the way."
Now Kenny was angry though he did put his weapon away followed by the others. "Why'd you have to shoot him here?"
John didn't answer, just got off the sofa and went to the environmental controls turning the temperature down as far as it would go. "Leave the air on, lock the doors, put the Do Not Disturb sign out, and pay up for a week. By the time they find the body, we'll be out of the country." The three men stared at him. "Despite what it looks like, I am not the head man in this operation and it wasn't my idea to be partnered with him. He was always watching me, reporting back to the boss. I can't stand a snitch. A cop who snitches is even worse."
Moving over to Lorne, he crouched next to him, the man's eyes pleading, his mouth trying to form words. Careful to avoid the spreading blood pool, he pressed two fingers under Lorne's jaw. Reaching inside his jacket, he took the Glock the man on the floor never had a chance to use even once. "Not dead yet but will be soon." He stood, shoving the second weapon into his waistband. "Get your crap and let's split. We'll go to my hotel for now. You can stay in his room."
Without looking back and with no remorse on his handsome face, John left the cabin, slipped his aviators back on and took a deep breath of the tangy salt air. When the others joined him, he got behind the wheel of the 'Ray, gunned the engine once, shifted into first and headed into the setting sun.
Inside the cabin, Evan Lorne pulled in one last breath, shuddered and was still.
TBC
A/N: Before you ask, here are the Italian phrases:
La vita è come un albero di natale, c'è sempre qualcuno che rompe le palle.
Literal translation: "Life is like a Christmas tree, there's always someone who breaks the balls."
Quel che non ammazza, ingrassa.
Literal translation: "What won't kill you, will feed you."
Idiomatic translation: "That which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."