The Days We Break: Chapter Four
~NCIS~
Thursday Morning
Placing the van in park, Tony quickly got out and dashed across the parking lot to reach the overhang of the ratty motel they had been dispatched to. Even with the full out run, he was fairly soaked by the time he was sheltered underneath. Gibbs and Ziva, who had driven in a separate car, soon joined him, and then they trooped down the hall and up a flight of stairs. Once they turned the corner, they were met by the local detective who had called them. Introductions were quickly made, and then the detective escorted them down the hall to the cordoned off hotel room.
Detective Smithson, appeared to be in his early sixties, with grey hair, blue eyes, and fairly heavyset. He opened his notebook and read off the details of the case so far. “As near as we can tell the suspect picked up the victim down the street in front of the library. From the desk clerk we found out the victim has rented this room for over a year. The clerk didn’t outright admit it but we are pretty certain the victim is a prostitute. According to the clerk the name on the books is John Smith, which is obviously fake.
“We are not sure exactly what went down, but at some point, things got violent. The suspect, Gilbert Winslow, seems to be under the influence of some sort of narcotics. He beat the victim within an inch of his life. The police were called. Once we got the suspect in handcuffs and found his ID, we saw he was a Marine on leave, so we called you. The victim went to St. Mary’s. EMTs didn’t want to speculate if he would make it or not, but it didn’t look good.”
The detective ushered them into the hotel room but stayed outside to talk to the patrolman guarding the door. Tony whistled lowly; the room was thrashed. Tables were overturned, mirrors were shattered, and there was blood splatters here and there. Stepping gingerly, Tony started taking photographs. He heard Gibbs getting more details from Smithson, and Ziva walked past him to photograph the opposite side of the room. Tony saw something that made him pause and latch onto something the detective had said. Taking a photo, Tony then reached under an overturned side table. He pulled out torn Superman comic.
With a sickening feeling settling in his stomach, Tony shouted, “Detective?” When Smithson and Gibbs turned around, Tony asked, holding up the comic, “How old did you say the vic was?”
“There was no ID and the desk clerk keeps insisting that his boss wouldn’t rent to anyone underage, but I would be surprised if the victim was at most seventeen if not younger. Shame,” Smithson said, looking world weary as he shook his head, and turned back to a now very grim Gibbs.
Catching his bosses’ eye, Tony just nodded. He knew that look. Gibbs was always hyper focused when it came to cases involving kids. Placing the comic back where he found it, he continued to photograph the room.
He heard a gasp from Ziva and then his name said in a shaky whisper. Concerned over what would have the normally stoic former Mossad officer so rattled, Tony crossed the room. What he saw made his heart stop, but at the same time it felt like adrenalin flooded his whole body.
In her hands, Ziva held a green jacket with bright yellow flannel on the inside. She looked up at him and asked, “It can’t be the same one right?”
Tony reached for the jacket, and gave her a weak smile. “No, of course not, it must be just similar.” But even to his own ears his words sounded uncertain, and when he opened the jacket, he saw on the label the faded name of Leroy Gibbs. “It can’t be.”
“Tim ... Tim ... is with Ducky today, correct? It is Thursday, so he should be with him?” Ziva said as though trying to convince herself and Tony.
Tony opened his mouth to offer up empty words of reassurance he didn’t feel when he heard Gibbs behind him say, “What’s the hold up? We need to wrap this up and speak to the suspect and ID the vic ...”
~NCIS~
Once Gibbs had gotten what little extra detail he could glean from Smithson, he walked across the room to see what was keeping his agents. Their backs were turned away from him and they seemed to be having an intense conversation in hushed tones. When they turned, it wasn’t their shocked expressions that had the blood draining from Gibbs face: It was the green jacket that was in Tony’s hands.
Gibbs heard a roaring noise in his ears when he saw the bright yellow lining. He didn’t even realize he had reached for it until it was already in his hands.
Kid ... underage ... might not make it …
The detective’s words echoed in his head. It wasn’t until hands gripped his arms that he realized his knees had buckled. Flashes of Kelly, Shannon, and now Tim, went rapid fire through his head as Ziva and Tony lead him out of the room. He was vaguely aware of Ziva blocking the inquisitive detective as Tony lead him away from room 11b.
