A/N Sorry to keep you all waiting. Thanks for the follows, favs and my personal favourites - reviews. This chapter is partially beta'ed and all mistakes are mine. FYI during the interrogation scene, if you are having trouble understanding Croc there is a glossary of terms located at the end of the chapter. Hope you enjoy :)
An Eye for an Eye Leaves Everybody Blind
Chapter 13: Denials, Discombobulating and Deceptions.
Jimmy Palmer Indianapolis May 26th 2012
I woke up to the comforting and familiar sounds and scents of the ER and decided that I must have dossed down for one of my power naps, although I had no memory of it. Usually I'd go to the on-call room and power nap or stretch out in the doctors' lounges, but occasionally when things were crazy or I had a critical patient that I didn't want to leave, I'd kip down in the ER and try to grab a cat nap. Clearly I had chosen option number three, I concluded, until I became aware I had the mother of all headaches - even moving my head a miniscule amount made me want to throw up. I didn't understand as I don't suffer from migraines, although a diabetic collapse could possibly explain the headache I guess. But I'm assiduous in managing my diabetes and haven't had an episode since college.
Aware that I wasn't alone, I heard voices that I should but don't recognise.
"Doctor Potter, I think he's coming round now."
"Thanks, Lakeisha. Dr. Palmer, can you hear us?"
Damn it, what the Hell happened? Had I passed out and whacked my head on the way down? That would explain the stinking headache. If my blood sugar dipped sharply, it made sense that I collapsed, but as I became more aware of my body, it didn't explain why I had a hippopotamus sitting on my chest making himself at home. Groaning I managed to persuade my eyelids to shift a fraction and saw unfamiliar faces surrounding me. Where was everyone?
"Hm."
"Do you know where you are?"
"ER. George Washington."
"Um, half right, Doctor. You're in the ER at Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis …"
His revelation resulted in me remembering the chaos at Crown Hills Cemetery, the trap we were attempting to spring on Rivkin and I panicked, bolting up. Well, okay, I tried to sit up but that wasn't a good idea, nor was it actually successful. My head exploded, I commenced a very credible impersonation of Linda Blair in the Exorcist and that damned hippo parked on my chest decided to do the stomp. Note to self – don't try to sit up again til the damned hippo deigns to get his fat ass off my thorax.
"Dr. Palmer, you need to lie still. You were shot – twice. One bullet grazed your frontal squama (my forehead), but fortunately it was a ricochet, so most of the energy of the bullet had already been absorbed before it struck your skull. Enough, though, to give you a Grade 2 concussion. The second bullet struck you in the sternum, but luckily you were wearing a bulletproof vest, as you are no doubt aware. So you've ended up with an incredibly painful, bruised sternum and that's going to make it difficult to breathe, plus you really want to avoid vomiting."
The medico smirked, realising that that I probably didn't require the advice - for several reasons. One I was an ER doc myself and two, I knew from personal experience just how much it freakin' hurt!
"Explains the hippo," I murmured conscious that the Doc frowned at that cryptic or to his mind delusional comment and swiftly ordered additional Neuro Obs.
"Was anyone else hurt?" I asked desperate to know, but determined to stay put this time, since I vividly recalled what had happened the last time I moved.
"I'm not sure, but I do know that you were the only person brought here. I'll see if anyone came in with you," He promised, as I groaned and closed my eyes, hoping it would help with the dizziness. No one else coming into the ER would seem to be a positive sign, but it could be that Methodist Hospital only took the overflow or less serious cases, um, me and more serious cases went elsewhere, perhaps to a trauma centre.
I knew intellectually that my injuries were fairly minor, and as Dr. Potter said, I was lucky, but physically it was another matter. I was in pain, nauseous and every breath I took was painful. Later when I was capable of insight, I wondered exactly how Tony and Gibbs did it. They had on quite a few occasions that I'm aware of, copped bullets in the flak vests or collected a concussion and refused to be hospitalised. Part of Tony's motivation was that he couldn't bear to exhibit weakness, especially in front of Gibbs, who he was always desperate to impress. Still for him to simply suck it up and go back to work instead of crawling away to recover in bed like any prudent individual would do, must take an enormous amount of mental self-control and strength.
I recalled when Tony had lost consciousness when he had been guarding Mike Franks. That was shortly after Gibbs, in a bastard act if ever there was one, came back abruptly from retirement and took the team off him without a word. Then there was the time when Gibbs sent him and Ziva in to the 'war game', that wasn't actually a war game at all, and nearly got them both killed. Ziva always did hate to admit that she could be bested by anyone not trained by Israel or Mossad and engaged the Marines guarding Domino, ignoring a direct order or two in the process. Shame that particular example of disobeying a direct order hadn't resulted in her removal from the team. It would have saved a heck of a lot of heartache all around.
Still, I really couldn't understand how anyone could go back to work, let alone be productive, with a concussion. I could barely string the most basic of thoughts together or talk. When Fornell came in to check on me and informed me of what had happened at the cemetery, I could hardly concentrate on what he was saying. Once I comprehended that no one else had been hurt and Rivkin was dead, which I'll admit took me a while to grasp, I stopped listening and gave in to the pain and lethargy. I knew that someone would be along soon to administer analgesia before they transferred me to a room for observation, but right now I just wanted to tune the world out. All I cared about was that we were all okay, Rivkin wouldn't hurt anyone else and, finally, Tony could come home.
Of course, later on when I was feeling better, I was keen to know what had happened, and Tobias and McGee were happy to relay what had happened after Rivkin opened fire on our entourage. I was also pretty curious to know why he picked on us when Tony's doppelganger was on the other side of the cemetery. The prevailing wisdom was that he was hoping to create a diversion and incite panic amongst the Feds and us before going after him. Going after our group before we had rendezvoused with Tony's double had caught us all on the back foot. Apparently, the intended target had been Gibbs, not me, so that explained why I survived getting shot in the head by a Kidon assassin. Certainly none of the scenarios from the profilers had raised the possibility of Rivkin targeting anyone before DiNozzo (or his double) had appeared. Then again, his attempt to take out Tony in Bethesda had been pretty reckless, too. Anyone could have nicked the fruit, not just Agent Slacks.
