"Here," Webster held out the pint glass, "your drink; dear lady."
"Thanks, and screw you," Hogan replied, accepting the drink, "ah, beer. I've been wanting this all day."
"Tell me about it," Webster replied, "I like the sun but, bloody hell; this heat's intolerable."
Hogan nodded in silent agreement as she took a drink. The beer was cold and refreshing, and she savoured it. The two agents had just finished their shift and were looking forward to sharing a couple of drinks before heading their separate ways. Despite rumour around CI5 to the contrary, Webster had a steady girlfriend and Hogan was entirely focussed on her career. Suddenly, Webster's R/T began to beep. He swore, and took it out of his pocket.
"7-6," he acknowledged, wearily, "go ahead."
"7-6, this is 4-5," came a familiar voice, "I've got bad news for you, mate. Remember Kenny Price?"
Webster paused, frowning, and then nodded, slowly, to Hogan.
"Yeah," he replied, into the transmitted, "yeah, I remember him. He went away for a long time…"
"Well, he's out. Three months ago, he skipped parole and hasn't been seen since. He's the only link between the dead cops."
"And that means he links to me," Webster added, grimly, as Hogan glanced up in surprise.
"And me, mate," Doyle replied, "listen, Cowley wants you and Hogan back here a.s.a.p."
"We'll be fifteen minutes," Webster replied, all trace of amusement gone from his tone.
Hogan looked down at her pint and sighed.
"Do you think if I down this I'll still be able to drive?" she asked, plaintively.
"Drink it," Webster replied, picking up his own drink, "it might actually improve your driving!"
*CI5*
Bodie slouched in a chair while Doyle leaned against the wall. Behind his desk, Cowley peered through his glasses at a number of files. The room was silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the occasional shuffle of papers as Cowley worked. Eventually, he looked up; though it was still light outside, it was rapidly approaching 8pm.
"Where the hell are they?" Cowley snapped, breaking the silence.
Doyle shrugged.
"Webster said they'd be fifteen minutes," he replied, checking his watch, "that was about forty minutes ago."
"Well, what are you two doing sitting around here?" Cowley demanded, "Get out there and find them!"
Spurred into action, Bodie rose from the chair and followed Doyle out of the door. As they walked to the car, Doyle tried, without success, to raise Webster or Hogan over the radio.
"Something's happened," he said, grimly, "I don't like it."
"Stay calm," Bodie responded, slowly, "they could be anywhere…"
"Exactly," Doyle said, sounding frustrated, "so how the bloody hell are we supposed to find them?"
"Easy," Bodie replied, with a grin, as he got into the driver's seat of his Capri, "We start with the pub they drink at."
*CI5*
The night was hot and muggy, the atmosphere oppressive in the extreme. The sun hung low in the sky, setting slowly, as if reluctant to leave the sky. Bodie tore through the late evening traffic and screeched to a halt outside a rather run-down looking pub.
"This is the place," he announced, somewhat unnecessarily, as they climbed out of the car.
Doyle was more preoccupied with keeping a wary eye out as they entered the pub. The air was thick and heavy with heat and smoke, although the pub was nearly empty. Bodie sauntered up to the bar and smiled appreciatively at the pretty, blonde barmaid who turned to serve him. She, in turn, eyed him and returned the smile.
"What can I get for you?" she purred, leaning on the bar to give him a good view of her ample cleavage.
Bodie's smile widened.
"I'm looking for someone," he replied.
"Well, you've found me," she grinned.
"So I have," Bodie smirked, and gestured to Doyle, "but we need to know where two of our friends are and we think they were in here earlier."
"Well, what do they look like?" the barmaid asked, straightening up and unconsciously pulling her top up a bit.
"They're both tall," Doyle replied, "dark haired. Tony Webster and Alanis Hogan. Do you know them?"
"Oh, aye," the barmaid nodded, "those two are regulars. I always thought they were brother and sister. Sorry, my lovers – they left about half an hour ago."
"Okay, never mind," Bodie nodded, "thanks, love."
*CI5*
They headed back outside, though the air was no cooler out than within the sweaty pub. Doyle walked a few steps down the path and stopped, his arms folded.
"Isn't that Hogan's car?" he asked, jerking his head towards the vehicle in question.
Bodie joined him, and the two of them walked up to the black Porsche. Bodie stood back and admired it as Doyle tried the doors.
"Locked," he noted.
"This is a nice car," Bodie commented, "but where's the driver?"
"Maybe they'd had a couple of drinks and decided to take the bus," Doyle suggested, doing a walk around the car and examining every detail.
"Hogan? No chance," Bodie replied, "she'll drive in any state. She wouldn't leave this baby just sitting here."
Doyle nodded in silent agreement as he came to a halt at the back of the car. He tried to open the boot, but it, too, was locked.
"Bodie," he called, "have you got a crowbar in your car?"
"Yeah," Bodie replied, and then realised what his partner was considering, "Ray! You can't just… not to a car like this…!"
"I know, mate. It'll hurt me too," Doyle winced, "but we need to get this boot open… just in case…"
Bodie sighed, and fetched the crowbar. He held it out to Doyle, who accepted it. Levering the end under the trunk flap, he forced it down with all his strength. Suddenly, the boot flew open and Doyle staggered backwards, falling against the car parked behind him. Luckily, the alarm did not sound, as he straightened up and peered into the boot.