“Take a breath, boss. Otherwise, you are going to pass out,” came the voice next to him. A hand gripped his arm tightly, supporting the majority of his weight.
Gibbs followed the instructions and took in a couple of deep breaths. Breathing in the damp, cold air helped tremendously. It had been a long time since he had a flashback; they were just as nasty as he remembered. “I need to call Ducky; I need to talk to...” Gibbs voice trailed off as he fumbled for his phone only to drop it because his hands shook too much. He knew it couldn’t be Tim. He had driven Tim over to Ducky’s this morning. They were going to go do some early Christmas shopping before spending the day playing chess at Ducky’s home. Tim had become obsessed with the game and Ducky was only too happy to feed into that interest.
Tony reached down and picked up the phone for him. Opening the old flip phone, he dialed Ducky’s number and put it on speaker phone.
Ducky’s voice sounded tinny. “Hello, Jethro. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you already. I was just telling Tim...”
“Ducky!” Gibbs interrupted his friend shouting before lowering his voice. “Please. I need to speak to Tim.”
“Okay, one moment,” Ducky said, his tone now worried as well.
They heard a faint Timothy then the sound of footsteps before, “Hello.”
Gibbs closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. His voice shook slightly when he said, “Hello Tim.”
“Is everything okay?”
Gibbs opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out, so Tony jumped in, “Yeah buddy, we’re fine. Are you guys at Ducky’s right now?”
“No, we ran a couple of errands, but we are heading there now.”
Gibbs finally managed to pull the various threads of his scattered thoughts back together, “Okay, good, when you get there stay there. I will meet you.”
Getting Tim and Ducky’s assent, Gibbs ended the call and turned to Tony and Ziva just as the latter joined them with a concerned look on her face. “Tony, Ziva, finish the scene. Then go and see if Sergeant Winslow is coherent enough to answer any questions. I want to know what happened. I’m going to speak to Tim and ask him how his jacket ended up here. Maybe he can ID the vic.”
“Sure, boss. Are you going to be okay?” Tony asked doubtfully.
“I’ll be fine. Do your jobs, work the scene, I’ll call you,” Gibbs said dismissively, already heading for the stairs. He now knew Tim was okay, but he needed to see him just to be sure.
~NCIS~
Sitting at the kitchen table, Tim was trying to write in his story journal. He had missed writing; school plus tutoring had put a kibosh on most of his extracurricular activities. He managed to write a few paragraphs, but his thoughts keep going back to the phone call with his father. Something was up; Gibbs’ voice had sounded shaky and weird. Tim didn’t like that. His father was a rock, and he hadn’t realized how much he had come to rely on that until now. He could feel his stomach churning as he ran over the various scenarios of what could have happened.
Ducky had just placed a snack of fruit, cheese, and crackers in front of him when the front door opened. Gibbs hung up his jacket, and when Ducky went over to greet him, they had a conversation in low tones that Tim wasn’t able to hear. Ducky nodded gravely, sending Tim a sympathetic look, and then went into the living room. Gibbs came and sat next to Tim.
His father just looked at him for a minute before taking in a deep breath as though steeling himself for something unpleasant. Tim felt the churning in his stomach become an ache as the tension increased.
Gibbs looked into his eyes and said, “Tim, something happened today, and I need to ask you some questions. These answers are important, and I need you to be completely honest with me. Okay?”
Tim swallowed nervously said in a quiet tone, “Okay.”
“We were called onto a scene this afternoon, at the Sunshine hotel ...”
Tim gasped and stood up abruptly. Tears came to his eyes. “No, please tell me Jude is okay.”
Gibbs had stood as soon as Tim had. Placing a tentative hand on Tim’s shoulder, he said in a gentle voice, “A young man was taken to the hospital. He was beaten severely and is in serious condition.”
Tim took in a deep breath; at least Jude was alive. “Is he going to be okay?
“We don’t know that yet,” Gibbs said gently before continuing, “He was staying in room 11b. Was that Jude’s room?”
“Yeah, that was his room,” Tim whispered, his mind reeling with all the worst case scenarios running through his brain.
“Do you know Jude’s last name?’ Gibbs asked.