When I heard that Rivkin was disguised as a Civil War nurse hanging out with the re-enactors, I thought that Tony would probably get a perverse kick out of that detail if he knew, since the former agent disliked anything to do with Civil War re-enactments. Actually, that was a gross understatement if ever there was one. Scowling, I remembered how upset Tony had been when Gibbs had spilt the beans to Ziva and McGee about Senior. The bastard used to drag Tony along to Civil War re-enactments as a little boy, who was eager to spend time his father, only for the emotionally neglected little boy be assigned the crappiest job, no pun intended, as the poo boy carting around the crap bucket for everyone else to use. Not that much different to his role as Gibbs' SFA, really!
Frankly, I thought it was a low act to divulge something that was obviously intensely personal and painful, in order to make him look foolish in front of the junior team members, who to be blunt, didn't need any encouragement in that department. Tony rarely shared anything of a personal nature about his childhood with anyone, so for him to have shared the information with Gibbs would have taken a lot trust. That or else Gibbs got him good and drunk when he was upset and Tony accidentally let it slip. However he revealed that piece of data, I am damned sure he didn't want it broadcast in the bullpen for the amusement of his team. There were times when Gibbs' cruelty was breathtaking.
You know, it's funny how individuals see their own versions of reality, ignoring or discounting those facets that contradict or threaten the views of the reality that we construct using facts that bolster it. Emotions, experiences, feelings and needs can so easily colour how we process information, often twisting reality til it has little resemblance to what is real. For example, the way we can rationalise not stepping in to help someone who is being harmed.
I mean, what other explanation could there be to explain how Abby insisted on viewing Gibbs and Tony's relationship as one of a loving father and son, when there are far too many instances to count, where just like the poo boy incident, Gibbs had been all too ready to draw blood when it came to Tony. Where he had been happy to ridicule him and put him down in front of his friends and colleagues. Not how, to my mind anyway, a father would behave towards their child, and I'm sure as Hell he never would have acted like that to his precious Kelly, either. Yet Abby continues to wear her rose-coloured glasses, and she's supposed to be a sceptical scientist, not some little girl straight out of a Pollyanna movie.
Then again, it isn't just Abby who's guilty of delusional thinking. You know, even after the mess where Gibbs let Vance throw Tony under the bus over Michael Rivkin, I still heard office gossip in the Admin Department about how Gibb was in love or lust with DiNozzo, or vice versa, and how hot they were together. Just as I cannot reconcile Gibbs having a fatherly relationship with Tony, the idea of them being in a romantic or sexual one is equally incomprehensible, again for the same reasons. If you really care for someone, see them as someone you love, no matter if it is your lover or as a son, you don't seek to hurt them or gain a position of power over them by belittling them. Not in public and not in private.
Well, not unless it's a highly pathological relationship, and let's face it, Tony already had plenty of pathology with alcoholic parents. Plus, I feel pretty certain that Gibbs never would have tried to inflict pain on his sainted wife Shannon, not like he has so often with Tony. Like I said, it wasn't just with the poo boy comments or the team dinner party where Tony was left out or the cruel dig after he was freed from the sewer. There were plenty of readily available examples to draw on, too many for people to brush off in good conscience as jokes, even though that's what people like Abbs do.
I couldn't help but wonder over the years when I pondered this phenomenon of pairing him and Gibbs up as either father/son or lovers, if it didn't all come down to superficiality based on appearance. What if Gibbs wasn't, in the words of the ladies in Admin, so 'damned smokin' hot' or in Abby-speak 'her handsome Silver Fox,' would they be so quick to ignore his rather obvious faults and frequent appalling behaviour, if he looked more like… oh, I don't know… that guy Joe Spano? You know… the one who used to star on Hills Street Blues as Lt. Henry Goldblume.
Would they still interpret his extremely limited repertoire of social interactions, such as whacking Tony upside the head for example, as proof positive of him having fatherly impulses or (like the ladies in Admin) imagine a whole gay relationship because of them? Perhaps if Gibbs looked like Joe, who to be fair is just an average looking guy who is balding, rather than a guy who looks a lot like the heartthrob leading man who played Mark Austin (the romantic lead) in that movie The Presidio, they would be inclined to see it differently. To see what I saw - an abuse of power by an emotionally constipated supervisor making himself feel empowered by putting down a subordinate.
See, the thing is with Spano, although he's a well-respected character actor, because he isn't 'hot', he doesn't get to play the leading man roles, despite working on scores of critically acclaimed television shows such as NYPD Blue, X Files and movies such as American Graffiti, Primal Fear and Apollo 13. And I'm more than willing to bet my retirement fund that if Gibbs resembled Joe, he'd be crucified if he tried to head slap his subordinates. Furthermore, I'd wager no one would excuse them as fatherly or romantic impulses, merely common assault. However, I have digressed from the subject at hand just a tad, since I was talking about Rivkin meeting his demise dressed in Civil War garb.
I do think that Tony would get a real kick out of the fact that Rivkin met his end playing dress up, not just dress up, but drag no less. I'm pretty certain that our assassin would have hated to end his life that way, but he probably never considered it was even the remotest of possibilities. Of course, it would have been true poetic justice if Rivkin had been dressed up as a poo boy, but I guess you can't have everything! Rivkin – if he was still capable of conscious awareness at this point, must be pretty pissed that a humble bounty hunter, an Aussie no less, took him out. Tony would get a good laugh out of it if he knew.
Hopefully in the next week or so I would finally get a chance to see him again, now that Rivkin was history, and we could have a good laugh over it over a beer or three. Damn, that would be so good! He could have my spare bedroom til he found a place to live and I could relocate my study out into the living area. Hopefully he need never know about how close I came to being another casualty of that lunatic because he would be extremely cranky with me, and that was something I was willing to go to great lengths to avoid.
An Eye for an Eye
FBI Field Office: Nelson B Klein Parkway, Indianapolis 26th May 2012
Tobias Fornell entered the Indianapolis Field Office after taking charge of the scene where Rivkin had opened fire on Gibbs and his party making their way towards the graveside of their former team member, Special Agent Caitlyn Todd. Although they were still waiting on DNA confirmation proving that it was indeed Samuel Rivkin who had died and not a doppelganger, they were fairly confident that they had the real Kidon assassin. That was based upon facial recognition of video footage they had of him entering the USA.
