The Occam's razor job - Chapter 28 - A
Title: The Occam's razor Job
Characters: Nate Ford, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Deveraux,
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: The Boy's night out Job
warnings: Dead people
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Author's note: Well, that finally happened - the entry is too long. 9900 words. I have to make two posts, but it's the same chapter.
Special, special, special, special thanks to trappercreekd for Betaing :D
***
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Hardison kept looking at the door long after Nate left to identify the dead, seemingly forgetting his search for the Hummer; his eyes were narrowed just as much as Sophie needed to guess his thinking. The hacker knew Nate was not telling them everything. And he wasn’t happy about it.
He caught her stare when he turned to face the monitors again, and smiled.
“Welcome to the club,” she simply said.
Hardison threw a quick glance towards Parker who was silently humming, occupied with her headset; she couldn’t hear them.
“If we ask him, he’ll close up even more, you know that?” Sophie continued.
“I know. But he made a mistake, he gave us a clue. Remember what he said about chasing Eliot from the wrong side? We have to do that with him, too. We can find out what Nate knows, by only researching the data that he knows.” He reached out and took Eliot’s papers from the small spare desk behind the driver’s seat. “This is the one thing only he worked on, everything else we know. And I think he didn’t tell us all of it.”
“Do you want me to do it?”
“Better not, I’m already familiar with the numbers and letters, you would have to start from the beginning and lose time. Searching for cameras is mostly automated, I can do both.”
“Great, then I’ll just sit here, having nothing to do, and worry myself to death.”
“I’m worried.” Parker stated flatly, and they both jumped and turned to the thief. She slowly removed the headset, which meant she didn’t hear what they were saying, and that her words were a general comment on the situation.
“I know, dear,” Sophie said gently. “It’s normal to be worried in a situation like this one. There’s noth-”
“What situation?” Parker blinked. “Oh, you mean these shootings, Eliot, the Chileans, that? I’m not worried about that.”
“How can you be not-” Sophie remembered, at the last moment, that this was Parker, and bit her lip.
“It’s very simple,” Parker smiled. “We are going after Eliot, and we never fail. That means we’ll find him on time. Eliot is out, fighting, and he is never beaten. That means he’ll be okay too. I’m not worried about that, silly.”
“And what are you worried about, Parker?” Sophie tiredly rubbed her forehead.
“Things won’t change, right? I hate changes. I can’t get out of my head all that Hardison said, about… loving going around. I’m a thief, I, I... I don’t do loving.”
Sophie looked at Hardison; it looked like his eyes crossed slightly as he tried to comprehend Parker’s words. He waved helplessly, turned his back on them, and buried himself in some papers.
“Someone should have warned me about that,” Parker grumbled on. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do…am I supposed to do anything? And what?”
“Nothing changes, Parker, and you don’t have to do anything. Hardison was talking… metaphorically. You know how he exaggerates everything?”
A squeak of protest came from the hacker, but it wasn’t full-hearted. Parker nodded.
“Look at that speech as his attempt to add a little more drama to it, okay?”
“That makes sense,” the thief murmured, still frowning. After a few seconds of thinking, her face lightened again and she smiled. “Okay,” she said simply, and put her headset back on.
Sophie just sighed. And checked the time.
She moved into the driver’s seat, in case they should need to quickly drive off, and started to monitor the ambulances that were entering the hospital yard.
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***
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Half an hour never seemed so long, but she occupied herself with going through all of Hardison’s data once more, trying to memorize every detail. She was going through it for the third time, when she noticed that Hardison had started to pay more attention to his screens, than to the papers he was studying. Either he had found the Hummer, or he was done with the papers, and both things were important.
“You’ve found the car?” she asked.
“Nope, I’m widening the search.”
“So, you’ve found what Nate is hiding?” she tried again.
“Nope.” He didn’t blink, his stare was steady. “I’ll continue with that.”
Crap. She didn’t know if she should follow her wish to strangle him right there where he was sitting, or to just start to scream until his ears bled. Damn moron, he really thought he could lie to Sophie Deveraux? Hardison probably noticed her rage under her smile, because he quickly smiled and looked away, pretending he had to type something. Sophie continued to smile.
This was the same shit the two of them served her with the warehouse recording - let’s protect gentle women, don’t tell them something that would upset them. Hadn’t they learned anything? She had no time, nor the nerves to slowly draw the truth from him, so she got up, went to Parker, and removed the headset. The thief turned around, bewildered.
“Parker, what would you think of a man who’s lying to you, because he thinks you’re too gentle to handle the truth, and too weak, being a woman?” she asked her, but she watched Hardison. His face froze in panic.
“Is this a test question?” Parker blinked.
“No, no, you don’t have to answer that, no mamma you ain’t, don’t answer. Nobody here is thinking you’re gentle, and weak, nobody!” the hacker babbled, at the same time smiling to Parker, and darting murderous stares to Sophie.
“So, what have you found?” Sophie asked calmly. “Or do I need to elaborate all the trust issues and ask Parker her opinion on them? And your role in it?” She watched his inner struggle, feeling no sympathy at all. She had enough of this macho crap, and tonight wasn’t the time to be patient and full of understanding.
Hardison glanced at Parker, with clear worry in his eyes, and cleared his throat. “Would you mind joining me for a walk, Sophie?” he stated officially. “Parker has to continue listening-”
“Oh, stop it! No more lies, Hardison! She ought to know everything, as much as we do! No more hiding things!”
“Said the woman who knew for hours that Eliot knew we were here, and told nobody?!”
“Okay. From now on. No more hiding from now.”
“Eliot left the hospital with internal bleeding that hasn’t stopped.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. She felt Parker turning to her, as the thief often did in situations that needed clarification, but she couldn’t react to that now.
“How do you know? How dangerous is it?”
“The fourth group of his calculations was monitoring his internal bleeding, hour after hour. For a three days, there was only a slight slowing. It didn’t stop. Here it is, precisely, how much blood filled that machine at the end of the tube - he calculated the rate per hour. It’s not good.”
“I thought he was recovering extremely well-”
“So did I. But think about it - he still had that chest tube. That alone should have told us there was still bleeding, and he removed it, obviously before he should. I can’t believe we didn’t connect it.”
“That means he’ll be even weaker than we thought,” Sophie murmured.