“Carrington. Jude was his middle name. That’s what his dad used to call him, and since he died, that’s all he goes by. I don’t know his first name.” Tim said. His knees felt weak, so he sat down. Gibbs reluctantly let go of his son’s arm, and gave it a soft pat, and he took a seat opposite of Tim’s.
He pulled out his phone and texted the information to Ziva and Tony before looking up and asking, “How did you meet?”
Tim said, “He helped me once at the computer lab in the library and then with a panic attack I had outside the library. We would hang out together while I waited for grandpa. Jude … he didn’t want to be a … He had no choice …” Tim trailed off, wiping at his eyes so the tears wouldn’t fall. He didn’t know how to finish that sentence, so he just went with the most important thing he knew about Jude. “He’s a good person and he’s my friend. My only friend.”
Gibbs nodded sympathetically and then asked, “Did he ever mention a man by the name of Gilbert Winslow? Maybe he was a friend, or someone who was bothering him, or maybe a client?”
Tim shook his head. Jude had never mentioned anyone by that name. Jude didn’t really like to talk about his clients.
Gibbs’ phone beeped, but he ignored it and continued on. “I know you said his father was dead but do you know where his mom is, or any other relatives?”
This time, Tim vehemently shook his head. “No, his mom died when he was a kid and it was just him and his dad. Then after his father died, he was put in foster care. Jude hated it there and ran away.” Tim saw Gibbs making a note in his notebook and he hurried on his words tripping over themselves. “Please … please, don’t turn him in to foster care. Jude is terrified to go back. That’s why I never told you about him. I wanted to invite him over for Christmas, but he was afraid you would turn him in. He made me promise … Please.”
“Tim,” Gibbs said gently, a look of compassion on his face. “How old is Jude?”
Dejection in every syllable, Tim whispered, “Sixteen.” He knew what his father was going to say.
“I’m sorry, son. Since he is a minor, the state needs to be involved.”
Tim looked down, unable to meet his father’s eyes. He knew what Gibbs said was the truth, and since Gibbs worked for the government, he had no choice but to call CPS, but Tim had been hoping that his father could work miracles.
When Tim heard a soft hey, he looked up, and Gibbs said, “We will do everything we can to help him. Okay?”
Tim remembered Gibbs making a similar promise to him a month ago and at the time, he hadn’t believed him. Now looking into his father’s eyes, he could see that Gibbs was being sincere, so he said in a rough voice, “Okay. So what happens now?”
Gibbs’ phone beeped again. He glanced at it and closing his notebook, took in a deep breath. “Well for now I have to go meet up with Tony and Ziva. We’ll see where the investigation takes us.”
The doorbell rang and Ducky, bundled up in his jacket, opened the door. Jackson stepped through the doorway and another quiet conversation was had, this time between Jackson and Ducky. Jackson glanced over at Tim and Gibbs and then took off his jacket placing it on the hall tree.
Gibbs stood up and Tim stood with him opening his mouth to ask about Jude but his father beat him to it. “I will keep you up to date about Jude. For now, stay here, Ducky is coming with me. He is going to be with Jude and make sure he is getting the best care. Jackson will take you home.”
Tim nodded and walked with Gibbs to the door. His eyes felt heavy with unshed tears. He needed Jude to be okay. At the front door, Gibbs turned, and he looked like he wanted to give Tim a hug, but he hesitated. Tim didn’t feel like shying away, but at the same time, something was holding him back. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been hugged by anybody; at times it felt like there was an invisible wall between him and everyone else. Trapped in his indecision, Tim didn’t move and the moment seemed to pass.
Gibbs placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Are you going to be okay?”
Tim nodded before he managed a rough, “Yeah,” and tried to give a brave smile in return. He must have been somewhat successful because Gibbs smiled in return. Then he turned and held open the door for Ducky and they left.
Tim wanted to chase after Gibbs and ask to go with him. He felt useless here. Jude needed his help. In the end he realized that he would probably be more of a burden then any real help, so Tim sat back down at the kitchen table. Staring at his book without really seeing it, Tim could only think about how Jude could be dead or dying right now. At the very least, he was in pain. Tim worried about what that man had done to his friend. His thoughts were spiraling, imagining worse and worse situations, when a cup of hot tea was set before him. A bit started, Tim looked up as Jackson stood next to him. He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t even heard the kettle.