Hard to believe it had been almost three years ago that the scum went to ground after killing Special Agent Ron Sacks accidently, instead of DiNozzo. Fornell really hoped that they had the monster who'd cost him an agent and friend and helped to destroy the life of an already broken DiNozzo. The poor SOB blamed himself for Ron's death, Ziva's suicidal actions and Gibbs heartache over her death when he was the wronged party.
Damn it, he was so looking forward to finally bringing Tony home and at the first proof of DNA confirming the kill, he would be placing that classified ad in the New York Times. One simple sentence but imbued with so much sentiment. Tony had told him if he needed him to come back to DC to testify or if it was an emergency, he should take out a classified ad in the personal column. Typifying his quirky sense of humour, he'd stipulated that it should read, 'Dorothy, Aunty Em says to come home to Kansas cuz there's no place like home.' Of course in this particular instance, Tobias wouldn't be able to resist adding an additional sentence, certain that DiNutzo would easily decipher it. The addenda would read, 'Ding, dong the wicked witch is dead!'
Striding over to the temporary desks assigned to his agents, Bridie Reilly and Pat Smythe, who'd replaced Ron as his 2IC, he looked at his team." What did you find out about our guests, people?" He asked, highly irritated that some dumb bounty hunter had got the jump on them all and took out the bastard that killed his agent.
After putting together the perfect sting, it seemed a cruel irony that the kill shot should be snatched out of their grasp by some hick running around playing cops and robbers. Fornell ignored his inner voice telling him that he should be grateful that Rivkin was taken down before he had a chance to inflict any real damage on anyone, even if his superiors where going to be pissed. Sure they liked to garner positive publicity at every juncture, and after the expense they outlaid to resolve this whole highly embarrassing saga, that was to be expected, wasn't it?. Especially after all the egg on their faces they'd endured when DiNozzo had slipped their protective custody so easily and simply vanished. No wonder they weren't pleased.
Still, he could guarantee that any negative publicity, if someone had been badly hurt or killed, apart from Rivkin, would have been much, much worse. Plus the wrath of DiNutzo would have been truly epic and apparently, when he was really pissed off, it was a scary experience. One that Fornell was more than happy to forgo. He was pretty sure that even though Jimmy wasn't seriously hurt, Tony would still be furious when he found out.
Anyway, he had a feeling that the Spin Doctors employed to make the agency (read TPTB) look good in the media, had probably already claimed credit for the kill. They did it often enough when they worked joint taskforces with other agencies and police departments. So there was no reason to suspect that this situation would be any different and,really, it was probably safer for the bounty hunter if Mossad thought that the feds had killed their guy. Still, it pissed off the bosses and that was always a bad thing as far as he was concerned. He wasn't like Leroy Jethro Gibbs who enjoyed pissing people off, he preferred the quiet life.
Staring at his agents expectantly, they obediently commenced giving him a sitrep on what they'd found out so far.
"We've identified all four individuals, Sir." Bridie reported. "They're three bounty hunters who work for an outfit called Fugitive Retrieval Service or FRS and the fourth individual we detained is a fugitive who failed to report for his hearing in LA. The guys from FRS were hunting him down and located him running scams at the Civil War Re-enactment held at Crown Hills this weekend." She drew breath and looked at Pat.
He stepped in. "We have confirmed the identity of all four players."
Fornell nodded, because anyone who worked as bounty hunters in California, unlike many other states, was vetted and their fingerprints recorded, while anyone charged with a crime was also fingerprinted and photographed as well.
"Starting with the perp, he's a petty crim – a con man but not a successful one. Eddie Burns aka Eddie the Weasel has been in and out of jail for the last 20 odd years. We've already confirmed with the re-enactors that he was at the encampment over the weekend. Seems like he might have been picking pockets and engaging in petty larcency although there are no actual witnesses that can tie him to the thefts. Looks as if he was running some old cons as well. He's been a busy boy!" Pat concluded.
Bridie stepped up and clicked the remote to reveal three photo IDs for the state of California for the Bail Bond Recovery Agents. "The guy that took the kill shots and brought down Rivkin is Michael Kaderson. He is the proprietor of not only Fugitive Retrieval Services but is also a licensed Bail Bond Agent in the state of California. He runs the FRS business in addition to the bail bond business and from all reports it is a successful and well regarded bond recovery service that operates across the US. Well in states where bounty hunting is permitted."
She clicked on a list showing the high profile fugitives that FRS had retrieved since the business began, before continuing. "He usually only contracts on for the high risk cases and then charges accordingly. If they can't retrieve someone, chances are that no one can, according to the bail bond agents I talked to. For example, FRS was responsible for hunting down the gun runner from Florida – Ronald Mills aka The Rottweiler - down in New Mexico a couple months ago, bringing him back to Miami to stand trial."
Fornell frowned. "So what were they all doing chasing down a petty douchebag like Eddie the Weasel? Seems like overkill to me."
"Yeah, but see Kaderson holds the bond on Eddie at his LA Bail Bond business and when he did a runner Michael called in his boys from his fugitive retrieval team and went a hunting. I think that it wasn't so much the money but the fact that Eddie dissed him and he had to save face. So he brought in the big guns!" Pat concluded.
Fornell nodded. Made sense that he couldn't afford as bail bond agent to let his clients think that they could abscond on him and get away with it. He'd go broke pretty damned quick. Plus, having his own bond recovery team, he could afford to chase him down swiftly and make sure his clients realised that they couldn't run and get away with it.
"So tell me about Kaderson and his bounty hunters." Fornell demanded. He wanted to know who he was going to interview and what made them tick.
Smythe aimed the laser pointer at the picture of Kaderson. "Michael Ian Kaderson, 39 years, Australian Ex-Pat. Holds a Bachelor of Arts (Law) from Sydney University. Joined the Australian Army when he was 19 after a year travelling following his graduation from high school. Spent his final two years of high school in the US with his family before they returned to Australia. Served as a Trooper in the Special Air Services Regiment (SASR) which is the Aussie Special Forces, joined the Tactical Assault Group Tag West."
He looked down at his notes before proceeding. "Married to a US citizen, Mollie Kaderson nee Watford and they have a baby daughter Jannali. He employs his brother, August Liam Kaderson in his Fugitive Retrieval Service. He's a former Australian Federal Police Officer and the only one of his team of skip tracers as he prefers them to be called by the way, who doesn't come from a military background. In fact, all the others are ex-special forces trained too."