“No.” The acrid voice from the door startled them all, nobody heard Nate opening the door. “That means he has less than four hours before he dies.”
“What do you-” Sophie started but broke off. His eyes were pissed off.
“You obviously didn’t get to the last part,” Nate continued. “It’s the not last seven hours in the hospital, it’s seven hours after his leaving. It’s the time he has before his lungs fill with blood. Betsy had told me all of the details. Do you want to hear it?” His last words were bitter and angry, and they all hesitated.
“Before that…” Hardison glanced at the hospital behind him. “You’ve…checked… everything that needed to be checked?”
“Yes. He’s not there. They’re expecting one more body in the next fifteen minutes, so I used that time to bring you this,” he put cups with coffee on the floor of the van. “So, now that you’re so eager to know all of it, do you really want to hear it?”
“If anyone has the right to be pissed, it’s us, so cut it out, Nate! We are wasting time on something we should have known already. We could search for the damn Hummer instead!” Sophie knew that raising the tension wasn’t such a clever move, but she couldn’t help it. He dared to look angry!
“Yes, you should! Because knowing this is of no use! But you had to stick your damn noses into-”
“Just tell us!” Hardison growled. “You have no right to decide for us what to know, and what to feel about it!”
“Betsy said that his lungs are filling with blood, now that there’s no tube to drain it. It’s only a matter of time before he dies because he’ll bleed out, or before that, because he won’t be able to breathe. He knows that. He knows he had only seven hours, less than four hours now, but the problem is, his calculations were made while he was in bed, without anything that could speed that bleeding up. He has now been moving for hours, doing god knows what, and those hours are not relevant anymore. He can’t know for sure. We can’t know either. He might be dead by now, do you understand that?”
“Call him,” Sophie whispered. “Forget about all that crap about us leaving, it’s not important anymore. Not even the Chileans are important. Call him, we have to-”
“I did.” All the bitterness left his voice, he sounded just tired. “Both phones we can call, the cheap one, and the silver one, are turned off.”
“That could mean he is just busy,” Parker quietly said.
“You’re right, Parker.” Nate nodded. “We shall continue to think that.”
Sophie smiled at the thief, just in case, then looked at Nate again. “If he knew all that, if he knew that he… Nate, it looks like plain suicide.”
“I was wondering about that myself. Cutting us off seemed to go with that conclusion, and I really feared he went out to do as much as he can before he dies - but then I saw something in his room that showed me the opposite. He knows the danger, but he is working on solving it. And, he is counting that his job will not be finished tonight. He was preparing for the day as well.”
“What have you seen?”
“A box, small one. Sunglasses were in it. Every little thing he did in that hospital was meaningful and significant, and everything is a clue. You don’t need sunglasses if you count on being dead by dawn - and he ordered them on purpose, he knew why he was doing that.”
“Just as you knew what he was doing, Nate?” Sophie asked slowly.
He let a few seconds of silence stretch between them before he nodded. “I’m waiting for more information to be completely sure, but yes, I knew what he was going to do. Problem was, and still is, I have no means to find out how it will be done. There are too many possibilities.”
“When will we get the explanation?”
“Not yet. I’m working on the details, working on our moves, and I have to go back to the hospital. Later.”
“What are our moves?” Hardison murmured. “If we don’t find that Hummer, we have nothing, just aimlessly driving and listening to the shootings.”
“You all forgot that origami butterfly? Why is he doing all this, if not for us to be able to do something against Villacorta? Start looking at the big picture - we are not here only to be as close to him as we can- we are here, walking on the edges of that damn web, waiting to strike a blow when the opportunity comes.” A small, tired smile briefly showed on his face. “Of course, there is a possibility he’ll fail in clearing the path for us, or he’s failed already. If it is so, well… we’ll probably get killed. At some point tonight, I’ll ask you again about a decision - something that might decide if we all live or not. But not yet.”
His phone rang again, and Hardison put it on speaker immediately.
This time, Sophie noticed, there was no hurry or distress in Bonnano’s voice.
“Good evening, Nate,” he said politely.
Nate squinted. “Good evening, Patrick. What can I do for you this time?”
“Oh, nothing important.” Bonnano’s voice was so soft that it sounded almost like purring. “I was just wondering, do you happen to know why Michael Callahan would choose this night to attack the Chileans?”
“Erm…” Nate managed to hide the smile, but it was heard in his voice when he continued. “Coincidence, perhaps?”
Bonnano took a long, meditating breath. “Yes, of course, that must be it,” he said softly. “There’s really no other explanation. By the way, where are you?”
“Identifying the dead from the Marco’s Tavern shooting.”
“I’m calling from the Callahan’s shooting, I’ve checked everything. There’s no need for you to repeat that procedure with these victims.”
“Thank you, Patrick. That will give us more time to… do something useful.”
The silence at the other end was longer this time. “About that coincidence you mentioned… If I meet it tonight, somewhere on the streets, I’m not sure if I should kill it, or thank it. Kinda feeling both at the same time, you know?”
“I completely understand that sentiment.”
“I bet you do,” Bonnano smirked, and cut the line.
“You’ll keep him in the dark?” Sophie asked.
“As much as I can,” Nate nodded. “It’s better for him to know nothing. I don’t want to put him in the position where he has to choose between friendship and his job - and he's balancing on the very edge already. We have to protect him. I have to go now, wait here.”
“Wait!” Hardison jumped in. “You don’t have to check that last dead body, Eliot is obviously alive if he managed to send the Irish after the Chileans.”
“From now on, we can’t know if he is doing something right now, or we are just watching the end of an avalanche that has a life of its own. He might have pushed the Irish two hours ago and gotten killed immediately after that - and we are watching the results of that action. Nothing we hear or see is proof he is still alive.”
“I’ll call Bonnano and ask him were, exactly, the Irish attack occurred,” Hardison sighed. “That way I can skip from Marco’s Tavern directly there, and have a new, fresh point in the search for the Hummer.”
“You do that,” Nate nodded. “And ask him if he knows any of the names of the victims besides Callahan, particularly any Chileans.” With that he closed the door.
Sophie sat silently for some time, then touched Hardison’s hand. She glanced at the hospital and touched her earbud, and he nodded, waving her to go freely, and that he had everything under control.
Quietly, not wanting to disturb Parker who was listening to the police channel again, she got out.
