Title: No good deed redux
Author: Greywolf
Couple: All CC mainly M/L
Rating: Mature due to subject matter.
Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell or any of the characters. I don't own Nila Spence, Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Rusch do...or maybe Pocket Books. Please don't sue me, I'm just having a little fun here.
Summary: A Sequel to No Good Deed by Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch ...a fairly good read, if you have a lazy afternoon. It is a few years after Max and Liz were married and......
Nila Spence sat on the floor of the room. She knew, of course, that it wasn't really a room. She was watching the door, knowing of course it really wasn't a door. She was watching the bolts holding the door locked, fearful that they would somehow come unbolted and allow the door to open. She knew of course that they weren't really bolts, just as she knew that sooner or later they would come unbolted, the door would open, and she would be dragged out to face the pain again.
And the terror was growing in Nila Spence as that moment approached. She didn't know when it would come...could do nothing about it when it did come....but she couldn't look away from the bolts, away from the door.
She wondered if she was already insane? 'That wouldn't be so bad,' she thought, 'if it could keep out the pain.'
NO GOOD DEED redux Mature (CC M/L) 10/2/06 complete 11/21
Moderators: Anniepoo98, Rowedog, ISLANDGIRL5, Itzstacie, truelovepooh, FSU/MSW-94, Forum Moderators
NO GOOD DEED redux Mature (CC M/L) 10/2/06 complete 11/21
Last edited by greywolf on Tue Nov 21, 2006 3:16 pm, edited 27 times in total.
The phone rang on Royce Miller’s desk.
“Lieutenant Miller, Missing Persons..”
“Lieutenant, Sergeant Lucas here. I’ve got a phone call from some newspaper in Arizona. It’s the editor and he wanst to talk to whoever is in charge of missing persons.”
“Well, that would be me. Go ahead and send it through, Sergeant.”
“Lieutenant Miller, Missing Persons…”
“Lieutenant Miller, my name is David Armbridge. I’m managing editor of the Arizona Republic in Phoenix, and I’d like to ask your assistance.”
“What can we do for you, Mr. Armbridge?”
“Well officer, we have a missing investigative reporter, Ms. Nila Spence. I don’t know if you are familiar with her…she’s quite prominent in investigative journalism circles. She’s won a couple of Pulitzer’s for her work.”
“Where was she last seen? Has a missing person report been filed anywhere? Do you have some sort of reason for calling us here in New York?”
“Well. When she goes on these investigations she always calls in to…well to tell us she’s OK, every five days or so. If it goes more than 24 hours past a call-in time, well we start our own guys looking in to it. It would appear that just after the last contact we had with her she used the newspaper’s credit card to buy herself a ticket to New York City and to rent a hotel room there. We called the hotel about three hours ago….eventually they looked in her room. It didn’t look like it had been used for at least three or four days, according to the maid. Her clothes were there and her notebook computer…but, no sign of her.”
“Can you give me the hotel and room number, Mr. Armbridge? I’ll get a man right over there to check it out.”
“Thank you Lieutenant Miller. That would be the Rialto Tower, Room 1411 I really appreciate your help. ”
“That’s what we are here for, Mr. Armbridge. By the way, do you have any idea who she was seeing here, what kind of story she was working on? Anything like that might be helpful.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I wish I did. Nila…..well Nila’s kind of secretive about her investigations until she gets it done. She told me she got a tip from a source about a big story and….with her record we just tell her to go for it. She really protects her sources. Heck, the DA down here put her in jail for a month once trying to find out where she’d gotten information about corruption in his office. She didn’t give him anything. She’s pretty closed mouth, even with us.”
“Well, we’ll keep you informed. If you get anything more, or if she does turn up, please give us a call. In the meantime, I’m going to have Sergeant Lucas fax you a missing person report form. If you can fill that out and fax it back, that’d be a big help.”
“Thank’s again, Lieutenant. She’s a damn good reporter, I hope that this is just a mixup, but…she’s always been really reliable about calling in. This is really starting to worry us.”
“Well we’ll do our best, sir. If you just hold the line, Sergeant Lucas will be back to get your fax number and give you the details about the form.”
[size=0]“Thanks again, Lieutenant.”[/size]
“Sergeant Lucas. Mr. Armbridge is holding on….line 3. Would you get his fax number, send him a missing persons report, and as soon as we get that back get a note out to all the precincts for presentation at shift change. And then get the file to me personally, once you are done with that.”
“You got it Lieutenant Miller.”
‘Nila Spence…….I wonder if there’s anything about her in the database. Must be if she’s won a Pulitzer Prize or two.’ He did a search on his computer, eventually pulling up several articles, one showing presentation of a Pulitzer prize to a young lady in her early thirties. “Hmm,” said the Lieutenant. “Oh well, it’s a start.”
“Lieutenant Miller, Missing Persons..”
“Lieutenant, Sergeant Lucas here. I’ve got a phone call from some newspaper in Arizona. It’s the editor and he wanst to talk to whoever is in charge of missing persons.”
“Well, that would be me. Go ahead and send it through, Sergeant.”
“Lieutenant Miller, Missing Persons…”
“Lieutenant Miller, my name is David Armbridge. I’m managing editor of the Arizona Republic in Phoenix, and I’d like to ask your assistance.”
“What can we do for you, Mr. Armbridge?”
“Well officer, we have a missing investigative reporter, Ms. Nila Spence. I don’t know if you are familiar with her…she’s quite prominent in investigative journalism circles. She’s won a couple of Pulitzer’s for her work.”
“Where was she last seen? Has a missing person report been filed anywhere? Do you have some sort of reason for calling us here in New York?”
“Well. When she goes on these investigations she always calls in to…well to tell us she’s OK, every five days or so. If it goes more than 24 hours past a call-in time, well we start our own guys looking in to it. It would appear that just after the last contact we had with her she used the newspaper’s credit card to buy herself a ticket to New York City and to rent a hotel room there. We called the hotel about three hours ago….eventually they looked in her room. It didn’t look like it had been used for at least three or four days, according to the maid. Her clothes were there and her notebook computer…but, no sign of her.”
“Can you give me the hotel and room number, Mr. Armbridge? I’ll get a man right over there to check it out.”
“Thank you Lieutenant Miller. That would be the Rialto Tower, Room 1411 I really appreciate your help. ”
“That’s what we are here for, Mr. Armbridge. By the way, do you have any idea who she was seeing here, what kind of story she was working on? Anything like that might be helpful.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I wish I did. Nila…..well Nila’s kind of secretive about her investigations until she gets it done. She told me she got a tip from a source about a big story and….with her record we just tell her to go for it. She really protects her sources. Heck, the DA down here put her in jail for a month once trying to find out where she’d gotten information about corruption in his office. She didn’t give him anything. She’s pretty closed mouth, even with us.”
“Well, we’ll keep you informed. If you get anything more, or if she does turn up, please give us a call. In the meantime, I’m going to have Sergeant Lucas fax you a missing person report form. If you can fill that out and fax it back, that’d be a big help.”
“Thank’s again, Lieutenant. She’s a damn good reporter, I hope that this is just a mixup, but…she’s always been really reliable about calling in. This is really starting to worry us.”
“Well we’ll do our best, sir. If you just hold the line, Sergeant Lucas will be back to get your fax number and give you the details about the form.”