“A burden shared is a burden halved, has always been something I have tried to live by. Do you want to talk about it?” Jackson said as he sat down.
Trying to keep the tears at bay, Tim drew the tea towards him. He nodded; he knew his grandfather was right. Right now, Tim felt like he had a million pound weight on his shoulders. Looking into his grandfather’s eyes he saw understanding and love. In that instant, Tim understood something that he hadn’t before: Jackson loved him. Taking a sip of the too hot tea, Tim tried to compose himself and said, “Jude is a friend of mine, and I guess he’s been badly hurt …”
~NCIS~
File folder in hand, Gibbs stood staring at their suspect Gilbert Winslow through the two sided mirror. The man was no longer high as a kite. Instead, he was pale and his hands shook. His brown eyes were bloodshot, and he continuously ran his hands through his short dark hair. Making himself familiar with the particulars of Winslow’s file, Gibbs paused at the photos taken at the crime scene, but it was the photos of Jude that made his blood boil. The teen was barely recognizable from the picture they received from Child Protective Services. Thomas Jude Carrington was only sixteen years old. He deserved better than what fate had seen fit to throw at him.
Ducky was at the hospital to bag any physical evidence that was discovered. Ziva was with him and had taken photos of Jude and then sent them over. They had plenty of evidence, but a confession would make things much easier on the prosecution and on the victim, if he recovered. After nodding at Tony, who stood beside him uncharacteristically grim and silent, Gibbs went into the interrogation room.
Sitting down in the grey metal chair, Gibbs opened the file folder and putting its contents into two neat piles: one contained photos, the other Winslow’s service record. Gibbs looked up and held Winslow’s gaze until the other man looked away. Only then did Gibbs speak. “Lieutenant Winslow, you want to tell me what happened in that hotel room?”
“I … I … don’t know,” the man stammered out, shaking his head in denial. “But I didn’t do anything. I know that for sure,” Gilbert exclaimed his voice full of confidence.
“You’re sure? You were found standing over the victim, Lieutenant Winslow,” Gibbs said his voice hard. Gibbs grabbed the stack of photos and spread them out in front of the shaking man. Some were of the thrashed hotel room, but the three that Gibbs put right in from of Winslow were pictures of Jude Carrington taken at the hospital. When Winslow’s skittering gaze landed on everything except for the photos, Gibbs hit the table with the palm of his hand, causing the Lieutenant to jump. “Look at them. Look at what you did!”
The pictures showed Jude’s swollen face. The skin around both eyes had already blackened. One side of his head was shaved. There was a row of stitches from his temple to the crown of his head. His nose was broken, and he was on a ventilator.
Finally, Winslow’s eyes landed on the photos. His trembling seemed to increase. “I couldn’t have done that,” he said, shaking his head more vigorously. “I don’t remember what happened, but there is no way I could have done that to him.”
Angry, Gibbs picked up the file in front of him and flipped through a few pages, “July, 23, 2008, you were arrested for domestic violence against your girlfriend.”
“I … I was never convicted,” Winslow protested.
“She dropped the charges, got a restraining order, and left the state,” Gibbs his voice firm and unyielding. “February, 17, 2012, arrested for a bar brawl. October 24, 2013, another domestic violence arrest, this time by the MP’s. Charges dropped once again. August 4, 2015 …”
“Okay, okay!” Winslow shouted. His face was turning red.
“Seems to me you have a bit of a temper,” Gibbs said softly.
“Yes, I do, but I couldn’t have done that. I would have remembered it,” Winslow insisted, looking off to the side.
“You were high as a kite at the time. How do you know what you did? Look at your hands.” When Winslow refused with a silent shake of his head, Gibbs shouted: “Look at them!”
Winslow slowly brought his hands out from underneath the table held them out in front him. They were bruised, and streaks of blood had dried in the broken skin across his knuckles. Winslow’s face lost all of its color, and then he seemed to fold in on himself in misery as he buried his head in his hands. He sobbed out, “I remember being so angry because he was talking back. He should’ve just kept his whore mouth shut and I wouldn’t have hit him. I just get so angry I can’t control myself. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Gibbs just shook his head in disgust. Two agents came in to stand the crying man up and handcuff him. As he gathered the photos and the file together, Gibbs said, “Lieutenant Gilbert Winslow, you are under arrest for criminal assault, soliciting a minor, and attempted murder.”
