The Bad Job (12/12) [Leverage]
Previous
He woke some unmeasurable time later, when someone poked and prodded him into an upright position. “You silly man, if I didn't … well, if I didn't, I'd ask myself why I bother carrying your drunken, unbelievably heavy, smelly body up the stairs. I swear, if you don't start helping me now and use those sloppy legs you got, I'll just dump you on the floor.”
Sophie's accent had sharpened from her rant and it woke him enough to at least use his feet every second step and grab the railing of the stairs. He didn't really feel much in any of his limbs, vaguely recognized the soft surface as his bed and felt someone tug on him, on his feet so he might have assumed that his shoes were taken off.
He might have, but he wouldn't ever be able to tell for certain. He fell asleep somewhere between the right shoe and the left sock.
**
Morning came with a terrible, terrible pounding in his head and a huge ball of sheep's-wool stuffed into his mouth, complete with smell and taste and the distant feel of grease. Nate suppressed the urge to puke and let himself tumble from the bed to his legs, the best way to get upright in the morning, he'd found. Everything hurt but at least he hadn't dreamed, or if he did, he couldn't remember. So yeah, that was worth a little discomfort.
After a thorough brushing of his teeth and an even more thorough shower, he felt halfway decent and able to face the day and his team-members, who he could hear downstairs already. Even the smell of coffee that was drifting up the stairs was welcome now, when an hour ago it would have made him run for a bucket.
Sure enough, everyone was already assembled in his living-room come office. It felt... nice and at the same time harassing to be the center of attention, after, during and before 'work'. They all could go home - wherever that was - and do things in private - whatever that was - except him. He couldn't escape them, and ever since Hardison had handed out keys to the apartment to everybody in the team, they usually didn't bother to knock first.
There was probably a law against landlords just coming into a rented apartment, but Nate had never bothered to read the contract completely. If he really wanted to stop them come in unannounced, he should probably start sleeping with Sophie on his living-room-floor. Maybe she'd agree... Then again, it didn't really bother him that they were constantly sitting on his furniture or using his kitchen. It was nice to know that he wasn't alone, good to know that there was someone who cared enough to kick his ass into sobering up and at least stop the drinking during the day. Or half the day.
The time before Dubenich had not been as kind to him.
“Good morning,” he coughed, smiling gratefully at the coffee-cup that had magically appeared in front of him, attached to Parker's slim hand. “Ugh... is there something to eat?”
“There's toast.” Sophie frowned into the fridge. “And I think Gummi-Frogs? What's this? Oh, here's some of Eliot's stew from a few days ago, I guess it's still edible?”
“Uh, thanks. I think I'll stick with toast for now.” He slouched over to his kitchen and started puttering with his toaster, a smile on his face when he felt Sophie's gentle stroke on his back. She left him alone, though, and slipped onto the couch, between Hardison and Eliot who were bickering over the best way to grill a steak, of all things. For a while he was content with just watching them, not really listening but instead letting the voices drift and wave all over him like a radio that was playing even when no-one was listening. It was a little disconcerting to see everyone else just go on with life as if nothing earth-shattering had happened. How was it that they didn't get thrown as much as he did? Was he really so much different from them?
“So...” he interrupted the easy chatter after a while, “now what?”
**
At once, the atmosphere changed and everyone sat up straighter. Now, he could see that they hadn't just moved on, they'd just shoved things out of their minds, out of the way to deal with later.
“Yeah...Okay, we have enough money from the.. uh, transaction to give the Morton's. There shouldn't be a problem with that. We have enough to compensate a few of his other victims, though not all of them to the full amount they lost.”
“Should not be a problem. The police will freeze Winham's assets and go over his dealings with a fine comb. They should find the discrepancies -”
“Oh yeah, good idea, I'll help them a little bit,” Hardison grinned eagerly, “Shouldn't take long.”
“-discrepancies, and start some kind of compensation.” Nathan continued. He really hated to be interrupted, and he hated it even more when he was nursing a hangover. “All right. What about Ryan,” he looked over at Eliot, who leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“I spoke with Miriam. Since his parents are … unavailable,” he growled, “she's responsible for him. Not exactly like a foster-mom, more a legal guardian? I don't know how the exact term works.” From the direction of his glances, it was clear he was saying the last things for Parker's benefit. “Anyway, she's responsible for him, he likes and trusts her and she … I guess she loves him.”
“How is she dealing with this situation?” Sophie asked, and Nathan got the distant impression that they all had been given a rough outline about who Ryan was and where Eliot had dug him up. “And him? How's Ryan taking things?”
“You can ask him yourself, but he's fine. I'd only worry about his sudden fan-boy act over Agent McTodd, but other than that, he's doing good.”
“You sure?” Nathan couldn't help to ask, though he knew he could just check for himself if he doubted Eliot's words. “I mean... uhm...”
“Yeah, I'm sure. I arranged for you to be with them this afternoon, when the Feds'll be there You can see for yourself then.” It didn't sound annoyed or insulted, and Eliot didn't look like the doubt in Nathan's question had hit him as a surprise. He'd clearly expected something like that if he'd assured Nate's presence at the questioning.
“Thanks,” he just said, because what else do you say about that?
“And he's gonna be all right? I mean... you told us he's good and he'll say the right things but... he's just eleven years old.”