[size=0]“Thanks again, Lieutenant.”[/size]
“Sergeant Lucas. Mr. Armbridge is holding on….line 3. Would you get his fax number, send him a missing persons report, and as soon as we get that back get a note out to all the precincts for presentation at shift change. And then get the file to me personally, once you are done with that.”
“You got it Lieutenant Miller.”
‘Nila Spence…….I wonder if there’s anything about her in the database. Must be if she’s won a Pulitzer Prize or two.’ He did a search on his computer, eventually pulling up several articles, one showing presentation of a Pulitzer prize to a young lady in her early thirties. “Hmm,” said the Lieutenant. “Oh well, it’s a start.”
Alex was content. That's probably the best way to describe Alex. All was well in Alex's world. Alex really didn't have the references...the experiences, to be much more than that. Alex was warm, but he really didn't understand that, for Alex had never known cold. Alex was well fed, but he really didn't understand that either, because he'd never been hungry.
In the background he could hear the sounds of the life-giver, perhaps even feel some of the life-giver's thoughts. But he really didn't notice, for it had really never been otherwise.
Alex had simple wants, simple needs, but he really didn't understand that either, because he had never really wanted and his needs were always met.
Alex wasn't happy, because he had really never had anything to be happy about, Alex had never been sad for the same reason and, in fact, wouldn't have understood either of those terms in any event. Oh, sometimes there were little things that irritated Alex a little bit, but even those were minimal. Alex had for his entire life been....content.
In the background he could hear the sounds of the life-giver, perhaps even feel some of the life-giver's thoughts. But he really didn't notice, for it had really never been otherwise.
Alex had simple wants, simple needs, but he really didn't understand that either, because he had never really wanted and his needs were always met.
Alex wasn't happy, because he had really never had anything to be happy about, Alex had never been sad for the same reason and, in fact, wouldn't have understood either of those terms in any event. Oh, sometimes there were little things that irritated Alex a little bit, but even those were minimal. Alex had for his entire life been....content.
Last edited by greywolf on Tue Oct 03, 2006 3:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Nila Spence quivered in fear, knowing she would soon go back …no longer in the room in her mind…no longer safe. She would be back under the hood soon, back in the REAL room, the room where the pain was…. The room where HE was….
She was trying desperately not to think of Teri Johnson’s name, and that alone seemed to make her think more and more about the young girl.
Investigative journalism is usually just hard work, researching and tracking down sources. But sometimes, it’s also just dumb luck. This had happened twice to Nila Spence.
The first time had been early in her career. She’d just gone into a funky little restaurant in Roswell New Mexico, looking for a hamburger, waiting to interview someone across the street. She’d stumbled across something then that was still an enigma to her, a group of teenagers who had helped her with one of her first big stories as an investigative journalist, taking down a fraud operation that was bilking hundreds of parents of desperately ill kids. She still didn’t really understand what had happened that day. She had been truly outmaneuvered by those kids, essentially blackmailed by one of them, and finally had to agree to never tell anyone about them. And she hadn’t, even though the police had known she was lying…once they’d seen the x-rays of the damage to those two thugs. Nila ALWAYS protected her sources.
Secrecy was even more vital for Teri Johnson. Nila had been researching the story for some time, young teen girls disappearing from Arizona, Nevada, and New Mexico, to never be heard from again. She had scores of files on young girls that had disappeared, mostly 14 and 15 year olds. Most of the girls disappeared after fights with their folks, breaking up with a boyfriend, getting in academic troubles at school…..really, anything that would drive them away from their families. The girls clearly hadn’t been kidnapped, they’d run off…..but they never came back, and they were never heard from again. Until she had seen Teri Johnson.
Again, it had just been a freak happenstance….Nila had gone in to the airport in Tucumcari to rent a car and there….at the counter, was the missing Teri Johnson. She was older than the picture in her file,...she’d been gone almost four years. And she was wearing a nametag that said Ann Brown. It took Nila a little time to get Teri to admit she was Teri….and even more to tell what had happened to her. It was a sordid story, and when she finally escaped, she had started a new life with a boyfriend who cared for her and a job, not a great job, but in comparison….
Because when she’d finally gotten Teri’s confidence, she’d told a terrible story. Teri had been only fifteen when she had left her home.
It had started as a fight with her parents over staying out late with a boy. Then she had met someone, a recruiter who had told her that she was beautiful, that she could be a star on Broadway, and had given her a ticket to go to New York and the address of the agency that would get her the job. Except when she got there, the agency had told her that she would have to work as a model for a few months before she could get on the stage. And the modeling job had turned out to be an escort service and the escort service had turned out to be …well prostitution, with the girls kept in line by drugs, the threat of violence, violence….even death.
It had taken two weeks for Nila to get as much of the story as she could from Teri in Tucumcari. The recruiter, the hotel, the modeling agency, the escort service. She had gotten the names of some of the people who kept the organization running, and it was big….real big, with hundreds of girls …young teens like Teri had been.
Teri said that after a few years, after they were no longer just young kids, the girls would get shipped overseas, shipped to countries where there was still a thriving commerce in female flesh, while the jaded appetites of rich New Yorkers got “fresh” 14 and 15 year olds recruited from out West with lies and kept captive by drugs and fear. And the worst thing, if Teri could be believed, was that some of the authorities were in on it, not just tolerating it, but getting payoffs from the organization to look the other way, while the girls were used, abused, drugged, and eventually loaded on the ships.
Teri had escaped one day. She had planned it for weeks, only pretending to take the pills, the downers they were given to addict them, to numb the psychological pain of the abuse and make it bearable. She’d done her job for weeks, with not even the drugs for solace, saving them until the one night. A new guy was guarding them that night….she’d convinced him that if he got her some wine they could …party. He’d gotten the wine, she’d spiked it with her hoarded pills and she had…partied with him. Eventually, he had fallen into a drugged sleep, she had taken his wallet and she had run.
She made it to the airport, bought ten tickets in ten different directions with his credit card and taken one at random. When she got there, she used the cash to take a taxi to the Amtrak terminal. She’d boarded with everyone else, hidden in the restroom when the tickets were collected, stayed in the lounge car for three days and wound up in Las Vegas, New Mexico. She had hitchhiked 125 miles to Tucumcari and had started a new life, not even contacting her parents, because she knew….knew with absolute certainty, that the organization would be watching her parents…watching for any sign of her. She didn’t know a lot, but she knew too much….too much to be allowed to live.
Nila had tried in vain to get Teri to go to the FBI, to consider the Witness Protection Program, but she had refused. After she had gotten to Tucumcari she had gone to a public health clinic, gotten treated for the diseases she had contracted, and eventually met a young man. She had eventually told him what she had gone through…..and he had still loved her.
She had lost her parents forever, she was not willing to lose the young man, or to have him come with her in the witness protection program and have him lose his family as well. She didn’t have a great job, had never finished her high school education, and was living under an assumed name, but she was living…not something that any of the other girls who had tried to run from the mob could say.