"Is August Kaderson one of the guys we detained from FRS?" Fornell wanted to know.
Bridie shook her head. "No Boss. Steve Rogers and Jonathan Marsh. August Kaderson and Leyland Carrington III weren't at the cemetery. According to Michael, they're running down leads and putting together a plan to track down a gangland drug dealer back in San Diego."
"And the trio had all the proper paperwork and firearms permits for the weapons they were packing?" He queried his team.
Smythe nodded. "Yeah, they seem to be on the up and up. Talked to the LAPD and also SAC Sheri Montez from our LA field office about Kaderson and his firm. Unlike a lot of these cowboy outfits, they are highly regarded in California but also in many states since they've worked closely with law enforcement agencies and departments to bring in some pretty high profile fugitives."
Tobias nodded approvingly at the Intel gathered by the pair. They'd done well. Bridie anticipated his next inquiry.
"Ballistics checked out the rifle and all Kaderson's other weapons. Rogers' and Marsh's too for that matter. They were all clean apart from the rifle. Forensics confirm that it was the one that killed Rivkin. GSR was positive for Kaderson but the other two retrieval agents were negative and their guns haven't been fired either."
What about 'The Weasel?' What does he have to say for himself?" Fornell demanded, wanting to have as much data as possible before he interviewed the quartet.
Bridie and Pat rolled their eyes at each other. "Can see how he earned his name," Bridie volunteered. "Guy's a pathetic little loser."
"Lawyered up straight away." Pat confirmed, derisively.
"Okay, what about the two other bounty hunters on Kaderson's team? Anything there?" Fornell probed.
His two agents exchanged looks. Pat spoke up. "Not really, Tobias. Stephen Howard Rogers, 38 years old. Grew up in New Jersey, father was a Lt Commander in the US Navy, Stephen was a Lieutenant Navy SEAL. Been with Kaderson since he started the service back in 2008, and is his 2IC. Clean record, not even a speeding ticket. This guy makes me sick, he is so damned pristine."
Bridie giggled. "His team mate is the same, squeaky damn clean too. Jonathon Peter Marsh, 34 years old from Connecticut. Former Delta Force, as is his team mate, Leyland Carrington III. He's been with FRS for 26 months and he has a couple of parking infringements."
Fornell nodded, convinced. "Okay, good work. Did either of you question Kaderson about what happened at the cemetery?"
Seeing them shake their heads, he nodded. "Okay, going to get some coffee and some crap outta the vending machine and then I'll go in and take his statement." It was still rankling that some bounty hunter wandered into their sting, a blow in off the street and took out Rivkin before the FBI could. The guy who was on their most wanted list, the guy who'd killed Ron. Man was the director pissed, judging by all the texts he'd been receiving. He really was going to have to suck it up and stop dodging him sooner or later.
Sighing deeply, he decided to get it over and done with now and punched in the number. As he was waiting for it to be connected, he scowled recalling the malicious gleam in Gibbs' eye when he heard that it was some dumb blonde bounty hunter who'd claimed the Kidon assassin's scalp and not the highly trained feds. Jethro was still a bastard, even in retirement!
An Eye for an Eye
Croc was sitting in an interview room alone and he was pretty sure that Jono, Steve and Eddie 'The Weasel' had been placed in separate rooms too. According to Tony that was SOP. Outwardly, with his feet up on the table and his chair tilted back on two legs, he was the epitome of cool, calm and collected. Inwardly, well it was a different kettle of fish entirely. There was so much riding on this.
Could he carry it off? Hell yes, failure was not in his vocabulary! And what of Jack and Tony? Had they gotten clear and if so, was Tony okay?
He knew how much torment Tony experienced when his friend Jimmy Palmer was shot and how torn he was between rushing to his aid and leaving to protect his anonymity. He knew that Dino had only done so because he was convinced that returning would endanger his friends. Actually based on what just happened with Jimmy it was pretty hard to refute his reasoning that his friends were at risk. Hopefully, Croc could get an update on Palmer, while giving a statement without causing too much suspicion but for now he needed to focus on his performance. There was so much riding on this interview for Tony and they'd all prepped for it accordingly.
Gator had spent hours coaching Jack and Jono about how to successfully navigate the interview if the worst happened and Fibbies detained them. Jono as a former Delta looked suitably irritated by having Croc's baby brother - the only one in the team who wasn't Special Forces trained - tutor them. "No offence, Dude but we all received training on how to survive interrogation by the enemy. I think a Delta can withstand a namby-pamby FBI agent asking a few questions, don't you?"
Gator smirked at him. "None taken, Swampie." He'd responded, using Crocs nickname for the former Delta, knowing it pissed Marsh off. "And no offense, Dude but forget everything you learnt as a Delta!"
Before Jono could explode, Steve leaned over and stuffed a pair of dirty socks into his younger team mate's mouth he'd been inspecting, trying to decide it they were worth the effort of washing or needed to go to the great sock heaven in the sky. Much to Jono's ire!
Croc couldn't resist offering some unsolicited advice. "Put a sock in it Swampie, no wait you just did!"
Scowling at the team as they collapsed into peals of helpless laughter, Gator stepped in as Jono was spitting and spluttering the taste of stinky feet out of his mouth and reaching for some water.
"Look Jono," Gator lectured, "to carry this off, you don't have to resist getting broken. You have to con them into thinking that you are nothing more than a big, dumb, he-man, former soldier boy trying to relive his glory days by becoming a bounty hunter. You need them to think you are harmless so that they don't go poking into everyone' connections. If they uncover the RIMA link to DiNozzo then he'll have to cut ties and go to ground again. His chances of staying one step ahead of Eli David takes a massive nose dive. And because I've done some undercover work and am a skilled actor even if I do say so myself, I get to play teacher."
Jono had grimaced and Croc wasn't sure if it was the dirty socks or acceptance of Gator's argument. "Skilled actor my ass, Gus. Skilled liar, more like!" He bitched, not wanting to capitulate too quickly.
Gator realised this and shrugged complacently. "You say potato, I say spud," He quipped before returning to the topic at hand.
Croc smirked at the memory as he heard the door to the interview room opening and Tobias Fornell appeared in the doorway. Good! Tony had given him a run down on FBI tactics in general but Fornell specifically. They had run through various scenarios and the best way to deal with them. Tony had recommended using a variation on his own method of dealing with the FBI. To deflect, irritate and generally convince people to underestimate him.