“When I was eleven, I stole my first gold-statue,” Parker threw in, completely without a hint of remorse or sense of that being somehow remarkable or disturbing. Which was disturbing in and off its own. “Why wouldn't he be able to lie to a bunch of cops?”
They didn't have an answer to that, not one she'd understand at least.
Coughing, Nate steered the conversation back towards the subject. “Well... now. The mark's dealt with?”
“Yeah, Parker gave the feds the hard-drive and while we had it, I've installed a program that will decrypt the files on them automatically after a police-computer's hooked up with it. I hope they have an idea what they're dealing with, it's not the most pleasant surprise, man.” Hardison scratched his ear. “Also, I've hidden links on them that anyone can find without even looking, to all the sites he visited and there's a file with his passwords. That asshole is toast, there's no such thing as not enough evidence from this side.”
“Good. What about his statements. Will the cops find any evidence of Even Howard? Can you do something 'bout that, Hardison? I don't want them to come looking for him and find Eliot?”
“They won't,” Eliot jumped in before Hardison could answer. “He's legit.”
“What?”
“Oh? Who is he?” Sophie and Parker spoke at the same time.
“I used the alias before. He's in the system, as Evan James Howard. I didn't leave any prints, not in his car, not on anything. So no problem with that.”
Nathan didn't doubt his assertions for a second. If Eliot said he didn't leave prints, it meant he really didn't. He was curious, though, how Evan Howard got into the system on the first hand, and as what. He'd maybe have Hardison dig after him. Later, though.
“Okay. Sophie, you're in the clear?”
“Of course.” She raised her eyebrow. “I know my job.”
“What's up, Parker? Why're you lookin' like someone ate your kitten, girl?” Hardison leaned over to her, concern and affection in his gaze.
She was sitting on the couch, pouting. “I feel weird. I didn't even get to steal anything. I just bugged and de-bugged a room and stole a stupid hard-drive.”
“You got to open a lock, though,” Eliot offered, but she just glared at him.
“That's not enough! There wasn't even anything valuable inside.”
“There was a boy inside. I say that's plenty valuable.”
She looked taken aback, then nodded. “Oh... right.”
**
It was evening, the sun not yet set but hiding behind the higher buildings of Boston, throwing chilly shadows over the lower houses.
Nathan was leaning against one of the air-ducts on his roof, staring into his whiskey-glass and waiting until the last sunlight stopped lighting up his drink and would transform the soft glow into a deep, unimpressive amber color.
He didn't like drinking stuff that glowed like it held the salvation to all ailments, he'd rather drink it knowing full well that it was damnation he'd swallow.
The day had been busy and full of surprises. After their team-meeting, he'd met up with Miriam Haverman and Ryan, posing as a child-psychologist who would witness the statement and the mental health of the boy.
Miriam was in her mid-thirties, an attractive brunette with a smattering of freckles on her face. She'd been wary when he'd arrived earlier than McSweeten but had thawed once he'd introduced himself with his real name.
“Oh, you're Eliot's boss? Come on in. Would you like a soda?” He'd accepted and sat on the couch, waiting until she'd settled down herself. “To be honest, I'm not sure how I think about this whole … thing. I'm still a little pissed at Eliot for it, and if it had been up to me, you'd have had to think of something else.”
“Like involving the police?”
“Oh please,” she'd scoffed. “I'm not saying they are useless, they aren't. But if I hadn't engaged a PI to get Ryan away from his folks, he'd still be ...there, with them. No, I don't mean the police, they are too bound inside the legality of their actions. But something. Something... else.”
For a few moments, she'd sat still and silent, then gathered herself and sighed. “Ah, well. He didn't, and once he'd talked to Ryan, there was no stopping it. He's still hyper and over the moon that he got to work with Eliot, I have a hard time getting him to talk about something else.” Miriam had smiled to herself, love and pride shining in her eyes while thinking about her boy. “I think... it might even be good for him to fight against people like that asshole.”
“Eliot said he wants to be a cop, what do you think about that?”
She'd chuckled. “Well... He's wavering between street-cop, detective and now FBI-agent. Let's see what it turns out to be, but so far, I think he could do worse.”
With that, the door to the next room had burst open and Ryan had appeared, bright-eyed and grinning. “Mir, I'm done, can I go play computer now?” He'd sounded just like any kid his age, and once again Nate had been sharply reminded just what he'd be missing in his life.
Ryan had gathered himself quickly, too quickly maybe, when he'd spotted the visitor, and just as quickly he'd relaxed when he found who it was. “Oh, hi Mr Ford.”
“Ryan, the FBI will be here in a few minutes. You can play later, for an hour.”
“Aw man, why only'n hour?”
“Because it's always one hour, kiddo. Every day until you're twelve, then it's an hour and a half.”
“Fuck, that's so unfair! All the other kids get to play longer, as long as they wanna! I'm the only one who's restricted like that...”
“And ask yourself how many of 'all the others' sit alone in their house all day because Mommy and Daddy aren't there. Also, don't swear.”
He'd pouted, then turned around to get back into his room but just then, the doorbell had rung and he'd rolled his eyes and slipped onto the couch, curling up and looking lost and scared in between the cushions.
