Disclaimer : Still own nothing. Just having fun.
Author's Note : Thanks to everyone who's left a review. It means a lot to me that you took time to share your thoughts.
I won't get to update tomorrow with Thanksgiving, but there will be a new one up on Friday. Promise!
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7:45pm – 2867 Rickert St – Cherry Hill Neighborhood, Baltimore, MD –
While the Tahoe lurches over every pothole on the inner-city street, Tony watches the outlines of derelict buildings slide past the window, their facings barely visible in the sulfuric glow of the street lamps. He leans his head against the seat, hazarding a quiet sigh. Since they haven't passed any marker of civilization like a bailbondsman or a seedy bar for several blocks, he assumes they're edging into Angel Caido territory.
He presses his lips together, letting his eyes wander over the group. Knuckles white on the steering wheel, Hector intensely keeps his focus on the road ahead. Carreras stares out the passenger window, drumming his fingers against the handle as he likely contemplates what he'll do to the man who 'diverted' his shipment…and what he'll do to Tim. The thought turns Tony's stomach. Shaking his head to chase the images away, he looks to the henchman that he only knows as Juan, who's gaming on his phone. The screen's light illuminates the thug's face, making him look ghoulish.
Tony shudders.
In the trunk space, Tim breathes evenly, slightly muffled by the blanket Hector covered him with earlier. For a brief moment, Tony wonders whether he might actually be pretending to be unconscious.
Probie can't lie if his life depended on it. Too bad, it just might.
His gaze flicks back to the world outside. Halfway down the street of ramshackle buildings, Hector cuts the wheel to the left, bouncing the SUV into a small parking lot. After the vehicle grinds to a stop, Tony scrambles out into the freezing night. Just ahead of them stands an office building that used to be white until the years of smog and grime rendered it a slimy grey.
A frigid breeze, thick with the feeling of rain, carries the stench of the nearby docks.
His eyes close.
I can't believe they still use this place.
With his murderous sight set on the building, Carreras sidles next to Tony. When the thug rips the gun out of his waistband, Tony pulls his jacket tighter.
"Do you remember Raoul, Tony?"
"Yeah, real loyal guy, right?"
Carreras nods tensely, not taking his eyes off the structure. "He used to be. One of my shipments never showed up last night. Since I left him in charge, I bet he's got something to do with it."
"So what do you want us to do?" he asks, gesturing back at Hector and Juan who lean against the car.
"Give me a few minutes to make sure he's not stupid enough to still be here. I'd like to deal with him alone." Carreras loads a bullet into his gun's chamber and Hector flinches visibly.
"You sure you don't want someone to go with you?"
"Alej and Chale are still here. Tony, you and Hector bring that fed in a few minutes. If Raoul isn't here, we'll figure out what the feds know." He grins wickedly. "Juan, you're outside. If anybody tries to get in, shoot them."
The dangerous look on Carreras' face makes Tony wince. The last time he saw that expression, several members of a rival cartel turned up brutally murdered. There was just enough left of the bodies for a tissue sample.
Carreras stalks across the crumbling blacktop, the car's headlights shining on his parting form.
Tony swallows hard, turning back to the pair of thugs leaning against the car. He sucks a breath through his teeth; his brain churns as it searches for a new plan. If one of them had gone with Carreras, he could've ended the situation without incident. One arrest for him and a count of grand theft auto for Masterson would get him and Tim to safety. But when Hector hikes up his sleeve to show Juan the newest addition to his skeleton tattoo, Tony can't bring himself to make the gamble with Tim's life.
Even though he's undercover, he's still responsible for his junior agent's safety.
He glances to the sky, watching a low-flying plane's lights flash underneath the clouds.
"Don't we got somethin' to do?" Tony asks.
"Carreras told us to wait," Juan responds, kicking a rock across the asphalt.
More moist air rolls off the river, and a clap of thunder booms.
"Why don't we do it now? Unless you wanna be floatin' away in a few."
The shadows on Hector's face deepen, and even in the near dark, Tony can see the whites of his eyes in the dramatic eye roll. But when fat raindrops begin to fall, they quickly head to the trunk and Tony follows, hand around his gun. Just as the rear door rises, Tim explodes, kicking and twisting away from the thugs. He even manages to hit Hector in the stomach once before Juan plants his weapon firmly under the junior agent's jaw.
The look of abject terror on Tim's face makes Tony freeze.
He can't bear to watch, focusing on the large pistol in Hector's hands instead.
"Where's your girly gun, man?" Tony asks.
"Went out and got a better one," Hector says, starting towards the building.
By the time they reach the small overhang by the entrance, the rain has grown steadier, its droplets creating a haze in the glow of the street lamps. Tony carefully checks Tim over. With a split lip joining the angry purple plastered on his left cheek and the right side of his face, the younger man certainly has seen better days.
But at least, he's still alive.
"Think we should go in or what?" Hector asks, frowning at the downpour.
"Yeah, not a bad idea," Tony nods. "Glad we're not the one stayin' out in this."
Juan's features pinch in annoyance as he pushes Tim into Hector's outstretched hands. Hunching against the siding, he yanks a cigarette out of his coat pocket. There's a lighter's blaze in the darkness, and Tony flashes him a broad grin. He wrenches open the metal door and ducks into the building, barely catching the muttered curses under the sound of rainfall.
