[SERIES] AFTER HOURS 32
Well, the muse doesn't seem to want to stop. Here's more. WARNING: More severe Colin whompage. Yes, he's my favorite character, yes, I hate it when he's whomped, but it only makes sense for the abrupt right turn this story has taken. If it makes you uncomfortable, please don't read. (No, he doesn't die)
TITLE: After Hours
Authors: makingamochrie and anesthesiagirl
PART 32
RATING R for grodiness
DISCLAIMER: TOTAL AU, Total Fiction, no bad shit intended. Don't own, don't sue
Author's notes: See above
Moaning softly, Ryan dug his chin down on Greg’s shoulder hard enough to deaden the nerves in Greg’s arms from there down to his fingertips before abruptly rolling away and standing, looking frantically for his pants.
“Yo, dude,” Greg said, rolling with him and kneeling on the bed. “What do you think you’re doin, man?”
Ryan snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m gonna find the motherfucker who kidnapped Colin, and when I do….”
“Ok, ok, ok,” Greg interrupted, holding up both hands. “First off, we can’t be sure he’s been kidnapped. There isn’t enough information. Maybe he went off on his own to avoid all the shit he was getting from the press and everyone else.”
“He was kidnapped,” Ryan bit off, allowing no room for any other speculation.
“You’re a psychic now, man?”
”I just know, alright?” Ryan growled, jamming his hands through his t-shirt inside out and not giving a flying fuck. “I just know.”
“Dude, listen to me, alright? Even if he was kidnapped, as you say, trying to find him like this would be like trying to find a specific fucking snowflake in Saskatoon! You gotta slow down, my man!”
“Slow down?!” Ryan roared, turning on him, face as red as brick. “He could be dying at this very second and you want me to slow down?”
Reaching out, Greg, who was no one’s coward, grasped Ryan’s elbow. “He most certainly will die if we don’t plan this out, Ry. You know it as well as I do. We’ve got to have a little patience, here.”
“I can’t afford patience, Greg,” Ryan rumbled, zipping and buttoning his pants before grabbing his shoes and slipping into them. “I…I just can’t.”
Rolling from the bed, Greg stalked across the floor, grabbed his steroid-induced laptop and booted up while Ryan busied himself tying his shoes. “Ok, man, I have a feeling you know who might have kidnapped him. Spill.”
“Greg….”
“Spill it, goddamnit! You’ve seen what this baby can do. If Colin’s gonna have a chance, this might be able to give him one. Who is it, man? Who?”
Ryan took in a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Enfield. Paul Enfield.”
Greg’s eyes widened. “You mean the guy who…?”
“Yeah, him, alright? He always talked about wanting to be a pirate, plundering secret treasure, all that shit. Looks like he found his fucking chance.”
“But why would he need to kidnap Colin? Weren’t they already making a deal?”
“Maybe,” Ryan conceded, “but if they did, it wasn’t one of Enfield’s ships that found that stash. I have no doubt in my mind that he blames Colin for it, and that he’ll do anything, include killing Colin, to get what he wants.”
“Oh…fuck….”
Ryan turned to him, green eyes huge and pleading. “Enfield’s bad news, Greg. Real fucking bad news. If we don’t find Colin soon…..”
“Ok, ok, hang on.” Greg’s fingers flew over the keys on his laptop. “What other friends does Colin have who might know something about this? Do you know?”
Ryan shook his head. “He paid me to have sex with him, Greg,” he said. “Not to talk about friends, or family, or fucking world peace, for fuck’s sake!”
“Calm down, dude. We’ll find it. We will. You just have to give me a little help here. Think, man. Anyone he might possibly have mentioned, aside from Enfield? Anyone?”
A name suddenly popped into Ryan’s head. “Grayson. Albert Grayson. He and Colin are best friends. I met them both at a party Grayson was throwing once. I’d been escorting another guest.”
“Hm,” Greg replied, fingers continuing to tap, “I wonder if this Grayson chap knows Enfield.” A few more clicks, and his face lit up. “Bingo! We have a winnah.”
