Ryan woke suddenly. At first, he wasn’t sure why; he was disoriented, the way people often are when jarred out of a sound sleep. It didn’t help that he felt like he’d jabbed ice picks through both eyes. He rubbed his temples, eyes still closed. He’d had more to drink last night then he had originally intended, and he was paying for it. Opening his eyes, which took no small effort, he found himself starring up at a shadowy figure, standing over his bed.
“What the hell!” he almost jumped out of his skin.
“Morning, Stone,” the response was chipper, the voice familiar.
“Jesus, Hawkins, you almost gave me a heart attack. What the hell are you doing? How did you even get in here?”
“I told you I would let you know when we got the DNA results back, and you weren’t answering your door, or your phone,” she replied matter-of-factly.
“So, you broke in?”
“No,” she replied innocently. “I didn’t actually break anything.”
He flipped on his bedside lamp and groaned as the light hit his eyes.
“What did you find?” he asked, trying to focus.
Hawkins glanced over his shoulder,
“I assume the girl isn’t a colleague,” she rolled her eyes, nodding her head at the figure lying next to him.
Ryan glanced behind him at the still sleeping brunette and grinned sheepishly,
“Not so much.”
“Well then, I will hold off on discussing business. I’ll be in the car. Get ready, be out in 15 minutes, or I’m gone. Got it?”
“15 minutes? Are you kidding me?” he groaned.
“I could just leave now,” she shrugged.
“I’ll be there in 15.”
“Good choice.”
Hawkins grinned and left the room silently; Ryan got the distinct impression that she was enjoying messing with him. It was probably how she drove off most of her partners. But they were going to have to have a little chat about personal boundaries. He rubbed his hands over his face. He felt like shit, maybe he could just… take his time? She obviously didn’t really want him to come, he could just stay here, and she wouldn’t complain. He shook his head. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. At least Hawkins had done him one favour, the little adrenaline rush certainly had him wide awake. So, he swung his feet over the side of the bed, and quickly got dressed.
It was 8:30am and the timer on his watch read 14 minutes 12 seconds when he finally slid into the passenger seat next to Hawkins. Before he said a word, he popped 3 aspirin and washed them down with a gulp of cold, stale coffee. Hawkins watched him with slightly raised eyebrows.
“You alright?” she asked, her tone was more derisive than concerned, though she did seem impressed that he made it out on time.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled.
“Exactly how hungover are you?”
“Can we just go?” he snapped.
“That bad, huh?” she chuckled, throwing the car into gear and peeling out of the parking lot.
Ryan fought back a wave of nausea as the car pitched to the side wildly. He was certain she was doing it on purpose, so he refused to admit that it bothered him.
“So?” he asked, after swallowing hard. “You still haven’t told me what you got.”
“Ah, yes,” she grinned. “We got a hit off the blood stain in the shed. It was consistent with a profile in the DNA databank.”
“Really, that’s incredible!” this could have broken the case. “So, the guy’s an ex-con?”
“Yes and no,” she replied. “The hit was from the military database.”
“Military?” he asked.
“Yup. Our guy’s name is Duane Tompkins, formerly of the army. Dishonourable discharge 2 years ago. Written up for disorderly conduct, insubordination and excessive use of force. Since his discharge he has been arrested 3 times on burglary raps, convicted once. He got 2 years, but was paroled early. He is currently still on parole for that particular offence. Of course, no DNA samples were taken for the burglary, so we were lucky the military catalogues their people.”
“Sounds like a nice guy. You think he’s one of our kidnappers?”
“Seems likely. Open the glove box,” she instructed.
He complied, pulling out a couple of photos.
“Those are stills from the security footage from Pauling’s place taken just over a week ago. See the dark van? Same make and model as the van registered to our new friend Duane. That last picture is Duane himself, his booking photo.”
The man in the photo was a behemoth: tall and muscular with the close-cropped hair of a military man.
