At long last! FIC: Staring at the Sun, part 15/?
See, I wasn't lying! If you're still following this saga, you might want to check out part 13 and part 14 again before reading since it's been so long. They're short, it shouldn't take too much time:) I apologize for the long delay. Got distracted by holiday travel, illness, and a persistent Highlander muse by the name of Amanda.
Staring at the Sun
by amonitrate
Part 15: Pawn
“Menton,” Sonny rasped.
“And here I thought all you vice cops were a bunch of bozos.” Dale Menton's thick, dumpy body loomed over Rico and his partner from their place on the concrete. “Give the man a silver star.”
“Already got one.” Sonny grimaced, biting his lip.
“Eh, they give those things out like candy. Got a couple myself.”
The first time Rico had seen Dale Menton up close, the man had been sprawled half-naked across satin sheets, pale pot belly peeking through his robe. Then, he'd looked to Rico like a low-level bag man; the kind he'd seen plenty of back in New York. He even talked like a mobster. Nothing about Menton signaled his long career with the Company, least of all his cheap taste in menswear. At least that hadn't changed, even if their positions were somewhat... reversed. Menton was the height of Sears Catalog suave in a green and peach plaid jacket and matching slacks, and he hadn't bothered on a tee under his wrinkled dress shirt. Tacky.
Rico managed to pull himself upright - his back straight as he could get it with the burns between his shoulders pulling at his skin. “How'd you get loose, Menton? Last I heard you and your buddy Lao Li were snug as two bugs in prison.”
Menton lifted one polyester shoulder. “The usual way. I've got friends, lads, which is more than I can say for you.”
“He scuttled through some crack, is what he's saying,” Sonny said, with a ragged version of Burnett's casual drawl. “He's nothing but a roach. His own people can't stand him. Too bad nobody had the smarts to step on him while they had the chance.”
Menton's lips thinned, hiding his snaggle-toothed grin. “You been taking lessons from Castillo on how to be a sanctimonious SOB? 'Cause I'll tell you what, son,” He jerked his chin in Sonny's direction, and Baldy materialized from behind him. Pressed around Menton's bulk and gave Sonny a quick kick in the back. “You've got a long way to go.”
Before Sonny had recovered from the blow, Baldy grabbed both of his wrists and lashed them together again, then repeated the action on his ankles. Rico started forward, but Baldy had Sonny's limp body draped over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and had already got to the door by the time Rico made it to his feet.
“Don't worry.” Menton said. “We'll be back for you soon enough.”
Whatever else he was, Dale Menton was a man of his word. Not an hour later the door swung open again, M16 and Baldy grinning at him from the opening, yelling at him to get his ass up. Like he was gonna cross them now. M16 tossed something at Rico once he'd made it upright, which Rico caught out of reflex. An orange cotton jumpsuit, the kind they handed out in prison. What were they playing at now, giving him clothes after everything? It wasn't worth asking. Rico stepped into the jumpsuit, careful of his balance, staring up at the demented duo in the doorway the whole time.
Clothing. Menton must want something. Either that or the man was squeamish. Somehow Rico didn't think that was the case.
He was snapping the last snap when M16 stepped back to let him through. Baldy followed behind, the silent threat of his muscle enough to make sweat break out on the back of Rico's neck. While M16 seemed like a guy just going about his job, Baldy liked what he was doing. And that gave Rico the creeps.
Another door in the anonymous cinder block corridor. M16 didn't knock, just stood aside and waited. A blow to his kidney from behind when he hesitated, nothing serious - like a prod of impatience more than one meant to cause pain. So Rico tried the knob. It turned in his hand - a strange sensation, to open a door under his own power - and the goon twins closed ranks behind him.
“Come on in, Ricardo.” Menton called. The CIA man had perched his bulk on the edge of a table inside the small room, the sight of which nearly bowled Rico over with deja-vu. Jesus. It looked just like the observation room downtown at OCB. To Menton's right was a wide rectangular window, looking out on darkness. Ten to one the other side of the glass was mirrored.
They hadn't cuffed his hands.
The thought must have risen in Rico's eyes, 'cause Menton's face lit up in smug glee. “Try it. Go ahead. But you won't be the one who gets punished.” With that Menton flicked a switch by his hand and the two-way window brightened - the lights flickering on in the room beyond the glass.
In that other room Sonny reacted to the sudden illumination, his head coming up, his eyes wide and unfocused. He was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists again, but this time they were tied over his head instead of behind his back. Rico wasn't sure it was meant as a kindness. At least his partner seemed to be aware of light and dark - maybe his vision was starting to recover. Maybe. Shit.