Ryan shook his head doubtfully. “I really don’t think Alfred….”
“Doesn’t matter,” Greg continued. “Friends, enemies, I don’t give a fuck. He knows the guy, which puts him one step ahead of us…or at least me. Your phone still charged?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Call Grayson. If, as you say, he’s Col’s best friend, then he’s gotta be worried as shit, too. He might know something we don’t. At least give us a point where to start looking.”
Sighing, Ryan picked up his phone, about to object. He’d only spoken to Grayson once, but that was better than Greg, who didn’t know him from Adam. “You got his number?”
“Yeah.” Greg tossed the number to Ryan, who entered it into his phone and waited for the ringing to commence.
“Grayson residence,” came the deep, English accented voice of the butler, as Ryan remembered him.
“Yes, sir, I’m looking for Mr. Grayson, please. Is he in?”
“I’m very sorry, Sir, but Mr. Grayson is not taking phone calls at this time. Perhaps….”
“Listen,” Ryan said, trying to keep the level of desperation in his voice down, “I’m a good friend of Colin Mochrie’s, and I’ve just been heard he’s been kidnapped. I might have a clue where he’s been taken, but I need Mr. Grayson’s help.”
“Again, I extend my apologies, sir, but my employer is quite indisposed at the moment. Perhaps it would be better for you to take your clues to the police?”
“There’s not enough time for that, damnit!” Ryan cried, letting his temper slip loose. “Please, he might have some answers I’m seeking. I need to speak to him! Now!”
*******
Colin privately thanked whatever gods might be out there that he hadn’t had anything more than a tiny bit of champagne in his belly over the past several hours or the last hammering blow to his already abused belly would have brought it up in a huge, steaming glut that he would most likely have worn.
“Sign it,” Enfield growled, lips caressing Colin’s ear as his hand clamped over Colin’s mangled hand, a pen gripped precariously between the many broken fingers.
“I….”
“Sign. It.”
“No.”
Enfield’s large, strong hand squeezed harder over Colin’s own, crushing the splintered bones against one another. If he could have, Colin would have screamed, but it seemed he wasn’t even able to do that anymore. Instead, he gave out a moan that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.
“Sign it, and I’ll let you go free.”
Colin shook his head. “We both know that won’t happen. Kill me and sign it yourself. I don’t care anymore.”
“They’ll know it’s a forgery.”
“By the time…they figure…it out, you’ll be halfway across…the world. If Mengele could do it, you can…easy.”
A bitter chuckle. “Hiding in plain site for the rest of my life isn’t…quite…my style, Colin, as you well know. No, I like my…pleasures far too much for that. Sign it.”
“Never.”
“Your loss.” Backing away, Enfield gestured one of his goons forward. The man had a heavy mallet in his hand and, grinning, brought it down against Colin’s one unbroken shin.
The agony bloomed like the rose of a bomb and, mercifully, took it with him when it began do dissipate.
“Should I wake him up again, sir?” another goon, the one with the water pail, asked.
Enfield shook his head slowly. “No. Give him a bit to rest and think on exactly what is going to happen to him if he fails to do as I ask.”
“As you wish, Mr. Enfield.”
********
As Ryan prayed to anyone and anything that could possibly listen, a long pause was ended when an extremely deep, extremely cultured voice came onto the phone. “This is Alfred Grayson speaking. Your name, please?”
“Sir, my name is Ryan Stiles, and….”
“Stiles…Stiles….ah yes, you were at one of my shindigs once, correct? Escorting that nice young man…I’m afraid I forget his name….
“His name isn’t important, Mr. Grayson. This is. How well do you know Paul Enfield?”
The man seemed taken aback for a moment. “Not very well, thankfully. That gentleman is, if you’ll pardon my French, a bastard of all bastards.”
“I agree,” Ryan replied quickly, knowing they were running out of time. “I have reason to think that he might have something to do with Colin’s disappearance.”