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***
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She found him sitting in the lobby, watching a wounded gang member who was making trouble for the three cops who were trying to control him. The wounded man was trying to free himself and go to the other end of the hall, where there were two other men, lying on stretchers, waiting to be processed. He was spitting curses.
“Mexican?” Sophie quietly asked.
“Yes. And other two are obviously Chileans. It seems that neither of the hospitals will be peaceful places tonight, and securing everything will draw even more police forces from the streets.”
Sophie sat next to him and looked around. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to see any hospital again, ever.” Then she thought better of it, and sighed. “Let me rephrase that… I do hope to see a hospital again, and as soon as possible. But not this one.”
She caught a small smile on Nate’s face, but he said nothing.
“Parker said she is not worried about this at all,” she went on. “In short - we always succeed, and Eliot is never beaten, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“We should listen to her much more.”
“So, you share her optimism?”
“I spoke with one Mexican for a minute, when he was left alone… their story is that they were innocently drinking, when bloodthirsty gangsters rushed into the tavern and started killing. They didn’t even return fire, they were not armed, and all the dead Chileans are victims of friendly fire, because, they can’t explain how, they’ve caught themselves in a crossfire. It’s their story, and they stick with it. No mentions of Eliot.”
Sophie thought about it for a second, admitting that although it sounded incredibly stupid, it had a chance to hold water just because it was hard to challenge without clear evidence, when she noticed he had skipped her question.
“And no, I do not share her optimism.” The bastard was reading her thoughts. “I am worried. Though, if we compare all our worries, I think we would find that they are completely different for each one of us.”
“And what do you worry about?”
“Ah, a few things.” He smiled again, still not looking at her, still watching the Mexican. “But the one that occupies me right now, the one I was thinking about before you came, is the one particular thing I’m afraid Eliot doesn’t quite understand.” Nate raised his hand and pointed towards Boston in general. “This… guerrilla war on the streets that he started, all that playing with enemy forces, pushing them, drawing them into the open, pulling their strings… all that military crap. He thought he had to go back to military mode to do it - but he doesn’t understand that’s degradation for him. He thought the hitter wouldn’t be able to do it, and he didn’t realize that the hitter is the sum of all of the best that he has ever been in his life.”
“And there’s one thing you don’t understand - Eliot would never start something like this, if he wasn’t sure he could control it. I’m not afraid of his doings, being in military, hitter or kangaroo mode, he is far too smart to be the only thing standing in his way, in whatever form or state of mind. I’m simply afraid for him.”
“Since we’re speaking freely,” Hardison’s voice came through their earbuds. “It’s the best time to ask you when will it be safe to hit him.”
“Since we, obviously, speak freely, it’s the best time to tell you it was two days ago,” said Nate.
“He was sedated after surgery two days ago, I don’t think you understand what I'm asking here…” Hardison trailed off, and then figured it out. “What? Safe for him! Not for me!”
“And why would you hit him?” asked Sophie, grateful for the interruption that lightened Nate’s face a little.
“Hello? Just because I’m going all superhero for him, it doesn’t mean I forgot he shot Parker - it’s my duty to avenge that. Old fashioned duels are out of the question, but her honor must be revenged. When this shit is done, I’ll ask you once a day when it will be safe to punch him, you hear me?”
Sophie tried to imagine that particular event and squinted a little.
“And, I also found the Hummer,” Hardison said after a dramatic silence. “And lost it again after two cameras, in these damn small streets. But, I know the part of the town, I know where we have to go, and most important, you don’t have to wait for that last dead body, because he is driving as we speak. Come back.”
Well, that was a relief, Sophie thought as they went back to the van, parked about one hundred meters down the street from the hospital entrance.
“Parker reports one more car blown up,” Hardison continued. “It was ten minutes ago, far away from Eliot’s position, but I nevertheless put that spot on the map with the Chilean info, and it showed that the car exploded in front of Villacorta’s second lieutenant’s residence, a guy named Tapia. Somebody blew up his Lamborghini - it’s totally destroyed and only after a thorough investigation will they be able to say if somebody was in it, or not. By the way, for someone who has been practically living with voices in your heads for years, you pretty quickly forgot I can hear you. Distress is a reasonable explanation, but it can be dangerous.”
“Really, Hardison? Just like you were aware I was listening to every word you said since I’ve left the van?”
“Oh.” The hacker went silent, but their luck didn’t last more than a few seconds. “Of course I knew that! I was just letting you know-”
“Turn around!” A loud voice cut off Hardison’s words just when Nate opened the back door of Lucille, and they both froze.
“I said, turn around, or I’ll shoot you right there where you stand!”
For a long moment Sophie held her breath, while Nate slowly turned around to face the man that was standing behind them. She did the same, hoping that was just some eager cop, nervous because of the gang members that were in the hospital, but this one wasn’t a cop. He was a neat, tidy, very Chilean killer who probably came to monitor the situation with their dead and wounded, and got lucky recognizing the people they’d been trying to kill. He looked behind them, at decorated Lucille, and smiled, obviously realizing why they couldn’t find the van.
“Very clever,” he said simply and raised the hand with the gun.
The next thing Sophie saw was something silver flying, and the Chilean falling backward as it slammed right into his face. She blinked, and the silver thing transformed into one of Parker’s crutches, thrown violently through the door. Before she could react in any way, Nate grabbed her and threw her into the van, following her.
“Move!” he yelled at Hardison who was already in front seat, and who started the engine and drove off as fast as he could.
Sophie stared at Parker, still on her knees, with the other crutch in her hands, and realized she threw the first one as if she threw a spear.
“I can’t move,” the thief whispered, pale as a sheet, and they both pulled her up and eased her on the pillows.
“This one is not dead,” Nate said. “He’ll soon contact the rest, and tell them about the van. Hardison, find a dark street; we have to remove all the decorations. “
“So, we are a target again?”
“Yep, very visible.” Nate briefly smiled. “But, we’ll be a moving target, if it is any consolation to you.”
The hacker’s sigh was the clear answer.
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***
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To an uninformed observer, Villacorta’s mansion would look like a place where a large party was in full swing. Eliot couldn’t risk getting too close with the Hummer, so he observed the lit driveway and vast front yard from a distance that wasn’t allowing many details. He could only see that cars were going in and out, and that everybody seemed to be in a controlled rush.