~NCIS~
It took Gibbs two tries to get his key to fit into the lock. He was so tired that his eyelids felt like sandpaper. Working the Carrington case through the night, they had gotten the paperwork done and filed as the clock struck two in the morning. Now it was after three. Gibbs was satisfied that it was an open and shut case. At the very least, they had Gilbert Winslow under lock and key; the violent man wouldn’t hurt anyone else.
Closing the front door behind him, he saw the house was dark except for a lone light shining in the living room. Curious as to what was going on, Gibbs hung up his coat and walked into the living room. He was greeted by the sight of Timothy sleeping on the couch, a flannel blanket over him and his ever present journal on the floor where it had fallen from Tim’s lax hand. Gibbs had a sense of Déjà vu to when he had walked into his father’s living room and had seen Tim for the first time, asleep, clutching his backpack to his chest. At the time, he had not known if Tim was his son or not, but now he did, and he still felt so much joy because of that fact.
Gibbs sat on the coffee table; he picked up the journal off the floor and placed it on the table beside him. Then he gently shook Tim’s shoulder to wake him. Tim blinked his eyes up at him and at first seemed confused, but as soon as he recognized him, his eyes widened and he sat up abruptly.
“Hey, Tim. What are you doing out here?” Gibbs kept his voice down as to not wake up Jackson.
Tim rubbed his eyes and yawned deeply before he said, “I wanted to be up when you got home to find out if you had any new information about Jude. I must have fallen asleep.”
Gibbs could see the concern and worry in his son’s eyes. He was starting to understand that Jude was someone Tim cared deeply about, so he wanted to set his mind at ease. “Jude is in intensive care and is doing as well as can be expected. They are hopeful he will make a full recovery, barring any unforeseen complications.”
Tim gave him a small smile at the news, “Can I go and see him? Jude doesn’t know anyone here, and I don’t want him to be alone.”
Gibbs wasn’t sure Tim was ready to see his friend in the condition he was in. “Tim, Jude isn’t conscious, and the doctors aren’t sure when he will wake up.”
Tim sat up straighter. His voice took on a pleading tone. “Please, Gibbs. Jude tries to act all tough, but he doesn’t like being in new places. He’ll be scared when he wakes up. He has a hard time trusting strangers.”
Gibbs still wasn’t sure, but Tim was strong. He had an inner core of strength that rivaled many adults he knew. Plus the look on his son’s face was one of resolve; Gibbs had a feeling Tim would find a way to the hospital with or without his help. “Okay we’ll go in the morning and see if they are allowing visitors yet.”
The smile on Tim’s face spoke of his relief at Gibbs acquiescence. “Thank you.”
“But for now you need to go to bed,” Gibbs said in mock sternness as he stood up. Tim readily agreed and practically bounced upstairs. As Gibbs followed, he worried that Tim did not know what he was in for tomorrow.
~NCIS~
Tuesday
The elevator brought them to the third floor. Stepping out, Tim was immediately enveloped by beige halls and beige carpet. This led him to wonder if all hospitals were decorated by the same people because all the ones he had ever seen had been done in the same boring color palette. Walking down the hallway next to his father, Tim recognized the man standing next to the nursing station with a chart in his hand.
“Ducky,” Tim said in astonishment. He hadn’t expected him here, but since his father didn’t seem surprised, he figured he had known.
“Hello Timothy, how are you this morning?” Ducky asked, giving the chart back to the nurse.
“I’m fine”, Tim said in a quickly. His eyes darted past Ducky and down the hall to where he guessed Jude’s room was. He quickly tore his gaze away and focused on the doctor. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but he was anxious to see his friend. He watched as Gibbs and Ducky seemed to share a silent conversation before Gibbs gave a slight nod and they led him over to a row of chairs. Tim felt his stomach sink. He knew Jude was in a bad way, but he had a feeling it was worse than even he had imagined. Tim tried to put on a brave face. Ducky sat next to him and Gibbs on the other side.