“Jesus, he’s built like a brick wall,”
“As far as I can tell, he has always enjoyed roughing people up. But he is purely a thug. An organized kidnapping is beyond most people’s estimates of his skills.”
“When did you pull all this together?” he asked.
“Last night, well, technically this morning. You know what I mean. I got the results from Carson around 7:30am, did a quick background on Duane, and came straight over to see you.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Did you sleep at all?”
“Technically? Yes.” she shrugged.
“So where are we heading?” he changed the subject.
Ryan couldn’t help feeling a bit embarrassed. He should have known that she was lying through her teeth, trying to get rid of him. He should have known that she wouldn’t sleep with a 48-hour deadline looming over them. A case like this, you don’t rest until it is closed. But he’d believed her because bit suited him. He had wanted to get away from her for a few hours. He shouldn’t have, but it was too late for that now. All he could do was try to make up for it.
“Duane’s parole officer told me that he should be at work this morning. He’s got a job as a prep cook at a local pub, right now his boss says that he should be prepping in the kitchen, and according to the owner, he will likely be working alone. If we hurry we can handle this with minimal risk.”
“We’re going to go bring him in?”
“That’s the plan. But maybe you should wait in the car.”
“What? Of course not!”
“Look, all kidding aside, you are clearly not in top form right now.”
“I said I’m fine, and besides, there is no way you can handle that guy on your own, I mean look at him, he could be a bloody UFC fighter.”
“Then it’s a good thing that we aren’t going in there for a cage match,” she said, her mouth twisting into a sardonic smile. “Just to talk to the guy. Maybe arrest him. I have done that a few times before. But if you want to come and protect me, be my guest.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. Hawkins pulled the car into a spot in the parking lot of a strip mall.
“That’s the bar, The Black Stallion,” she pointed to a grimy looking tavern in the center of the strip. “It’ll be locked, but I got a key from the manager on my way to your place, so we will go around back and slip in quietly. Hopefully we can do this without any incidents. Just be diplomatic.”
“That’s a good one, coming from you,” Ryan laughed as he opened his car door and stepped out.
“Let’s go around the side. Wait for me to unlock the door, and be very careful going in; as you said, this guy could be dangerous and his record shows that he is violent.”
“Maybe we should call for back-up?”
“For one guy? Don’t be ridiculous. Besides, he will probably come along quietly.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“If it is any reassurance, he is just a big guy, not a professional fighter. His army record indicates that he started a lot of fights, but he didn’t really win many.”
Hawkins exited the car, and they walked around the side of the building, up to the maintenance door at the back of the tavern. Putting a finger to her lips, she slid the key into the lock and the bolt slid back; it was sickeningly loud in the silence of the deserted parking lot. Hawkins pushed on the door, and it squealed open on rusty hinges. He motioned to her that he would go in first and she shook her head emphatically, but he brushed past her anyway and walked into the kitchen. Ryan moved cautiously, following his training, he traced the wall, slowly clearing the room, gun in hand. Hawkins followed behind him, clearly unhappy, but unable to argue with him under the circumstances. Reaching a corner, Ryan peered slowly around it, clearing the wall just in time to see the cast iron skillet connect with the bridge of his nose. He collapsed to the ground, lights spinning in front of his eyes. Somehow, he managed to remain conscious, but the room danced and weaved sickeningly in front of him. Above him, Duane Tompkins stepped out, larger than life, crew cut and all, still holding the heavy cooking pan like a cudgel.
“Hello Duane. Is this how you greet all of your customers?” Hawkins asked blandly.
“All the ones that break in through the back door,” the burly man snarled.
“Now, now,” Hawkins soothed, “we just want to have a little chat with you, Duane.”
“I am a bit busy right now, come back some other time.”
Hawkins flipped open her badge,
“We’d like you to come with us and answer some questions.”
“Well then, I am afraid that you are going to end up worse off than your buddy there, little girl. Because I’m not going nowhere with no cops.”