That was enough. Villacorta was on the move, he was filling the streets with his army, and if Eliot guessed correctly, watching the loaded cars, Boston would soon find out what ‘simultaneous attacks’ really meant. In their full strength.
‘Don’t mess with the Chileans’ - an almost forgotten sentence from that Korean gangster a few years ago, came to his mind. Too late for that. He should really learn to listen to clever advice, no matter who was saying it.
He slowly retreated from the shadows where he watched Villacorta’s house. It was time to add more logs to this fire, but the particular log he had in mind was full of thorns, and poisonous. More than that, the fire would be extremely hard to control, and he was risking a real forest fire with that one.
Italians.
Pulling the mob into this fuckup could be a turning point and a crucial move, and, at the same time, a very fast and very slippery road to quick death. Mexicans and Irish were violent and easy to push… to activate the Italian mob, on the other hand, he had to contact them via their attorneys, and include a project plan in his business offer. In five copies.
The most important, he had to avoid any contact with any of them, or he would be found before the dawn. That octopus would spread all over town, and silent men in suits, from the Department of Urgent Intervention or something similar, would be trying to make an appointment. The Italians might think that their organization was improved with that High Business Going All Legal And Polite Inc., but in reality, the only thing that had changed was the quality of their suits.
He had the Italians in reserve while making his plans, and he only made rough sketches of action, knowing only a few names and possible approaches, but now he had someone who could tell him about the Italians from the Chilean point of view. It would lower the chances for connecting either him, or the team, to the developments further in the night.
Yep, he had someone… but barely.
He watched Matio Tapia who was marching across the street; he obviously recognized neighborhood, and he was heading right to Villacorta’s mansion. It was just a matter of time when before he’d be spotted by the cars that went in and out.
Rule number six: don’t leave the car unlocked, even when prisoners are bond to the backseat.
Eliot waited until Tapia came closer, and put a silencer on the Lady Killer’s gun.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said softly, startling the young man who froze in the middle of a step. “Move away from the street, slowly.”
“It sounded like perfect idea until a few seconds ago.” Tapia sighed and obeyed, raising his hands in the air. “I just got bored waiting for your explanation of this - you do know abductions are illegal, right? I guess you do. You can’t say I didn’t show extreme patience as well. After all, I’m a dangerous gangster.” He smirked at his own words, but straightened himself up, and repeated threateningly. “Dangerous, mark my words!” The horror that his words should have brought was lessened a little when he cautiously glanced to see their effect.
“Walk, dangerous gangster.” Eliot waved with the gun and Tapia sighed again and went slowly two steps ahead him. They were returning to the Hummer the long way around, Eliot chose a dark path, and avoided street lights. It was good Tapia was ahead him, because if he saw his smile, the gun wouldn’t be such a threat. The last thing he had expected during the night was getting fond of one of Villacorta’s lieutenants.
It was a damn long walk.
When they reached the car all he wanted was to sit and rest, but he had to decide what to do with Tapia. Tapia wasn’t as scared as he should be, and he might be a much bigger threat than Alejandro was, despite the fact that Rojas was more dangerous and an experienced killer. This one seemed reckless, and it could prove fatal if he tried something. One lucky blow could not only knock him down, but kill him.
This time, he tied him with duct tape in the passenger seat, both hands lowered and separated so he didn’t look suspicious from the window, and to the seat as well, leaving only his legs free. Tapia was silently sulking.
By the time he finished his hands were shaking again, and breathing and moving started to be painful, a clear sign that the last dose of morphine was slowly wearing off. The voices were silent for some time, and his mind felt more like… his.
Eliot got out of the car; it wasn’t wise to let Tapia see him drugging himself, especially because he left the hospital catheter in his left hand. It was easier to just connect the needle to that, than to try to find the vein in the darkness.
He hesitated, looking at the syringe. Panic attacks, hallucinations, voices, madness, all in full strength again… damn, he had no idea how he would deal with it this time. He was already exhausted, he barely walked, and it would be much harder. He could already feel that falling on his back had done something to his stitches because the pain was different, deeper and sharper. He had checked the bandages after that and had found only a small stain of blood, nothing that the deep purple of his shirt wouldn’t cover up. But, it wasn’t that bleeding that was worrying him. He was weaker than he thought he would be, and the buzzing in his ears was a constant, annoying noise that was warning him he could pass out at any time. His time calculations were of no use anymore, he had nothing to guess how much time he had left… and all that he had done so far was not enough.
Well, that thought ended his hesitation; without morphine he wouldn’t be able to do all that had to be done, at least not as efficient and fast. He had two more shots left, and it would have to do until the dawn… after that, if he was still alive, it would be time for the slow cleaning and preparing for the final steps of all of this. Pain would not be important then, as long as his mind was clear, without drugs. He promised Villacorta they would continue their conversation, and he would deliver it… yet, he had to prepare more things before that talk.
In a long moment, he stood caught in the total absurdity of his doings. He had been shot just three days ago, for god’s sake, how the hell he thought he could continue with this… how long before he just fell down and died. By rights, he shouldn’t be alive now, after all he had done so far… and yet, he was standing in the middle of Boston, and he was preparing to involve the Italians in this, this… his mind froze, for a second he couldn’t remember why he was doing this. And just how fucked up his brain was, really?
He was drifting away because of the morphine, he tried to convince himself… the last dose was wearing off, that’s why he was able to feel worry and fear again, but it was still stronger than the regular doses in the hospital, and it afflicted his concentration. Just that, nothing more. Nothing to worry about.
Yeah, right.
He guessed the half of the remaining morphine, and shot himself with it before he could start thinking again. And hesitate again. The morphine whispered about invincibility and gave him the feeling that he could do everything; it could get him killed, but it was pushing him further, blocking fears. He had to get this job done.
His time could run to zero without any warning, and he had to do as much as he could before that. From now on, every single step in his plan would be a gift. If he didn’t make it to the final step with Villacorta, he had to make sure that all of his previous steps worked out and did what he wanted them to do.
All of this, all this death, just for one, small result, so imperceptible that would be missed by everybody. Invisible to all, except for one person.
The King always had the best view of the entire board. Nate would know what to do when he saw it.
