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Chapter Sixteen
Someone Saved My Life Tonight
Tim McGee sagged against the crumbling brick of an abandoned building, watching Gibbs' back as his boss stormed away. He was exhausted, and the cold air seeped into his bones, despite his heavy layer of clothing. The FBI provided hand-warmers that he wore inside his boots and gloves. They'd worked quite well in the beginning, and his pocket was stuffed with extras, but after sixteen hours of searching, they'd lost their effectiveness.
Yesterday, once they'd confirmed the raid was a go, they'd all been sent home for a mandatory rest period – even Gibbs, who Tim secretly suspected never slept. The man seemed permanently on – even when they were stuck in the office working cold cases.
He knew they were already past the time they should've had more rest, yet they kept going. If they gave up and let others take over the search, it would feel like giving up on Tony.
Tim's guilt over the fact his partner went missing, right under his nose, nearly choked him. He couldn't blame Gibbs for being furious; he deserved it. Still, he'd never handled it well when his boss was pissed – particularly if he was at the center of that fury. In reality, he knew Gibbs was pissed at Ziva, too, but she was searching in another area and not beneath Gibbs' direct wrath.
Despite knowing he'd been the one who'd asked to come along, it didn't make it any easier, and he resented Ziva for escaping it. He hadn't seen Gibbs this livid since Ari Haswari took Autopsy hostage.
They were nearly at the end of this rundown section of the city, and besides the blood they'd discovered where the underground tunnel deposited them, there'd been no other trace. Fornell sent those samples back to the FBI lab, who confirmed one of them came from Tony. At the news, Tim's stomach dropped, and he'd yet to lose the queasiness.
He could see Gibbs in the distance approaching Fornell on the street corner and decided there was no point waiting for his return. It was probably better if Gibbs worked off some of his frustration anyway.
He waved at another pair of the FBI's search and rescue team, joining them to begin a search of the brick building he'd been leaning against. One of the pair offered him a nutrition bar, but he declined. He knew there was no way his already delicate stomach could handle it. He didn't think he'd be able to eat again until they'd located Tony.
As his new team entered the building, Tim took a good look around. Like most of the others they'd searched, this place was a disaster and already marked for demolition. Parts of the ceiling were missing, and spots of the floor were worn down to concrete. There was broken glass everywhere. He suspected it was probably once a small hotel. It had three stories, but the search group decided to stay together in case there was any kind of collapse.
It smelled stale and musty, never mind the more unpleasant odors of trash and urine. Tim had no idea if it was animal or human, and he really didn't want to know.
Realizing the other two had already begun looking around the lobby area, Tim pulled himself back together. As they moved around, plaster would occasionally fall, creating dust clouds that blurred their vision and caused coughing fits. It was pitch-black inside, so they all held their standard-issue heavy-duty flashlights. The light created long shadows on the walls. Tony would've come up with some sort of horror movie reference or something… The Shadow Knows.
The lack of sleep might actually be messing with his head – Tim was projecting Tony now. He felt another twinge of guilt at all the times he'd been infuriated with Tony's constant movie references and practical jokes. He'd gratefully listen to a joke now. Maybe there was some sort of explanation for his disappearance that he wasn't seeing, but he didn't know what.
Although they all remained on the same floor, they each searched individual rooms in an attempt to keep things moving. Tim marked the one he'd just completed by spraying an X outside it with bright orange, fluorescent paint.
As he searched for any sign that Tony might've been here, his mind, which was constantly processing, recalled the dressing down he'd just received from Gibbs. Even now, his ears burned and his stomach clenched. He'd denied the idea he would've listened to Ziva if she'd asked him to do something he knew was wrong, but his subconscious kept twinging because it was sort of what he'd just done. Ziva was the one who didn't want to follow Tony to the men's room. Why did he listen to her? He knew he was supposed to keep him in sight. He should've followed, but it wasn't like he was the only one at fault.
Tim knew Gibbs, Fornell, and Kehoe were keeping each other apprised of their progress, but Ziva kept calling Tim for a progress report anyway. He imagined she was worried about Tony, too, and it was hard being left behind. He suspected Gibbs left her with Tina to prove a point about the chain of command. They were in enough trouble already, so he didn't want Gibbs to find out she was calling.
Right now, Gibbs only concern was Tony, but there'd be hell to pay once they found him – hopefully unharmed. One of them should've followed him, that was their assignment. Ziva's reasoning seemed sound at the time, but she did tend to intimidate him, so he wouldn't always speak up even if he thought she was wrong.