The stench of must peppered with mold leaves him hacking violently. Up ahead, Hector leads Tim at gunpoint down the pitch-dark hallway until they reach a spacious backroom, accented with all the mildew and grime that Tony smelled at the front door. Scattered around are a few tortuous looking chairs and a lopsided table. One of the fluorescent lights overhead flickers, making Hector's movements flash like they're in a carnival's haunted house as he dumps Tim unceremoniously on the filthy tile floor.
A thunderclap echoes, sounding almost like a gunshot, and everyone jumps. When Tim finally rights himself against the wall, his face is grim. His shoulders shift slightly as he works at something behind his back. Tony reaches into his pocket, feeling the handcuff key that he stole from Carreras' desk while searching for a phone.
When Hector starts to turn towards the junior agent, Tony snaps his fingers. "Go check on Rico."
"Come on, man, you know that's just thunder."
"And if it isn't?"
Features contorting into a sour expression, Hector stares defiantly at Tony for a second then finally disappears into the hallway. When the door slams, Tony hurries to Tim's side and plucks the blindfold from his eyes. The right one's nearly swollen shut and that side of Tim's face has turned a sickening shade of black mixed with purple.
"Are you okay, Probie?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. You?"
Pulling out the key, Tony just shrugs, then releases the handcuffs.
Teeth clenched, Tim carefully tries to bring his arms forward. As the right one falls limply to his side, he lets out a hiss. In his left hand, he holds out a cell phone that Tony recognizes as Juan's.
"I tried to call Gibbs already, but I can't dial without seeing the screen."
"Good job, Probie," Tony praises, taking the cell.
Tim's tight grin re-opens the split in his lip and the blood dribbles down his chin. When he tests the movement of his right hand, he yelps loudly, writhing his body against the wall. Tony's gaze flicks from the phone to the younger man's anguished face.
"McGee?"
"My arm," he moans quietly. "My arm…I don't know what happened to it. One of those guys kicked me back at the warehouse. I didn't think it was that bad until I tried to move it. Tony, it really hurts…"
"Then don't move it unless you need to," Tony replies, tapping Gibbs' number into the phone.
While it rings, his eyes meet Tim's grim gaze.
"Tony, do you think we'll get out of - "
"Gibbs."
Tony inhales at the sound of his boss' voice, surprisingly comforted by its gruffness.
"Boss."
"DiNozzo, where the hell are you?"
"In Baltimore."
"Already knew that, where exactly?"
"2687 Rickert Street, Cherry Hill neighborhood. Do you know where that is?"
"We'll find you. Where's McGee?"
"Here, with me. He's fine. Are you –"
"On our way. Should be there in about a half an hour. Hold on until we get there."
"On it boss," Tony says, sliding the phone back into his pocket.
The crack of a gunshot echoes from above makes Tim wince, frightened eyes flicking to the ceiling. Jumping when another one sounds, Tony sucks in a deep breath.
"Tony, what do we do?"
The third shot makes them both flinch and Tony presses his lips together, assuming Carreras just took care of Raoul. With one problem out of the way, they'll be coming to interrogate Tim soon. Seemingly at the same realization, the junior agent swallows audibly. Tony eases a knife out of the sheath on his belt.
"Can you fight?" When Tim nods slowly, Tony passes it to the younger man. "Wait for my signal."
"If I don't make it..." Tim drops his eyes to the floor. "I have a little sister. Her name's Sarah…can you tell her that I – "
"Whatever it is, McGee, you'll tell her yourself. You got that?"
Tim states blankly at him, but when approaching footsteps thudding in the hallway, he nods with a new found determination. Features twisting in pain, he settles back against the wall, tucking his hands and the knife behind his back. Tony rises from his crouch and grabs one of the chairs, dragging it closer to Tim. When he plops into the seat, it groans under his weight.
While he waits for the group to enter, Tony clutches his Glock so hard that his knuckles turn white.
The door opens and Hector and a pair of unfamiliar men enter, weapons already in their hands. Ignoring Tim's panicked stare, Tony leans back nonchalantly in the chair, further unsettled by its ominous moan.
"So you guys find Raoul or what?"
"Not yet, man. Alej and Chale held up one of the guys that's helpin' him. Needed a little motivation to remember what happened. Carreras is still up there talkin' to him. Told us to come down and get the fed ready. Guess he feels talkative tonight," Hector relays with a shrug.
"Give him a little more time," Tony advises. "You know how Rico likes to take things slow."
"Yeah, guess you're right. No sense in rushin' it."
There's a tense silence while Tony carefully watches the trio disperse, making sure none of them get too close to Tim. The thug he figures must be Alej drops into a seat nearby, its creak echoing hollowly. When Hector and Chale slide towards Tim, Tony's hand tightens on his Glock. He sucks in a lungful of musty air, the faint smell of mold and decay tickling his nostrils.
His tight muscles ache, begging for action, yet he lets the situation run its course.
He hazards a glance at Tim, the expression on his face making Tony's blood run cold. His leg starts to bounce as he feels the rough grip of his gun dig deeper into the palm of his hand.
Hurry up, boss.