Title: High Society

Chapter 23: Point of No Return

Authors: Rabid Raccoons

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

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Charlie stared at the sunlight glinting off the pool, and sighed. The remainder of the week had meandered by; painfully at first, with a house visit by J.T.'s plastic surgeon friend on Saturday. The man had reduced the fracture, aligning Charlie's nose again right there in the guest bedroom, and had appeared quite pleased with the result, telling Charlie that he had just gotten a nose job for free. Charlie's nose had always been too big for his face, and had a definite curve to it. The size obviously hadn't been reduced, but the doctor told him that when his nose healed the curve would be less prominent, the nose straighter when viewed in profile. In fact, most of the other guests assumed that a nose job was exactly what Charlie had received. It was now Sunday, the day after the doctor's visit. The swelling had gone down significantly, and the bruising under his eyes, while still apparent, wasn't quite as pronounced, although he still bore a close resemblance to a raccoon. Charlie was actually able to begin to see how his new nose would look, and had decided that it really didn't look that much different, at least from a frontal view. It was hard for him to see it in full profile, so he didn't quite appreciate the change. One of the models did, though; she'd told him that morning that his new nose made him 'leading man material.' He sat there now, in the late afternoon, wondering if Amita would think so, too.

The rest of his time at J.T.'s estate had been relatively uneventful. He'd driven in to CalSci on Saturday afternoon to try to catch up, only to have a horrified Millie chase him off campus. He obviously looked a lot worse than he felt, judging from Millie's reaction. Or at least, than his face felt. Mentally, he was feeling pretty lousy.

Other than J.T.'s calls, he'd had five phone conversations, two of them the day of the fight. He'd called Larry and Amita back after he'd woken that day. Larry seemed genuinely concerned, but the conversation was a bit a strained. Charlie couldn't blame him; what did a person say when a one's brother had just written them out of their life, and broke one's nose to boot? His conversation with Amita had been just as strained, and so had the second one, Saturday morning. He had the sneaking suspicion that she was upset with him for staying at J.T.'s, although she wouldn't admit it. Deep down, he had the subconscious impression that there was something more to it than that, something even more worrisome, but he pushed the thought away, refused to let it surface. He couldn't even begin to conceive of more rejection right now.

The third call had been a quick one from Colby, again awkward as hell; and the fourth call had been from his father; both had come on Saturday evening. Even the conversation with Alan wasn't comforting; Charlie couldn't tell him what had happened, because that would lead to other questions, things his father wasn't supposed to know; just minor items, such as the fact that his youngest was working undercover. So Charlie pretended he had a cold, and Alan assumed that his stuffy voice and despondent tone were due to that. After Charlie hung up, he reflected that he would need to tell his father that he had broken his nose, eventually; Alan would notice its new appearance. His father's return, however, was still a week away. Surely, he could come up with something believable by then. Of course, it would be harder to explain why he and Don didn't talk at all, anymore.

Because Don hadn't called – not once. Granted, they weren't supposed to be communicating, but even if they were being watched, a quick phone call wouldn't be noticed. Even if Don was afraid of a phone tap, he could have called from a pay phone, just to say 'Hi,' just to say 'I'm sorry,' just to say 'It was all a big mistake. I really don't hate you. Really.'

Silence, however, spoke volumes. Don apparently was just as happy to have Charlie out of his life. In fact, the only phone calls that Charlie looked forward to, these days, were from J.T. J.T. was concerned, he did try to encourage Charlie; he was comforting. Charlie almost felt guilty talking to him – he'd spent Friday and Saturday nosing around the estate, trying to come up with something that revealed that J.T. knew about the doings at Fantasy. He'd found nothing – in fact, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was of J.T.'s innocence. It was quite possible that J.T. wasn't the person who had a spy in the office – if there even was a spy in the office, and Charlie was beginning to have his doubts about that. If Charlie was under surveillance, it would make sense that the person who ordered it was the person who ran Fantasy – in fact, he might make it a point to check out all of his new guests, considering what went on there. By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, Charlie was convinced that J.T. had nothing to do with the goings-on in the back room, and he felt guilty that he'd even considered it. He also felt guilty that he'd taken advantage of the man's generosity for four days, and decided that it was high time he went home. If he were still here this afternoon when J.T. returned, the man might feel obligated to ask him to stay longer.

So, at around one o'clock, with a sigh, he gathered up his towel and headed for the guest suite, to change, shower and pack. The house seemed dim after the bright sunlight outside, and as he stepped into the hallway, he nearly bumped into a man going the other way.