While he'd denied it to Gibbs, he could admit to himself that he was distracted by the girl at the bar. She was pretty, and she approached him. That wasn't something that happened to him every day, and he was flattered by it. It boosted his tattered ego.
He did make sure to keep an eye on Tony, glancing at the bar frequently, but he didn't notice how long he'd been in the men's room, or that Ziva moved from their table and was standing too close to the amplifier. Maybe they could've begun the search sooner, or even been able to stop it, if he'd been more aware. Ziva should've realized she was standing right next to the damn thing. Why should he have to tell her?
If only he'd followed Tony. If something happened to him… he found himself wishing this was just another of Tony's endless, childish pranks rather than anything serious. He really didn't want him to be injured. The cold and exhaustion were messing with his head.
He marked the room he was in with another orange X and trudged on.
As soon as he walked through the next doorway, he realized it wasn't an old guest room. It was much larger. He scanned the walls with his flashlight, illuminating several dryer vents hanging loosely, the dryers long gone. He was in the laundry room.
He walked around, scanning the space with his flashlight. There was something protruding from the ceiling, and when he shone his light on it, he realized it was an old laundry chute. This hotel was even older than he'd thought.
Getting ready to move on, he lastly shone his flashlight across the floor… and froze. There was a splash of vomit right beneath the laundry chute, and it was recent enough that it hadn't had time to congeal. As his light continued across the floor, he noticed blood spatter near the vomit. More blood than the minimal amount they'd found earlier, and the trail led toward the exit door.
"Got something!" he shouted, his heart thudding with adrenaline. His breath made swirly puffs of vapor even indoors.
Forgetting his squeamishness, he knelt down, removing evidence gloves and collection swabs from his backpack. He pulled off his heavy-duty winter gloves and pulled on latex ones. It smelled disgusting. It couldn't have been here longer than a day.
Tamping down on his desire to rush, he waited for his partners to join him. One of them took pictures of the entire area while the other handed him a few collection tubes so he could scrape a sample of each.
"I'm going to get these out to Fornell and have him send a few more agents back to help us search. We can move through here quicker that way," one of the FBI guys – Neil or Ned, Tim couldn't remember which – said.
While Tim's gut wasn't nearly as developed as Gibbs,' he was sure this was the place, and Tony had been here recently. He'd either managed to escape or had been thrown down the laundry chute from one of the upper floors. Maybe his captors thought the concrete at the bottom would kill him.
It might've if he'd landed on his head, Tim thought uneasily. The vomit could be a sign he was concussed, but clearly, the fall hadn't killed him. Tim looked up inside the laundry chute, flashing a beam of light. It was too dark to see how far up it went, but since he knew the building had three floors, Tony couldn't have slid more than two stories…
…Onto concrete, perhaps head-first. And there was also more blood here, indicating he was injured.
Tim sobered, swallowing thickly, and willed his panic away. Tony must've walked away, so it couldn't be hurt too bad… right?
"Let's go up a floor and look around since someone obviously came down the chute," his partner said.
Tim nodded, and they climbed the stairs to the second floor. They exited the stairwell onto a long hallway of spaced door openings. Most of the actual doors were missing, and there was a beat-up old soda machine in front of them. Tim took the left side, his partner the right, and they began checking all the rooms. When Neil/Ned returned with more agents, they could begin searching the third floor.
Tim was usually very good with names, and he didn't know why he couldn't remember these guys. It was very unlike him. Maybe it was the lack of sleep. He was only functioning on auto-pilot and couldn't process new information.
"I found the laundry chute in a supply closet. There's more blood here," his temporary FBI partner called.
Tim was fairly certain this one was called Joe… or it could be Jim. Regardless, Tim hurried to join him, seeing the blood on the walls, and a large amount on the rim of the chute. In his mind, Tim could imagine Tony stumbling around in the dark, feeling the walls, and perhaps lowering himself into the chute. He preferred that theory rather than envisioning a beating and a dumping from this little empty room.
Tony was good at escaping. Maybe he'd managed it again and would delight in telling exaggerated tales of his ingenuity. He hoped so.
Once they took photos and collected more samples, they continued down the hallway. The walkie-talkie hooked on Tim's belt flared into life, and Fornell's voice alerted him that more teams were on the way.