"How do you recommend I do that, Dino?" He'd asked his good mate.
His friend had grinned, cheekily. "You know how everyone always tells you to just be yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Well don't! Be Croc – but the ocker-est ocker ever. Dial up Croc, who FYI is one gigantic butthead and stuff Mike into a small little box and don't let him out," He'd advised.
"Wait… what are you saying, that Croc is irritating?"
So he channelled his inner bogan and ocker combined and crossed his metaphoric fingers.
Fornell came in with the ubiquitous file for intimidation purposes (according to Tony's Interview Techniques for Dummies handbook) and a foreboding expression (also compulsory according to Dino). He sat down and regarding Croc with a speculative expression. "Mr Kaderson, can you tell me why you were at Crown Hills Cemetery and what the Hell you were doing with so many weapons?"
Mike took a deep breath and presented him with a goofy grin as he unleashed his Croc persona to the power of ten. "Call me Croc, cobber."
"Excuse me?" Fornell started, unnerved.
"I prefer to be addressed as Croc… short for Crocodile."
"Mr Kaderson, can we get back to the question," Tobias huffed.
"Bloody oath we can, mate. What was the question again?"
"What were you doing at the cemetery and why were you packing so much heat?"
"Oh yeah, bonza question. See Swampie, Stevie and yours truly were hunting down a fugitive."
"Who is Swampie and Stevie?"
Croc grinned inwardly, the exasperation in the federal agent was already apparent. "Jonathan Marsh and Stephen Rogers, my team."
"Go on, tell me what happened in your own words, Mr Kaderson." Fornell instructed gruffly.
"Croc." He corrected, patiently. "Well we got the good oil that Eddie the Weasel was heading to Indianapolis to have a knees up at that Civil War Re-enactment. Confidentially mate, I reckon those drongos, if they are dumb enough to play dress up, deserve to get fleeced except I was out of pocket when he failed to show up for his court date. And I can't afford to let the punters think that they can get the better of me, I'm no galah. So me and the team came down to show him who's the boss cockie and if you need a hint, it ain't Eddie!"
Croc stole a glance at Fornell who was looking at him as if he had two heads. This was fun!
"So anyway, mate, we were wandering 'round the cemetery looking for Eddie the Weasel like a bunch of lost jumbucks, when I saw a real average looking sheila. She was dressed up as an old fashioned nurse, tracing the gravestones, when strewth, she pulls out a fancy rifle and starts taking pot-shots at this poor guy. And there was a couple of older dudes and a weird looking chick – cross between Dracula's mother and Madonna and when I saw the guy with the specs go down, I decided I had to stop the mongrel before he shot anyone else. So me and Narelle made sure the miserable bugger didn't fire again."
Croc drew breath before making an observation. "Fair dinkum, me and Narelle don't normally go round putting down sheilas, I swear cobber. But when I saw her Adams apple through Narelle's scope, I knew he wasn't a true blue Sheila. He paused. "Any idea when I might get Narelle back again?"
Fornell looked at him as if he was off his trolley. "Narelle?" He managed to get out.
"Yeah my rifle."
"You gave your rifle a name?" Fornell asked incredulously.
"You don't?" Croc inquired, equally as astonished. "Named her after my Auntie and my knife is named for Auntie Kylie," He confided chattily.
Fornell seemed like he was struggling to stay in control, although he was indulging in a lot of eye rolling.
Smirking as he recalled it was Dino's suggestion that Croc give his rifle a name and he'd just laughed at him, thinking his friend was pulling his leg. When Croc realised he wasn't joking, he told him he was crazy. Tony shrugged, said it was one way to deflect their attention away from asking questions that they didn't want to have to answer. And he was right – he mentally apologised to Dino as he waited for Fornell to respond.
"Um no, Mr Kaderson. I don't anthropomorphise my firearms."
"Well stone the flaming crows!" He was silent as he contemplated the use of Fornell's five syllable word with glee. Then remembering Tony's advice to be obnoxious he came back with, "So… when can I get Narelle back again?"
Fornell rubbed his temple with his right hand, looking like he was about to lose it. Pushing a pad and pen across the table towards the bounty hunter, he said in voice that one used to deal with fractious children and lunatics, "Write it down, Mr Kaderson. I'll be back." He stood up and crossed to the door. As he placed his hand on the doorknob he turned back, as if he just remembered something. (Tony had called it the Lieutenant Columbo move).
"Just one more thing. Tell me Croc, why'd you bring two guys who are Special Forces trained down here to apprehend Eddie the Weasel? He's not exactly public enemy number one, is he?"
"Like I said, when Eddie did the Harold Holt, we heard that he'd shot through like a Bondi tram, all the way down here. So I sez to m'self, 'Self, if we were in the neighbourhood, we might as well make it worth our while and do a couple of jobs while we were here. Earn ourselves some zacs, pay for the fuel to fly down here in case it was a furphy that Eddie was here.' So that's what we did."
Fornell nodded, clearly happy with that explanation, maybe because he only understood half of what Croc had said, which must have been pissing him off. Once again, Croc mentally gave thanks to Steve and Dino's insistence that they pick up a few extra jobs down here, in case they needed the cover story. He guessed that was why Tony was such a master of being under cover, his obsessive attention to detail.
For his friend, no detail was too minor to ignore in preparation for today. And even when he'd thought it was overkill to send Eddie in to spend the weekend working the re-enactment mob, Croc had to admit now that it had paid off. Because they suspected that Rivkin was around, he'd been under the watchful eye of Steve and Gator, who in addition to watching his six, were sussing out possible suspects. He was pretty sure after talking to him that Fornell would double check to make sure that Eddie was at the encampment, the suspicious bugger.
As Fornell exited the room, Croc heaved a silent sigh of relief, silent because he was undoubtedly still under observation. He had pulled it off – now all they needed was for Steve, Jono and Eddie to do their bit and they'd be home and hosed. Eddie was an old fox – used to running cons and well used to dealing with cops although he'd never dealt with Feds. He'd be fine and Steve was a tough nut but Croc was a bit nervous about Jono. Still, he hadn't witnessed the shooting so he wasn't likely to be grilled exhaustively, not like he had been as the 'shooter' not like Croc. He knew that he'd have to go through his account again, probably multiple times. According to Tony that was SOP, too.