Holy shit, even knowing he'd not really been scared hadn't prevented Nate's initial reaction to that look, the urge to comfort and make it all better. There was something wrong with the kid, something that led to admirable talent but stemmed from so much blackness that it would be hard work to ever get rid of the taint.
He had someone like that on his team, so Nate gathered he knew what he was talking about.
**
The interview had gone without a hitch. The female agent who'd been chosen to question the boy had been kind and soft, asking the right questions and getting the right reactions. Ryan had lied through his teeth, about how he'd been taken from a playground and made to pose for pictures, how he'd been so scared and had just gone with that man... He'd artfully dropped the name 'Mr Howard', had told, hesitantly, the story of how he got to the cabin and what had happened and all this time, he'd sometimes let his breath hitch, gripped Miriam's hand, hid into her shoulder and once even apologized to her for posing for those photographs.
When the agent had left, there had been tears in her eyes and cold fury on her face. This was one person who'd not let go of this case.
Ryan was amazing.
Scary, but amazing.
**
“You're not thinking about jumping off the roof, are you?”
Eliot had crept up on him, and it took Nathan a lot of willpower to stop his startled reaction. He let out his breath in a sigh, getting the tension out along with the air and hoped it sounded annoyed or nonchalant instead of surprised. He didn't really give a damn about what he appeared like, not today, but there was that small voice inside that kept telling Nathan to be mysterious and unflappable, to be a steady rock for his team.
The two men leaned against the vent together, watching the clouds turn lighter than the sky. It was companionable, and Nate was surprised when Eliot interrupted their musing.
“So, you still doubt it was worth it?”
It took a while to sort through the images in his head, to see Ryan and his relatively quiet, ordered life thrown about by their play and weigh that loss of anonymity - because there was no way any law-enforcement would soon forget about him and the case - against the gain of getting Winham into prison. Surprisingly, he still couldn't easily pick, but had to settle for the doubtful realization that in some cases, the outcome did justify the means.
And once he did, he realized that he'd already lived with that motto for quite some time.
“I'm not happy about it, but yes, it was worth it.”
“Why're you not happy? You realize you're basically the only one who's not, right?”
Another valid point, except he was pretty sure Sophie was just as unhappy as him, and another interesting question. “I think it's because it shouldn't have been up to Ryan to get that man behind bars, and ultimately, it wouldn't have worked without him.”
“There are always ways to get people to stop what they do. It might have taken longer or it might not have been as satisfying,” Eliot smirked darkly, and Nate didn't have to guess what kind of solution he was referring to with the unsatisfying one “but it would have worked without him. Ryan was the best way, though. Quick, easy and sure. And after the kind of life he'd lived before Miriam, it was good to do something like that. Good for his confidence.”
Nate recalled the details of Ryan's life from the files he'd read before he went up on the roof. He couldn't honestly say that Eliot was wrong. It was amazing in itself that the kid was able to smile and be as quirky as he was, considering what he'd been put through from the age of five.
The silence spread once more between them, and Nate tried to find some hidden secret in the depth of his glass, maybe etched into the bottom. When had he emptied it, anyway?
“So you don't regret using him as your bait?”
Eliot shook his head, slowly. “No, I don't.”
“Not at all? You don't feel … dirty for all that we did, for all Ryan did?”
“I stopped feeling dirty a long time ago, Nate.”
Huh. “So it's not because the kid was a stranger's boy?”
Eliot looked over, raised an eyebrow in question.
“I mean... if you don't feel any kind of shame about it, it wouldn't matter where the kid was coming from, right? So... if he'd been yours, would you've let him do it too?”
“Would you've done if it were Sam?” Eliot shot back.
“Hell, no!”
More silence. Eliot didn't look up. “What kind of man would I be to ask another person's kid to do what I'd never put my own up to?”
“A father,” Nate replied, and that earned him a scoff.
“Guess that answers my question then.”
They kept leaning side by side against the air-vent, looking over the roofs of the neighborhood. After a while, the niggling question once more started to itch, demanding release, and Nate gave in. “The pictures.”
It didn't turn out quite like a question, but from the way Eliot stilled, it got the meaning over clearly.
“What about them?”
Yeah, what about them. He'd found them, or well, Hardison had found them in the FBI-files. They'd destroyed them once it became clear that the evidence against Winham was solid and he'd be put behind bars like he deserved, taking half the Marshal's office with him for enabling his sick habits even though they'd known, or at least should have.
So Hardison had destroyed the files as Parker had burned the paper-photos, but not before Nate had gotten copies on his own laptop. From where he'd deleted them after seeing what was on them, what had Winham so captivated that he'd risked everything. He'd had to wipe them off his harddrive, but he'd never be able to wipe them off his mind.
They'd showed Ryan, yes.
But not in any kind of compromising position, not naked or... well, worse, like Nathan had feared. It were pictures of a boy with a shy smile, stretching out languidly on a couch with a red velvet-cover. He was wearing an undershirt that showed a lot of skin but covered more, a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. On some pictures, he was on his stomach, smiling at the camera invitingly, suggestively, in some he looked like he'd been surprised by someone, eyes big and lips slightly parted.
One, the one that made bile rise up into Nathan's throat, had him bending over a table, reaching for a glass of water that was a bit further away, head turned and looking back over his shoulder. His back was stretched out, the jeans had slipped down his backside, leaving a hint of the crack visible, just a hint.