The door slammed shut behind Rico, sending him whirling, his breath ripped from his throat. Menton was still smirking when he recovered himself enough to turn back around. “You get off on this, Menton? Torturing cops? Messing with our minds? ”
Menton shook his head. “Ricardo my boy, this isn't personal.”
“The hell it isn't!” The door to the room beyond the glass swung open, admitting Baldy and the doctor. It was the same room where they'd forced him to witness Sonny's electrocution. He hadn't noticed the two-way mirror then - he'd had other things on his mind. Had Menton been watching? Of course he had. The slug had probably been here the whole time.
“If it's not personal, than what is it?”
“Business.” Menton's fingers tapped the metal table top. He had bitten the nails to the quick. “What is Castillo teaching you kids over in Vice?”
“How to mop up scum like you,” Rico spat. It wasn't gonna get him anywhere, he knew that, but it felt damn good.
“So he hasn't bothered with tactics. With strategy. I'm not surprised. Castillo only does what's expedient. He's too well trained for anything else.”
“What do you know about Castillo? He managed to out think you and Lao Li.”
Menton's smirk curled into a snarl. “I know that once you're in the Company you don't just leave. I know a heck of a lot more about Martin Castillo than you and your pal ever could.”
“Castillo was in the DEA. You, and the Company's tactics, betrayed him and his men in Thailand.”
“You really are a bozo if you don't know the difference between tactics and strategy. Strategy trumps tactics every time. Castillo forgot that little fact. He was warned. His own shortsightedness got his men killed. And if you think that your precious lieutenant's federal career started with the DEA you're more naïve than I thought, Ricardo.”
He wasn't naïve. He was loyal. But in Menton's book there was no difference between the two.
“What do you want?” Rico asked.
“You're gonna do me a favor.” Menton said. He was back to smooth-operator mode now that they'd steered clear of the subject of Castillo. Menton could insist this wasn't personal all he wanted - that's not what Rico had just seen. In the depths of his greasy, polyester heart Dale Menton harbored a hate that went beyond professional rivalry.
“A favor.” Rico shook his head. “Not likely. If you wanted me to do you a favor skipping the humiliation and torture would have been a good place to start.”
“Oh, I think you'll come around.” Menton flicked another switch and the little room was filled with the tinny sounds from beyond the glass.
God. He'd almost forgotten.
Sonny.
tbc... in part 16. Coming to an LJ near you much quicker than the last installment, I promise.
Staring at the Sun
by amonitrate
Part 15: Pawn
“Menton,” Sonny rasped.
“And here I thought all you vice cops were a bunch of bozos.” Dale Menton's thick, dumpy body loomed over Rico and his partner from their place on the concrete. “Give the man a silver star.”
“Already got one.” Sonny grimaced, biting his lip.
“Eh, they give those things out like candy. Got a couple myself.”
The first time Rico had seen Dale Menton up close, the man had been sprawled half-naked across satin sheets, pale pot belly peeking through his robe. Then, he'd looked to Rico like a low-level bag man; the kind he'd seen plenty of back in New York. He even talked like a mobster. Nothing about Menton signaled his long career with the Company, least of all his cheap taste in menswear. At least that hadn't changed, even if their positions were somewhat... reversed. Menton was the height of Sears Catalog suave in a green and peach plaid jacket and matching slacks, and he hadn't bothered on a tee under his wrinkled dress shirt. Tacky.
Rico managed to pull himself upright - his back straight as he could get it with the burns between his shoulders pulling at his skin. “How'd you get loose, Menton? Last I heard you and your buddy Lao Li were snug as two bugs in prison.”
Menton lifted one polyester shoulder. “The usual way. I've got friends, lads, which is more than I can say for you.”
“He scuttled through some crack, is what he's saying,” Sonny said, with a ragged version of Burnett's casual drawl. “He's nothing but a roach. His own people can't stand him. Too bad nobody had the smarts to step on him while they had the chance.”
Menton's lips thinned, hiding his snaggle-toothed grin. “You been taking lessons from Castillo on how to be a sanctimonious SOB? 'Cause I'll tell you what, son,” He jerked his chin in Sonny's direction, and Baldy materialized from behind him. Pressed around Menton's bulk and gave Sonny a quick kick in the back. “You've got a long way to go.”
Before Sonny had recovered from the blow, Baldy grabbed both of his wrists and lashed them together again, then repeated the action on his ankles. Rico started forward, but Baldy had Sonny's limp body draped over his shoulder in a fireman's carry and had already got to the door by the time Rico made it to his feet.
