a/n: Finally a new chapter for "Going Wodwo." :) Big thanks to WallofWeird for the encouragement, and of course to chiroho for the beta'ing. "Walters's" makes my skin crawl, too. :D
Reviews, please, if you've waited this long!
Chapter 7: The Plan
I'll leave the way of words to
walk the wood
I'll be forest's man, and
greet the sun.
-Neil Gaiman, "Going Wodwo"
To outsiders like Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss, the small town of Walter's Gap looked idyllic and peaceful. It was pretty; quaint; the type of place one might vacation if one needed some tranquility far from the hustle and bustle of city life. There weren't any ski slopes nearby, and the main tourist draws were camping, hunting in season, fishing, and the local ghost stories – though even that action was concentrated a bit further south in the Cumberland Gap area. Unemployment was relatively low, literacy was relatively high, and the town generally defied most "hillbilly" stereotypes.
Of course, the particular outsiders in question were trained to look beyond appearances. Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss had made careers (though albeit not great ones at the moment) out of digging. They understood that the big shot CEO with the shiny Rolls, the expensive Rolex and the postcard-perfect family could be an embezzler with a mistress on the side and a high-class call girl on retainer. They were the ones who kicked over the rocks to examine the crawly, slimy things underneath, and after watching the footage and listening to Aaron Hotchner's story about his visit from Rosalie Walters, the two detectives were wondering what sort of nasty secrets lurked beneath the picturesque illusion of Walter's Gap.
"If the town is named after Rosalie Walters' family, why is it Walter's Gap, apostrophe s?" Prentiss wondered. They were in Morgan's hotel room with their notes spread across his extra bed. Prentiss sat propped against the cheap headboard with thin hotel pillows, and she was munching on a slice of pizza.
"What are you talking about?" Morgan asked around a mouthful of pepperoni and extra cheese. He refused to allow rabbit food onto his pizza, and Prentiss refused to have, as she called it, a butcher's shop explosion on hers. They compromised with pepperoni.
"I mean," she said with a huff, "her name is Walters, with an s, right? So shouldn't the town be named Walters' Gap, s apostrophe?"
He rolled his eyes. "Sure, I guess, if the place were ruled by grammar Nazis like you."
She sniffed. "I feel about grammar the way our esteemed Chief Hotchner feels about manners." With a sigh she dropped her half-eaten slice back into the box and shut the lid. "What is it about this place, Morgan? What are we missing? Why would Rosalie Walters have such a damn hissy to get us out of town? What was chasing those people out in the woods?"
"There's only one way we're gonna find out, Prentiss."
"Please don't say it."
"We gotta head into those woods."
"What did I just tell you?"
He wiped his hands on toilet paper commandeered from the bathroom and took a long swig of beer from the bottle on his nightstand. "What other choice do we have? They found something out there, something they weren't supposed to find, and they got it on film. That's why Paul Bunyan went after Garcia's camera."
"Why didn't he look for Reid's? Didn't it occur to him Reid might've stashed it somewhere around the distillery?"
"Maybe it was Garcia they caught filming, so they didn't know about the other camera."
"We're already making leaps when we say 'they.' We don't know there was a 'they,' just one really big, really fast guy with scuffed boots." She was drumming her pen against her notebook again. "What do you think they found out there?"
He shrugged. "Who knows? Pot farms are pretty big up in the mountains. Or it coulda been a meth lab. Hell, even a dog fighting ring."
Prentiss nodded slowly. "Big money stuff that people are willing to kill over." She studied him with concerned dark eyes. "But you don't really think it was any of those things, do you?"
He rubbed a hand back and forth across his smooth skull, something he only did when he was especially agitated. "Well I don't think it was Big Foot, if that's what you're worried about." He tried to make it sound light-hearted, but she wasn't buying it.
She frowned down at the page of notes on her lap. "Right now Big Foot's pretty much the least of my worries."
Morgan stared at the piece of pizza he'd just pulled from the box as though all the answers could be found in the arrangement of greasy meat and stringy cheese. Finally he dropped it back into the box without taking a bite and reached for his phone. "I'll call Hotchner and let him know the plan."
"It's a terrible plan, Morgan."
He gave her a long look. "Probably. But right now it's the only one we've got."