She had given Nila what little she knew, the names of a few people and places in New York City, on condition that Nila protect her, never reveal her as the source for Nila’s investigative reports. Nila had reluctantly accepted the deal, and flown off to New York City for the independent confirmation she needed, and to find out anything she could about the criminal operation. Nila had gotten to New York City, checked into her hotel, and done what she thought was a little discrete looking around and asked a few questions to people that she had thought were safe to interview. Obviously she had been wrong. On her way back to her hotel the first night she’d been snatched off the street. ‘How long ago was that?’ she asked herself. “At least four or five days. God, it feels like an eternity.....an eternity in Hell.’
As she felt herself start to return to the real world, Nina Spence started to shake again with the fear. The pain would be back soon….HE would be back soon.
Radoslav Stoyanov looked over at the body of Nila Spence.
She was stripped to the waist, her wrists bound tightly together behind her, and the rope from her wrists pulled taut through the pulley in the ceiling and tied to the cleat on the wall. The secret, he had told them, was to almost dislocate the shoulders….but not quite. And the hood was important, as was the music playing in the background. She must know, know at all times that the pain could come back, without warning. She could not see it coming, she could not hear it coming, it would just suddenly return.
He looked at the damage that had been done to her by the…amateurs. ‘Stupid Cossacks,’ he said to himself. The burns to her breasts with the cigar….. 'Some stupid fool confusing interrogation with sadism…….ignorant bastard.’, the severe beating to her face…. ‘Just some thug…no finesse, no idea of how it is really done.'
Radoslav knew how it was done. Radoslav knew that he was a professional, and very good at his job. He had, in fact, once made a CIA informant spill everything…everything he knew, and he’d done it in less than 48 hours. But that had been almost two decades before, before the USSR had come apart, before his own country, the Peoples Republic of Bulgaria, had come apart in 1989….back when he was known by personally by Todor Zhivkov, the great leader of the Party..until he was deposed.
Radoslav’s talents had been cultivated carefully, he had the same training in anatomy at the Medical College in Sofia that Bulgarian doctors had and even more training in psychology. Until the fall of the Peoples Republic, he had been an honored member of the government…one of the elite. But even now his skills had value, even her in the United States.
‘The fools should have called me at once,’ he thought. ‘They were deceived by her looks, by her size. They are used to having their way with these …children they traffic in. They don’t understand determination…resolve.’
These things Radoslav Stoyanov understood well. Their clumsy efforts had only made things harder for him. He would charge them extra for that. They had only called him in after it was clear that their efforts would kill her, but never get her to talk. That too would cost them. It would take longer…because she had been brutalized so badly that she retreated to a place inside her mind…..Radoslav had seen it before. They had beaten on her body, when they should have been beating on her mind, but then...they were unschooled thugs.
But their actions had damaged her, made it difficult to establish any kind of rapport. So now he really couldn’t negotiate with her for her life, and must be almost as thuggish as these animals. She would eventually tell him where the girl was hiding…..and then he would let her die….help her die, and she would be grateful. That would be the only negotiation possible now, only because these…Cossacks, had been such amateurs.
Radoslav hated amateurs….they were like hunters who wounded game and didn’t track it down and finish it. Interrogation was a job, and should be done professionally. He admired this woman….she was a fighter…a better person than the thugs that had brutalized her. And now he would have to brutalize her more…before she would give up the girl for a quick and merciful death. Yes, she was a better person than these swine…..too bad for her though. He had taken the job and he was a professional. She was still herself an amateur, even if a determined one….she would lose this contest eventually. But she was still better than them. He would charge them a great deal of money for breaking her…perhaps if she had family, he could even send some of it to them. He might ask about that, before he let her die. This wasn’t personal….only business.
He sensed the change in her breathing pattern. She was coming back from whatever world people catatonic from torture went into to keep from going insane. It would soon be time to get back to work. But he should wait a little while,
He remembered well the teaching of his mentors...‘Let her anticipate it, then let her start to hope first, then …only then….bring back the pain.’
Too little pain, too much rest, and it would take longer. Too much pain, too soon, and she would go back into catatonia…or worse yet, die. But he wouldn’t allow that, he was well trained, and he was above all …a professional.
But he regretted putting her through all this, when it would have been so much easier if they had just called him first. ‘The stupid bastards….Well, Miss Nila Spence, Miss Investigative Reporter, they will pay greatly for making me do this to you, you can be sure of that. I will charge them double...maybe triple my usual fee.’
She was trying desperately not to think of Teri Johnson’s name, and that alone seemed to make her think more and more about the young girl.
Investigative journalism is usually just hard work, researching and tracking down sources. But sometimes, it’s also just dumb luck. This had happened twice to Nila Spence.
The first time had been early in her career. She’d just gone into a funky little restaurant in Roswell New Mexico, looking for a hamburger, waiting to interview someone across the street. She’d stumbled across something then that was still an enigma to her, a group of teenagers who had helped her with one of her first big stories as an investigative journalist, taking down a fraud operation that was bilking hundreds of parents of desperately ill kids. She still didn’t really understand what had happened that day. She had been truly outmaneuvered by those kids, essentially blackmailed by one of them, and finally had to agree to never tell anyone about them. And she hadn’t, even though the police had known she was lying…once they’d seen the x-rays of the damage to those two thugs. Nila ALWAYS protected her sources.
Secrecy was even more vital for Teri Johnson. Nila had been researching the story for some time, young teen girls disappearing from Arizona, Nevada, and New Mexico, to never be heard from again. She had scores of files on young girls that had disappeared, mostly 14 and 15 year olds. Most of the girls disappeared after fights with their folks, breaking up with a boyfriend, getting in academic troubles at school…..really, anything that would drive them away from their families. The girls clearly hadn’t been kidnapped, they’d run off…..but they never came back, and they were never heard from again. Until she had seen Teri Johnson.
Again, it had just been a freak happenstance….Nila had gone in to the airport in Tucumcari to rent a car and there….at the counter, was the missing Teri Johnson. She was older than the picture in her file,...she’d been gone almost four years. And she was wearing a nametag that said Ann Brown. It took Nila a little time to get Teri to admit she was Teri….and even more to tell what had happened to her. It was a sordid story, and when she finally escaped, she had started a new life with a boyfriend who cared for her and a job, not a great job, but in comparison….
Because when she’d finally gotten Teri’s confidence, she’d told a terrible story. Teri had been only fifteen when she had left her home.
It had started as a fight with her parents over staying out late with a boy. Then she had met someone, a recruiter who had told her that she was beautiful, that she could be a star on Broadway, and had given her a ticket to go to New York and the address of the agency that would get her the job. Except when she got there, the agency had told her that she would have to work as a model for a few months before she could get on the stage. And the modeling job had turned out to be an escort service and the escort service had turned out to be …well prostitution, with the girls kept in line by drugs, the threat of violence, violence….even death.
It had taken two weeks for Nila to get as much of the story as she could from Teri in Tucumcari. The recruiter, the hotel, the modeling agency, the escort service. She had gotten the names of some of the people who kept the organization running, and it was big….real big, with hundreds of girls …young teens like Teri had been.
Teri said that after a few years, after they were no longer just young kids, the girls would get shipped overseas, shipped to countries where there was still a thriving commerce in female flesh, while the jaded appetites of rich New Yorkers got “fresh” 14 and 15 year olds recruited from out West with lies and kept captive by drugs and fear. And the worst thing, if Teri could be believed, was that some of the authorities were in on it, not just tolerating it, but getting payoffs from the organization to look the other way, while the girls were used, abused, drugged, and eventually loaded on the ships.
