Re: Birthright *Series* (CC, TEEN), Chapter 17, 11/21
Posted: Sun Dec 05, 2010 3:45 pm
Hello and thank you to everyone reading!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
November 12, 1999, 8 a.m.
West Roswell High School
"Kathleen! Wait up!"
Kathleen Topolsky came to a halt in the school hallway as Steven Sommers, West Roswell's version of the tweedy history professor, puffed after her. "I missed you yesterday," Sommers said, catching up with her. "Are you feeling better?"
"Much," Topolsky smiled. "Thanks for asking."
"I just wanted to thank you again for that exercise you put together for me," Sommers said. "I actually enjoyed grading papers last night."
"My pleasure, Steve."
"I thought maybe you'd like to see the results," he continued. "Perhaps we could get together later and go over them? Maybe hit the Crashdown, get a bite to eat....that sort of thing?"
Topolsky stifled a smile at the eagerness in Sommers' voice. She'd been interested in the results when she'd first proposed the exercise, but given yesterday's events, it was hardly necessary to go rooting through some two-bit history assignment to find out that Max Evans wasn't who he said he was. "It's just that I know how seriously you take your work," Sommers rushed on, "and your questions were so insightful that I figured they'd help out with your counseling."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Topolsky said. "I'm delighted it worked out for you, but I already know my kids pretty well."
"Okay, then....how about just the bite to eat?" Sommers suggested hopefully.
"Maybe some other time," Topolsky said gently. "But I appreciate the offer. Really."
Sommers' face fell. "Right. Well....thanks again."
"Any time, Steve."
Topolsky continued her trek to her office, greeting no less than a dozen students and three faculty members on the way. There was a "get well" card on her desk signed by the office staff, along with two others from students and one from a janitor. Maybe I missed my calling, she thought, sinking down into her chair. Everyone seemed to think she was such a boffo guidance counselor. It was weird to listen to Agent Stevens' tirades and then come here and get high-fived at every turn. He'd been somewhat mollified when he'd learned they'd retrieved what the kids had taken from Atherton's house despite the fact that the pile of papers had proven to be of no more value than the rest of Atherton's stash. She'd been privately hoping that Max had managed to walk off with something valuable, but no dice. Still, he'd made a very telling move, and she'd followed him, something she'd been at pains to point out to Stevens per Moss' advice. Stevens hadn't responded, but he also hadn't yelled, and Moss had warned her not to let the lack of a response deter her. "Keep saying it," he'd told her. "Men don't feel obligated to acknowledge they've heard something the way women do." Good advice, even if he did have a crush on her.
A knock sounded on the door. "Who is it?" Topolsky called.
The door opened slightly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Valenti. Topolsky plastered a smile on her face as she faced yet another problematic male in her life, this one higher on the list. "Of course not, sheriff. You're always welcome. So, what can I do for you?"
"I just needed your assistance on a small matter," Valenti said, hat in hand.
"Certainly. What is it?"
"There was a....a break-in at Max and Isabel Evans' house yesterday."
"I hope no one was hurt," Topolsky said.
"No. No one was home when it happened. And I was just wondering if you could tell me......"
Topolsky smiled faintly. "My whereabouts, sheriff?"
The sheriff returned her smile. "Of course not. No, I was just curious if there'd been any trouble with any of the students here at the school."
Topolsky made a show of considering for a moment. "I don't know of any of my kids who would do anything like that," she replied. Unless you count breaking and entering in another state, she added silently. Then she could finger a handful.
"Right," Valenti said. "Well, it's just a thought. I know you keep a close eye on your students here."
"That's my job," Topolsky agreed.
"I can see you're a person who takes their work seriously," Valenti continued. "Take it home with you. Take it on the road with you. I woke up with one hell of a headache."
Topolsky felt her stomach clutch. "Must've had your head in the wrong place," she said in what she hoped was a light-hearted tone.
"Yeah, must've," Valenti agreed. He tipped his hat. "Ms. Topolsky."
Topolsky remained at her desk, pen poised over paper, unmoving for the next five minutes, partly in case Valenti returned....and partly because she was terrified. What in blazes had that been about? The sheriff's tone had been casual, but the wording....was it possible he'd seen her? No! she thought fiercely. He'd been out cold. She was sure of that. She'd checked. But then why the comment about taking her work on the road? Why the reference to a headache? Perhaps he'd seen something, but not enough to identify his assailant and was fishing for a reaction? And I gave him one, she thought despairingly. Why, oh why, had she made that reference to the "wrong place"? She should have asked him if he'd slept poorly, or had some kind of stress in his life, or even if he'd tied one on last night, all perfectly logical counseling questions, but here she'd gone and dropped a breadcrumb. Idiot! she chastised herself, vaulting out of her chair and pacing the room. If Valenti knew she'd been out there, she was screwed. Not only would she be pulled back to Santa Fe, she'd be on desk duty for the rest of her career, and that was if she was lucky; if she was unlucky, she'd be emptying wastebaskets. There were simply too many people in the Unit who would be delighted to see their first and only female agent fall flat on her face, and the fact that she would have been brought down by a Valenti would only add insult to injury. Not this time, she thought fiercely. This time it was a different Valenti, and she was a different kind of agent. This time, things would be different.