Still, all Jono had to do was stick to the script and whine about when he was going to get his gun back again. Play up how much he loved running around hunting down and capturing fugitives since they wanted the Feds to label them as dumb bounty hunter, ex-soldier types running around playing cops and robbers.
Ten long hours after being detained for questioning by the FBI the three RIMA alumni exited the building, exhausted but euphoric. By all accounts, they had pulled it off and Steve had even managed to coax out of the young female agent, the happy news that Tony's buddy Palmer was fine. Apparently he was under observation in hospital with a concussion so obviously all the blood was from a graze and wouldn't Dino be relieved to hear that! The Fibbies had even handed back their weapons – well all but Narelle of course. They'd even let him have Kylie back, again. He wasn't going to tell Dino but Kylie and Narelle were sorta growing on him…maybe he'd keep the names.
Now they were forming up a plan with the goal of maintaining their cover, just in case the FBI was at all suspicious. Much as they wanted to hook up the others who evaded the feds, they had to behave in character. Which meant that they needed to collect Eddie the Weasel and get on the plane and head home. They finally decided that they would drop Steve off over the border in Illinois and he'd make his way back to Indianapolis and the safe house.
Croc was desperate to get back there too but as he was the "shooter" all eyes would be on him, not to mention as the boss he was the focal point of FRS. Once they got back to LA and delivered Eddie to the cops they could go to ground and head back to the safe- house and pick up the guys. It was the not knowing how badly hurt Tony was and how they'd dealt with the consequences of him getting shot that was driving Croc nuts. Jon had pointed out, trying to cheer them all up, that since Jack and Gator had managed to evade the Fibbies too, between them, they could cope with Tony, even with a gunshot wound.
Steve and Croc exchanged enigmatic looks, knowing that if Tony needed a doctor, they were in big trouble since a GSW looks pretty much like a GSW and unless the doc was a hack or blind, would be wanting to report it to the cops. Still, there was no point in borrowing trouble, there was usually enough to go around.
An Eye for an Eye
Leyland Carrington III or Jack as everyone but his parents referred to him as, which was a great relief to everybody, incidentally, felt his mind was in utter turmoil. He considered who was desperately clutching onto his back, as they rode away from the cemetery. Trying hard not to focus on DiNozzo's identity, he stayed alert, trying not to draw any attention to them by stupidly speeding through the streets of Indianapolis. Granted, it was hard to restrain the urge though since he could feel tremors beginning to run through his passenger.
He suspected it was a combination of adrenaline dumping, shock, pain, exhaustion and one Hell of a lot of conflicting emotions since they'd just killed the scum that had been hounding him for the last three years. He must be experiencing overwhelming anger and relief and he guessed he was probably feeling ambivalent about killing, which all amounted to a whole lot of emotional and physical overload. Frankly, he was feeling like someone hit him with a Mack truck himself, so DiNozzo had to be feeling totally crap.
Even if it was possible to carry on a serious conversation with DiNozzo, he knew that he would have to wait to satisfy all of his curiosity, even once they reached the safe house. Jack's first priority was going to be stabilising his condition and he began to consider how to cope if DiNozzo's wound was worse than the graze he'd admitted to. Even a graze would probably need stitching or at the least, antibiotics and that was going problematic. They couldn't just rock up to a doctor or hospital – GSW were required by law to be reported to the cops and he really didn't think that Tony was going to want to do that.
When they arrived at the safe house Steve had set up for them in case things went wrong, his passenger stumbled off the bike. Jack helped him into the house and he realised any answers to his questions other than medical ones would have to wait. The former medic really needed to see to the wound and Jack helped him to the bedroom, before cutting off the bloodied shirt and stripping off the bullet proof vest that Tony, like the others had been wearing. Sitting him down on the bed, he had his first good look at the gunshot wound. After cleaning it up with the impressive first aid kit that Steve had ensured would be there, he felt relief.
It wasn't great, but then it could be so much worse. It was more than a graze, a good chunk of muscle and flesh was missing from his forearm, but at least there was no bullet to contend with, and for that he was grateful. A through and through was better than he'd hoped for. Still, DiNozzo was going to require antibiotics and someone with surgical skill to stitch up the wound that went beyond Jack's very basic suturing skills. He could manage a cut just fine but not this. Which left them with a conundrum, since Jack was pretty sure that any doctor not stoned out of their head would take one look at DiNozzo's arm and know just how it happened. And therein lay the problem.
"Tony looked at it expressionlessly. "Just clean it out, Jack and pack it with that antibiotic powder crap in the kit and dress it, I'll be fine."
Jack shook his head, "If it was a scratch, that might cut it DiNozzo but you need a doctor."
Tony nodded, his eyes at half-mast as Jack took his blood pressure and realised it was on the low side. He needed to be treated for shock too.
"Yeah, I know, but not here. It'll have to wait til we go home. I've got contacts there. Can't afford to take the chance here, Jack. Just clean it up," He directed firmly.
Jack sighed and pulled out the packs of sterile saline, blueys, swabs and a catheter tipped syringe plus a kidney dish and proceeded to irrigate the site as gently as possible, doing his best to flush the wound comprehensively to remove any foreign bodies including clothing fibres from his shirt, plus dirt and bacteria. After gently drying the wound and packing it with sterile dressings and sulphonamide power which was used by farmers for livestock and hence pretty easy to come by, Jack covered it with a surgical dressing and bandaging it firmly to stop it bleeding again. Helping his patient to strip down to underwear and get under the covers to stay warm, he ordered Tony to stay awake for a bit longer until he could get a hot sweet drink into him before he slept.
Returning to the bedroom with a hot but not boiling cocoa with plenty of extra sugar to ward of shock, he watched as DiNozzo dutifully swallowed down the overly sweet drink. He knew he was staring but he couldn't help it. Tony looked as if he was going to speak several times but didn't. Finally he finished the drink and looked at Carrington intently.
"Look Jack, I'm sorry to keep you in the dark and I know you want answers but it's going to have to wait til I've slept cuz I can't seem to keep my eyes open. Guess it's all catching up with me," He apologised. "Can you do one thing for me? Find out without raising any flags 'bout my buddy, Jimmy Palmer? Rivkin shot him and Mike said he was still alive but he was shot in the head and the chest and well… I just have to know if he is going to be okay. I never thought he'd be there. He shouldn't have been there. God damn it, he is an autopsy gremlin not an agent." He swore getting distressed.