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Characters: Nate Ford, Eliot Spencer, Alec Hardison, Parker, Sophie Deveraux,
Fandom: Leverage
Spoilers: The Boy's night out Job
warnings: Dead people
Disclaimer: I do not own blah blah blah
Author's note: Well, that finally happened - the entry is too long. 9900 words. I have to make two posts, but it's the same chapter.
Special, special, special, special thanks to trappercreekd for Betaing :D
***
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Hardison kept looking at the door long after Nate left to identify the dead, seemingly forgetting his search for the Hummer; his eyes were narrowed just as much as Sophie needed to guess his thinking. The hacker knew Nate was not telling them everything. And he wasn’t happy about it.
He caught her stare when he turned to face the monitors again, and smiled.
“Welcome to the club,” she simply said.
Hardison threw a quick glance towards Parker who was silently humming, occupied with her headset; she couldn’t hear them.
“If we ask him, he’ll close up even more, you know that?” Sophie continued.
“I know. But he made a mistake, he gave us a clue. Remember what he said about chasing Eliot from the wrong side? We have to do that with him, too. We can find out what Nate knows, by only researching the data that he knows.” He reached out and took Eliot’s papers from the small spare desk behind the driver’s seat. “This is the one thing only he worked on, everything else we know. And I think he didn’t tell us all of it.”
“Do you want me to do it?”
“Better not, I’m already familiar with the numbers and letters, you would have to start from the beginning and lose time. Searching for cameras is mostly automated, I can do both.”
“Great, then I’ll just sit here, having nothing to do, and worry myself to death.”
“I’m worried.” Parker stated flatly, and they both jumped and turned to the thief. She slowly removed the headset, which meant she didn’t hear what they were saying, and that her words were a general comment on the situation.
“I know, dear,” Sophie said gently. “It’s normal to be worried in a situation like this one. There’s noth-”
“What situation?” Parker blinked. “Oh, you mean these shootings, Eliot, the Chileans, that? I’m not worried about that.”
“How can you be not-” Sophie remembered, at the last moment, that this was Parker, and bit her lip.
“It’s very simple,” Parker smiled. “We are going after Eliot, and we never fail. That means we’ll find him on time. Eliot is out, fighting, and he is never beaten. That means he’ll be okay too. I’m not worried about that, silly.”
“And what are you worried about, Parker?” Sophie tiredly rubbed her forehead.
“Things won’t change, right? I hate changes. I can’t get out of my head all that Hardison said, about… loving going around. I’m a thief, I, I... I don’t do loving.”
Sophie looked at Hardison; it looked like his eyes crossed slightly as he tried to comprehend Parker’s words. He waved helplessly, turned his back on them, and buried himself in some papers.
“Someone should have warned me about that,” Parker grumbled on. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to do…am I supposed to do anything? And what?”
“Nothing changes, Parker, and you don’t have to do anything. Hardison was talking… metaphorically. You know how he exaggerates everything?”
A squeak of protest came from the hacker, but it wasn’t full-hearted. Parker nodded.
“Look at that speech as his attempt to add a little more drama to it, okay?”
“That makes sense,” the thief murmured, still frowning. After a few seconds of thinking, her face lightened again and she smiled. “Okay,” she said simply, and put her headset back on.
Sophie just sighed. And checked the time.
She moved into the driver’s seat, in case they should need to quickly drive off, and started to monitor the ambulances that were entering the hospital yard.
.
.
***
.
Half an hour never seemed so long, but she occupied herself with going through all of Hardison’s data once more, trying to memorize every detail. She was going through it for the third time, when she noticed that Hardison had started to pay more attention to his screens, than to the papers he was studying. Either he had found the Hummer, or he was done with the papers, and both things were important.
“You’ve found the car?” she asked.
“Nope, I’m widening the search.”
“So, you’ve found what Nate is hiding?” she tried again.
“Nope.” He didn’t blink, his stare was steady. “I’ll continue with that.”
Crap. She didn’t know if she should follow her wish to strangle him right there where he was sitting, or to just start to scream until his ears bled. Damn moron, he really thought he could lie to Sophie Deveraux? Hardison probably noticed her rage under her smile, because he quickly smiled and looked away, pretending he had to type something. Sophie continued to smile.
This was the same shit the two of them served her with the warehouse recording - let’s protect gentle women, don’t tell them something that would upset them. Hadn’t they learned anything? She had no time, nor the nerves to slowly draw the truth from him, so she got up, went to Parker, and removed the headset. The thief turned around, bewildered.
“Parker, what would you think of a man who’s lying to you, because he thinks you’re too gentle to handle the truth, and too weak, being a woman?” she asked her, but she watched Hardison. His face froze in panic.
“Is this a test question?” Parker blinked.
“No, no, you don’t have to answer that, no mamma you ain’t, don’t answer. Nobody here is thinking you’re gentle, and weak, nobody!” the hacker babbled, at the same time smiling to Parker, and darting murderous stares to Sophie.
“So, what have you found?” Sophie asked calmly. “Or do I need to elaborate all the trust issues and ask Parker her opinion on them? And your role in it?” She watched his inner struggle, feeling no sympathy at all. She had enough of this macho crap, and tonight wasn’t the time to be patient and full of understanding.
Hardison glanced at Parker, with clear worry in his eyes, and cleared his throat. “Would you mind joining me for a walk, Sophie?” he stated officially. “Parker has to continue listening-”
“Oh, stop it! No more lies, Hardison! She ought to know everything, as much as we do! No more hiding things!”
“Said the woman who knew for hours that Eliot knew we were here, and told nobody?!”
“Okay. From now on. No more hiding from now.”
“Eliot left the hospital with internal bleeding that hasn’t stopped.”
She stared at him for a few seconds, not knowing what to say. She felt Parker turning to her, as the thief often did in situations that needed clarification, but she couldn’t react to that now.
“How do you know? How dangerous is it?”
“The fourth group of his calculations was monitoring his internal bleeding, hour after hour. For a three days, there was only a slight slowing. It didn’t stop. Here it is, precisely, how much blood filled that machine at the end of the tube - he calculated the rate per hour. It’s not good.”
“I thought he was recovering extremely well-”
“So did I. But think about it - he still had that chest tube. That alone should have told us there was still bleeding, and he removed it, obviously before he should. I can’t believe we didn’t connect it.”
“That means he’ll be even weaker than we thought,” Sophie murmured.