A long period of silence followed, causing Ryan to wonder if he was going to find himself on the end of a dead line. “Just how did you come to figure that, young man?” Grayson finally asked, his voice just a hair short of suspicious.
“The short version, because we’re running out of time, is that I know, or knew, Mr. Enfield when I was much younger….”
“Ah…. Continue.”
“The dream of his life was to find a sunken treasure and make off with the money to some uncharted island somewhere with his favorites. I know that he spoke to Colin about something…I was there…at least at the end of it. They came to some sort of deal. But I also know that the Invincible wasn’t one of his submersibles.”
“So you believe our Mr. Mochrie double-crossed Mr. Enfield?”
“No. I think that the deal for the Invincible was made well before Enfield’s. It had already found that Spanish ship two years ago, remember. Whatever deal Colin made with Enfield just happened a couple months back.”
“Mm. It would be interesting to note exactly what that deal was.”
“Found it!” Greg shouted, eyes shooting rapidly along the lines of text downloading on his laptop. “He wanted submersibles strong enough to stand the Antarctic waters. Some sort of polar ice cap testing or shit like that.”
“You have a friend with you, Mr. Stiles?”
“Yes,” Ryan answered readily. “Greg Proops. He’s good with a computer.”
“Somewhat better than ‘good’, I’d say. A comedian as well, unless I miss my guess.”
“Right on both counts, sir,” Ryan replied, trying desperately to keep his temper under wraps. “Listen, sir, I think Enfield has him, and I need to know where to find him. Is there any way you can help me out?”
“And how am I to know that we can trust one another, Mr. Stiles?”
“You don’t,” Ryan answered truthfully. “Any more than I can know that I can trust you. But I’m willing to believe if you are. You know who I am and what I do for a living. You could blow me out of the water and into a jail cell with just one phone call. I’m trusting you not to do that. But even if you do, it’ll be worth it, if you tell me what I need to know.” He took in another very deep breath. “Mr. Grayson, I’m willing to do anything in the world to get him back. You say you’re his best friend. Are you willing to do so as well?”
There wasn’t even a hesitation. “I’ve known Colin for neigh on thirty years, Mr. Stiles. There will never be anything I would not do for him, up to and including exchanging my very life for his. We have, as you say, a deal.”
“Good,” Ryan replied, slumping back onto the bed next to Greg and letting Greg engulf him with his free arm. “Thank God. What can you tell us?”
“Well…I would guess it would need to be somewhere very close. Enfield has several warehouses near the water where he loads his ships for their cross Atlantic trips. His own security is very tight around these warehouses, and if I were a betting man, I’d wager that any one of these would be the likely culprit, so to speak.”
“Great! Can you give me the addresses?”
“Hold on for a moment. Allow me to retrieve them.” A second later, he came back on the phone with the correct addresses, which Ryan then repeated to Greg, who tapped them into his computer.
“Got em!” Greg crowed.
“Thank you, Mr. Grayson,” Ryan said. “Is there anything else you can think of?”
“No, other than the fact that Paul Enfield is a very dangerous man, young man. Very dangerous. If Colin,” Grayson took a very deep and shuddering swallow, “is still alive, he will be surrounded by trained killers. It might be best to allow the police in on this. You can’t possibly do it yourselves.”
“No!” Ryan shouted. “No police. Colin’ll be dead for sure. I have some friends that might be able to help.”
“And I shall send my man John to help you. He’s a small lad, yes, but he was M-4 during the War. There isn’t anything that he can get into that he cannot get out of. He would be of great help to you.”
“Does he know where I live and can he get here quickly?”
“He’s been on his way since I answered your call, Mr. Stiles. He should be ringing you up in less than five minutes.”
Ryan closed his eyes tightly. “Thank you,” he breathed into the phone.
“Quite welcome, young man. And if anything else comes to me, I shall call you post haste.” A pause. His voice dropped. “I love him too, you see.”
Ryan stared at the phone, but for him it didn’t really exist. The words…the words…the words….
