Fractured Mirth
part 3
"So. Would you mind telling me again why this is necessary?"
"Your unwillingness to cooperate pretty much goes hand in hand with my unwillingness to tell you. So...no. I'm afraid that's just another branch of classified information that I can't let fall into your hands."
"Ow," he offered, wincing slightly.
"They only hurt you if you let them," she stated rather calmly, as she led him to an empty room located at the very back of the department, nearly slamming the door shut behind her, as she gestured briefly to a seat. "It's gonna be awhile, so you might want to sit down."
"Yes, I guess it is. Because I really can't-"
"Your resemblance to him really is extraordinary. In fact, I almost didn't believe it myself."
"And I suppose I'm being watched, aren't I?" he responded, ignoring her.
"Mr. Turner, I need to know more about the place they found my colleague's weapon. I need to know if it might prove beneficial to us with the Robertson investigation."
"Off the record?"
"Entirely," she sided, shrugging.
"But you're still going to use the information I give you, aren't you?"
"How about less questions, more answers, hmm?"
"Yes or no, then?" he quipped.
"Look, that's not important right now. What's important, is what went on right about the time you were out-"
"Running an errand," he finished abruptly.
"You mentioned to your girlfriend that you had a lead," she inquired, gazing at him, as she perched her slender frame upon the small wooden table residing in the very center of the miniscule space.
"We go and we look for things. Specific things- things I wouldn't expect you to know anything about."
"Oh really?"
"You're a skeptic at heart," he reasoned.
"How would you know what I'm like?"
"That's just it. I don't. And with all due respect, I don't exactly want to."
"Likewise," she mulled over, her pretty face seeping into a frown.
"No skin off my back," he whispered to himself.
"Then why don't we get started on some background information," she suggested. "It's on a much more personal level, of course- but seeing as you still don't want to let me in on your little secret either way..."
"What makes you think I even have one?"
"You were searching for something out there. Something that could just prove to be connected to John's little run-in with danger back in that allyway."
"The whole truth and nothing but the truth?" he murmured sarcastically.
"So help you God," she added. "I mean, you're a lawyer, right? You know how this works."
"Was a lawyer," he whispered.
"I'm sorry?"
"I said, was. I'm sure Phoebe informed you that I'm currently unemployed."
"Then you already lied to me back at the hospital," she accused him, as she edged herself a bit closer, her eyes going even deeper into his.
"Well, I was called out there in the-"
"So you said. But you sure acted like you had a much more prevalent prior engagement."
He studied her a moment, his blues narrowing a bit, as his lips parted with the slightest movement, his hands still continually working about behind him, his struggles becoming endless with the pair of handcuffs. He mindlessly blew out a small amount of air from his mouth, tightly shutting his lids. "Can you please get me out of these?"
"Mr. Turner, I'm not the bad guy."
"And I just happen to be really self-involved, Miss Burke."
"Too self-involved to save an innocent man's life?"
"You can't-"
"If you really cared anything at all about what happened to Agent Grant, you'd have already started letting me in on-"
"Dammit, there's nothing to know," he breathed.
"Don't suppose you were ever a boy scout, were you?"
"No, actually my family goes a little too far back for that," he offered, laughing softly.
"Meaning?"
"I have a history. Not one I'm proud of, but-"
"Oh man. You in here again?" a voice called from the doorway, as it was carefully pulled open, a familiar face throwing his head inside. He briefly cleared his throat, as he took a step further.
"Well, now that you mention it..."
"Turner, you are a pain in my side. Not a day goes by when I don't wonder what the hell you've been up to. They told me a Miss Burke took you into custody at the hospital. Now I-"
"That...would be me," Rachel spoke up, immediately offering the tall figure her hand, as she motioned to her captive. "He has a file here?"
Darryl Morris shook his hand, as he took her hand into his. "Not unless you count the charges Inspector Davidson supposedly had on him for killing his landlady not too long ago."
"Is that right?"
"Nothing came of that, and you know it. It was never proven, one way or another."
"Yet," Darryl added.
"Did you need something?" Rachel asked, her eyebrows raised.
"Yeah. His girlfriend is sitting out there. She...she happens to be an old friend of mine, and I'd like to-"
"Well, he doesn't need a bodyguard, if that's what you're implying."
"Oh, trust me," Cole interjected. "You're more than enough for both of us."
"You better watch yourself, Turner. I don't think she likes to play games."
"But we've been going around in circles since we met," he quipped, turning to the red-headed profiler again, a slow smile forming on his gorgeous visage.
"He knows something," Rachel said quietly. "But for some reason I still can't comprehend, he doesn't want to talk."
"Yeah, well, she's getting pretty impatient out there. You might want to speed things up a little," Darryl advised.
"You mean you didn't come in here to help me out with this?"
"You're on your own, Turner, and you're also on my time," he conceded, shutting the door swiftly behind him. "Ten minutes."
"And I already told you. Some guys were-"
"But you just said you no longer have a job," she pointed out. "Which means we really haven't gotten anywhere yet."
"Yeah, and the truth is a lot more complicated to understand." He tilted his head back, shutting his eyes once more, as he took a rather deep breath. His foot tapped absentmindedly upon the floor, its pattern breaking up the unavoidable monotony that filled the room.
"So try me," she stated.
"With all due respect, Miss Burke, it's not something you can handle with weapons. In fact, let's just say these guys are out for more than just a little blood."