A moment later, she was on the phone. Moss picked up immediately.
"I need all the information you can get on Valenti and his father, and I need it ASAP."
"How am I supposed to do that and tail the kids?" Moss asked.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, they're in school all day," Topolsky said impatiently.
"Not Guerin," Moss chuckled.
"Then let Butler babysit him," Topolsky said. "I can't do it myself. I need Bureau information, and if it comes from me, they'll ask questions."
"They'll ask questions if it comes from me too," Moss pointed out.
"Then tell them you need it because you're keeping an eye on the sheriff," Topolsky argued. "Please, Pete. For me."
There was a pause. "All right, then....'Kathy'. I'll have it for you before school's over."
Topolsky closed her eyes in relief. "Thanks. I won't forget this."
"Neither will I," Moss assured her.
Topolsky hung up the phone, marginally calmer now. She needed every scrap of information on Valenti she could get to formulate a strategy should he discover who she really was. A fellow agent's crush was a small price to pay to get what she wanted.
*****************************************************
The Dunes Motel,
Carlsbad, New Mexico
Room 210 was on the upper level of the dingy motel, and Daniel Pierce grimaced as he climbed the staircase, stepping around piles of something or other as he did so. It had taken Brian several days of digging and himself several hours of driving to get to this point, and now they'd find out if their information pipeline was as good as it had been, so many things having changed since Summers' death, none of them for the better. He knocked on the door, and waited. Not long, as it turned out, because it was clear from the look on the occupant's face that he hadn't been expected.
"What the hell are you doin' here?"
"Hello, Hub—"
"Don't call me that."
"Hello, Everett," Pierce corrected. "Nice to see you, too."
"How'd you find me?" Hubble demanded.
"Let me in, and I'll tell you."
"And why would I do that? You broke faith, young man. We had an arrangement, and you altered the terms of that arrangement with nary a word to me."
"I didn't alter a thing," Pierce countered. "Agent Summers was murdered—"
"I know that. You think I don't know that?"
"Then you know I should have immediately been appointed his successor," Pierce said. "But I wasn't. The Bureau's newest director wasn't pleased to discover the Unit operating right under his nose, and he's having a bit of a tantrum."
"And you couldn't tell me this? You just disappeared, and took my stipend with you."
"I've deposited at least a small amount in your account every single month," Pierce protested, "and right out of my own paycheck."
"Damned right it's 'small'," Hubble declared. "I depend on my income from the Unit to fund my work. Can't hold down a regular job with all the hours I'm on the road. You know that."
"Of course I know that—"
"Then why didn't you tell me what happened?"
"Because I didn't think it would last this long," Pierce said. "I'm sorry. It was a mistake."
"A mistake?" Hubble echoed. "A 'mistake'? No, son, a 'mistake' is when you can't balance your checkbook. This wasn't a 'mistake', it was 'abandonment'."
"Always the drama queen," Pierce sighed. "Are you even the least bit interested in what brought me here, or should I leave?"
"Do I get my stipend?"
"Since when is money more important to you than information?"
"Since you stopped payin' me," Hubble retorted. "You see this place? It's a dump. Didn't used to have to stay in dumps. Didn't stay at the Ritz either, but at least they weren't dumps. Pony up, or I shut this dump's door in your face."
"Fine, I'll give you the full amount for this month," Pierce said impatiently.
"And back pay."
"No can do. I don't have that kind of cash. Wait!" Pierce exclaimed when Hubble tried to close the door. "Look, we've had a working deal for a decade now: We give you intel you wouldn't otherwise have, and you sniff around where it's harder for us to go. But we all got screwed when Summers died, and that includes you. What makes you think you're untouchable? You wanted in the game, but being in that game means you get knocked around sometimes. Sucks for all of us, but them's the breaks. So stop bitching, and take what you can get."
"For what?" Hubble demanded. "What exactly would I be tradin' five months salary for?"
"Like I'm just going to dump it in your lap," Pierce chuckled.
"You're sure as hell going to dump somethin' in my lap, or I have no reason at all to even consider your 'generous' offer," Hubble said.