"Charlie!"

The voice was unmistakable, and Charlie squinted slightly as his eyes adjusted, then smiled. "J.T! Welcome back. I thought you weren't getting back until later today."

For a moment, J.T. couldn't reply. He'd been longing to see Charlie – so much so that he'd rushed his deal through, and made an excuse for departing early. Now here he was, so near he could touch him, and he was half-naked on top of it, clad only in his swim trunks. He was tanned from four days in the sun, and looked even leaner than before, almost on the thin side. The faint smell of tanning lotion wafted across the short space, and it made J.T. salivate. What really got him, though, was the face – the eyes, which looked darker and larger than normal in a face that was thinner, and the nose – J.T. would have sworn that the young man couldn't possibly be more attractive, but the change in his nose, however slight, had actually enhanced his appearance. The bruises under the eyes were what held him spellbound – they spoke of pain, and that reminded J.T. of what he'd dreamed of doing since he met the young man. He saw that Charlie was looking away uncomfortably, and he came to his senses. "Charlie – your nose – it looks wonderful!" he gushed. "It's still very you, but much more handsome. But my word, young man, didn't my cook feed you this week?"

Charlie flushed, embarrassed but pleased – at both the compliment and the fussing. It seemed like a long time since anyone had fretted over him. "I'm fine," he said. "The food was very good, I'm sure – my nose was so swollen I couldn't taste it – in fact, I still can't. Your doctor said that there will be swelling inside for a little while."

"Mmm," said J.T. nodding, and falling into step beside Charlie. "Yes – it's very faint, but you do still sound as though you have a cold. I'll have the chef do something tonight with a little more flavor – do you like spicy food?"

"Actually," hedged Charlie, "I was thinking of leaving. I've imposed on your hospitality long enough, and I'm sure you have more important things to do after returning from your trip than entertaining me."

"Nonsense," bellowed J.T. affably, and he gave Charlie a slap on the shoulder. "I was looking forward to some quiet, real conversation this evening." He cocked an eyebrow and looked at Charlie, his expression hopeful. "The best way to repay me, if you're concerned about it, would be to stay."

Charlie hesitated. Even though he'd convinced himself that J.T. was innocent, for some odd reason he couldn't help feeling as though he should go. His own home, however, would be empty – and there, he knew, he would have time to think, something he'd rather not do these days. They'd reached his bedroom door, and he paused there and looked at J.T. "Yeah, okay," he said, a bit bashfully. "I can stay until tomorrow morning."

J.T.'s face brightened. "Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "I'll have the chef do something interesting for us." He stood there for a moment, and suddenly it seemed to Charlie that the look in J.T.'s sharp dark eyes was a little too intense; he was standing a little too close. As savvy as he seemed around people, Charlie thought to himself, J.T. had a lot to learn about respecting others' personal space. Then suddenly the man turned and strode off down the hall. "Come get me when you're dressed," he said, over his shoulder. "We need to talk about next weekend – there's another party if you're interested."

"Party?" Charlie called after him, and J.T. turned but kept walking backwards, grinning.

"Yes," he said, "like the one we went to last week. Are you interested?"

Charlie felt his gut give an uncomfortable twist. "Yeah," he said. "I'm interested."

"Good." J.T. gave him a satisfied nod and turned back down the hallway, and Charlie just stood, staring after him, trying to put a name on the uncomfortable premonitions swirling around inside of him.

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Colby and David stepped into the large briefing room at LAPD headquarters, and Wright gave them a nod. "Come in," he said. "Have a seat." They complied, David moving dutifully to a seat across from Wright, Colby dragging behind. He'd never liked private meetings with one's superiors – they usually meant that either he was in for a reprimand, or that something not quite kosher was going down. Neither one of those options had ever resulted in anything pleasant, at least as far as he was concerned. He sat warily next to David, his blue eyes outwardly unreadable.

"We only have a couple of minutes before the rest of the crew comes in," said Wright, "and I felt I owned you a quick briefing before they did. We're preparing for a takedown of an illegal operation called Fantasy – I imagine you've both heard of it. We've recently stumbled across the opportunity to put a man on the inside, and he's confirmed that any rumors we've heard about the operation are true – it is a venue for prostitution, drugs and illegal gambling." Colby was frowning, and Wright paused. "Question, Agent Granger?"

"Nothing – I mean, Don was asking about Fantasy a couple of weeks ago."