“No.” The acrid voice from the door startled them all, nobody heard Nate opening the door. “That means he has less than four hours before he dies.”
“What do you-” Sophie started but broke off. His eyes were pissed off.
“You obviously didn’t get to the last part,” Nate continued. “It’s the not last seven hours in the hospital, it’s seven hours after his leaving. It’s the time he has before his lungs fill with blood. Betsy had told me all of the details. Do you want to hear it?” His last words were bitter and angry, and they all hesitated.
“Before that…” Hardison glanced at the hospital behind him. “You’ve…checked… everything that needed to be checked?”
“Yes. He’s not there. They’re expecting one more body in the next fifteen minutes, so I used that time to bring you this,” he put cups with coffee on the floor of the van. “So, now that you’re so eager to know all of it, do you really want to hear it?”
“If anyone has the right to be pissed, it’s us, so cut it out, Nate! We are wasting time on something we should have known already. We could search for the damn Hummer instead!” Sophie knew that raising the tension wasn’t such a clever move, but she couldn’t help it. He dared to look angry!
“Yes, you should! Because knowing this is of no use! But you had to stick your damn noses into-”
“Just tell us!” Hardison growled. “You have no right to decide for us what to know, and what to feel about it!”
“Betsy said that his lungs are filling with blood, now that there’s no tube to drain it. It’s only a matter of time before he dies because he’ll bleed out, or before that, because he won’t be able to breathe. He knows that. He knows he had only seven hours, less than four hours now, but the problem is, his calculations were made while he was in bed, without anything that could speed that bleeding up. He has now been moving for hours, doing god knows what, and those hours are not relevant anymore. He can’t know for sure. We can’t know either. He might be dead by now, do you understand that?”
“Call him,” Sophie whispered. “Forget about all that crap about us leaving, it’s not important anymore. Not even the Chileans are important. Call him, we have to-”
“I did.” All the bitterness left his voice, he sounded just tired. “Both phones we can call, the cheap one, and the silver one, are turned off.”
“That could mean he is just busy,” Parker quietly said.
“You’re right, Parker.” Nate nodded. “We shall continue to think that.”
Sophie smiled at the thief, just in case, then looked at Nate again. “If he knew all that, if he knew that he… Nate, it looks like plain suicide.”
“I was wondering about that myself. Cutting us off seemed to go with that conclusion, and I really feared he went out to do as much as he can before he dies - but then I saw something in his room that showed me the opposite. He knows the danger, but he is working on solving it. And, he is counting that his job will not be finished tonight. He was preparing for the day as well.”
“What have you seen?”
“A box, small one. Sunglasses were in it. Every little thing he did in that hospital was meaningful and significant, and everything is a clue. You don’t need sunglasses if you count on being dead by dawn - and he ordered them on purpose, he knew why he was doing that.”
“Just as you knew what he was doing, Nate?” Sophie asked slowly.
He let a few seconds of silence stretch between them before he nodded. “I’m waiting for more information to be completely sure, but yes, I knew what he was going to do. Problem was, and still is, I have no means to find out how it will be done. There are too many possibilities.”
“When will we get the explanation?”
“Not yet. I’m working on the details, working on our moves, and I have to go back to the hospital. Later.”
“What are our moves?” Hardison murmured. “If we don’t find that Hummer, we have nothing, just aimlessly driving and listening to the shootings.”
“You all forgot that origami butterfly? Why is he doing all this, if not for us to be able to do something against Villacorta? Start looking at the big picture - we are not here only to be as close to him as we can- we are here, walking on the edges of that damn web, waiting to strike a blow when the opportunity comes.” A small, tired smile briefly showed on his face. “Of course, there is a possibility he’ll fail in clearing the path for us, or he’s failed already. If it is so, well… we’ll probably get killed. At some point tonight, I’ll ask you again about a decision - something that might decide if we all live or not. But not yet.”
His phone rang again, and Hardison put it on speaker immediately.
This time, Sophie noticed, there was no hurry or distress in Bonnano’s voice.
“Good evening, Nate,” he said politely.
Nate squinted. “Good evening, Patrick. What can I do for you this time?”
“Oh, nothing important.” Bonnano’s voice was so soft that it sounded almost like purring. “I was just wondering, do you happen to know why Michael Callahan would choose this night to attack the Chileans?”
“Erm…” Nate managed to hide the smile, but it was heard in his voice when he continued. “Coincidence, perhaps?”
Bonnano took a long, meditating breath. “Yes, of course, that must be it,” he said softly. “There’s really no other explanation. By the way, where are you?”
“Identifying the dead from the Marco’s Tavern shooting.”
“I’m calling from the Callahan’s shooting, I’ve checked everything. There’s no need for you to repeat that procedure with these victims.”
“Thank you, Patrick. That will give us more time to… do something useful.”
The silence at the other end was longer this time. “About that coincidence you mentioned… If I meet it tonight, somewhere on the streets, I’m not sure if I should kill it, or thank it. Kinda feeling both at the same time, you know?”
“I completely understand that sentiment.”
“I bet you do,” Bonnano smirked, and cut the line.
“You’ll keep him in the dark?” Sophie asked.
“As much as I can,” Nate nodded. “It’s better for him to know nothing. I don’t want to put him in the position where he has to choose between friendship and his job - and he's balancing on the very edge already. We have to protect him. I have to go now, wait here.”
“Wait!” Hardison jumped in. “You don’t have to check that last dead body, Eliot is obviously alive if he managed to send the Irish after the Chileans.”
“From now on, we can’t know if he is doing something right now, or we are just watching the end of an avalanche that has a life of its own. He might have pushed the Irish two hours ago and gotten killed immediately after that - and we are watching the results of that action. Nothing we hear or see is proof he is still alive.”
“I’ll call Bonnano and ask him were, exactly, the Irish attack occurred,” Hardison sighed. “That way I can skip from Marco’s Tavern directly there, and have a new, fresh point in the search for the Hummer.”
“You do that,” Nate nodded. “And ask him if he knows any of the names of the victims besides Callahan, particularly any Chileans.” With that he closed the door.
Sophie sat silently for some time, then touched Hardison’s hand. She glanced at the hospital and touched her earbud, and he nodded, waving her to go freely, and that he had everything under control.