Teri had escaped one day. She had planned it for weeks, only pretending to take the pills, the downers they were given to addict them, to numb the psychological pain of the abuse and make it bearable. She’d done her job for weeks, with not even the drugs for solace, saving them until the one night. A new guy was guarding them that night….she’d convinced him that if he got her some wine they could …party. He’d gotten the wine, she’d spiked it with her hoarded pills and she had…partied with him. Eventually, he had fallen into a drugged sleep, she had taken his wallet and she had run.
She made it to the airport, bought ten tickets in ten different directions with his credit card and taken one at random. When she got there, she used the cash to take a taxi to the Amtrak terminal. She’d boarded with everyone else, hidden in the restroom when the tickets were collected, stayed in the lounge car for three days and wound up in Las Vegas, New Mexico. She had hitchhiked 125 miles to Tucumcari and had started a new life, not even contacting her parents, because she knew….knew with absolute certainty, that the organization would be watching her parents…watching for any sign of her. She didn’t know a lot, but she knew too much….too much to be allowed to live.
Nila had tried in vain to get Teri to go to the FBI, to consider the Witness Protection Program, but she had refused. After she had gotten to Tucumcari she had gone to a public health clinic, gotten treated for the diseases she had contracted, and eventually met a young man. She had eventually told him what she had gone through…..and he had still loved her.
She had lost her parents forever, she was not willing to lose the young man, or to have him come with her in the witness protection program and have him lose his family as well. She didn’t have a great job, had never finished her high school education, and was living under an assumed name, but she was living…not something that any of the other girls who had tried to run from the mob could say.
She had given Nila what little she knew, the names of a few people and places in New York City, on condition that Nila protect her, never reveal her as the source for Nila’s investigative reports. Nila had reluctantly accepted the deal, and flown off to New York City for the independent confirmation she needed, and to find out anything she could about the criminal operation. Nila had gotten to New York City, checked into her hotel, and done what she thought was a little discrete looking around and asked a few questions to people that she had thought were safe to interview. Obviously she had been wrong. On her way back to her hotel the first night she’d been snatched off the street. ‘How long ago was that?’ she asked herself. “At least four or five days. God, it feels like an eternity.....an eternity in Hell.’
As she felt herself start to return to the real world, Nina Spence started to shake again with the fear. The pain would be back soon….HE would be back soon.
Radoslav Stoyanov looked over at the body of Nila Spence.
She was stripped to the waist, her wrists bound tightly together behind her, and the rope from her wrists pulled taut through the pulley in the ceiling and tied to the cleat on the wall. The secret, he had told them, was to almost dislocate the shoulders….but not quite. And the hood was important, as was the music playing in the background. She must know, know at all times that the pain could come back, without warning. She could not see it coming, she could not hear it coming, it would just suddenly return.
He looked at the damage that had been done to her by the…amateurs. ‘Stupid Cossacks,’ he said to himself. The burns to her breasts with the cigar….. 'Some stupid fool confusing interrogation with sadism…….ignorant bastard.’, the severe beating to her face…. ‘Just some thug…no finesse, no idea of how it is really done.'
Radoslav knew how it was done. Radoslav knew that he was a professional, and very good at his job. He had, in fact, once made a CIA informant spill everything…everything he knew, and he’d done it in less than 48 hours. But that had been almost two decades before, before the USSR had come apart, before his own country, the Peoples Republic of Bulgaria, had come apart in 1989….back when he was known by personally by Todor Zhivkov, the great leader of the Party..until he was deposed.
Radoslav’s talents had been cultivated carefully, he had the same training in anatomy at the Medical College in Sofia that Bulgarian doctors had and even more training in psychology. Until the fall of the Peoples Republic, he had been an honored member of the government…one of the elite. But even now his skills had value, even her in the United States.
‘The fools should have called me at once,’ he thought. ‘They were deceived by her looks, by her size. They are used to having their way with these …children they traffic in. They don’t understand determination…resolve.’
These things Radoslav Stoyanov understood well. Their clumsy efforts had only made things harder for him. He would charge them extra for that. They had only called him in after it was clear that their efforts would kill her, but never get her to talk. That too would cost them. It would take longer…because she had been brutalized so badly that she retreated to a place inside her mind…..Radoslav had seen it before. They had beaten on her body, when they should have been beating on her mind, but then...they were unschooled thugs.
But their actions had damaged her, made it difficult to establish any kind of rapport. So now he really couldn’t negotiate with her for her life, and must be almost as thuggish as these animals. She would eventually tell him where the girl was hiding…..and then he would let her die….help her die, and she would be grateful. That would be the only negotiation possible now, only because these…Cossacks, had been such amateurs.
Radoslav hated amateurs….they were like hunters who wounded game and didn’t track it down and finish it. Interrogation was a job, and should be done professionally. He admired this woman….she was a fighter…a better person than the thugs that had brutalized her. And now he would have to brutalize her more…before she would give up the girl for a quick and merciful death. Yes, she was a better person than these swine…..too bad for her though. He had taken the job and he was a professional. She was still herself an amateur, even if a determined one….she would lose this contest eventually. But she was still better than them. He would charge them a great deal of money for breaking her…perhaps if she had family, he could even send some of it to them. He might ask about that, before he let her die. This wasn’t personal….only business.
He sensed the change in her breathing pattern. She was coming back from whatever world people catatonic from torture went into to keep from going insane. It would soon be time to get back to work. But he should wait a little while,
He remembered well the teaching of his mentors...‘Let her anticipate it, then let her start to hope first, then …only then….bring back the pain.’
Too little pain, too much rest, and it would take longer. Too much pain, too soon, and she would go back into catatonia…or worse yet, die. But he wouldn’t allow that, he was well trained, and he was above all …a professional.
But he regretted putting her through all this, when it would have been so much easier if they had just called him first. ‘The stupid bastards….Well, Miss Nila Spence, Miss Investigative Reporter, they will pay greatly for making me do this to you, you can be sure of that. I will charge them double...maybe triple my usual fee.’
Tony Diglio was an unhappy man, and when Big Tony was unhappy, a whole lot of people in the organization were unhappy.
And what made Big Tony REALLY unhappy, was that he couldn’t do a damn thing about being unhappy, he had to wait for other people to do their thing…..and that angered him even more.
All of the people who worked for Big Tony knew enough to tread lightly, not to give Big Tony any reason to be angry with them. Because Big Toney usually got over his anger by killing someone, or at least in the last couple of decades, by having someone kill them for him. But Big Tony was frustrated now, because he really couldn’t do that. Even if he really was angry enough, even if he had seriously thought about killing the one responsible, even Big Tony feared someone, and he knew that Mrs. Diglio would be most upset if he had Little Tony wacked.
‘I spoiled that damn kid,’ he thought. ‘She did too, ….hell, the whole damn family had spoiled Little Tony.’ Not just the family, but the whole organization…because Little Tony had always been the heir apparent, the next capo…., except the boy was an idiot.
Big Tony didn’t mind that the boy had helped himself to the goods…..Hell, even Big Tony did that sometimes, at least when Mrs. Diglio was back in the old country, visiting her relatives. What Big Tony minded was that the boy was an idiot.