They weren't bad, by any means. And that was what creeped him out most. All of the pictures could have been made by accident, could have been innocent moments to be kept and cherished, but the bulk of them, the hints of knowledge in the kid's eyes made them much, much more. And he really had to congratulate Ryan on these, because he'd managed to look like a posing, male Lolita while his eyes held a distant horror and fear.
“Where'd they come from?”
“I took them,” Eliot answered right away, not defending himself, not trying to excuse. “Told Ryan what I needed and he just switched on his act.”
Nathan frowned, but not from disbelief. “How did you know how to hook Winham for sure, how did you know that he wasn't interested in nakedness and filth?”
A weary sigh, but Eliot didn't dodge the answer. “I told you about Evan Howard. He knows this kind of things. Had to know for a job, once.”
“You mean you've done this before? You sold a kid before?” For some reason, that wasn't outside the range of possibilities with Eliot Spencer, with what he might have done in his life, but it still felt so … wrong.
“No, no. I didn't. But... I retrieved one, a long time ago.” Nate patiently waited for more, wished for a little insight into the things he didn't know about Spencer yet. “A boy, too. The son of a wealthy, Chinese mobster. He'd been napped when he was nine and when I got him back, he was twelve. Killed himself when he was fifteen...” A little bit of sorrow crept into Eliot's voice. “Anyway, Howard needed a solid background, and uh... I got more insight into that world than I ever wanted. Served me well this time, though.”
Nate let the quiet of the night swallow the words and their meaning, tried to picture Eliot Spencer as Evan Howard - another Evan, one that didn't have a team to back him up, one that didn't have people to keep him grounded in the real world. One that spent hours and hours in front of a screen or with disgusting, vile people to learn about the ways of deprivation, to get into a world so dark and sinister that the people they'd conned, that even Damien Moreau, were lambs in comparison.
It was good that Eliot had them, he suddenly realized. Not just, as he'd often thought, that the team was better off with him along, but it was good for Eliot to have them as his … anchor, if you would. And it wasn't just because he needed them as a moral guideline - for a man of Eliot's profession, he had pretty firm moral values. Twisted in some places, but solid underneath. Only, sometimes, it was probably good to have people depend on you, to have someone for whom it was worth questioning your motives and realize that maybe, just maybe, some of your own rules would need to be updated.
Nate found that it worked like that for him, and he was sure Eliot wasn't just staying with them because he didn't have anything better to do. Spencer liked his independence, but he also seemed to like the security he had with the team, and the knowledge that if all failed, they would come.
They also didn't demand anything he wasn't prepared to give. When it'd come out that he'd worked for Moreau, they had granted him his secrets and Nate was sure that it had left more of an impression on Eliot than whatever amazing talent they'd shown already.
He didn't need to explain with them, didn't need to excuse or hide himself. He wore his darkness on the open, plain to see when people were prepared to look for it, look beneath the violence and the lazy drawls and angry growls, look behind the smirks and smiles and flirty eyes. Eliot didn't apologize for who he was and what he'd done, maybe because there was no excuse for it, or maybe because he didn't think it would make a difference.
While Nate still tried to come to terms with who he had become and what he'd done in the last five years, still tried to find forgiveness and absolution in drinking, Eliot just seemed to embrace what he'd done - whatever that was. Embrace it and accept, put it in a boy that only needed to be opened sometimes and top it with laughter and life.
Maybe Nathan Ford was just too different from Eliot Spencer to do the same, to accept what he was. Or maybe Eliot had just done so much worse than Nate ever could that there had been no alternative apart from curling up and die, had learned to compartmentalize. Nathan didn't know, couldn't quite figure out. Maybe one day in the future, Nate would stand in front of the same choice: shoulder whatever crap life had dealt him and move on, or sink to the ground and despair.
He'd nearly sunken all the way when Dubenich had dug him up. Funny, he might have to feel grateful towards that disgusting little prick when you looked at it the right way.
Or the wrong way, depending.
“So. Gonna come down? Or should I get ya a blanket up here?”
“No,” Nate smiled into the empty glass. “I'll come down. Give me a minute, 'kay?”
Eliot pushed himself off the vent with his shoulders and stood, cracking his neck. “Sure. See ya in the morning.” He disappeared into the shadows and since even the door down into the building was dark, the light-bulbs once again burned through, it seemed like the pitch-black darkness reached out and swallowed his friend.
Nate shuddered. He didn't know what kind of faith Eliot had, if he'd had any to begin with or if he'd had it and lost it... he didn't even know his own faith anymore, apart from what he remembered from all those years ago. Watching Spencer, thinking about his past and his present he suddenly hoped that the concept of Heaven and Hell that he'd been brought up with was false, or at least inaccurate. If there was eternal reward for the good people and eternal damnation for the bad, where did it leave men like Eliot who did really bad things, maybe even for money but... not anymore?
And where did it leave him?
Maybe, he thought with a last glance up towards the slowly rising moon, maybe it didn't matter so much what happened when you died. Maybe remembering, accepting and moving on was the key to survival. Maybe taking things in stride and do it with a smile - or a smirk - was the only way to get by, the only way that should matter.
Maybe one day, Nate would be able to do it without numbing his conscience anymore.
And maybe pigs could learn to fly. Who would know, these days...