Quietly, not wanting to disturb Parker who was listening to the police channel again, she got out.
.
.
***
.
She found him sitting in the lobby, watching a wounded gang member who was making trouble for the three cops who were trying to control him. The wounded man was trying to free himself and go to the other end of the hall, where there were two other men, lying on stretchers, waiting to be processed. He was spitting curses.
“Mexican?” Sophie quietly asked.
“Yes. And other two are obviously Chileans. It seems that neither of the hospitals will be peaceful places tonight, and securing everything will draw even more police forces from the streets.”
Sophie sat next to him and looked around. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to see any hospital again, ever.” Then she thought better of it, and sighed. “Let me rephrase that… I do hope to see a hospital again, and as soon as possible. But not this one.”
She caught a small smile on Nate’s face, but he said nothing.
“Parker said she is not worried about this at all,” she went on. “In short - we always succeed, and Eliot is never beaten, so there’s nothing to worry about.”
“We should listen to her much more.”
“So, you share her optimism?”
“I spoke with one Mexican for a minute, when he was left alone… their story is that they were innocently drinking, when bloodthirsty gangsters rushed into the tavern and started killing. They didn’t even return fire, they were not armed, and all the dead Chileans are victims of friendly fire, because, they can’t explain how, they’ve caught themselves in a crossfire. It’s their story, and they stick with it. No mentions of Eliot.”
Sophie thought about it for a second, admitting that although it sounded incredibly stupid, it had a chance to hold water just because it was hard to challenge without clear evidence, when she noticed he had skipped her question.
“And no, I do not share her optimism.” The bastard was reading her thoughts. “I am worried. Though, if we compare all our worries, I think we would find that they are completely different for each one of us.”
“And what do you worry about?”
“Ah, a few things.” He smiled again, still not looking at her, still watching the Mexican. “But the one that occupies me right now, the one I was thinking about before you came, is the one particular thing I’m afraid Eliot doesn’t quite understand.” Nate raised his hand and pointed towards Boston in general. “This… guerrilla war on the streets that he started, all that playing with enemy forces, pushing them, drawing them into the open, pulling their strings… all that military crap. He thought he had to go back to military mode to do it - but he doesn’t understand that’s degradation for him. He thought the hitter wouldn’t be able to do it, and he didn’t realize that the hitter is the sum of all of the best that he has ever been in his life.”
“And there’s one thing you don’t understand - Eliot would never start something like this, if he wasn’t sure he could control it. I’m not afraid of his doings, being in military, hitter or kangaroo mode, he is far too smart to be the only thing standing in his way, in whatever form or state of mind. I’m simply afraid for him.”
“Since we’re speaking freely,” Hardison’s voice came through their earbuds. “It’s the best time to ask you when will it be safe to hit him.”
“Since we, obviously, speak freely, it’s the best time to tell you it was two days ago,” said Nate.
“He was sedated after surgery two days ago, I don’t think you understand what I'm asking here…” Hardison trailed off, and then figured it out. “What? Safe for him! Not for me!”
“And why would you hit him?” asked Sophie, grateful for the interruption that lightened Nate’s face a little.
“Hello? Just because I’m going all superhero for him, it doesn’t mean I forgot he shot Parker - it’s my duty to avenge that. Old fashioned duels are out of the question, but her honor must be revenged. When this shit is done, I’ll ask you once a day when it will be safe to punch him, you hear me?”
Sophie tried to imagine that particular event and squinted a little.
“And, I also found the Hummer,” Hardison said after a dramatic silence. “And lost it again after two cameras, in these damn small streets. But, I know the part of the town, I know where we have to go, and most important, you don’t have to wait for that last dead body, because he is driving as we speak. Come back.”
Well, that was a relief, Sophie thought as they went back to the van, parked about one hundred meters down the street from the hospital entrance.
“Parker reports one more car blown up,” Hardison continued. “It was ten minutes ago, far away from Eliot’s position, but I nevertheless put that spot on the map with the Chilean info, and it showed that the car exploded in front of Villacorta’s second lieutenant’s residence, a guy named Tapia. Somebody blew up his Lamborghini - it’s totally destroyed and only after a thorough investigation will they be able to say if somebody was in it, or not. By the way, for someone who has been practically living with voices in your heads for years, you pretty quickly forgot I can hear you. Distress is a reasonable explanation, but it can be dangerous.”
“Really, Hardison? Just like you were aware I was listening to every word you said since I’ve left the van?”
“Oh.” The hacker went silent, but their luck didn’t last more than a few seconds. “Of course I knew that! I was just letting you know-”
“Turn around!” A loud voice cut off Hardison’s words just when Nate opened the back door of Lucille, and they both froze.
“I said, turn around, or I’ll shoot you right there where you stand!”
For a long moment Sophie held her breath, while Nate slowly turned around to face the man that was standing behind them. She did the same, hoping that was just some eager cop, nervous because of the gang members that were in the hospital, but this one wasn’t a cop. He was a neat, tidy, very Chilean killer who probably came to monitor the situation with their dead and wounded, and got lucky recognizing the people they’d been trying to kill. He looked behind them, at decorated Lucille, and smiled, obviously realizing why they couldn’t find the van.
“Very clever,” he said simply and raised the hand with the gun.
The next thing Sophie saw was something silver flying, and the Chilean falling backward as it slammed right into his face. She blinked, and the silver thing transformed into one of Parker’s crutches, thrown violently through the door. Before she could react in any way, Nate grabbed her and threw her into the van, following her.
“Move!” he yelled at Hardison who was already in front seat, and who started the engine and drove off as fast as he could.
Sophie stared at Parker, still on her knees, with the other crutch in her hands, and realized she threw the first one as if she threw a spear.
“I can’t move,” the thief whispered, pale as a sheet, and they both pulled her up and eased her on the pillows.
“This one is not dead,” Nate said. “He’ll soon contact the rest, and tell them about the van. Hardison, find a dark street; we have to remove all the decorations. “
“So, we are a target again?”
“Yep, very visible.” Nate briefly smiled. “But, we’ll be a moving target, if it is any consolation to you.”
The hacker’s sigh was the clear answer.
.
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***
.
To an uninformed observer, Villacorta’s mansion would look like a place where a large party was in full swing. Eliot couldn’t risk getting too close with the Hummer, so he observed the lit driveway and vast front yard from a distance that wasn’t allowing many details. He could only see that cars were going in and out, and that everybody seemed to be in a controlled rush.