It had been bad enough that Little Tony had let the goods outsmart him….use his own friggin credit cards to buy a ticket….buy a lot of tickets to get away. Even then if the boy had just told Big Tony, even then they might have gotten enough people looking to catch her, but by the time he tried with just his men…and failed, the trail was cold. Yeah, they’d found the one ticket that had really been used, they even found a redcap who had seen her get in a cab at the airport but after that???? A needle in a haystack. They’d checked every airport and bus line within 100 miles. Nothing.
For 6 months he had thought that nothing would come of it…..yes, she was unfinished business, yes, they were still looking, they would always look, because she knew too much, and eventually they’d get her but …it was OK. And then her. That damn investigative reporter.
And that made Big Tony even angrier, because his idiot son hadn’t learned a friggin thing.
When the woman had come asking questions, questions that indicated that she knew something, when they’d found out she was a friggin investigative reporter from the same area that Teri kid was from, all Little Tony had to do was come to him, and he’d have brought the pro in first thing. But what does the idiot do? Tries to fix it all by himself.
‘Damn, you’d think he’d of figured out that if he was bright enough to fix it all by himself, he never would have broken it in the first place.’
So instead of calling Big Tony, instead of maybe calling in the pro himself, what does little Tony do? Gets a couple of his boys to work the woman over, that’s what. What do these two know about getting information from someone? Nothing. The friggin ham-handed oafs damn near kill her, without getting squat from her. Now the pro says it’ll take longer, be more expensive, and Big Tony can understand that, it’s not like you can squeeze her hard now, she’ll just friggin die.
So because little Tony is an idiot, there is now more risk, and more expense handling this Teri situation.
In disgust, Big Tony again took out the picture of Teri Johnson. ‘Well I hope my idiot son enjoyed you, cause you're damn sure gonna cost us enough.’ And there would be even more expense, he knew, when they finally did get her location. It’d probably be out West somewhere. ‘I’d make the idiot go kill her himself, but he’d probably screw that up too…’
And what made Big Tony REALLY unhappy, was that he couldn’t do a damn thing about being unhappy, he had to wait for other people to do their thing…..and that angered him even more.
All of the people who worked for Big Tony knew enough to tread lightly, not to give Big Tony any reason to be angry with them. Because Big Toney usually got over his anger by killing someone, or at least in the last couple of decades, by having someone kill them for him. But Big Tony was frustrated now, because he really couldn’t do that. Even if he really was angry enough, even if he had seriously thought about killing the one responsible, even Big Tony feared someone, and he knew that Mrs. Diglio would be most upset if he had Little Tony wacked.
‘I spoiled that damn kid,’ he thought. ‘She did too, ….hell, the whole damn family had spoiled Little Tony.’ Not just the family, but the whole organization…because Little Tony had always been the heir apparent, the next capo…., except the boy was an idiot.
Big Tony didn’t mind that the boy had helped himself to the goods…..Hell, even Big Tony did that sometimes, at least when Mrs. Diglio was back in the old country, visiting her relatives. What Big Tony minded was that the boy was an idiot.
It had been bad enough that Little Tony had let the goods outsmart him….use his own friggin credit cards to buy a ticket….buy a lot of tickets to get away. Even then if the boy had just told Big Tony, even then they might have gotten enough people looking to catch her, but by the time he tried with just his men…and failed, the trail was cold. Yeah, they’d found the one ticket that had really been used, they even found a redcap who had seen her get in a cab at the airport but after that???? A needle in a haystack. They’d checked every airport and bus line within 100 miles. Nothing.
For 6 months he had thought that nothing would come of it…..yes, she was unfinished business, yes, they were still looking, they would always look, because she knew too much, and eventually they’d get her but …it was OK. And then her. That damn investigative reporter.
And that made Big Tony even angrier, because his idiot son hadn’t learned a friggin thing.
When the woman had come asking questions, questions that indicated that she knew something, when they’d found out she was a friggin investigative reporter from the same area that Teri kid was from, all Little Tony had to do was come to him, and he’d have brought the pro in first thing. But what does the idiot do? Tries to fix it all by himself.
‘Damn, you’d think he’d of figured out that if he was bright enough to fix it all by himself, he never would have broken it in the first place.’
So instead of calling Big Tony, instead of maybe calling in the pro himself, what does little Tony do? Gets a couple of his boys to work the woman over, that’s what. What do these two know about getting information from someone? Nothing. The friggin ham-handed oafs damn near kill her, without getting squat from her. Now the pro says it’ll take longer, be more expensive, and Big Tony can understand that, it’s not like you can squeeze her hard now, she’ll just friggin die.
So because little Tony is an idiot, there is now more risk, and more expense handling this Teri situation.
In disgust, Big Tony again took out the picture of Teri Johnson. ‘Well I hope my idiot son enjoyed you, cause you're damn sure gonna cost us enough.’ And there would be even more expense, he knew, when they finally did get her location. It’d probably be out West somewhere. ‘I’d make the idiot go kill her himself, but he’d probably screw that up too…’
Alex was resting comfortably in a dreamless sleep….dreamless because he had as yet no real context for his dreams. In fact, he didn’t have any long term memories worth mentioning, and frighteningly little short term memory. But he didn’t really need it.
He was quite content, most of the time, and even when he was agitated, he wasn’t very agitated, and what few irritations he did have, he would quickly forget. He slept the sleep of the innocent…..in total contentment.
He was quite content, most of the time, and even when he was agitated, he wasn’t very agitated, and what few irritations he did have, he would quickly forget. He slept the sleep of the innocent…..in total contentment.
He called himself Tony D.
He also made sure that all those who worked for him called him Tony D., and they did too, if they thought he was around. But most of the family, most of the organization, called him Little Tony. In fact, even most of Tony D.'s men called him Little Tony when they could get away with it. He despised the name...he'd hated living all these years in the shadow of his father. That's why he wouldn't let anyone who worked for him call him that. They knew he despised the name too, that's why they called him Little Tony behind his back.
Tony D. knew he was in trouble. When that Teri girl had drugged him and run off, that had put the whole organization at risk. While Big Tony could protect him against local problems, the organization was bigger than Big Tony, bigger than New York and Jersey even. It was all the girl's fault, he thought... and maybe his because he was such a wonderful guy. 'Bring me a bottle of Chianti and we'll party, she said. Next fuckin party I have with that bitch, I'll cut her fuckin heart out,' he thought. And he would too, if he managed to find her.
While his current position in the organization was largely due to Big Tony's influence, or more accurately, Mrs. Diglio's influence on Big Tony, Tony D. wasn't without certain attributes, including a feral cunning and viciousness that helped him in his early career. His biggest problem was that he was now about two steps in the organization above the level he could really function effectively. He simply lacked the smarts to be doing what he was doing, and everyone knew it, with the possible exceptions of Little Tony and his mother.
But what he was doing right now was worrying.....worrying about that damn reporter woman. He couldn't believe she hadn't talked when he used the cigar on her. Man the smell of burning flesh had almost made him lose his Pasta Fagioli. And when that hadn't worked, he'd had Guido and Sam beat her face to a bloody pulp, and still that bitch hadn't given them a thing. He would have killed her just then for pissing him off so much, but Big Tony had butted in.. '..on my turf. MY turf...' and brought in the Hungarian or Rumanian or whatever the hell he was. 'If he's so damn good, why hasn't he got something by now? He's had her for two days.....'