“Damn,” he said hoarsely as he hit the disconnect button.
Greg carefully hid his smirk.
The bell rang.
TBC...
TITLE: After Hours
Authors: makingamochrie and anesthesiagirl
PART 32
RATING R for grodiness
DISCLAIMER: TOTAL AU, Total Fiction, no bad shit intended. Don't own, don't sue
Author's notes: See above
Moaning softly, Ryan dug his chin down on Greg’s shoulder hard enough to deaden the nerves in Greg’s arms from there down to his fingertips before abruptly rolling away and standing, looking frantically for his pants.
“Yo, dude,” Greg said, rolling with him and kneeling on the bed. “What do you think you’re doin, man?”
Ryan snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m gonna find the motherfucker who kidnapped Colin, and when I do….”
“Ok, ok, ok,” Greg interrupted, holding up both hands. “First off, we can’t be sure he’s been kidnapped. There isn’t enough information. Maybe he went off on his own to avoid all the shit he was getting from the press and everyone else.”
“He was kidnapped,” Ryan bit off, allowing no room for any other speculation.
“You’re a psychic now, man?”
”I just know, alright?” Ryan growled, jamming his hands through his t-shirt inside out and not giving a flying fuck. “I just know.”
“Dude, listen to me, alright? Even if he was kidnapped, as you say, trying to find him like this would be like trying to find a specific fucking snowflake in Saskatoon! You gotta slow down, my man!”
“Slow down?!” Ryan roared, turning on him, face as red as brick. “He could be dying at this very second and you want me to slow down?”
Reaching out, Greg, who was no one’s coward, grasped Ryan’s elbow. “He most certainly will die if we don’t plan this out, Ry. You know it as well as I do. We’ve got to have a little patience, here.”
“I can’t afford patience, Greg,” Ryan rumbled, zipping and buttoning his pants before grabbing his shoes and slipping into them. “I…I just can’t.”
Rolling from the bed, Greg stalked across the floor, grabbed his steroid-induced laptop and booted up while Ryan busied himself tying his shoes. “Ok, man, I have a feeling you know who might have kidnapped him. Spill.”
“Greg….”
“Spill it, goddamnit! You’ve seen what this baby can do. If Colin’s gonna have a chance, this might be able to give him one. Who is it, man? Who?”
Ryan took in a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Enfield. Paul Enfield.”
Greg’s eyes widened. “You mean the guy who…?”
“Yeah, him, alright? He always talked about wanting to be a pirate, plundering secret treasure, all that shit. Looks like he found his fucking chance.”
“But why would he need to kidnap Colin? Weren’t they already making a deal?”
“Maybe,” Ryan conceded, “but if they did, it wasn’t one of Enfield’s ships that found that stash. I have no doubt in my mind that he blames Colin for it, and that he’ll do anything, include killing Colin, to get what he wants.”
“Oh…fuck….”
Ryan turned to him, green eyes huge and pleading. “Enfield’s bad news, Greg. Real fucking bad news. If we don’t find Colin soon…..”
“Ok, ok, hang on.” Greg’s fingers flew over the keys on his laptop. “What other friends does Colin have who might know something about this? Do you know?”
Ryan shook his head. “He paid me to have sex with him, Greg,” he said. “Not to talk about friends, or family, or fucking world peace, for fuck’s sake!”
“Calm down, dude. We’ll find it. We will. You just have to give me a little help here. Think, man. Anyone he might possibly have mentioned, aside from Enfield? Anyone?”
A name suddenly popped into Ryan’s head. “Grayson. Albert Grayson. He and Colin are best friends. I met them both at a party Grayson was throwing once. I’d been escorting another guest.”
“Hm,” Greg replied, fingers continuing to tap, “I wonder if this Grayson chap knows Enfield.” A few more clicks, and his face lit up. “Bingo! We have a winnah.”
Ryan shook his head doubtfully. “I really don’t think Alfred….”