"Do you want to know about current alien activity in Roswell, or not?" Pierce demanded.
"You must need me, or you wouldn't be here," Hubble countered. "Do you want my help, or not?"
Pierce hesitated, framing his answer carefully. It had to be enough to pique Hubble's interest, but not enough to give away the farm. Not yet.
"It's another handprint," he said. "Only this one didn't kill."
"Bullshit," Hubble declared. "Jesus, what kind of an idiot do you take me for? They always kill."
"Not this time. Not according to Jimmy."
"Jimmy? You mean Jim's Jimmy?"
"James Valenti Jr., current sheriff in Roswell. He's the one who called it in. Now may I come in?"
The pause which followed went on for so long that Pierce was beginning to think he'd have to force his way in, but at length, Hubble stepped back.
"Don't make me regret this."
Pierce held his tongue, crossing the threshold quickly before Hubble changed his mind. The interior was in better shape than the exterior, which admittedly wasn't saying much. "This is better than I thought," he remarked, glancing at the semi-ancient fixtures in the bathroom. "Does the toilet actually flush?"
"Very funny. At least it's second floor. Cuts down on the ants comin' in off the parkin' lot. Start talkin'."
"First things first," Pierce said firmly. "No back pay. Are we clear?"
"And liftin' a finger means full pay in addition to this month's pay, which is just for hearin' you out."
"Deal," Pierce answered.
Hubble's face registered a modicum of surprise, as though he'd expected a much tougher fight. "So what'cha got there, Danny?" he asked, sinking down in the room's one chair, making Pierce sit on the bed. "Must be pretty good if you cave that fast."
"I already told you what 'I got'. It's a handprint that didn't kill."
"No, what've you really got. That was just a cockamamie story to get my attention, and a crappy one too because you know I know better."
"And since I know you know better, what would be the point of even using it? It's no story, Everett. I've got a handprint that didn't kill. First time. Pretty cool, huh?"
Hubble eyed him in suspicious silence for a moment, as though afraid he was being taken for a ride. "I'm listenin'," he said warily.
"September, this year," Pierce said. "A waitress was shot during an altercation between customers in a diner in Roswell. Witnesses reported that a teenaged boy, a local high school student, bent over her, put his hand on her....and all of a sudden, she wasn't shot. No injuries. The gun definitely went off, but no bullet was ever found."
"And the alibi?"
"Girl said she fell and broke a bottle of ketchup. We did find plenty of ketchup on the uniform, but we also found blood, and a hole that could be a bullet hole."
"Mmhmm," Hubble said doubtfully. " 'Could be'. And since I know the Unit would be all over this if it were an iron clad case, it's pretty clear it's not. You wouldn't be here if this was a slam dunk. What'ya leavin' out?"
"We did find blood on the uniform, but not enough to indicate a gunshot wound. And although there were several witnesses to the shooting, only two said they saw this kid put his hand on her, and those two were Crash Festival Tourists."
"Amateurs," Hubble muttered. "I hate amateurs."
"But Jimmy's no amateur," Pierce said. "The only reason we have the uniform at all is that Jimmy filched it off the waitress and handed it over to his Bureau contact, who's Unit, of course, although Jimmy doesn't know that. And get this—Jimmy's own son reported seeing a silver handprint on the waitress's stomach the day after the shooting."
"Did Jimmy see it?"
Pierce hesitated. "No. It had faded by the time he looked."
"Or was never there to start with. I hate to break it to you, Danny, but you just paid for nothin' 'cos you've got nothin'. Crash Festival tourists? Kids seein' things? That the best you can do?"
"There's blood on the dress," Pierce argued. "Why would there be blood on the dress if this hadn't happened?"
"A more important question is why would an alien want to save a human at all, never mind in public," Hubble said. "These are killers, Danny. You know that. They don't save people. They never have."
"Then why was there blood on the dress?" Pierce demanded. "What the hell happened to the bullet? Why did Jim Valenti contact us? Something's not right here, Everett, something—"
"Somethin' very well not be right, but it doesn't sound like somethin' alien," Hubble broke in. "Honestly, what would Jimmy know about this? He's just as amateur as those tourists. He never believed his old man, not for a second."
"He called us," Pierce insisted. "He swiped the uniform. He worked the case, he's still working the case—"
"And what's the Unit doin'?"
"The Unit is making a show of doing something useful by putting a greenhorn female agent in Roswell," Pierce replied. "She recently called for back-up because the shooting victim lost her diary. 'Nuff said."
"But they put an agent there," Hubble said. "So they did respond, even if they're not tootin' horns like you want them to."