Tony D. hated depending on other people, but he particularly hated these damn foreigners....
He also made sure that all those who worked for him called him Tony D., and they did too, if they thought he was around. But most of the family, most of the organization, called him Little Tony. In fact, even most of Tony D.'s men called him Little Tony when they could get away with it. He despised the name...he'd hated living all these years in the shadow of his father. That's why he wouldn't let anyone who worked for him call him that. They knew he despised the name too, that's why they called him Little Tony behind his back.
Tony D. knew he was in trouble. When that Teri girl had drugged him and run off, that had put the whole organization at risk. While Big Tony could protect him against local problems, the organization was bigger than Big Tony, bigger than New York and Jersey even. It was all the girl's fault, he thought... and maybe his because he was such a wonderful guy. 'Bring me a bottle of Chianti and we'll party, she said. Next fuckin party I have with that bitch, I'll cut her fuckin heart out,' he thought. And he would too, if he managed to find her.
While his current position in the organization was largely due to Big Tony's influence, or more accurately, Mrs. Diglio's influence on Big Tony, Tony D. wasn't without certain attributes, including a feral cunning and viciousness that helped him in his early career. His biggest problem was that he was now about two steps in the organization above the level he could really function effectively. He simply lacked the smarts to be doing what he was doing, and everyone knew it, with the possible exceptions of Little Tony and his mother.
But what he was doing right now was worrying.....worrying about that damn reporter woman. He couldn't believe she hadn't talked when he used the cigar on her. Man the smell of burning flesh had almost made him lose his Pasta Fagioli. And when that hadn't worked, he'd had Guido and Sam beat her face to a bloody pulp, and still that bitch hadn't given them a thing. He would have killed her just then for pissing him off so much, but Big Tony had butted in.. '..on my turf. MY turf...' and brought in the Hungarian or Rumanian or whatever the hell he was. 'If he's so damn good, why hasn't he got something by now? He's had her for two days.....'
Tony D. hated depending on other people, but he particularly hated these damn foreigners....
“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the voice over the aircraft PA system, “Please check to make sure your trays are stowed and your seatbacks are in the full upright position. We are on an extended final to Boston’s Logan airport and should be at the gate in five minutes or so. It is currently 11:40 PM Eastern Standard time.”
Maria looked at Michael, peacefully snoring in the seat next to her, and realized again what a lucky woman she was. There he was, not just with her but….still so very much in love with her.
And that was doubly rare, amongst the Hollywood crowd.
First because she really wasn’t the current Hollywood type. Oh, 60 or 70 years ago, the full face and pouty lips had been in vogue. No more. Michael’s days were filled with dealing with one hopeful young starlet after another, most wasp-waisted and looking almost like street waifs…or refugees from some internment camp. But people loved them, even if they never looked like they’d had a decent meal in their entire lives. And she was anything but that, her figure fuller, more womanly than waifish….and Michael loved her that way.
Second…and making her equally happier, was that he had never strayed...not once….something that truly was not the Hollywood norm.
Kal Langley had been true to his word, Michael did get a couple of pretty good movie parts, before he decided that he would enjoy directing more than acting. And he had been good at that, good enough that they’d done quite well economically. Her singing had made a little money too, but while the people who liked her singing really liked it, most liked pop stuff that she didn’t. It was clearly Michael that was the economic success.
And with that success, in Hollywood, came wave after wave of hungry young starlets….anyone who thought the ‘casting couch’ had gone out of style was naïve…..except when it came to Michael. During their ‘intimate moments’ Maria had seen flashes of young desirable starlets trying to seduce Michael, felt what he felt when he saw them…..He’d talked to her about it seriously a couple of times….he wanted out. He wanted to work one more year, cash in their chips, and go back to Roswell. ‘I want to be around real people, Jim and Amy, the Evans’s and the Parkers….I want us to have a home where people still care about people….where they don’t all climb all over each other trying to get ahead….I want to have some kids….'
So that was the plan. He was going to finish up the two works he had going, …that’d take about a year, then he would work as a consultant a little, she’d still make her recordings, …but they’d go home. ‘Home…how good that sounds. Especially for two kids who had once overcome their fear of each other by agreeing that ....there had to be someplace better than Roswell....’
She was anxious to tell Liz, Ava, and Isabel the news.
The foursome tried to get together as often as possible, usually about 6 times a year. At first it had been to check to see if Kal Langley’s deal with the federal government was holding. Deal…that was Hollywood talk for blackmail.
The FBI Special Unit had crossed the line with the pod squad when they went after the parents, but they had crossed the line many times before that it turned out. They’d discovered that when they had the shootout in California, when Rath had died, Lonnie had been…vivisected to death….and they’d adopted Ava into the surviving Roswell group.
With the recovered FBI records from the California facility it was obvious that those xenophobic homicidal bastards had tortured many people to death…and very few were aliens, just harmless nuts who probably HAD actually seen a weather balloon or swamp gas or…whatever.
Kal Langley had used all of the records to put together a professionally produced documentary and sent advance DVDs to the President and the senior politicians in both parties, threatening to flood the market with them if the four surviving aliens were ever harmed, and play it in streaming video on the internet as well. They’d gone into apoplexy, denying any knowledge but Kal had made it clear…..you fund psychotic killers for 60 years….give them guns and badges,,,,and provide no meaningful oversight….you’ve bought their crimes.
And the politicians knew Kal was right…and they knew he had them in the court of public opinion, the only court that really mattered to them. The Special Unit was disbanded, convicted of whatever crimes they could be proven to have committed, and the four surviving aliens and their families had been left alone. The truce had held….and was still holding, which was one of the reason that they could safely contemplate starting a family. Still, the tradition had gotten started of getting together to compare notes…and it had continued. You couldn’t be too careful.
This time, the get together was in Boston, or rather at Isabel and Jesse’s place in Wellesley. It’d be an easy trip for Liz and Max, her working on her PhD at Harvard…him in his junior year of medical school there. Ava and Kyle had flown out earlier in the day from Albuquerque where Kyle was a deputy sheriff, Ava an elementary school teacher. The Guerin’s on this occasion, would be the late arrivals, on the red eye special from LAX. She and Michael had hosted the previous one in Hollywood, Kyle and Ava the one before that. This was business as well as pleasure for Maria, since she would have a day of recording in New York as well. Maria,Liz, and Ava had tickets for the Acela train on Saturday and would overnight in New York City, Maria doing her recordings while the others took time to do a little shopping in the Big Apple. Isabel was staying home with the kids, while the guys…..well, Jesse had become a full partner in the Law Practice…..Langtree, Watkins and Sullivan had a luxury box for their clients at all the Patriot home games, and Jesse was taking the guys to the game in style. Maria felt sorry for Isabel not coming along to the Big Apple, but they’d just be gone for 28 hours out of the five days….and they’d be back quick.