“Timothy, I just wanted to warn you, so you know what to expect. Your friend Jude was beaten very severely,” Ducky said sympathetically. “Because of that, there is quite a bit of swelling and discoloration of his face. He is also on a ventilator that helps him breathe. In addition, at some point he hit his head and has a pretty severe laceration, and so the doctors had to shave part of his head and put in a row of stitches.”
Tim could feel his eyes widen at the list of injuries. Ducky painted a grim picture until he almost didn’t want to see, but he was determined to be there for his friend. “Will they allow us to visit with him?” Tim was proud that his voice only quivered a little bit.
Ducky patted his hand in sympathy and said, “Yes. As he is in intensive care, they will allow you to visit for an hour at a time. Once Jude wakes up, they will allow normal visiting hours, but until then, your time will be restricted.”
Tim nodded solemnly. Standing up, they went down the hall to the last door marked “rm. 112” with the name Carrington written above it. Tim hesitated briefly in the doorway before he forced himself forward.
Surrounding the hospital bed stood multiple machines making various noises that seemed overly loud in the otherwise silent room. Tim felt tears well up as he took in Jude’s appearance. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done to not let them fall, as he walked towards the lone occupant in the room. Standing next to the bed, Tim took in a deep shaky breath. He would have had a hard time recognizing his friend if he hadn’t been told who he was. Jude’s face was swollen and the skin stretched tight, colored in motley hues of purple and black. Needing to find some way to comfort his friend, Tim reached out with a shaking hand, but he was afraid to touch him, so he settled on tucking one lock of black hair that had fallen across Jude’s forehead behind his ear. Tim could barely look at the other side where the black stitches ran in stark contrast across his friend’s pale, shaved head. Jude looked so small. Tim was used to him towering over him. Gibbs laid a supportive hand on his shoulder and Tim focused on that in order to center himself.
Jude had the room to himself which, to Tim, seemed to speak of the seriousness of his friend’s condition. There were two chairs up against the wall. Gibbs grabbed both and placed them on each side of the bed. Tim murmured a thank you before sitting in the one closest to Jude.
Gibbs phone chirped. Looking down at the screen, he scowled in annoyance and said, “I have to take this. But I’ll be right outside. Okay?”
“Okay,” Tim said distractedly, acknowledging his father but finding he couldn’t take his eyes off Jude’s still form. He heard Gibbs move away and close the door quietly behind him. Ducky took the seat on the other side of the bed. Tim anxiously picked at the worn fabric on the knee of his jeans. He had been so focused on getting here that he hadn’t thought about what would happen next, and now he wasn’t sure what to do. The only sounds in the room were the ventilator pump’s wheezing noises, and the heart monitor’s steady beeps.
Finally, Tim, asked, his voice low but hopeful, “Do you think he would hear me if I talked to him? Maybe that would help wake him up?”
Ducky smiled kindly at him. “Oh yes, there are many who believe that those who are comatose are able to hear what goes on around them. It has been reported that those who woke up were able to repeat back what had been said. At the very least, they were aware of their loved ones’ presence and took comfort in that fact. Some even tried to follow the sound of their voice back into consciousness.”
That gave Tim hope. Although he was embarrassed to talk to Jude in front of Ducky, Tim would do anything to have his friend back, so he cleared his throat, scooted forward to the edge of his chair, and said, “Hey Jude it’s me Tim. It’s only two weeks, you said, and that I shouldn’t worry. It’s only been a couple of days and look at you …”
Tim’s voice broke and he stopped, digging his nails into the flesh of his palm to control himself, or he was going to completely break down. Finally, he got himself together so that his voice only trembled a little. “I heard that you had some trouble. But don’t worry, Ducky says you should wake up soon.” Tim looked at Ducky for confirmation, and was relieved that he got a nod. Tim felt the knot in his chest uncoil just a little bit at that. He continued, “Ducky is short for Dr. Donald Mallard. He’s a doctor…well, a medical examiner, but he knows a lot.”
Turning towards Ducky, Tim said, “Ducky, this is Jude.”
Ducky smiled and said, “Hello Jude, it is nice to meet you. When you wake up, we will have a proper introduction. Until then, I hope you don’t mind if I stop by and keep you company when Tim can’t be here.”
Tim smiled in relief at Ducky’s words. He knew he couldn’t be here all day, so it settled him somewhat that Ducky would look after his friend. He had been worried that Jude would be alone most of the time. “Thank you, Ducky,” Tim said softly.