~end~
Epilogue
He woke some unmeasurable time later, when someone poked and prodded him into an upright position. “You silly man, if I didn't … well, if I didn't, I'd ask myself why I bother carrying your drunken, unbelievably heavy, smelly body up the stairs. I swear, if you don't start helping me now and use those sloppy legs you got, I'll just dump you on the floor.”
Sophie's accent had sharpened from her rant and it woke him enough to at least use his feet every second step and grab the railing of the stairs. He didn't really feel much in any of his limbs, vaguely recognized the soft surface as his bed and felt someone tug on him, on his feet so he might have assumed that his shoes were taken off.
He might have, but he wouldn't ever be able to tell for certain. He fell asleep somewhere between the right shoe and the left sock.
**
Morning came with a terrible, terrible pounding in his head and a huge ball of sheep's-wool stuffed into his mouth, complete with smell and taste and the distant feel of grease. Nate suppressed the urge to puke and let himself tumble from the bed to his legs, the best way to get upright in the morning, he'd found. Everything hurt but at least he hadn't dreamed, or if he did, he couldn't remember. So yeah, that was worth a little discomfort.
After a thorough brushing of his teeth and an even more thorough shower, he felt halfway decent and able to face the day and his team-members, who he could hear downstairs already. Even the smell of coffee that was drifting up the stairs was welcome now, when an hour ago it would have made him run for a bucket.
Sure enough, everyone was already assembled in his living-room come office. It felt... nice and at the same time harassing to be the center of attention, after, during and before 'work'. They all could go home - wherever that was - and do things in private - whatever that was - except him. He couldn't escape them, and ever since Hardison had handed out keys to the apartment to everybody in the team, they usually didn't bother to knock first.
There was probably a law against landlords just coming into a rented apartment, but Nate had never bothered to read the contract completely. If he really wanted to stop them come in unannounced, he should probably start sleeping with Sophie on his living-room-floor. Maybe she'd agree... Then again, it didn't really bother him that they were constantly sitting on his furniture or using his kitchen. It was nice to know that he wasn't alone, good to know that there was someone who cared enough to kick his ass into sobering up and at least stop the drinking during the day. Or half the day.
The time before Dubenich had not been as kind to him.
“Good morning,” he coughed, smiling gratefully at the coffee-cup that had magically appeared in front of him, attached to Parker's slim hand. “Ugh... is there something to eat?”
“There's toast.” Sophie frowned into the fridge. “And I think Gummi-Frogs? What's this? Oh, here's some of Eliot's stew from a few days ago, I guess it's still edible?”
“Uh, thanks. I think I'll stick with toast for now.” He slouched over to his kitchen and started puttering with his toaster, a smile on his face when he felt Sophie's gentle stroke on his back. She left him alone, though, and slipped onto the couch, between Hardison and Eliot who were bickering over the best way to grill a steak, of all things. For a while he was content with just watching them, not really listening but instead letting the voices drift and wave all over him like a radio that was playing even when no-one was listening. It was a little disconcerting to see everyone else just go on with life as if nothing earth-shattering had happened. How was it that they didn't get thrown as much as he did? Was he really so much different from them?
“So...” he interrupted the easy chatter after a while, “now what?”
**
At once, the atmosphere changed and everyone sat up straighter. Now, he could see that they hadn't just moved on, they'd just shoved things out of their minds, out of the way to deal with later.
“Yeah...Okay, we have enough money from the.. uh, transaction to give the Morton's. There shouldn't be a problem with that. We have enough to compensate a few of his other victims, though not all of them to the full amount they lost.”
“Should not be a problem. The police will freeze Winham's assets and go over his dealings with a fine comb. They should find the discrepancies -”
“Oh yeah, good idea, I'll help them a little bit,” Hardison grinned eagerly, “Shouldn't take long.”
“-discrepancies, and start some kind of compensation.” Nathan continued. He really hated to be interrupted, and he hated it even more when he was nursing a hangover. “All right. What about Ryan,” he looked over at Eliot, who leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.
“I spoke with Miriam. Since his parents are … unavailable,” he growled, “she's responsible for him. Not exactly like a foster-mom, more a legal guardian? I don't know how the exact term works.” From the direction of his glances, it was clear he was saying the last things for Parker's benefit. “Anyway, she's responsible for him, he likes and trusts her and she … I guess she loves him.”
“How is she dealing with this situation?” Sophie asked, and Nathan got the distant impression that they all had been given a rough outline about who Ryan was and where Eliot had dug him up. “And him? How's Ryan taking things?”
“You can ask him yourself, but he's fine. I'd only worry about his sudden fan-boy act over Agent McTodd, but other than that, he's doing good.”
“You sure?” Nathan couldn't help to ask, though he knew he could just check for himself if he doubted Eliot's words. “I mean... uhm...”
“Yeah, I'm sure. I arranged for you to be with them this afternoon, when the Feds'll be there You can see for yourself then.” It didn't sound annoyed or insulted, and Eliot didn't look like the doubt in Nathan's question had hit him as a surprise. He'd clearly expected something like that if he'd assured Nate's presence at the questioning.
“Thanks,” he just said, because what else do you say about that?
“And he's gonna be all right? I mean... you told us he's good and he'll say the right things but... he's just eleven years old.”