"Well, if they're not out for blood, then what are they out for? Money? Drugs? A good time?"
He smiled, carefully putting two free hands in front of him, as he chuckled slightly, catching her perplexed gaze. Standing up, he dusted off his jeans, as he raised his eyebrows. "Not everything is what it appears to be."
"How did you- what...how did you do that?" she whispered, backing away rather slowly, as she found herself perched against the wall, her fingers touching the cool surface without so much as a hesitation. She closed her eyes, as her breathing increased rapidly, once again revealing him in her frame of vision. "Answer the question, Mr. Turner."
"That's the problem," he argued. "I still don't think you're ready."
___________
"Mr. Malone? The patient has opened his eyes."
Bailey sprung up from his seat in the narrow hallway, quickly closing the newspaper that just barely hung in his grasp. His eyes widened, as he met the nurse's intent stare, his expression immediately starting to brighten. "Has he said anything?"
"He's...wondering how he got here," she explained. "I'm on my way to get the doctor now. He's asked for you, so I think he may just be ready for visitors at this point. But only-"
"He...doesn't have any family," Bailey quickly interjected.
"You're free to go in and see him," she urged, smiling. "He's been absolutely relentless since he woke up."
"Thanks," he offered quietly, giving her shoulder a slight pat, as he began to head a few rooms down, pausing at one where the door hung slightly ajar, the figure inside positioned in an upright stance in his bed, his hospital gown a bit wrinkled from the sudden movements he strived to execute, as he hesitantly reached over to the bowl of jello the nurse had only just left in his presence. Bringing it closer to his lips, he slowly put a piece into his mouth, painfully chewing the contents. "Not exactly gourmet, is it?"
John turned his head, offering his friend a small smile. "No, but I could also really use a razor right about now."
"How're you feeling?"
"Where's Rachel?"
"She's been on a mad hunt for Robertson since you ended up here. She just took someone down to the department. I think she believes the man may have something to do with your accident. She's...still not convinced Robertson's guilty, but it's only a matter of time."
"I feel like I've been run over by a truck," he added, raising his eyebrows. "But I guess the broken ribs would explain that accident, huh?"
"You don't-" Bailey started.
"I know bits and pieces. I mean...I think I do. I'm not too sure yet. It's...it's kind of a blur."
He nodded. "Understandable."
"So when can I get outta here?"
Bailey professed a short laugh, as he moved a bit closer into the confines of the small space, easily taking a seat directly across from the bed. "Never a quitter, right?"
"Hey, I'm hanging in there," John countered, as he slipped in another piece of jello.
"As I was saying- Rachel seems entirely convinced of Robertson's innocence," he put in again. "She says he's trying to save his victims."
"From a fate worse than death?" he quipped. "Well, if anything, it sure as hell wasn't Robertson who attacked me. That...I do know."
"What are you talking about?"
"Two big ugly guys with a mission in mind. Never saw them before. But they sure liked to use their hands to break things."
Bailey narrowed his eyes, as he propped a hand beneath his chin. "They didn't fight back with any kind of weapon at all? Nothing?"
John shook his head. "They may have said something too, but I can't...I mean...it just wasn't making any sense. Then again, I was half unconscious, so..."
"Then it's a group operation," he mused. "I knew it."
"What's a group operation?" John returned, as he bent to examine his food at close range. "Hey, do you think there's any way they can bring me some fries and a burger, instead?"
"Robertson is working with someone," he reasoned. "I don't know why he's doing it, but-"
"He's leading us off the path again," John sided. "Just like before."
"But why? It's not like he's gaining anything-" Bailey's speech was cut off by the insistent droning of his cell phone, as he turned in his seat slightly from the surprise. Sighing, he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out the fairly small object, as he carefully glanced at the caller's name in tiny print. "Yeah, George, what have you got?"
"Well, it's not what, it's how," George responded on the other end, as he briefly cleared his throat.
"How..."
"The only location I could get from the information provided to us, was an address...a San Francisco address. Looks to be a house, from what I could tell. Well...that or an apartment complex. Not too far from where you are, either. You got a pen?"
"Go ahead," Bailey urged, as he rapidly pulled the materials from the opposite pocket, awaiting his colleague's findings.
"1329 Prescott Street."
"1329 Prescott," Bailey repeated. "Got it, thanks."
"Not ringing any bells," John interjected, shrugging.
"No problem," George added. "Are we supposed to expect you guys back anytime soon?"
"That depends," Bailey confirmed. "We're still trying to see if there's any leads to pursue yet. We kind of hit a dead end. But this address might just be one of them, or at least it's a pretty good place to start."
"Let me know how if you-"
"You bet," Bailey assured him, as he pulled the phone away from his ear.
"Does this mean I can get out of here now?"
"It's better that you get as much rest as you can," he advised. "We're probably going to need you later."
"Aw, c'mon, Bailey, I feel fine."
"Rest."
"You'll call me here the minute you get a new lead?"
"Count on it."
"Because I don't want to be left out of the loop. I hate being left out of the loop."
"Point taken, John. Now get some sleep."
"And Bailey?"
"Yeah?"
"Watch your back, okay?"
"Got it."
"I hear there are some great fast food places around the corner too. Of course...no fries beat Bean Boy, but if it wouldn't be too much trouble..."
But Bailey had already exited the room, throwing up his hand in one last gesture, as he chuckled to himself, finding his way back into the hallway once again.