J.J. was back at Hotch's office at 8 sharp the next morning. She'd brought the pastry this time, along with coffee, and they were both munching on cinnamon rolls when Morgan and Prentiss arrived. Prentiss eagerly accepted a cheese Danish and began doctoring her coffee. Morgan grabbed a jelly doughnut and took his drink black.
"Our first stop," J.J. said after morning pleasantries had been exchanged, "will be at Meechum's Hardware and Outfitters. He'll have everything you'll need for the hike."
"We were by there the other day," Morgan said. "Homer Miller told us Troy Meechum was likely the last person to talk to Rossi and his crew, so we went to ask him a few questions."
"Anything interesting?" Hotch asked. His men had interviewed Meechum last year, of course, but it was possible he'd remembered something new.
"Not really," Prentiss said. "He remembered who they were and most of what they'd bought, but that was about it."
J.J. pulled out a notebook and began making a list of things they'd need. She glanced down at Prentiss' feet and frowned. "Did you bring any boots? Hiking boots?"
"I brought Chuck Taylor's."
Her brows flicked upward. "We'll have to buy you some boots, then, and they won't be broken in. I'll add moleskin to the list…" She scribbled a moment longer, then, "Of course between Hotch's office and mine, we have most of this stuff. Basic camping gear, packs, walkies. Any idea how long we'll be out there?" she asked Hotch.
"At least one night. It'll take a full day to reach the distillery, and we won't want to hike back at night. Do you guys have vests?"
Prentiss swallowed a bite of Danish and felt it settle on her stomach like concrete. "Um. Yeah, we brought them just in case."
"Good. If we stumble on a meth lab or a marijuana farm, there will probably be traps. We'll pull out and call for backup. I know the DEA would love a big bust around here."
"Wouldn't be bad press for you, either," Morgan offered.
Hotch shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Something like that would probably get me fired and drummed out of town, in all honesty. Rosalie Walters was pretty clear yesterday."
"You think that's why the town does so well? Sketchy funding?"
Hotch shook his head. "I don't know. If I truly suspected something like that, I would've been looking at it harder."
"You don't have to come with us," J.J. said. "I don't want you getting in trouble."
"She's got me curious now. And that footage seems to show some sort of foul play, making this my responsibility."
"Your call, homey," Prentiss said as she finished off her coffee. "But if you'd rather play CYA, we understand."
She didn't even blink under his perturbed glare. "I'm not that kind of cop," he grated out.
She looked away with a shrug, but he thought her lips were curving in a satisfied smile.
"Great," Morgan said. "Then let's quit chit-chattin' and get this show on the road."
"I'll meet you at Meechum's," Hotch told J.J. "I'm going to grab some weapons. Do you have carrying permits?" he asked the detectives.
"In Illinois," Prentiss said. "We don't have permits to fly with weapons, so they're gathering dust back home."
"What do you carry? Nine mills?"
"Yeah, and Prentiss keeps a .22 on an ankle holster most of the time."
He offered a brief, appreciative smile. "Smart. I can bend the rules a bit, given the situation, and loan you something. You both know how to fire a rifle, right?"
They exchanged a glance. What exactly was he expecting to find out there? "I was a cop, before. And Prentiss is…" Morgan shrugged; grinned. "She can handle herself."
She rolled her eyes. "He means my mom's a crackhead and I don't know my daddy's name. G-H-E-T-T-O. Yeah, I know my way around a rifle."
"Good. I'll meet you at Meechum's," he repeated as he pulled a key from his desk drawer. His dark olive eyes sought J.J.'s blue ones; a look of understanding passed between them, and she gathered the detectives and rushed them from the office before they managed to ask any more questions. Sighing, Hotch stared down at the little brass key in his hand.
He was a rational man. He didn't believe the stories every local knew by heart and delighted in telling. He believed in meth dealers and pot farmers and a world gone dirty and out of control. He refused, utterly refused, to believe that the filmmakers had run afoul of anything less mundane than pissed off drug dealers. Still, whatever they would be up against in the woods, he wanted to be ready.
I know I promised you woods, and that this chapter is quite short, but you shouldn't have to wait nearly as long for chapter 8, and there WILL be woods then. I promise.