When they'd started the search that morning, each pair took a walkie-talkie. Gibbs listened to the instructions, then just walked away, leaving Tim to pick up one for their team. He wished Gibbs had it now so Tim could've at least told him they'd finally found some clues.
He supposed Fornell would let him know.
When he shined his light into the next room, his heart plummeted into his already upset stomach, and all the air evaporated from his lungs. Most of the floor was covered with a plastic tarp. It was wrinkled as if there'd been a fight, and there was more blood. A lot more blood. He carefully moved the light across every inch of the floor, coming across a glint of something long and thin against the wall.
Tim went over to investigate. He found a lead pipe, the same thing that had been used on the bodies that he and Tony found in that alley. His stomach churned, and even though it was empty, some of his insides still threatened to come up. Once again putting on latex gloves, he carefully picked it up, there was blood smeared all over it. Tim clenched his eyes and placed it inside an evidence bag, hands shaking.
Had it been used on Tony? He hoped not.
He'd seen what had been done to those victims. Broken bones, internal injuries, brain damage – and Tony was here... Tim thought he might've zoned out for a moment, because although it didn't seem as if any time passed, he could hear Fornell's voice in the hallway.
Swallowing, Tim stuck his head outside the door. "I've got something."
"You four, head up to the third floor and begin the search. You two, start at the opposite end of this corridor and work towards us," Fornell directed.
Tim watched a group of FBI agents split apart, following their orders. Fornell and the two agents who Tim joined earlier – Neil/Ned and Joe/Jim – met him outside the guest room where he stood.
"Need photos. Theres a bloody, plastic tarp in here," he said.
"Body?" Fornell asked tensely.
Tim shook his head. "No, but I found an iron rod."
Fornell held out his hand for the evidence bag. Unsettled, Tim gave it to him, glad to be rid of it.
"I've sealed off the building. We'll get a crew in here to process the whole scene," Fornell said, flashing his light around. "Where's Gibbs?"
It took Tim's distracted brain a moment to register Fornell's question.
"What do you mean? I thought he was with you," he said, eyes wide.
Fornell frowned. "I spoke with him outside, but that was about an hour ago. I thought he came back to you."
An hour? Tim didn't realize it had been that long. Uh, oh. I lost Gibbs, too.
"He never came back," he said faintly.
"What? He needed to blow off some steam, but he should've been back by now," Fornell said, pulling out his phone.
He hit a button, and Tim was sure he was calling Gibbs. Interesting that he had the number on speed dial. Maybe he did that for whoever he was partnering on a case. He certainly didn't think Gibbs had Fornell's number on his phone. He probably would've had to ask Tim to program it.
"He's not picking up," Fornell said, his eyes wary.
Did Gibbs find something, or was he in trouble? Did he get a call from Tony? Did he just go lone wolf without telling them anything? It wouldn't be the first time, but it would've been nice to know.
"Down here!" another agent called, her voice urgent and solemn.
Tim knew whatever she'd found wasn't good. He followed Fornell towards a room at the end of the hallway, dragging his feet, dreading what he was about to find. When they reached the room, the female agent stood aside, her face somber. Fornell shone his flashlight.
There were two bodies – neither of them Tony. Tim recognized Paul Bergmann, Eric Montague's roommate. They'd received one of his fingers in the mail just yesterday. Tim pointed his flashlight at Bergmann's hands; sure enough, one finger was missing.
They'd been killed recently. Tim had seen enough bodies to know that without Ducky's help. The other victim was female, also recently deceased, but he didn't recognize her. As far as he knew, no one had reported another missing person in relation to this case.
Tim met Fornell's eyes across the room. Still no sign of Tony. No sign of Tina's missing agent, either… and definitely no sign of the criminals who'd done all this damage.
Not to mention… Tim had no idea what happened to Gibbs.
/* /* /* /*
On the street, Gibbs followed the call girl as she turned down a dark alley. He knew women were used to heels, but he couldn't figure out how she stayed upright on all the ice. Perhaps she was using her stiletto boots like cleats. She hadn't said a word since they'd begun walking, and while he always preferred a lack of conversation, there were things he needed to know.
He just wasn't used to being the one who wanted to talk.
"How do you know Tony?" he asked, wondering if DiNozzo simply found someone willing to help, or if he knew her from his days on the force here.
Gibbs suspected he must know her like he did the homeless guy he and McGee ran into. He had a hard time believing Tony would simply trust a stranger after everything that happened – unless he had no choice.