“When I was eleven, I stole my first gold-statue,” Parker threw in, completely without a hint of remorse or sense of that being somehow remarkable or disturbing. Which was disturbing in and off its own. “Why wouldn't he be able to lie to a bunch of cops?”
They didn't have an answer to that, not one she'd understand at least.
Coughing, Nate steered the conversation back towards the subject. “Well... now. The mark's dealt with?”
“Yeah, Parker gave the feds the hard-drive and while we had it, I've installed a program that will decrypt the files on them automatically after a police-computer's hooked up with it. I hope they have an idea what they're dealing with, it's not the most pleasant surprise, man.” Hardison scratched his ear. “Also, I've hidden links on them that anyone can find without even looking, to all the sites he visited and there's a file with his passwords. That asshole is toast, there's no such thing as not enough evidence from this side.”
“Good. What about his statements. Will the cops find any evidence of Even Howard? Can you do something 'bout that, Hardison? I don't want them to come looking for him and find Eliot?”
“They won't,” Eliot jumped in before Hardison could answer. “He's legit.”
“What?”
“Oh? Who is he?” Sophie and Parker spoke at the same time.
“I used the alias before. He's in the system, as Evan James Howard. I didn't leave any prints, not in his car, not on anything. So no problem with that.”
Nathan didn't doubt his assertions for a second. If Eliot said he didn't leave prints, it meant he really didn't. He was curious, though, how Evan Howard got into the system on the first hand, and as what. He'd maybe have Hardison dig after him. Later, though.
“Okay. Sophie, you're in the clear?”
“Of course.” She raised her eyebrow. “I know my job.”
“What's up, Parker? Why're you lookin' like someone ate your kitten, girl?” Hardison leaned over to her, concern and affection in his gaze.
She was sitting on the couch, pouting. “I feel weird. I didn't even get to steal anything. I just bugged and de-bugged a room and stole a stupid hard-drive.”
“You got to open a lock, though,” Eliot offered, but she just glared at him.
“That's not enough! There wasn't even anything valuable inside.”
“There was a boy inside. I say that's plenty valuable.”
She looked taken aback, then nodded. “Oh... right.”
**
It was evening, the sun not yet set but hiding behind the higher buildings of Boston, throwing chilly shadows over the lower houses.
Nathan was leaning against one of the air-ducts on his roof, staring into his whiskey-glass and waiting until the last sunlight stopped lighting up his drink and would transform the soft glow into a deep, unimpressive amber color.
He didn't like drinking stuff that glowed like it held the salvation to all ailments, he'd rather drink it knowing full well that it was damnation he'd swallow.
The day had been busy and full of surprises. After their team-meeting, he'd met up with Miriam Haverman and Ryan, posing as a child-psychologist who would witness the statement and the mental health of the boy.
Miriam was in her mid-thirties, an attractive brunette with a smattering of freckles on her face. She'd been wary when he'd arrived earlier than McSweeten but had thawed once he'd introduced himself with his real name.
“Oh, you're Eliot's boss? Come on in. Would you like a soda?” He'd accepted and sat on the couch, waiting until she'd settled down herself. “To be honest, I'm not sure how I think about this whole … thing. I'm still a little pissed at Eliot for it, and if it had been up to me, you'd have had to think of something else.”
“Like involving the police?”
“Oh please,” she'd scoffed. “I'm not saying they are useless, they aren't. But if I hadn't engaged a PI to get Ryan away from his folks, he'd still be ...there, with them. No, I don't mean the police, they are too bound inside the legality of their actions. But something. Something... else.”
For a few moments, she'd sat still and silent, then gathered herself and sighed. “Ah, well. He didn't, and once he'd talked to Ryan, there was no stopping it. He's still hyper and over the moon that he got to work with Eliot, I have a hard time getting him to talk about something else.” Miriam had smiled to herself, love and pride shining in her eyes while thinking about her boy. “I think... it might even be good for him to fight against people like that asshole.”
“Eliot said he wants to be a cop, what do you think about that?”
She'd chuckled. “Well... He's wavering between street-cop, detective and now FBI-agent. Let's see what it turns out to be, but so far, I think he could do worse.”
With that, the door to the next room had burst open and Ryan had appeared, bright-eyed and grinning. “Mir, I'm done, can I go play computer now?” He'd sounded just like any kid his age, and once again Nate had been sharply reminded just what he'd be missing in his life.
Ryan had gathered himself quickly, too quickly maybe, when he'd spotted the visitor, and just as quickly he'd relaxed when he found who it was. “Oh, hi Mr Ford.”
“Ryan, the FBI will be here in a few minutes. You can play later, for an hour.”
“Aw man, why only'n hour?”
“Because it's always one hour, kiddo. Every day until you're twelve, then it's an hour and a half.”
“Fuck, that's so unfair! All the other kids get to play longer, as long as they wanna! I'm the only one who's restricted like that...”
“And ask yourself how many of 'all the others' sit alone in their house all day because Mommy and Daddy aren't there. Also, don't swear.”
He'd pouted, then turned around to get back into his room but just then, the doorbell had rung and he'd rolled his eyes and slipped onto the couch, curling up and looking lost and scared in between the cushions.
Holy shit, even knowing he'd not really been scared hadn't prevented Nate's initial reaction to that look, the urge to comfort and make it all better. There was something wrong with the kid, something that led to admirable talent but stemmed from so much blackness that it would be hard work to ever get rid of the taint.