Ducky nodded and Tim pulled his chair a little bit closer. He shifted a bit in his seat and opened his mouth to say … something, but nothing came to him, so he shut it again.
Ducky cleared his throat and then said, “If you will excuse me, Timothy. I want to speak to the doctor before the shift change.”
Tim smiled his thanks. He knew Ducky was giving him space, and he appreciated it. Now that it was just him and Jude, Tim finally remembered something that they had talked about, and with an embarrassed glance at the door, he said, “Remember when I told you about the story I was writing? Well, I think I finally figured out how Agent Tibbs was going to catch the mole that had infiltrated the agency. I think you are right about who it should be …
~NCIS~
Liam hunched his shoulders and led the way across the full parking lot. Uncle Sal’s Car Repair Shop was situated between a skate board park and a Costco in midtown Pittsburgh; and so they were forced to weave their way between moms yelling at small children and teenagers sailing past on skateboards. They had just stepped up on the sidewalk when Liam felt a hand grab his upper arm and jerk him to the side.
His back hitting the alley wall forced a pained grunt past his lips. Liam blinked up at the 250lb muscle that was O’Shaughnessy. The strong man pushed his meaty fists against Liam’s chest in a move that was meant to inflict pain and pressure. He gasped for breath.
O’Shaughnessy got into the smaller man’s face. “It’s been over three weeks, Liam. Mr. Shea is getting impatient. He thinks you’re just stalling to spare your own life, and I am starting to agree with him.”
“No, no, no ... I swear, this guy Sal is in the know. If Cathy is to be found, he will know,” Liam gasped out. His lungs were unable to take in more air thanks to the pressure the heavy man was exhorting on his chest.
“He better! Otherwise, we’re going to take a long drive after this. Understood?”
Liam was practically soiling himself. He honestly didn’t think Sal would know anything; Cathy wasn’t stupid enough to meet up with any of their mutual friends. But on the other hand, Cathy always had a soft spot for the old man who reminded her of her grandfather, so there was a slim chance. After Sal, Liam wasn’t sure where else to look. He was stalling, but he wasn’t going to tell O’Shaughnessy that.
“Yes, I understand,” Liam huffed out with what little bit of air was left in his lungs as O’Shaughnessy leaned against him a little bit harder, holding his gaze for a long moment to make his point. Then he let up, looked at him in disgust before grabbing his arm once again, and pushed him back out of the alleyway just as a clap of thunder rolled through the air. The sky was a dark gray; the clouds were heavy with rain that had yet to fall.
~NCIS~
Sal looked up as the bell over the door rang signaled a new customer. Spotting a familiar face caused the man to turn off the miniature TV he was watching and heave his hefty girth off his stool. Sal was going on seventy years old, and what little hair was left on his head was covered by his ever present Philadelphia Phillies ball cap. It had been a slow morning, and his sons who actually ran the garage nowadays had been in and out of the parts section but hadn’t needed his help at all. So he had been watching his soaps on the small black and white television he kept on the counter.
“Liam,” Sal bellowed out in enthusiasm. He hadn’t seen the other man in over a year. He didn’t care what his sons said about Liam and Cathy being trouble they were fun. Sure you had to keep an eye on your valuables, but they were always good for a few interesting stories about their travels.
Liam sent him a half-smile that was nowhere near as charming as it usually was. “Sal, how’s it been?” he asked as he approached the counter.
“Oh, can’t complain. Rolly and his wife had another grandkid, cutest thing you ever saw. Named him Salvador, after yours truly. My other kid Silas got married to this nice church girl Elizabeth. She keeps him on the straight and narrow, which is just what he needs, if you ask me ...” Sal trailed off when he noticed the hulking behemoth that stood just behind and a bit too close to Liam as he leaned against the counter. The man had to be over six foot. He was massive and his menacing scowl put Sal on edge.
He leaned in closely and lowered his voice. “Who’s your shadow?”
Liam laughed nervously. “He’s a friend.” At Sal’s skeptical look, he rushed on, not wanting the older man to continue his spiel. Sal was a great guy, but he could talk your ear off if given half a chance. “Have you heard from Cathy lately?”