"He's a friend?" Jack observed, not really understanding what an autopsy gremlin did but it sounded rather morbid in his humble opinion.
"Yeah, a really good one, Jack."
"Okay, you rest and I'll work my contacts, see what I can find out."
xxxx
When Tony woke up later, he wasn't sure how long he'd actually been down for the count. Needing to go to the bathroom he staggered out of bed and into the bathroom to attend to the call of nature. Wandering down the hall to the living area where the murmur of the television, the volume turned low, played in the background, Jack sat engrossed in what was on the screen of the laptop. He was surprised when he noticed that Tony was awake, not realising how much time had elapsed.
"You should be resting, DiNozzo."
"Yeah, but I thought I'd get a sit rep, Jack. You hear anything?"
Jack shook his head. "Nope, nothing. The office hasn't heard from them either although people have been ringing up and checking on our whereabouts. Ruby told them she didn't know where we were, couldn't divulge that information even if she knew and said she'd pass on the enquiring when we checked in. When she asked who was calling, they said they were from the FBI before they hung up on her."
"Any word on Palmer?" Tony asked, not sure if he wanted to know or not. Getting shot in the head was pretty damned serious after all. He was pretty certain that Jimmy had been wearing a vest, surely no one would be stupid enough to let a civilian (because even if he worked at NCIS he wasn't an agent) parade around as bait without making them wear a vest. No they wouldn't – would they?
"They took him to Methodist Hospital. They haven't said much apart from the fact that he had minor injuries. And they haven't said much about Rivkin – just called him a disturbed tourist – no name released of the deceased. No mention of what all the feds were doing at the cemetery although they are reporting that the FBI killed Rivkin after he started firing indiscriminately at a group of visitors to Crown Hill."
Tony snorted, "Nothing's changed then. Still like to claim credit for other people's blood, sweat and tears," He joked, sounding mildly amused.
Jack stared at Tony. "Who did shoot him?"
Tony shook his head. "I did Jack, but Croc is going to claim credit for it."
"So the Boss is no better than the Fibbies then," Carrington declared, jokingly.
"Well technically, I guess but he isn't doing it to earn kudos. He knew that if the worst happened and the cops or the feds detained me, they'd figure out sooner rather than later, my real identity." Tony defended his buddy, his eyes fixed on the television screen, his interest piqued by something on the local channel. The evening news was reporting on the shootout at the cemetery and the reporter was standing outside of the Methodist Hospital doing a live crossover, speaking to the studio.
"So I guess that explains why you and Croc swapped clothes then," Jack commented. "From a distance I thought you were him."
"Yeah well that was sort of the idea, but we didn't swap clothes, there was no time for anything like that." He groaned softly as he shifted position.
Frowning as he tried to decipher that statement, Jack mentally kicked himself as he realised that Tony was showing clear signs of pain and he gave himself a mental shaking. Of course he was going to be feeling pain now that all the adrenaline had worn off, since he'd taken nothing for the pain. Getting up to go into the kitchen, he found some of the over the counter strength pain meds and shaking out a few tablets he filled a glass of tap water and handed them over with the curt instructions, "Drink it, DiNozzo. All of it!"
Shrugging, Tony gulped down all three at once, swallowing the whole glass of water, realising belatedly that he was parched. Tony appreciated the fact that Jack had taken good care of him but it was clear that he was pissed off with him and he was experiencing a very strong sense of deja vu that was definitely unpleasant. Shades of all those months he endured after the shit had hit the van as Ziva would have said, when he'd been undercover.
He remembered the scorn, fury, distrust and the oh-so passive-aggressive silences from the team. The sulking and Gibbs attempts to treat him like a pile of dog crap had cut deep. Not to forget Ziva's holier than thou lecturing about keeping secrets from the team, and wasn't that freakin' well the height of irony considering how she had kept her affair/mission/ passing of classified documents to the Kidon assassin from the team and the agency. Then again, they'd all been big on expecting him to follow the rules but themselves – no not so much. Remembering how much crap he'd borne after the La Grenouille op, when his heart was breaking, how he'd being treated like a god damned probie by Gibbs, given every crap job that the Marine could come up with and then some, he decided that this time around, he wasn't going to wear it.
Seeing the pain on his face as he remembered one of the most tempestuous periods of his time on Gibbs team, Jack naturally assumed it was physical pain and realised it was time to check on his arm.
"Sit, DiNozzo. I need to check your arm."
Tony sat obediently. He wasn't about to act like a jackass and even though he wasn't going to take any crap, he did understand Jack's feeling of betrayal. After all, the down side of undercover work was the collateral damage caused to innocents by having to lie, cheat and deceive them in the course of the op in order to sell a cover story. People were always so outraged and hurt when they found out he was someone other than who he had purported to be and he got it, he really did. Still, his team was supposed to be a bunch of professionals who understood how these things worked, as should a former Delta Ranger, damn it! Oh yeah, the MCRT damn well should have understood the concept of 'need to know,' obeying the chain of command and following orders - that he had no choice. Yet they had all acted like he was having a fine old time undercover and leading them up the garden path as a joke or to feed his enormous ego. Hah pot kettle!
"You know Jack, ever since we got here you've addressed me exclusively as DiNozzo. Call me overly sensitive but I'm sensing some latent hostilities here."
Jack gave him an icy stare as he proceeded to unwrap the bandage around his upper arm. "Isn't that who you are?" Whoa, definitely not feeling the love, Leyland!
"What the Hell am I supposed to call you? DiNozzo is your name, isn't it? Your real one?"
"True, but see I've spent three years avoiding it because of the potential to get me or people around me killed. As to what to call me, you could go by the name you've been calling me since you met me or if that doesn't work, you could call me Tony which FYI is 'why not' backwards. Or finally, you could always call me what the others do. My nickname at RIMA was Dino – the guys still call me that and you're welcome to do so as well." He offered, holding out an olive branch magnanimously when Carrington was acting like a spoilt brat.
"Z'at what Croc and Steve call you? He asked, rather snidely and Tony couldn't help the comparison to certain former team mates. Nodding assent silently, he refrained from further comment since he'd already made the first step in trying to heal the hurt.