“Don't worry.” Menton said. “We'll be back for you soon enough.”
Whatever else he was, Dale Menton was a man of his word. Not an hour later the door swung open again, M16 and Baldy grinning at him from the opening, yelling at him to get his ass up. Like he was gonna cross them now. M16 tossed something at Rico once he'd made it upright, which Rico caught out of reflex. An orange cotton jumpsuit, the kind they handed out in prison. What were they playing at now, giving him clothes after everything? It wasn't worth asking. Rico stepped into the jumpsuit, careful of his balance, staring up at the demented duo in the doorway the whole time.
Clothing. Menton must want something. Either that or the man was squeamish. Somehow Rico didn't think that was the case.
He was snapping the last snap when M16 stepped back to let him through. Baldy followed behind, the silent threat of his muscle enough to make sweat break out on the back of Rico's neck. While M16 seemed like a guy just going about his job, Baldy liked what he was doing. And that gave Rico the creeps.
Another door in the anonymous cinder block corridor. M16 didn't knock, just stood aside and waited. A blow to his kidney from behind when he hesitated, nothing serious - like a prod of impatience more than one meant to cause pain. So Rico tried the knob. It turned in his hand - a strange sensation, to open a door under his own power - and the goon twins closed ranks behind him.
“Come on in, Ricardo.” Menton called. The CIA man had perched his bulk on the edge of a table inside the small room, the sight of which nearly bowled Rico over with deja-vu. Jesus. It looked just like the observation room downtown at OCB. To Menton's right was a wide rectangular window, looking out on darkness. Ten to one the other side of the glass was mirrored.
They hadn't cuffed his hands.
The thought must have risen in Rico's eyes, 'cause Menton's face lit up in smug glee. “Try it. Go ahead. But you won't be the one who gets punished.” With that Menton flicked a switch by his hand and the two-way window brightened - the lights flickering on in the room beyond the glass.
In that other room Sonny reacted to the sudden illumination, his head coming up, his eyes wide and unfocused. He was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists again, but this time they were tied over his head instead of behind his back. Rico wasn't sure it was meant as a kindness. At least his partner seemed to be aware of light and dark - maybe his vision was starting to recover. Maybe. Shit.
The door slammed shut behind Rico, sending him whirling, his breath ripped from his throat. Menton was still smirking when he recovered himself enough to turn back around. “You get off on this, Menton? Torturing cops? Messing with our minds? ”
Menton shook his head. “Ricardo my boy, this isn't personal.”
“The hell it isn't!” The door to the room beyond the glass swung open, admitting Baldy and the doctor. It was the same room where they'd forced him to witness Sonny's electrocution. He hadn't noticed the two-way mirror then - he'd had other things on his mind. Had Menton been watching? Of course he had. The slug had probably been here the whole time.
“If it's not personal, than what is it?”
“Business.” Menton's fingers tapped the metal table top. He had bitten the nails to the quick. “What is Castillo teaching you kids over in Vice?”
“How to mop up scum like you,” Rico spat. It wasn't gonna get him anywhere, he knew that, but it felt damn good.
“So he hasn't bothered with tactics. With strategy. I'm not surprised. Castillo only does what's expedient. He's too well trained for anything else.”
“What do you know about Castillo? He managed to out think you and Lao Li.”
Menton's smirk curled into a snarl. “I know that once you're in the Company you don't just leave. I know a heck of a lot more about Martin Castillo than you and your pal ever could.”
“Castillo was in the DEA. You, and the Company's tactics, betrayed him and his men in Thailand.”
“You really are a bozo if you don't know the difference between tactics and strategy. Strategy trumps tactics every time. Castillo forgot that little fact. He was warned. His own shortsightedness got his men killed. And if you think that your precious lieutenant's federal career started with the DEA you're more naïve than I thought, Ricardo.”
He wasn't naïve. He was loyal. But in Menton's book there was no difference between the two.
“What do you want?” Rico asked.
“You're gonna do me a favor.” Menton said. He was back to smooth-operator mode now that they'd steered clear of the subject of Castillo. Menton could insist this wasn't personal all he wanted - that's not what Rico had just seen. In the depths of his greasy, polyester heart Dale Menton harbored a hate that went beyond professional rivalry.
“A favor.” Rico shook his head. “Not likely. If you wanted me to do you a favor skipping the humiliation and torture would have been a good place to start.”
“Oh, I think you'll come around.” Menton flicked another switch and the little room was filled with the tinny sounds from beyond the glass.
God. He'd almost forgotten.
Sonny.
tbc... in part 16. Coming to an LJ near you much quicker than the last installment, I promise.