She didn't answer, but her eyes slid sideways, studying him, sizing him up. He couldn't even guess how old she was, but her sallow skin and bony frame told him she'd lived a hard life.
"Did you know him when he lived here?" he asked.
"That was a long time ago," she said, her voice husky like a long-term smokers.
"I met him in Baltimore," Gibbs said.
He watched her contemplate that bit of information. "That where he lives now?" she asked.
"Nah. We work together," he replied, cautious not to give away Tony's actual address.
She nodded but didn't ask. They were walking toward a cluster of buildings at the end of the alley. There were no lights in any of them, but there wasn't anything else there. His senses were on high alert, carefully checking out any potential hiding spots in case of attack. He could smell smoke in the chilly air. They walked along a chain link fence, too exposed.
"You know that I'm Gibbs, but I don't know what to call you,"' he said, wondering if she'd trust him enough to reveal her name.
She paused, and he could see the uncertainty flickering behind her eyes. At last, she must've concluded that he wasn't out to get her.
"Trixie," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Dino calls me Silly Wabbit."
A half grin tugged at Gibbs' mouth. Even he knew that one. His daughter used to love that cereal.
"Sounds like him. Is he hurt?" he asked.
She pressed her lips together and walked a little faster, but eventually, she nodded. "Worse than usual."
Gibbs knew DiNozzo had a lot of trouble with the cops at the precinct where he'd worked, but he'd never mentioned things got physical. Typical. He clenched his fists, trying to control his temper. He didn't want to scare Trixie off.
When they came to the end of the chain link fence, they'd reached the empty buildings. Trixie's eyes scanned for threats in the same way Gibbs did moments before. She moved toward the one situated kitty corner. It was as dark and desolate as all the others, but the smoky scent was stronger. She didn't go near what looked as if it had once been the front entrance, instead, she skirted down the side, pushing on one of the boards, causing it to swing out. She ducked inside, leaving Gibbs to follow.
He stepped into a large space with a good-size fire burning in a rock pit in the center. There was a makeshift chimney consisting of a board that moved to the side so the smoke could vent. Inventive.
The smell of marijuana was heavy, and a large group of vagrants and working girls huddled around the fire, soaking up the warmth. They all stilled as Gibbs followed Trixie inside, their eyes instantly wary and alert – at least the ones who weren't already stoned or plastered.
Gibbs relaxed his posture, trying to convey he wasn't a threat. Still, there was a large number of them, and he knew situations like this could go sideways fast.
"Trixie! You found 'im," a gruff voice said, sounding relieved.
Gibbs looked over to see a vagrant wearing a hat with long ear flaps and clutching a cigarette tightly in his stubby fingers.
Trixie nodded. "Course I did, Chico. Told you I could faster than you."
The group around the fire relaxed as a whole once they realized Gibbs was with two of their own.
"He's not doin' too good," Chico said nervously.
He moved aside, and Gibbs saw DiNozzo lying atop a pile of rags. He was sweating profusely, despite the cold air, yet also shivering. He had a fever. His face was battered and swollen with fresh blood shining on his lips. Despite all the bruising, Gibbs could see he was extremely pale. Ignoring everyone else, he moved across the room and knelt beside his agent.
"Tony. Tony, can you hear me?" he asked, gently shaking DiNozzo's shoulder.
He didn't get a response other than a faint moan. After a few minutes of vainly trying to rouse him, Gibbs realized it wasn't going to happen. It was probably better since getting him into an ambulance would most likely be painful. Once they reached a hospital, the doctors could help him better than Gibbs could.
"He started coughin' up blood," Chico said, frantically. "He gonna die?
Gibbs didn't answer. Coughing up blood wasn't good. He knew enough about accident victims to know that probably meant a punctured lung. That would make it even harder to move him. DiNozzo's lungs were his weak spot, and Gibbs' concern shot up several notches, constricting his chest. He knew they weren't going to like it, but he needed help.
"Trixie, I have to call an ambulance," he said to the one he thought was most likely to help.
"No fuckin' way! They'll bust us and close down this place. It's fuckin' cold outside," Chico said, and most of the others in the makeshift shelter shook their heads angrily in agreement.
"Has to be done," Gibbs said firmly.
"I don't think a meat wagon is a good idea," Trixie said, looking at DiNozzo sadly and biting her lip. "Dino said there were bad guys after him, and sirens draw attention."
She was right, but he didn't see an alternative. Tony's lungs trumped everything else.