"Empty," he sighed, "Hogan's going to kill me for that."
"Not if you offer to fix it," Bodie pointed out, "come on. They can't have gone far."
Doyle was about to point out just how much distance could be covered in half an hour when a loud bang sent both of them diving for the pavement. Taking shelter behind the Porsche, both had their guns in hand and were madly scanning the area.
"A car backfiring?" Bodie whispered, eventually.
"I don't think so," Doyle replied, a little uncertainly.
He raised his head slowly, and suddenly the window of the Porsche exploded, showering him liberally with glass. He dropped back down with a yelp, shaking the fragments from his hair as Bodie risked a quick look. This time, rifle fire strafed the vehicle liberally – two of the tyres burst with loud hisses, as bullets banged into the metal bodywork and took out the windscreens and remaining windows. The attack stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
"Where's it coming from?" Doyle hissed, trying to peer out from around the car.
"Warehouse, over the road," Bodie answered, a little breathlessly, "fourth floor, I reckon."
"Right," Doyle nodded, "so… on three?"
Bodie nodded back; "One…"
"Two…"
"Three!"
*CI5*
At the chorused shout, the two of them leapt from behind the car and dashed forwards. They came to a halt behind a high wall surrounding the industrial area. Doyle reached over to rattle the gate and the chain fell to the floor, neatly cut through. He gave Bodie a resigned look, and Bodie nodded encouragingly. Doyle took a deep breath, and barged through the gate, throwing it open. Keeping his gun aimed high, he dived for cover behind the first available shelter – a small shed, obviously some sort of security guard's hut, now locked and empty for the night. The area remained ominously silent as Bodie entered the yard at a run and skidded to a halt, dropping to a crouch behind a pile of bricks and rubble stacked near the gate. The sky was darkening; grey clouds rolled in and the air was oppressively still. In the distance, a low rumble could have been a distant truck, but Bodie sensed in the atmosphere the approach of a storm. Suddenly, from nowhere, came the sound of echoing laughter. Bodie and Doyle shared a worried look from their respective hiding places. The owner of such a laugh could not quite be in his correct mindset.
"Doyle!" the voice called, mockingly, "Raymond Doyle, you old bastard! Remember me?"
"Is that you, Kenny?" Doyle shouted back, cautiously staying hidden.
"Of course it's me!" screamed the voice, "You'd know me anywhere! It was your fault I got put away!"
"And I'm going to put you away again!" Doyle promised, "For life! No one will parole a cop killer! Come on out, Kenny!"
Kenny Price, invisible and menacing, let forth another peal of screaming laughter.
"You're a fool, Doyle!" he taunted, from high above, "I'm not coming out. I've got two hostages here! You want them back? You come and get them. I promise I won't shoot… yet. I want to see the look on your face when you die, Doyle. And don't even think about calling for back-up because if you're not up here on the fifth floor with that partner of yours in five minutes I'm going to chuck one of these guys out of a window, do you hear me?"
"Yeah, I hear you!" called Doyle, who could see Bodie already summoning backup, "We're on our way up. Don't shoot!"
The walls rang with that awful, deranged laughter, as Doyle slowly emerged from behind the guard house. He glanced at Bodie, and, on an unspoken signal, the two of them ran flat-out towards the warehouse, not stopping until they reached the door.
"Fifth floor in five minutes," Doyle panted, breathlessly, "we haven't got a lot of time."
"What's the plan?" Bodie asked, quickly, glancing around, "Cowley's got all available units on the way here, but he's got the advantage."
"Not unless we can even the odds," Doyle replied, thinking quickly, "Place like this, there's got to be room to move…"
He gestured quickly, and the two of them entered the building, Doyle aiming high, Bodie crouching to cover the lower angles. Satisfied they were not yet walking into an ambush, they proceeded quickly through the ground floor, and located the stairs. The evening was beginning to darken as it approached 9pm, through there was enough gloomy light to see by. They worked their way up the stairs in the standard tag team style – one taking the lead, then covering the other's advance, until, hot, sweaty and breathless, they reached the fifth floor. They could hear Kenny Price clearly now, still alternatively laughing and raging to himself.
"He's out of his mind," Bodie said, bemused.
"He's dangerous," Doyle replied, darkly, "just remember; he's killed at least four cops and he's got two CI5 agents hostage. That takes some skill."
"Agreed," Bodie nodded, "I've seen the way those two can fight…"
"Doyle!" Kenny screamed, suddenly, "Doyle! Where the hell are you? Doyle….!"
Doyle moved to go forward but Bodie grabbed his arm.
"Are you crazy?" he hissed, "He'll shoot you as soon as look at you!"
"No; he won't," Doyle said, with more confidence than he felt, "remember, I brought down his whole organisation. He wants to see me squirm before he kills me. Stay here. Watch my back."
"You're as mad as he is!" Bodie objected.
"We haven't got time for this!" Doyle whispered, urgently, "While we're out here debating, he's got Webster and Hogan in there… I'm going in."
*CI5*