Hawkins just smiled indulgently,
“I am afraid I must insist.”
The ex-soldier lunged, swinging the pan wildly. Hawkins deftly sidestepped his charge, and extended her foot, tripping him. The ex-con toppled to the ground, and when he tried to rise, Hawkins struck him in the back of the knee with her baton. Duane yelped. She put a knee on his neck and, grabbing his arms, she wrenched them around behind his back and tightened a pair of flex cuffs around his wrists.
“You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer. Move again and I swear that I’ll break your wrist, got it?”
“I think you already broke my knee,” he whimpered.
“Good,” Hawkins muttered.
Satisfied that he was incapacitated for the moment, Hawkins turned and walked back over to Ryan. She offered him a hand,
“Are you alright?”
He swatted it away and used the wall to get to his feet.
“What the hell was that?”
“What?”
“I can’t believe you didn’t draw your gun,” Ryan muttered, holstering his own weapon. “You were supposed to have my back. Were you trying to get us both killed?”
She sighed,
“You need to learn to use your head, Stone. And not just to block hard objects.”
She leaned in and lowered her voice to keep Tompkins from overhearing,
“You should never draw a gun unless you intend to shoot someone with it. I wasn’t going to shoot him. Right now, he is our only link to that little boy. I couldn’t risk him getting seriously injured or killed. Besides, it worked out, didn’t it? No big deal.”
Ryan grunted but said nothing more. Hawkins pulled out a flashlight attached to a keychain and shone it into his eyes; Ryan winced and looked away. She grabbed his chin firmly and turned his face back towards her.
“Hold still, will you?” she ordered. “I need to check that head injury. Follow my finger with your eyes, not your head, OK?”
She waved her finger back and forth slowly in front of his face.
“Well, it doesn’t look like you have a concussion,” she said at last. “Did you lose consciousness at all?”
“I don’t think so.”
She pinched his nose and probed his forehead with her fingers. He swatted her away impatiently.
“Ok, it doesn’t look like anything is broken either. But maybe I should drop you at a hospital on the way back to the Agency. You need to get that checked out by a doctor.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Ryan snapped. “I don’t need a hospital. What I need is to go back to the Agency and have a little chat with our friend over there.” He gestured to Duane, who was still lying on the floor, moaning softly.
“Alright,” she conceded. “But remember one thing: if you ever, ever, ignore my instructions like that again, I will knock you out myself, and I guarantee a concussion. Understood?”
“Understood,” he mumbled. Nope, he confirmed to himself, this was definitely not his day.
“Good. So, what do you say we bring our new acquaintance back to our place and have a little chat?”
“What are we waiting for?”
Hawkins dragged Duane Tompkins to his feet, he grimaced, favoring his injured leg.
“OK Duane, let’s take a walk.”
Duane’s shoulders slumped, and he walked obediently in front of her, out of the restaurant. Ryan followed behind them out to the car. He slid into the passenger’s seat and Hawkins got behind the wheel.
“It’s nice to know who wears the pants in your relationship,” Duane chuckled from the back.
“You’re the one who got beaten up,” Ryan noted, looking at the other man’s swollen leg.
“Hey, I broke your nose,” Duane countered.
“Nah,” Ryan laughed it off, “I’m fine. You hit like a girl. Then again, under the circumstances, maybe I should say that you wish you could hit like a girl,” he taunted.
“You want to cut me loose and say that again?” Duane snarled, straining against the flex cuffs, the plastic gouging into his wrists.
Ryan ignored his outburst,
“It’s a good thing your army buddies can’t see you now, Duane. Working as a scrub boy, committing petty crimes. You have really made something of yourself since you left the service.”
Duane didn’t even answer, his face crimson with rage, he spluttered incoherently. Ryan leaned back in his seat. Smiling pleasantly, he whistled to himself as they drove the rest of the way back to NIA headquarters. At least he knew one person who was having a worse day than him.