“Doesn’t matter,” Greg continued. “Friends, enemies, I don’t give a fuck. He knows the guy, which puts him one step ahead of us…or at least me. Your phone still charged?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Call Grayson. If, as you say, he’s Col’s best friend, then he’s gotta be worried as shit, too. He might know something we don’t. At least give us a point where to start looking.”
Sighing, Ryan picked up his phone, about to object. He’d only spoken to Grayson once, but that was better than Greg, who didn’t know him from Adam. “You got his number?”
“Yeah.” Greg tossed the number to Ryan, who entered it into his phone and waited for the ringing to commence.
“Grayson residence,” came the deep, English accented voice of the butler, as Ryan remembered him.
“Yes, sir, I’m looking for Mr. Grayson, please. Is he in?”
“I’m very sorry, Sir, but Mr. Grayson is not taking phone calls at this time. Perhaps….”
“Listen,” Ryan said, trying to keep the level of desperation in his voice down, “I’m a good friend of Colin Mochrie’s, and I’ve just been heard he’s been kidnapped. I might have a clue where he’s been taken, but I need Mr. Grayson’s help.”
“Again, I extend my apologies, sir, but my employer is quite indisposed at the moment. Perhaps it would be better for you to take your clues to the police?”
“There’s not enough time for that, damnit!” Ryan cried, letting his temper slip loose. “Please, he might have some answers I’m seeking. I need to speak to him! Now!”
*******
Colin privately thanked whatever gods might be out there that he hadn’t had anything more than a tiny bit of champagne in his belly over the past several hours or the last hammering blow to his already abused belly would have brought it up in a huge, steaming glut that he would most likely have worn.
“Sign it,” Enfield growled, lips caressing Colin’s ear as his hand clamped over Colin’s mangled hand, a pen gripped precariously between the many broken fingers.
“I….”
“Sign. It.”
“No.”
Enfield’s large, strong hand squeezed harder over Colin’s own, crushing the splintered bones against one another. If he could have, Colin would have screamed, but it seemed he wasn’t even able to do that anymore. Instead, he gave out a moan that sounded suspiciously like a whimper.
“Sign it, and I’ll let you go free.”
Colin shook his head. “We both know that won’t happen. Kill me and sign it yourself. I don’t care anymore.”
“They’ll know it’s a forgery.”
“By the time…they figure…it out, you’ll be halfway across…the world. If Mengele could do it, you can…easy.”
A bitter chuckle. “Hiding in plain site for the rest of my life isn’t…quite…my style, Colin, as you well know. No, I like my…pleasures far too much for that. Sign it.”
“Never.”
“Your loss.” Backing away, Enfield gestured one of his goons forward. The man had a heavy mallet in his hand and, grinning, brought it down against Colin’s one unbroken shin.
The agony bloomed like the rose of a bomb and, mercifully, took it with him when it began do dissipate.
“Should I wake him up again, sir?” another goon, the one with the water pail, asked.
Enfield shook his head slowly. “No. Give him a bit to rest and think on exactly what is going to happen to him if he fails to do as I ask.”
“As you wish, Mr. Enfield.”
********
As Ryan prayed to anyone and anything that could possibly listen, a long pause was ended when an extremely deep, extremely cultured voice came onto the phone. “This is Alfred Grayson speaking. Your name, please?”
“Sir, my name is Ryan Stiles, and….”
“Stiles…Stiles….ah yes, you were at one of my shindigs once, correct? Escorting that nice young man…I’m afraid I forget his name….
“His name isn’t important, Mr. Grayson. This is. How well do you know Paul Enfield?”
The man seemed taken aback for a moment. “Not very well, thankfully. That gentleman is, if you’ll pardon my French, a bastard of all bastards.”
“I agree,” Ryan replied quickly, knowing they were running out of time. “I have reason to think that he might have something to do with Colin’s disappearance.”
A long period of silence followed, causing Ryan to wonder if he was going to find himself on the end of a dead line. “Just how did you come to figure that, young man?” Grayson finally asked, his voice just a hair short of suspicious.