That was enough. Villacorta was on the move, he was filling the streets with his army, and if Eliot guessed correctly, watching the loaded cars, Boston would soon find out what ‘simultaneous attacks’ really meant. In their full strength.
‘Don’t mess with the Chileans’ - an almost forgotten sentence from that Korean gangster a few years ago, came to his mind. Too late for that. He should really learn to listen to clever advice, no matter who was saying it.
He slowly retreated from the shadows where he watched Villacorta’s house. It was time to add more logs to this fire, but the particular log he had in mind was full of thorns, and poisonous. More than that, the fire would be extremely hard to control, and he was risking a real forest fire with that one.
Italians.
Pulling the mob into this fuckup could be a turning point and a crucial move, and, at the same time, a very fast and very slippery road to quick death. Mexicans and Irish were violent and easy to push… to activate the Italian mob, on the other hand, he had to contact them via their attorneys, and include a project plan in his business offer. In five copies.
The most important, he had to avoid any contact with any of them, or he would be found before the dawn. That octopus would spread all over town, and silent men in suits, from the Department of Urgent Intervention or something similar, would be trying to make an appointment. The Italians might think that their organization was improved with that High Business Going All Legal And Polite Inc., but in reality, the only thing that had changed was the quality of their suits.
He had the Italians in reserve while making his plans, and he only made rough sketches of action, knowing only a few names and possible approaches, but now he had someone who could tell him about the Italians from the Chilean point of view. It would lower the chances for connecting either him, or the team, to the developments further in the night.
Yep, he had someone… but barely.
He watched Matio Tapia who was marching across the street; he obviously recognized neighborhood, and he was heading right to Villacorta’s mansion. It was just a matter of time when before he’d be spotted by the cars that went in and out.
Rule number six: don’t leave the car unlocked, even when prisoners are bond to the backseat.
Eliot waited until Tapia came closer, and put a silencer on the Lady Killer’s gun.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said softly, startling the young man who froze in the middle of a step. “Move away from the street, slowly.”
“It sounded like perfect idea until a few seconds ago.” Tapia sighed and obeyed, raising his hands in the air. “I just got bored waiting for your explanation of this - you do know abductions are illegal, right? I guess you do. You can’t say I didn’t show extreme patience as well. After all, I’m a dangerous gangster.” He smirked at his own words, but straightened himself up, and repeated threateningly. “Dangerous, mark my words!” The horror that his words should have brought was lessened a little when he cautiously glanced to see their effect.
“Walk, dangerous gangster.” Eliot waved with the gun and Tapia sighed again and went slowly two steps ahead him. They were returning to the Hummer the long way around, Eliot chose a dark path, and avoided street lights. It was good Tapia was ahead him, because if he saw his smile, the gun wouldn’t be such a threat. The last thing he had expected during the night was getting fond of one of Villacorta’s lieutenants.
It was a damn long walk.
When they reached the car all he wanted was to sit and rest, but he had to decide what to do with Tapia. Tapia wasn’t as scared as he should be, and he might be a much bigger threat than Alejandro was, despite the fact that Rojas was more dangerous and an experienced killer. This one seemed reckless, and it could prove fatal if he tried something. One lucky blow could not only knock him down, but kill him.
This time, he tied him with duct tape in the passenger seat, both hands lowered and separated so he didn’t look suspicious from the window, and to the seat as well, leaving only his legs free. Tapia was silently sulking.
By the time he finished his hands were shaking again, and breathing and moving started to be painful, a clear sign that the last dose of morphine was slowly wearing off. The voices were silent for some time, and his mind felt more like… his.
Eliot got out of the car; it wasn’t wise to let Tapia see him drugging himself, especially because he left the hospital catheter in his left hand. It was easier to just connect the needle to that, than to try to find the vein in the darkness.
He hesitated, looking at the syringe. Panic attacks, hallucinations, voices, madness, all in full strength again… damn, he had no idea how he would deal with it this time. He was already exhausted, he barely walked, and it would be much harder. He could already feel that falling on his back had done something to his stitches because the pain was different, deeper and sharper. He had checked the bandages after that and had found only a small stain of blood, nothing that the deep purple of his shirt wouldn’t cover up. But, it wasn’t that bleeding that was worrying him. He was weaker than he thought he would be, and the buzzing in his ears was a constant, annoying noise that was warning him he could pass out at any time. His time calculations were of no use anymore, he had nothing to guess how much time he had left… and all that he had done so far was not enough.
Well, that thought ended his hesitation; without morphine he wouldn’t be able to do all that had to be done, at least not as efficient and fast. He had two more shots left, and it would have to do until the dawn… after that, if he was still alive, it would be time for the slow cleaning and preparing for the final steps of all of this. Pain would not be important then, as long as his mind was clear, without drugs. He promised Villacorta they would continue their conversation, and he would deliver it… yet, he had to prepare more things before that talk.
In a long moment, he stood caught in the total absurdity of his doings. He had been shot just three days ago, for god’s sake, how the hell he thought he could continue with this… how long before he just fell down and died. By rights, he shouldn’t be alive now, after all he had done so far… and yet, he was standing in the middle of Boston, and he was preparing to involve the Italians in this, this… his mind froze, for a second he couldn’t remember why he was doing this. And just how fucked up his brain was, really?
He was drifting away because of the morphine, he tried to convince himself… the last dose was wearing off, that’s why he was able to feel worry and fear again, but it was still stronger than the regular doses in the hospital, and it afflicted his concentration. Just that, nothing more. Nothing to worry about.
Yeah, right.
He guessed the half of the remaining morphine, and shot himself with it before he could start thinking again. And hesitate again. The morphine whispered about invincibility and gave him the feeling that he could do everything; it could get him killed, but it was pushing him further, blocking fears. He had to get this job done.
His time could run to zero without any warning, and he had to do as much as he could before that. From now on, every single step in his plan would be a gift. If he didn’t make it to the final step with Villacorta, he had to make sure that all of his previous steps worked out and did what he wanted them to do.
All of this, all this death, just for one, small result, so imperceptible that would be missed by everybody. Invisible to all, except for one person.
The King always had the best view of the entire board. Nate would know what to do when he saw it.
.
.