"Look, I'm not going to let him die."
"What if I can supply another way?" Chico asked, staring at Gibbs with squinty eyes.
"What other way?" Gibbs asked.
"Jonesy, gimme one o' ya phones," Chico said to a kid by the fire.
The kid, a dark-skinned youth who couldn't be more than fifteen asked, "What's innit for me?"
"Cops not findin' us 'ere," Chico said gruffly.
Jonesy thought about it for a moment before opening his coat. Inside the lining hung a variety of cell phones, probably stolen and up for resale. He examined them all. Pulling off a particularly battered looking one, he turned it on and handed it to Chico.
Chico took it, pressing some numbers. Gibbs had no idea what was going on, but he decided to let it play out. He'd rather not have to shoot his way out of here.
But he would if it became necessary.
"Hey, Keshawn. Dino's 'ere and needs some 'elp. Can ya bring your van?" Chico asked.
"Oh! That's a good idea," Trixie said, her face brightening.
When Chico finished the call, he tried to hand the phone back to Jonesy, but the youth shook his head.
"No way, man. You used it. They can track it now. Have Keshawn get rid of it," Jonesy said.
"Who's Keshawn, and what's he going to do?" Gibbs demanded impatiently.
"This place has a back entrance that leads out to a slightly better neighborhood. Keshawn has a van. He can take you to the hospital," Trixie said, still nodding.
"Why is Keshawn going to help?" Gibbs asked, unwilling to put DiNozzo in any more risk than necessary.
"He owes Dino," Trixie said.
"Dino got 'im outta spot of trouble when he lived 'ere. Got 'im an apprentice job with a local electrician," Chico said.
"He'll help," Trixie agreed.
"Need a stretcher to move him. I think his ribs are broken," Gibbs said.
Chico and Trixie stared at him blankly.
"What about a board? Got tons of those around here," Jonesy said.
Gibbs nodded. Trixie was right that the club owners could still be hunting, not to mention the armada of police searching the streets. Gibbs wanted to get Tony to a hospital before he alerted anyone else that he was safe. Surest way to change that was to bring too much attention to the fact he was being moved.
DiNozzo did a damn fine job of escaping, lying low, and getting help all on his own. It was Gibbs' turn to take care of him the rest of the way.
Jonesy stood up and dragged over a long board, thick enough to support a man.
"Gibbs nodded. "We need to lift him gently, so we don't move him around too much."
Trixie, Chico, and Jonesy immediately came over to help. Gradually, a few of the others joined in and they managed to move DiNozzo on his dirty blankets a couple feet onto the board. Tony coughed, despite how smoothly they were trying to move him, and slick spots of crimson dribbled down his chin. A car beeped outside.
"That's Keshawn, I'll get him," Chico said, disappearing into the darkness towards the back of the building.
Gibbs phone rang in his pocket. He glanced at the caller ID – Fornell. He ignored it, letting it continue to ring in his pocket. He could see how nervous it was making everyone.
A moment later, Chico led a young man into their midst. He wore coveralls with the name of an electrician on the front. He looked as out of place as Gibbs amongst this crowd, but if Chico was to be believed, he'd once been one of them.
"Meet Gibbs. He's helping Dino," Chico said.
Keshawn's eyes went wide, and he jerked his head from side to side. "Where is he?"
Trixie pointed to the unconscious DiNozzo, who looked frail and broken in the flickering light from the fire, his complexion nearly grey.
"What's wrong with him?" Keshawn asked uneasily.
"He needs a hospital – without attracting a lot of attention," Gibbs said, sizing up this new ally.
Keshawn looked at Tony, then back at Gibbs, then at all the faces watching him curiously.
"All right, let's go. There are cops crawling all over the place. That have something to do with him?" he asked, jerking his head toward DiNozzo.
"Of course, it does?" Trixie replied.
Keshawn leaned over to take the top of the board Tony was lying on. Gibbs took the other end, and the others gathered along the sides. Carefully and gently, they moved Tony through the building and out a door in the back. Keshawn's van waited with the doors already open. They slid Tony's makeshift stretcher inside and closed him in.
"You coming?" Keshawn asked.
Gibbs nodded and got in the passenger seat, waving his thanks to the others. Once they got Tony to a hospital, he intended to give Keshawn enough money to get pizza and bring it back for all of them.
Note: Thanks for all the thoughts and comments. They're very much appreciated, so keep 'em coming! 😊