As the plane pulled up to the Jetway Maria woke Michael. As they went to leave, one of the stewardesses who’d been ever so attentive to the big Hollywood director rushed up the Jetway with a note with her name, phone number, address……and vital statistics. She said if there was anything she could do for him while he was in Boston….anything at all, he had only to call. Michael looked at her and she rolled her eyes heavenward. He smiled politely and took the woman’s note. As he walked up the Jetway, Maria heard him mutter, ‘I can’t get back to Roswell quick enough…’
Maria looked at Michael, peacefully snoring in the seat next to her, and realized again what a lucky woman she was. There he was, not just with her but….still so very much in love with her.
And that was doubly rare, amongst the Hollywood crowd.
First because she really wasn’t the current Hollywood type. Oh, 60 or 70 years ago, the full face and pouty lips had been in vogue. No more. Michael’s days were filled with dealing with one hopeful young starlet after another, most wasp-waisted and looking almost like street waifs…or refugees from some internment camp. But people loved them, even if they never looked like they’d had a decent meal in their entire lives. And she was anything but that, her figure fuller, more womanly than waifish….and Michael loved her that way.
Second…and making her equally happier, was that he had never strayed...not once….something that truly was not the Hollywood norm.
Kal Langley had been true to his word, Michael did get a couple of pretty good movie parts, before he decided that he would enjoy directing more than acting. And he had been good at that, good enough that they’d done quite well economically. Her singing had made a little money too, but while the people who liked her singing really liked it, most liked pop stuff that she didn’t. It was clearly Michael that was the economic success.
And with that success, in Hollywood, came wave after wave of hungry young starlets….anyone who thought the ‘casting couch’ had gone out of style was naïve…..except when it came to Michael. During their ‘intimate moments’ Maria had seen flashes of young desirable starlets trying to seduce Michael, felt what he felt when he saw them…..He’d talked to her about it seriously a couple of times….he wanted out. He wanted to work one more year, cash in their chips, and go back to Roswell. ‘I want to be around real people, Jim and Amy, the Evans’s and the Parkers….I want us to have a home where people still care about people….where they don’t all climb all over each other trying to get ahead….I want to have some kids….'
So that was the plan. He was going to finish up the two works he had going, …that’d take about a year, then he would work as a consultant a little, she’d still make her recordings, …but they’d go home. ‘Home…how good that sounds. Especially for two kids who had once overcome their fear of each other by agreeing that ....there had to be someplace better than Roswell....’
She was anxious to tell Liz, Ava, and Isabel the news.
The foursome tried to get together as often as possible, usually about 6 times a year. At first it had been to check to see if Kal Langley’s deal with the federal government was holding. Deal…that was Hollywood talk for blackmail.
The FBI Special Unit had crossed the line with the pod squad when they went after the parents, but they had crossed the line many times before that it turned out. They’d discovered that when they had the shootout in California, when Rath had died, Lonnie had been…vivisected to death….and they’d adopted Ava into the surviving Roswell group.
With the recovered FBI records from the California facility it was obvious that those xenophobic homicidal bastards had tortured many people to death…and very few were aliens, just harmless nuts who probably HAD actually seen a weather balloon or swamp gas or…whatever.
Kal Langley had used all of the records to put together a professionally produced documentary and sent advance DVDs to the President and the senior politicians in both parties, threatening to flood the market with them if the four surviving aliens were ever harmed, and play it in streaming video on the internet as well. They’d gone into apoplexy, denying any knowledge but Kal had made it clear…..you fund psychotic killers for 60 years….give them guns and badges,,,,and provide no meaningful oversight….you’ve bought their crimes.
And the politicians knew Kal was right…and they knew he had them in the court of public opinion, the only court that really mattered to them. The Special Unit was disbanded, convicted of whatever crimes they could be proven to have committed, and the four surviving aliens and their families had been left alone. The truce had held….and was still holding, which was one of the reason that they could safely contemplate starting a family. Still, the tradition had gotten started of getting together to compare notes…and it had continued. You couldn’t be too careful.
This time, the get together was in Boston, or rather at Isabel and Jesse’s place in Wellesley. It’d be an easy trip for Liz and Max, her working on her PhD at Harvard…him in his junior year of medical school there. Ava and Kyle had flown out earlier in the day from Albuquerque where Kyle was a deputy sheriff, Ava an elementary school teacher. The Guerin’s on this occasion, would be the late arrivals, on the red eye special from LAX. She and Michael had hosted the previous one in Hollywood, Kyle and Ava the one before that. This was business as well as pleasure for Maria, since she would have a day of recording in New York as well. Maria,Liz, and Ava had tickets for the Acela train on Saturday and would overnight in New York City, Maria doing her recordings while the others took time to do a little shopping in the Big Apple. Isabel was staying home with the kids, while the guys…..well, Jesse had become a full partner in the Law Practice…..Langtree, Watkins and Sullivan had a luxury box for their clients at all the Patriot home games, and Jesse was taking the guys to the game in style. Maria felt sorry for Isabel not coming along to the Big Apple, but they’d just be gone for 28 hours out of the five days….and they’d be back quick.
As the plane pulled up to the Jetway Maria woke Michael. As they went to leave, one of the stewardesses who’d been ever so attentive to the big Hollywood director rushed up the Jetway with a note with her name, phone number, address……and vital statistics. She said if there was anything she could do for him while he was in Boston….anything at all, he had only to call. Michael looked at her and she rolled her eyes heavenward. He smiled politely and took the woman’s note. As he walked up the Jetway, Maria heard him mutter, ‘I can’t get back to Roswell quick enough…’
Nila Spence started to calm down. It had been at least an hour, nothing had happened, just the music in the background, the darkness under the hood, and the aching pain in her shoulder joints, like they were about to be pulled out of the sockets.....but that was far better than she'd expected.
'Maybe the son of a bitch is sleeping..,' she thought. 'Even a monster has to sleep sometime,' she told herself hopefully. Gradually she started to relax......
As the stun gun electrodes touched her abdomen 750,000 volts poured into Nila Spence's body. The amperage was low, it wouldn't kill her, but it would and did convulse every muscle in her body. As her legs convulsed she was no longer able to support herself, so in addition to the pain from the gun itself she partially dislocated her right shoulder briefly tearing partway through the rotator cuff, the pain not abating as it popped back into the socket seconds later propelled by spasms in the deltoid.
The soft voice next to her right ear said, "I see you are back with us, Ms. Spence. Did you have a nice nap?"
Radoslav Stoyanov kept careful track of his work. Nila Spence was now entering her 40th hour without meaningful sleep. She was indeed a stubborn client, and had earned his respect. It was a pity, really, that those thugs had brutalized her. If he'd been called in to begin with she would have talked by now, the Teri-person would have been captured or killed, perhaps Ms. Spence would not even have to die. But since she saw that ne kulturny bastard, he had no doubt they'd kill her regardless.
A pity, he thought. The same thing happened to the Revolution in Bulgaria, ..the competent leader's nepotism sapping the Socialist state of it's vigor by trying to pass on their power to their spoiled offspring, rather than keeping the Revolution a meritocracy. Yes, Radoslav had seen it before....but it was not his problem. He had a contract, he was being well paid, and he was a professional....
He looked closely at the sack over the head of the reporter....the trigeminal nerve should be under....there.