“The short version, because we’re running out of time, is that I know, or knew, Mr. Enfield when I was much younger….”
“Ah…. Continue.”
“The dream of his life was to find a sunken treasure and make off with the money to some uncharted island somewhere with his favorites. I know that he spoke to Colin about something…I was there…at least at the end of it. They came to some sort of deal. But I also know that the Invincible wasn’t one of his submersibles.”
“So you believe our Mr. Mochrie double-crossed Mr. Enfield?”
“No. I think that the deal for the Invincible was made well before Enfield’s. It had already found that Spanish ship two years ago, remember. Whatever deal Colin made with Enfield just happened a couple months back.”
“Mm. It would be interesting to note exactly what that deal was.”
“Found it!” Greg shouted, eyes shooting rapidly along the lines of text downloading on his laptop. “He wanted submersibles strong enough to stand the Antarctic waters. Some sort of polar ice cap testing or shit like that.”
“You have a friend with you, Mr. Stiles?”
“Yes,” Ryan answered readily. “Greg Proops. He’s good with a computer.”
“Somewhat better than ‘good’, I’d say. A comedian as well, unless I miss my guess.”
“Right on both counts, sir,” Ryan replied, trying desperately to keep his temper under wraps. “Listen, sir, I think Enfield has him, and I need to know where to find him. Is there any way you can help me out?”
“And how am I to know that we can trust one another, Mr. Stiles?”
“You don’t,” Ryan answered truthfully. “Any more than I can know that I can trust you. But I’m willing to believe if you are. You know who I am and what I do for a living. You could blow me out of the water and into a jail cell with just one phone call. I’m trusting you not to do that. But even if you do, it’ll be worth it, if you tell me what I need to know.” He took in another very deep breath. “Mr. Grayson, I’m willing to do anything in the world to get him back. You say you’re his best friend. Are you willing to do so as well?”
There wasn’t even a hesitation. “I’ve known Colin for neigh on thirty years, Mr. Stiles. There will never be anything I would not do for him, up to and including exchanging my very life for his. We have, as you say, a deal.”
“Good,” Ryan replied, slumping back onto the bed next to Greg and letting Greg engulf him with his free arm. “Thank God. What can you tell us?”
“Well…I would guess it would need to be somewhere very close. Enfield has several warehouses near the water where he loads his ships for their cross Atlantic trips. His own security is very tight around these warehouses, and if I were a betting man, I’d wager that any one of these would be the likely culprit, so to speak.”
“Great! Can you give me the addresses?”
“Hold on for a moment. Allow me to retrieve them.” A second later, he came back on the phone with the correct addresses, which Ryan then repeated to Greg, who tapped them into his computer.
“Got em!” Greg crowed.
“Thank you, Mr. Grayson,” Ryan said. “Is there anything else you can think of?”
“No, other than the fact that Paul Enfield is a very dangerous man, young man. Very dangerous. If Colin,” Grayson took a very deep and shuddering swallow, “is still alive, he will be surrounded by trained killers. It might be best to allow the police in on this. You can’t possibly do it yourselves.”
“No!” Ryan shouted. “No police. Colin’ll be dead for sure. I have some friends that might be able to help.”
“And I shall send my man John to help you. He’s a small lad, yes, but he was M-4 during the War. There isn’t anything that he can get into that he cannot get out of. He would be of great help to you.”
“Does he know where I live and can he get here quickly?”
“He’s been on his way since I answered your call, Mr. Stiles. He should be ringing you up in less than five minutes.”
Ryan closed his eyes tightly. “Thank you,” he breathed into the phone.
“Quite welcome, young man. And if anything else comes to me, I shall call you post haste.” A pause. His voice dropped. “I love him too, you see.”
Ryan stared at the phone, but for him it didn’t really exist. The words…the words…the words….
“Damn,” he said hoarsely as he hit the disconnect button.
Greg carefully hid his smirk.
The bell rang.
TBC...