Wright nodded. "That's because Charlie came in to ask him about it. Charlie's the man inside."

David and Colby stared at him, gaping. "Charlie?" asked David, incredulously.

Wright nodded. "He's been associating with a man named J.T. Morrison – a well-known Hollywood producer. Apparently, the man is a regular at the parties, and he managed to get Charlie an invitation. As soon as Don found out, he told me, and I brought in the DEA people who have been running the investigation. They had Charlie confirm the rumors of criminal activity, and this weekend, he'll be going in again, to pinpoint the location for us. The meeting that we're about to attend here is to prepare for the raid. They asked me to provide a couple of agents – you two are those agents, along with Don." He took in the glance that the two men exchanged. "That was one of the reasons I wanted to brief you – I know the fight that you witnessed between Don and Charlie was disturbing, and before you went into a possibly dangerous situation with your SAC, I thought you should know that it was staged. We were afraid that there was an informant in the office, and the argument was concocted to throw him off."

"It threw off more than the informant," muttered Colby.

David grunted in affirmation. "I'll say."

Wright grimaced. "Yes, I'm afraid it turned out to be a little more realistic than they'd planned. At any rate, I thought you should know that Don's suspension was part of the setup. He'll be participating in the raid, as will you – but the three of you will not speak of this at the office, for obvious reasons. Are you clear on this?"

"Yes." Both men nodded, and Wright's eyes flickered to the door as it opened, and Agents Cooke and Leach entered.

"I think our meeting is about to begin."

Colby eyed the DEA agents as they entered, followed by Lieutenant Walker and some of LAPD's most experienced officers, and two entire SWAT teams. It was a relief to know that the fight between the Eppes brothers had been staged, but he couldn't quite shake the feeling that a bit of it, at least, had been real – he couldn't imagine that either of them had planned for Charlie's nose to be broken. As he glanced at the door and saw Don enter, looking haggard and grim, he was sure of it – there had been more to that fight than met the eye.

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Friday afternoon, Charlie stared blankly at the test paper on the desk in his office, tapping his pencil absently. At a knock on the door, he glanced up. Cooke and Leach slipped in, both clad in hooded sweatshirts and jeans, and Charlie looked past them expectantly, hope on his face fading as they shut the door behind them.

Cooke's keen gaze missed nothing. "Problem, professor?"

Charlie shook his head, and straightened resolutely. "No – I just thought that maybe some of the others would be here."

Leach pulled up a chair, and eyed him speculatively. "Meaning your brother. No. We thought it was too risky for the two of you to communicate until after tomorrow. We don't want to give them any reason to rescind the invitation."

Charlie scowled at little at his presumptive tone. "I didn't say anything about Don."

Leach raised a sardonic eyebrow at him. "Right. Everything is still on?"

Charlie nodded. "J.T. is going to pick me up at six. We're starting out a little earlier this time."

"Any idea what that means?"

Charlie grimaced. "No."

Cooke tossed a wallet onto the table, "Here's your wallet back. We cut a slit in the fabric lining and inserted a GPS tracking chip. You're sure you went through the scan while they were looking at your wallet, right?"

Charlie nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay. Just make sure you hand over your wallet to be checked prior to letting them scan you, or it might set off their equipment. We're not sure how sophisticated it is, but we'd guess it's state of the art. Once you're inside, you can expect it will take us about an hour to get in place. We're hoping that there will be no resistance, but if there is, you need to think of somewhere you can find cover, in case shooting starts."

Charlie thought for a moment. "I could duck behind a bar. There's one set up in the back of the main room. Or if I hang out near the hallway entrance, there's a restroom nearby."

Cooke gave him a nod. "Okay. Just head for cover as soon as you know it's going down. We're hoping they won't be stupid enough to start firing, but you never know. Our men know who you are – just get yourself out of the way." He pursed his lips and looked at Charlie appraisingly. "You okay? You got your head on straight?"

"Yeah," said Charlie, nonchalantly forcing down the butterflies in his gut. "I'm good."

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The second pick-up point was inside a shipping hub at an industrial park – the actual loading took place inside the building, away from prying eyes. Ramon drove the limousine, but for some reason that Charlie couldn't fathom, there was another man along for the ride, sitting in the passenger seat – J.T.'s usual limo driver. As they got in line with the other partiers, waiting to be processed, it became apparent that the other man was there to drive the limo home, because Ramon was going with them. It seemed odd to Charlie that a servant would be allowed to attend the event, but he was afraid to ask why – he didn't want to appear suspicious for any reason. Of course, Ramon seemed to be more than a servant; he was on call at all times, and seemed to handle all of J.T.'s personal matters. Perhaps J.T. was merely trying to reward him. Charlie didn't have time to ponder it - at that moment, he had enough to worry about; he needed to make sure he got rid of his wallet before he reached the scanner.