He had someone like that on his team, so Nate gathered he knew what he was talking about.
**
The interview had gone without a hitch. The female agent who'd been chosen to question the boy had been kind and soft, asking the right questions and getting the right reactions. Ryan had lied through his teeth, about how he'd been taken from a playground and made to pose for pictures, how he'd been so scared and had just gone with that man... He'd artfully dropped the name 'Mr Howard', had told, hesitantly, the story of how he got to the cabin and what had happened and all this time, he'd sometimes let his breath hitch, gripped Miriam's hand, hid into her shoulder and once even apologized to her for posing for those photographs.
When the agent had left, there had been tears in her eyes and cold fury on her face. This was one person who'd not let go of this case.
Ryan was amazing.
Scary, but amazing.
**
“You're not thinking about jumping off the roof, are you?”
Eliot had crept up on him, and it took Nathan a lot of willpower to stop his startled reaction. He let out his breath in a sigh, getting the tension out along with the air and hoped it sounded annoyed or nonchalant instead of surprised. He didn't really give a damn about what he appeared like, not today, but there was that small voice inside that kept telling Nathan to be mysterious and unflappable, to be a steady rock for his team.
The two men leaned against the vent together, watching the clouds turn lighter than the sky. It was companionable, and Nate was surprised when Eliot interrupted their musing.
“So, you still doubt it was worth it?”
It took a while to sort through the images in his head, to see Ryan and his relatively quiet, ordered life thrown about by their play and weigh that loss of anonymity - because there was no way any law-enforcement would soon forget about him and the case - against the gain of getting Winham into prison. Surprisingly, he still couldn't easily pick, but had to settle for the doubtful realization that in some cases, the outcome did justify the means.
And once he did, he realized that he'd already lived with that motto for quite some time.
“I'm not happy about it, but yes, it was worth it.”
“Why're you not happy? You realize you're basically the only one who's not, right?”
Another valid point, except he was pretty sure Sophie was just as unhappy as him, and another interesting question. “I think it's because it shouldn't have been up to Ryan to get that man behind bars, and ultimately, it wouldn't have worked without him.”
“There are always ways to get people to stop what they do. It might have taken longer or it might not have been as satisfying,” Eliot smirked darkly, and Nate didn't have to guess what kind of solution he was referring to with the unsatisfying one “but it would have worked without him. Ryan was the best way, though. Quick, easy and sure. And after the kind of life he'd lived before Miriam, it was good to do something like that. Good for his confidence.”
Nate recalled the details of Ryan's life from the files he'd read before he went up on the roof. He couldn't honestly say that Eliot was wrong. It was amazing in itself that the kid was able to smile and be as quirky as he was, considering what he'd been put through from the age of five.
The silence spread once more between them, and Nate tried to find some hidden secret in the depth of his glass, maybe etched into the bottom. When had he emptied it, anyway?
“So you don't regret using him as your bait?”
Eliot shook his head, slowly. “No, I don't.”
“Not at all? You don't feel … dirty for all that we did, for all Ryan did?”
“I stopped feeling dirty a long time ago, Nate.”
Huh. “So it's not because the kid was a stranger's boy?”
Eliot looked over, raised an eyebrow in question.
“I mean... if you don't feel any kind of shame about it, it wouldn't matter where the kid was coming from, right? So... if he'd been yours, would you've let him do it too?”
“Would you've done if it were Sam?” Eliot shot back.
“Hell, no!”
More silence. Eliot didn't look up. “What kind of man would I be to ask another person's kid to do what I'd never put my own up to?”
“A father,” Nate replied, and that earned him a scoff.
“Guess that answers my question then.”
They kept leaning side by side against the air-vent, looking over the roofs of the neighborhood. After a while, the niggling question once more started to itch, demanding release, and Nate gave in. “The pictures.”
It didn't turn out quite like a question, but from the way Eliot stilled, it got the meaning over clearly.
“What about them?”
Yeah, what about them. He'd found them, or well, Hardison had found them in the FBI-files. They'd destroyed them once it became clear that the evidence against Winham was solid and he'd be put behind bars like he deserved, taking half the Marshal's office with him for enabling his sick habits even though they'd known, or at least should have.
So Hardison had destroyed the files as Parker had burned the paper-photos, but not before Nate had gotten copies on his own laptop. From where he'd deleted them after seeing what was on them, what had Winham so captivated that he'd risked everything. He'd had to wipe them off his harddrive, but he'd never be able to wipe them off his mind.
They'd showed Ryan, yes.
But not in any kind of compromising position, not naked or... well, worse, like Nathan had feared. It were pictures of a boy with a shy smile, stretching out languidly on a couch with a red velvet-cover. He was wearing an undershirt that showed a lot of skin but covered more, a pair of jeans hanging low on his hips. On some pictures, he was on his stomach, smiling at the camera invitingly, suggestively, in some he looked like he'd been surprised by someone, eyes big and lips slightly parted.
One, the one that made bile rise up into Nathan's throat, had him bending over a table, reaching for a glass of water that was a bit further away, head turned and looking back over his shoulder. His back was stretched out, the jeans had slipped down his backside, leaving a hint of the crack visible, just a hint.
