Disclaimer: I do not own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
The warehouse.
Not only Baptiste had gotten hurt during the boys' little boat trip. Besides the lump on the back of his head, Chance also sported a huge slash in the area of his ankle, probably from swimming through the explosion hole. Guerrero had patched him up in the office's kitchen area and was now in the process of putting the remnants of his treatment away: Bloody needles, thread, disinfectant, gauze… Casually, Guerrero made one piece of bloody gauze disappear in his pocket.
Of course, Winston chose exactly this moment to exit the office's showering facility and come round the corner.
Had he seen?
Well, he scowled at Guerrero, but it was his usual "Guerrero-is-here"-scowl, not his enhanced "Guerrero-is-up-to-something"-scowl.
"Where's Chance?", he grumbled, rummaging through the fridge in search of his egg salad.
"Off to Emma's."
To Winston's great surprise he found his Tupperware container untouched.
Correction: Seemingly untouched.
Instead of the salad, the box contained an apple.
"You'll want to watch your cholesterol, dude."
… … …
Ames' house.
"I can't thank you enough." Ames couldn't stop turning, looking in wonder at her newly designed living-room. "This is exactly how I wanted it to be! The colors! The curtains! How did you…?"
"Your tweets", Ilsa smiled.
"I really can't…"
"You can. The hooker stunt was very dangerous. Letting us drug you with that poison..." Ilsa paused for a moment, remembering the horrible hours of waiting till it had been clear Ames would be okay. "You've made great progress since the Sisters of Antwerp days. I'm proud of you."
Ames looked at Ilsa for a moment and then hugged her. Ilsa returned the embrace and for a tiny period of time, they remained like that, unbeknownst to each other sharing one single thought.
Glad to have found you.
… … …
Emma's house.
"I hate to tell you, but your friend Guerrero blackmailed me." Emma had briefly wondered whether to tell Chance or not, he and Guerrero seemed very close, but in the end, what other choice did she have? She was so not going to risk her career over this! And their closeness was actually to her advantage, she figured. Chance surely would put a stop to this.
Oh, darling…
"Did he tell you he'd use the video of you and the BRM killer against you, shouldn't you protect Ilsa in that Abernathy case?" Chance sounded rather absent-minded.
Now Emma was surprised. "You know?"
"It's his style." Chance was playing with the strap of the watch Baptiste had put on him back on the freighter.
"So are you going to tell him I'm not going to do that?"
Chance got up and ready to leave.
"Everything has consequences, Emma. This is one. You can't go around killing people … torturing people … and expect to simply walk away."
Emma gasped for air.
"You should be glad it's Guerrero you're dealing with. He's a professional. Clear deal: You help Ilsa, the video stays where it is."
And off Chance went.
… … …
The warehouse.
Everyone was gone when Chance arrived back at the office.
Good. Made things easier. Or did it?
Chance was undecided, picked up his phone, put it down again… Carmine, sensing his unrest, came to his side, prodded his knees with his nose, made soft whimpering noises…
There was an explanation why the Old Man hadn't helped Baptiste. In fact it was the only logical explanation Chance could think of.
The first two to three weeks of silence had probably been meant as punishment, but after that he would have set the wheels in motion to get Baptiste's ass out of custody. If nothing had interfered…
The assault on the office, bearded guy looking for the book...
Interference for sure, but not enough to keep Joubert from Baptiste.
The message he had received during the helicopter ride afterwards, on the other hand…
A single name, hissed through the Old Man's clenched teeth - araña. Him, telling Chance he would have to rescue his friend alone after all.
Back then, with Winston in the hands of the people who had ordered Katherine's death, Chance couldn't have cared less, was even glad he got rid of Joubert in such an unexpectedly uncomplicated way, but now?
Had anyone seen the Old Man after he had parted ways with Chance at the Mexican border?
Well, he still shouldn't care. Should he?
He could easily imagine what Guerrero, Winston, Ilsa would have to say on that matter.
Guerrero would probably drug him and chain him somewhere, Winston would yell at him and Ilsa would cut his finances.
So better act now, alone?
So better act now, alone.
He sat down at his computer and started digging.
It was going to be a long night.
… … …
A private chapel in a mansion.
"Forgive me, father, for I'm going to sin", the man in the expensive suit whispered, shaking on his knees.
Soon he wasn't the only one shaking. The priest thought he couldn't believe his ears.
He had heard a lot under the seal of confession, but this?
There had to be something he could do to stop his. There HAD to.
… … …
The warehouse.
In the wee hours of the morning, Chance called a number he hadn't called in years. It was THE number, reserved for emergencies. The one number that would always be answered.
Nothing.
No reply except the answering machine.
Chance crawled into bed with his mind reeling.
… … …
New York. A nondescript office building.
Baptiste cautiously entered what once had been his home.
It was deserted.
Completely deserted. No one had been here, for months.
Electricity, phone lines etc. were still working. Apparently no one had stopped the automatic bill payment.
Baptiste checked the answering machines. Messages over messages.
But only a single recent one.
He sat for a long time, wondering what to do.
A/N: Thank you, jackattack, for taking the time to leave a comment!