As he peered around J.T.'s broad shoulders, he was relieved to see that the cell phones, wallets, and evening bags were being collected before the scanning station, and actually were being processed on the other side of the truck, well away from the point where passengers were being scanned. He relaxed, and smiled as J.T. turned around with a grin. "Excited?"

"Yeah," replied Charlie. A sudden twinge of regret passed through him as he realized that J.T., who had done nothing but befriend him, could very well be implicated in the scheme, perhaps be arrested. He wondered uncomfortably what would happen to the guests who attended the party, but he took comfort in the fact that the bronze cardholders could hardly be accused of breaking any laws.

"Good," J.T. said – he seemed excited himself; Charlie could sense it underneath the man's normally cool demeanor. "It's going to be a night to remember."

Charlie smiled weakly. J.T. had no idea how right he was, he thought to himself, as he handed over his cell phone and wallet. He followed the wallet with his eyes as a man carried it around the corner of the truck. He'd caught a glimpse of a table set up there, but he couldn't see it from his vantage point, so he resigned himself to moving forward, toward the scanning station.

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On the other side of the truck, two of Markus' men pawed through the purses and flipped through wallets, checking the IDs against the passenger manifest. A third man, Dmitri, put cell phones into marked bags, and passed the wallets and purses past a small scanner, a few at a time. They'd never had a problem before, and so he almost missed the alarm – which was not audible; it was simply a silent red light that appeared on the device. He frowned, and looked down at the tiny evening bag and two wallets in his hand, then pushed a button to reset the scanner. The break in the flow had alerted the other two men, and they watched as he ran the handful of items past the scanner again.

"Getting a red light," Dmitri grunted unnecessarily, and scowled in puzzled annoyance as it flashed on again. He jabbed at the device to reset it, and passed the purse through separately. No light. He passed one of the wallets through with the same result, and then the third – and the light came on again.

"Whose is it?" asked one of the other men.

Dmitri had flipped it open, and was feeling through it, his annoyed expression changing to one of suspicion, as his fingers encountered the small bump under the fabric. "Charles Eppes," he murmured quietly. "Get me a razor."

One of the men handed him a retractable razor blade, and he inserted it deep into a fold and made a small slit, then fished out the tiny tracking device and set it on the table. The three of them looked at each other, then Dmitri said quietly, "Keep processing. I'm going to make a phone call."

He stepped aside well out of earshot and dialed a number, fighting the urge to look around the side of the truck at the passengers; then spoke quietly into a phone. "We've got a problem. We found a tracking device in a wallet."

Markus, miles away, had been surveying the final touches to the lighting at that week's Fantasy location, and he gripped his phone with sudden intensity. "What did you say?"

Dmitri repeated, "I said, we found a tracking device in a wallet. It belongs to Charles Eppes."

Markus felt his heart lurch, and fought down a surge of panic and anger. "Does he know you found it?"

"Of course not. Do you want to cancel the show?"

"No, wait a minute." Markus paused, thinking rapidly, then said. "Okay. Give him back his wallet, and let him board. Get the passengers out of there and en route to Fantasy, but we need to have some guys behind them, watching, making sure they aren't followed. Take the chip, and put it on another truck. You have two drivers lined up – assign one of them to the decoy truck, and have him drive to San Francisco, and when he gets there, have him pull the truck into an industrial park somewhere and leave it. Have him take a bus back to L.A. – we'll pick him up there. If the decoy works, we should be fine. If we think our passengers are still being followed, we can always cancel at some point along the way. We'll deal with Eppes when we get him out here."

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The loading and scanning process didn't seem quite as efficient this time; there was a delay for some reason, and the passengers, who had all been scanned, milled about, waiting for the return of the their wallets and purses. Charlie felt anxiety mounting, but it rapidly disintegrated into relief as a man appeared from around the side of the truck with a box, and began handing out the passengers' belongings. He took his own wallet with a small grateful sigh, and shoved it in his back pocket as he handed his boarding pass to the man near the truck. Before him, the rear of the truck yawned like the mouth of an abyss. With one last glance around him, he ascended the short flight of steps, and stepped aboard.

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End Chapter 23