Nila Spence felt the world explode below her left eye as the stun gun electrodes arced through the sack just under her left cheek. The pain was beyond words for long minutes, before decreasing to a point approximating having a red hot poker shoved into her face.......but it didn't matter to Nila Spence, for she was no longer there. She was locked back in the room in her mind, convulsing with fear, waiting in terror for the door to open again.........
'Maybe the son of a bitch is sleeping..,' she thought. 'Even a monster has to sleep sometime,' she told herself hopefully. Gradually she started to relax......
As the stun gun electrodes touched her abdomen 750,000 volts poured into Nila Spence's body. The amperage was low, it wouldn't kill her, but it would and did convulse every muscle in her body. As her legs convulsed she was no longer able to support herself, so in addition to the pain from the gun itself she partially dislocated her right shoulder briefly tearing partway through the rotator cuff, the pain not abating as it popped back into the socket seconds later propelled by spasms in the deltoid.
The soft voice next to her right ear said, "I see you are back with us, Ms. Spence. Did you have a nice nap?"
Radoslav Stoyanov kept careful track of his work. Nila Spence was now entering her 40th hour without meaningful sleep. She was indeed a stubborn client, and had earned his respect. It was a pity, really, that those thugs had brutalized her. If he'd been called in to begin with she would have talked by now, the Teri-person would have been captured or killed, perhaps Ms. Spence would not even have to die. But since she saw that ne kulturny bastard, he had no doubt they'd kill her regardless.
A pity, he thought. The same thing happened to the Revolution in Bulgaria, ..the competent leader's nepotism sapping the Socialist state of it's vigor by trying to pass on their power to their spoiled offspring, rather than keeping the Revolution a meritocracy. Yes, Radoslav had seen it before....but it was not his problem. He had a contract, he was being well paid, and he was a professional....
He looked closely at the sack over the head of the reporter....the trigeminal nerve should be under....there.
Nila Spence felt the world explode below her left eye as the stun gun electrodes arced through the sack just under her left cheek. The pain was beyond words for long minutes, before decreasing to a point approximating having a red hot poker shoved into her face.......but it didn't matter to Nila Spence, for she was no longer there. She was locked back in the room in her mind, convulsing with fear, waiting in terror for the door to open again.........
As Michael and Maria reached the top of the Jetway they saw three smiling people, Liz, Max, and Ava. Liz and Ava hugged Maria, Michael shook hands with Max, and they all started moving toward baggage claim. There were few people traveling that late that night, and they soon found themselves walking down the corridor alone.
“I was really surprised,” said Maria. “I wasn’t expecting you until we came out of security. I didn’t think they allowed people to meet you at the gate itself anymore.”
“I just showed them our TSA security badges, and they waved us right through, Maria,” replied Ava.
“I thought you were working for the Albuquerque school district,” said Maria. “When did you start to work for TSA?”
Ava smiled and looked indulgently at Maria, as Michael looked at her and rolled his eyes skyward. “Oh…….” She smiled back and rolled her eyes, ‘I get it…you mindwarped security…’
“Well where’s Kyle?”
“He’s in orbit sort of….driving the car around and around until we can get out in front of baggage claim to be picked up. Once you get your luggage we’ll give him a call on the cell phone, and he’ll catch us on the next time around.”
“Well how’s school going you two,” asked Michael.
“Liz got her Master’s 6 months ago, ought to be getting her PhD about the time I graduate from Medical School. She’s going to try to get a faculty appointment somewhere in the Southwest, Albuquerque or Phoenix if possible, so she can do her research but we can be close to home. I’ll do a residency wherever she gets her appointment.”
“So how’s med school going? I thought that the third year was all clerkships, on duty nights, delivering babies, all that sort of stuff.”
“Well Michael, usually it is, but this 6 weeks I’m rotating on Dermatology….it’s kind of an easy rotation, no nights, no weekends, no on-call. And it’s only about eight hours a day during the week. Not like surgery or internal medicine, where you work 14 hour days 6 days a week, and every third night as well.”
“Is it difficult those 40 hours?”
“Not really, Michael. There’s an old saying in dermatology, if the skin looks wet, dry it out, if it looks dry, moisten it, and if that doesn’t work use a steroid cream on it. It’s not like there are ever any real dermatologic emergencies.”
“So are you and Liz staying out at Isabel and Jesse’s place?”
“Naw, we just came to meet you guys. When we get back to their house we’ll just get in our car and go back to married Graduate student housing on Holden Green,….or as the occupants call it, the fertile crescent.”
Maria looked with envy at the small bulges in the lower abdomens of both Liz and Ava. Michael was right. She could just picture the reaction of her Mom and Jim Valenti when and if Michael and she announced to them their impending grandparenthood. ‘Michael is right, that day couldn’t come quickly enough.’
In fact, she had just decided that they really didn’t have to wait until they were back home to start the family, just as long as they got there in time for the delivery. In her mind she mentally advanced the clock for motherhood by six months, a satisfied smile coming to her face.
“I was really surprised,” said Maria. “I wasn’t expecting you until we came out of security. I didn’t think they allowed people to meet you at the gate itself anymore.”
“I just showed them our TSA security badges, and they waved us right through, Maria,” replied Ava.
“I thought you were working for the Albuquerque school district,” said Maria. “When did you start to work for TSA?”
Ava smiled and looked indulgently at Maria, as Michael looked at her and rolled his eyes skyward. “Oh…….” She smiled back and rolled her eyes, ‘I get it…you mindwarped security…’
“Well where’s Kyle?”
“He’s in orbit sort of….driving the car around and around until we can get out in front of baggage claim to be picked up. Once you get your luggage we’ll give him a call on the cell phone, and he’ll catch us on the next time around.”
“Well how’s school going you two,” asked Michael.
“Liz got her Master’s 6 months ago, ought to be getting her PhD about the time I graduate from Medical School. She’s going to try to get a faculty appointment somewhere in the Southwest, Albuquerque or Phoenix if possible, so she can do her research but we can be close to home. I’ll do a residency wherever she gets her appointment.”
“So how’s med school going? I thought that the third year was all clerkships, on duty nights, delivering babies, all that sort of stuff.”
“Well Michael, usually it is, but this 6 weeks I’m rotating on Dermatology….it’s kind of an easy rotation, no nights, no weekends, no on-call. And it’s only about eight hours a day during the week. Not like surgery or internal medicine, where you work 14 hour days 6 days a week, and every third night as well.”
“Is it difficult those 40 hours?”
“Not really, Michael. There’s an old saying in dermatology, if the skin looks wet, dry it out, if it looks dry, moisten it, and if that doesn’t work use a steroid cream on it. It’s not like there are ever any real dermatologic emergencies.”
“So are you and Liz staying out at Isabel and Jesse’s place?”
“Naw, we just came to meet you guys. When we get back to their house we’ll just get in our car and go back to married Graduate student housing on Holden Green,….or as the occupants call it, the fertile crescent.”
Maria looked with envy at the small bulges in the lower abdomens of both Liz and Ava. Michael was right. She could just picture the reaction of her Mom and Jim Valenti when and if Michael and she announced to them their impending grandparenthood. ‘Michael is right, that day couldn’t come quickly enough.’
In fact, she had just decided that they really didn’t have to wait until they were back home to start the family, just as long as they got there in time for the delivery. In her mind she mentally advanced the clock for motherhood by six months, a satisfied smile coming to her face.