"And Gator? He call you Dino too?" Jack demanded, looking and acting like a whiny child.
Tony nodded, sighing. "Yeah he did Leyland but back at RIMA he was just Gus, not Gator. We were Mike, Stevie, Dino and Gus." Tony thought back to his two years as part of the quartet. They'd been dubbed the Four Stooges or the Four Musketeers depending on what mischief they'd gotten into by their teachers.
Steve scowled. "I don't get it. How did you do it? Must have had someone damn good helping you make it all work."
Tony thought of his contacts who had helped him get new identity documents, Steve's contacts who had hacked in and swapped out his fingerprints in various data bases. Croc and his family's help from the first day he'd stumbled over him hiding out with the down and out. All the cops that had helped him stay undercover and give him a reason to keep putting one foot in front of another instead of giving up.
"Yeah, Jack a lot of good people helped out."
"Well it's the best damn job I've ever seen. How… Oh damn it!" He exclaimed, worriedly, finally unwrapping the bandage and removing the dressing from his arm.
"What?"
"This isn't looking great." And Tony stared at the wound and felt his stomach drop. The wound was hot with a tell-tale ring of inflammation around the outer rim that was the precursor to a full blown infection.
"Looks like Brad Pitt was right, after all." He muttered, irritated that his buddy's prediction years ago that his immune system wasn't as efficient since the Y- pestis and that he needed prophylactic antibiotics after significant injuries or exposure to infectious outbreaks, had proved correct. Tony had always thought that Brad and Ducky had been ridiculously overcautious in making him swallow down a truckload of pills since he caught the plague. Now he sent them both a mental apology.
"What the Hell has Brad Pitt got to do with anything?" Jack demanded irritably, concerned medic back in place and sulky bond retrieval agent temporarily absent.
Tony chuckled, "He was my doctor – not the actor- when I had the plague. Said my immune system was crap because of it." He explained. "Looks like he was right, hey?
Dropping Tony's wrist that had been roughly grasped to measure his pulse, Jack stared at him like he was an alien. "The WHAT?"
"The plague, Jack. Back in 2005 I contracted it when it was sent in a letter to NCIS where I used to work. It scarred my lungs and I nearly bought the farm with double pneumonia. My doctor pulled me through, though in a weird quirk of fate, he also broke my leg and ruined my chance of playing basketball professionally back when I was in college. So really you could say it was kinda his fault in a way that I got the damned plague… well anyway he told me I'd be more susceptible to infections and viruses."
"Damn it, why didn't you tell me this before?"
"Because I thought he and Ducky were just overreacting, I guess. Yeah I've been sick a lot more lately but I just thought it was cause I was hang out in places that weren't real hygienic." Tony explained, his brain already engaged in a risk analysis. He could wait til he got back to LA and see one of the docs at the free clinics down round the homeless shelters where they weren't exactly the most conscientious about mandatory reporting, especially if you paid them to look the other way. Many of the doctors had their own addictions to feed and word soon got around about who'd look the other way for a GSW. Or plan B that was rapidly forming but one he really didn't want to implement.
Jack it would seem was doing his own risk analysis. Jumping up and heading to the laptop he Googled veterinary hospitals and Tony figured he was considering breaking in to a clinic to steal antibiotics.
"Can it wait til we get home, Jack?" He asked hopefully, even though he was expecting the answer forthcoming.
"When's that going to be DiNozzo? We don't know what is happening with the guys. They can be held for 24 hours without being charged. What if they decide to charge the Boss? Not likely I know but they might if they are feeling bloody-minded and even if they cut them loose, can we take the chance to hook up with them or stay with the original plan and let them leave then return and pick us up? Can't do a risk analysis when one option is so full of unknowns. So we go with the here and now option. We're here, you need it now!" He summarised succinctly.
"Okay but I think I have an alternate option to breaking, entering and theft." He outlined his Plan B and Jack nodded.
"Yeah that works." He paused, thinking that would still mean leaving DiNozzo alone but it couldn't be helped and it was a lot safer and quicker than his option. "How can you be so sure that he'll be there, though?"
Tony smiled, not his usual carefree 'I have nothing to be concerned about and everything to live for' grin but a 'I really hope I'm not make a huge mistake and blowing everything' grin that spoke of all the inner conflicts that he juggled daily. "Because I saw him walk into the hospital on the TV not five minutes ago."
After researching his quarry on his laptop the younger man prepared to head off. Tony called out to him, "Jack, you'll need the car, not the bike and he won't go off with a stranger. He'll need to be convinced." Carrington nodded, agreeing with both points. "Okay, so any suggestions?"
Tony nodded and handed over a piece of paper. "Jack read it and frowned giving him a bemused look.
"I know… I swear it will make sense to him." Tony vowed as Jack nodded and headed out.
End Notes:
Aussie Glossary of Terms used during the interview that takes place between Croc and Fornell
cobber – friend, buddy, mate
bloody oath – too right or that's correct
bonza – real good, terrific
we got the good oil - received good information
to have a knees up – to have a party/ have a great time
mate – pal, friend, buddy
drongos – idiots, fools
get fleeced - get conned, swindled/tricked
the punters – in this context the clients and general public (Has numerous meanings)
galah – someone foolish
boss cockie - head honcho, one in authority, originally a farmer who employed a lot of farm hands.
jumbucks – archaic word for sheep or lambs
average looking sheila – a plain Jane, sheila is a girl, female, woman
strewth – exclamation of surprise
bugger - depending on the context it can be a term of endearment in much the same way that a bastard can be used too, not uncommon for a child to be described as a cheeky little bugger, said with a combination of pride and exasperation, but can also be derogatory as in this case a miserable bugger
fair dinkum – honestly or for real/ also means authentic
true blue – authentic, real
Narelle and Kylie – quintessential Aussie girl's names
did the Harold Holt – did a bolt/disappeared. Harold Holt was an Australian Prime Minister who disappeared while swimming at a Melbourne beach and was never seen again. Conspirator theorists speculated that he was abducted/ rescued by a Chinese Sub or stolen by Aliens
shot through like a Bondi tram - took off
zacks – a sixpence although Australia switched to a decimal currency in 1966, now used as a generic term for money
furphy – unreliable rumour or a lie