Taking his ball cap partially off and giving his head a scratch, Sal said, “Actually funny you should mention her. She was in here just the other day…”
“Seriously!” Liam shouted incredulously, and for the first time since entering Sal’s shop, there was real animation to his voice. The vehemence of his exclamation made Sal lean away from the counter.
“How long ago?”
“Ah … about a week and a half ago, she stopped in and seemed very distracted. She asked after the family and such before she seemed to get spooked and took off,” Sal said hesitantly. He didn’t like the odd vibe coming off the two men.
“Is that all?” Liam seemed disappointed. He glanced behind him at the behemoth who was practically breathing down his neck. “Please Sal. Did she say anything else about where she was going next? Or was there anything you saw that might help me locate her? I really need to find her. It’s important.”
“Well, she was pretty skittish. The whole time she was here, she was shaking like a leaf,” Sal leaned forward a bit and in a loud stage whisper said, “Between you and me, I think she was going through withdrawals. She seemed to be looking to score because she asked about your old pal Vicky, and I had to tell her she OD’d about a month ago. She got really upset and left. No word on where she was going next.”
Liam just nodded. His disappoint was written all over his face as he gave Sal a wan smile. “Okay, Sal. Thank you.”
The hulk laid a paw on Liam’s shoulder in what must have been a painful grip if the expression Liam’s face was anything to go by. “Time to go,” the man said flatly, and started dragging him away.
Liam seemed genuinely terrified; Sal had a feeling this wasn’t going to end well for his friend. Sal grappled with his shaky memory and tried to find something to help the man.
The Letter.
They were almost to the door, when Sal shouted out, “Wait! There was a letter.”
Liam jerked away from the large man and ran back to the counter, “What do you mean?”
“About a month ago, a letter arrived addressed to Cathy. I thought it was odd and just set it aside and forgot about it. When Cathy showed up out of the blue, I remembered it and gave it to her. You should’ve seen the look on her face. I thought she was going to pass out. She opened it up and threw the envelope away in the trash can. Whatever the letter said it upset her and then she left. I think she was crying.”
Liam looked around wide eyed before pointing at the overflowing trash can near the register, “This one? Have you emptied it since then?”
Sal scratched his head again and said unsure, “I don’t think so? But I’m not here every day anymore, thanks to my arthritis.”
Before he’d even finished Liam was digging through the small trash can and pushing aside receipts and old candy wrappers before he uttered an excited shout. “I’ve got it!”
“Thank you Sal!” Liam shouted as he walked out. Sal waved and opened his mouth to say you’re welcome and goodbye but the man was already gone. Sal just shook his head, sat back down on his stool, and turned his tiny TV back on.
~NCIS~
Liam shook off O’Shaughnessy’s grip as soon as they were outside. He smoothed out the envelope and read the return address. A relived smile spread across his face, when he saw the name at the top.
Timothy McGee
“Well?” O’Shaughnessy ground out. He was standing next to Liam and bumped him to get his attention. “What has you so happy? It better be good or that drive is still on.”
Liam gulped noisily and waved the envelope at the hit man. “This is a letter from Cathy’s son. If anyone knows where she is, it will be the kid. She loves the little brat. I know Cathy. She won’t be able to resist contacting him.”
O’Shaughnessy grabbed the envelope and squinted at the address. Seeing it wasn’t too far only in D.C., he said, “Fine,” before grabbing Liam by the shirt and pulling him close to his face. “This is going to be your last chance. Understand?”
Liam nodded and smiled confidently. O’Shaughnessy looked doubtful but let him go, pushing him towards the car, following close behind. The smile on Liam’s face dimmed a bit. He wasn’t actually sure if Cathy would try to contact Tim or not. There was a time when he would have staked his life on it but then she had sent the boy to his father. Now he wasn’t sure. From the look on his shadow’s face, Liam knew this was his absolute last chance, so he was willing to roll the dice. Revving up the engine and putting the car in drive, Liam frowned through the windshield as he pulled out into traffic. Just the thought of that brat put a scowl on his face. There was no love lost between them. The snot had been nothing but trouble, and considering it was Liam’s life on the line, he was going to find out what knew Tim knew no matter what it took. They hopped on the expressway out of town and were soon headed towards Washington D.C.
Chapter Five