They weren't bad, by any means. And that was what creeped him out most. All of the pictures could have been made by accident, could have been innocent moments to be kept and cherished, but the bulk of them, the hints of knowledge in the kid's eyes made them much, much more. And he really had to congratulate Ryan on these, because he'd managed to look like a posing, male Lolita while his eyes held a distant horror and fear.
“Where'd they come from?”
“I took them,” Eliot answered right away, not defending himself, not trying to excuse. “Told Ryan what I needed and he just switched on his act.”
Nathan frowned, but not from disbelief. “How did you know how to hook Winham for sure, how did you know that he wasn't interested in nakedness and filth?”
A weary sigh, but Eliot didn't dodge the answer. “I told you about Evan Howard. He knows this kind of things. Had to know for a job, once.”
“You mean you've done this before? You sold a kid before?” For some reason, that wasn't outside the range of possibilities with Eliot Spencer, with what he might have done in his life, but it still felt so … wrong.
“No, no. I didn't. But... I retrieved one, a long time ago.” Nate patiently waited for more, wished for a little insight into the things he didn't know about Spencer yet. “A boy, too. The son of a wealthy, Chinese mobster. He'd been napped when he was nine and when I got him back, he was twelve. Killed himself when he was fifteen...” A little bit of sorrow crept into Eliot's voice. “Anyway, Howard needed a solid background, and uh... I got more insight into that world than I ever wanted. Served me well this time, though.”
Nate let the quiet of the night swallow the words and their meaning, tried to picture Eliot Spencer as Evan Howard - another Evan, one that didn't have a team to back him up, one that didn't have people to keep him grounded in the real world. One that spent hours and hours in front of a screen or with disgusting, vile people to learn about the ways of deprivation, to get into a world so dark and sinister that the people they'd conned, that even Damien Moreau, were lambs in comparison.
It was good that Eliot had them, he suddenly realized. Not just, as he'd often thought, that the team was better off with him along, but it was good for Eliot to have them as his … anchor, if you would. And it wasn't just because he needed them as a moral guideline - for a man of Eliot's profession, he had pretty firm moral values. Twisted in some places, but solid underneath. Only, sometimes, it was probably good to have people depend on you, to have someone for whom it was worth questioning your motives and realize that maybe, just maybe, some of your own rules would need to be updated.
Nate found that it worked like that for him, and he was sure Eliot wasn't just staying with them because he didn't have anything better to do. Spencer liked his independence, but he also seemed to like the security he had with the team, and the knowledge that if all failed, they would come.
They also didn't demand anything he wasn't prepared to give. When it'd come out that he'd worked for Moreau, they had granted him his secrets and Nate was sure that it had left more of an impression on Eliot than whatever amazing talent they'd shown already.
He didn't need to explain with them, didn't need to excuse or hide himself. He wore his darkness on the open, plain to see when people were prepared to look for it, look beneath the violence and the lazy drawls and angry growls, look behind the smirks and smiles and flirty eyes. Eliot didn't apologize for who he was and what he'd done, maybe because there was no excuse for it, or maybe because he didn't think it would make a difference.
While Nate still tried to come to terms with who he had become and what he'd done in the last five years, still tried to find forgiveness and absolution in drinking, Eliot just seemed to embrace what he'd done - whatever that was. Embrace it and accept, put it in a boy that only needed to be opened sometimes and top it with laughter and life.
Maybe Nathan Ford was just too different from Eliot Spencer to do the same, to accept what he was. Or maybe Eliot had just done so much worse than Nate ever could that there had been no alternative apart from curling up and die, had learned to compartmentalize. Nathan didn't know, couldn't quite figure out. Maybe one day in the future, Nate would stand in front of the same choice: shoulder whatever crap life had dealt him and move on, or sink to the ground and despair.
He'd nearly sunken all the way when Dubenich had dug him up. Funny, he might have to feel grateful towards that disgusting little prick when you looked at it the right way.
Or the wrong way, depending.
“So. Gonna come down? Or should I get ya a blanket up here?”
“No,” Nate smiled into the empty glass. “I'll come down. Give me a minute, 'kay?”
Eliot pushed himself off the vent with his shoulders and stood, cracking his neck. “Sure. See ya in the morning.” He disappeared into the shadows and since even the door down into the building was dark, the light-bulbs once again burned through, it seemed like the pitch-black darkness reached out and swallowed his friend.
Nate shuddered. He didn't know what kind of faith Eliot had, if he'd had any to begin with or if he'd had it and lost it... he didn't even know his own faith anymore, apart from what he remembered from all those years ago. Watching Spencer, thinking about his past and his present he suddenly hoped that the concept of Heaven and Hell that he'd been brought up with was false, or at least inaccurate. If there was eternal reward for the good people and eternal damnation for the bad, where did it leave men like Eliot who did really bad things, maybe even for money but... not anymore?
And where did it leave him?
Maybe, he thought with a last glance up towards the slowly rising moon, maybe it didn't matter so much what happened when you died. Maybe remembering, accepting and moving on was the key to survival. Maybe taking things in stride and do it with a smile - or a smirk - was the only way to get by, the only way that should matter.
Maybe one day, Nate would be able to do it without numbing his conscience anymore.
And maybe pigs could learn to fly. Who would know, these days...
~end~
Epilogue