"Kathleen Topolsky is not what I'd call a 'response'," Pierce protested. "And I'm locked in a battle with the Bureau's director, who not only won't install me as Summers' successor, he wants to shut down the Unit entirely. I can't go to Roswell without showing up on the radar—"
"So you want me to go," Hubble said. "I get it. I'm just not gonna do it."
"I said I'd pay you—"
"It's not the money, Danny. You asked me when money became more important to me than information, so now you see it hasn't. I'm just not gonna waste my time on a no go. I'm doing some huntin' of my own."
"Hunting what?"
"Another teenager," Hubble answered. "Uses a Ouija board to cover her tracks, but she's done it once too often."
"Impressive," Pierce deadpanned. "You're picking on my kid with a handprint, and all you've got is a kid with a board game. That the best you can do?"
"Watch your mouth," Hubble said sharply. "I've been trackin' this one all over the southwest for over a year now, her and her so-called 'father', and I've gotta figure out where they've settled now. Got some leads, and I'm not gonna drop all that for some two-bit story from a couple of tourists and a kid who never believed his father. No way." He stood up. "We're done here. Give my best to the Unit, or what's left of it."
"Everett, please," Pierce pleaded. "The Unit isn't pursuing this because they're making the same mistake you are—they're assuming a handprint can't heal, or that an alien would have no reason to heal a human. But what if he does? What if he needs this girl for some experiment, or something? What could possibly make a football player like Kyle Valenti say he saw something as bizarre as a silver handprint if he hadn't actually seen it? How does a jock make up something like that? Why would he even bother? Like I said, something's not right here, and I can't get near the place without jeopardizing the entire Unit. Which Topolsky will no doubt do all on her own, which is why I need you to do the sniffing you do so well before she tips them off." He pulled a roll of papers from his inside suit pocket. "Look it over. At least look it over before you say 'no'."
"I've already said 'no'."
"You might change your mind when you read that."
"And what makes you think I'm gonna read that?"
Pierce smiled faintly. "Because I know you, Hub. You go take your field trip, but you know as well as I do that you won't be able to keep your mitts off that."
"Out," Hubble ordered, holding the motel room door open. "And don't call me 'Hub'."
Pierce shrugged slightly and stepped outside, the door banging closed behind him. That had gone better than he'd expected. If he couldn't go to Roswell himself, Everett Hubble was the next best thing. He gave him a month, maybe two, before he caved.
******************************************************
Artesia, New Mexico
"Can you believe it?" Amanda squealed, literally jumping up and down. "He asked me! He actually asked me! I didn't know what to think after that séance thing we did, and the board said what it said, and I didn't really believe it, but I so wanted to, and I kept hoping, and now he finally asked me, and I just can't believe it, and I don't—"
"Amanda," Tess said firmly, taking her by the shoulders. "Inhale. Please. Before you turn blue and fall over."
Amanda blinked, then obediently sucked in a breath. "You're right," she nodded. "You're right. I'm getting carried away. I'm just so excited!"
"Yeah, I got that part," Tess answered. "But we have to cross the street now, and I'd really rather have you stay in one piece. Can you just hold that thought until we're on the other side?"
Amanda nodded, waiting more or less patiently for the light to change as Tess shook her head with amusement. As predicted by their encounter with the Ouija board, Chris DeVincentis had indeed asked Amanda to be his date for the Christmas Formal, sending snooty Kara into a tailspin. Kara had gone on a bender, wailing that something foul was afoot, and unbeknownst to her, she was slightly correct—Tess had sent a single image into Chris's mind of a dressed-to-the-nines Amanda that she'd hoped would induce him to think of their classmate in a different light than he previously had. It appeared to have helped, but much as she wanted to, she couldn't take credit for Amanda's date. All she had done was show Chris something he hadn't previously thought of; his reaction to that, be it good or bad, was his and his alone. And credit must be given to Amanda and the newfound confidence the "spirit's" prediction had given her. She'd carried herself differently ever since, something Chris was bound to notice when he finally looked up from his history textbook and actually saw who'd been sitting next to him in class since September. No, they'd really done the work themselves. All she'd done was give them a nudge.
"As I was saying," Amanda announced, picking up where she'd left off mere seconds before her foot hit the curb on the opposite side of the street, "I don't have a thing to wear. Can we go shopping? I want something Christmasy, something red or green or—"
"Blue," Tess said suddenly. "The blue dress with the deep neckline. Wear that one."
"Blue?" Amanda echoed. "Blue isn't a Christmas color."
But Tess didn't hear her, momentarily distracted by the sight of a pregnant mother with twins up ahead. It wasn't the massive stroller they were sitting in which had caught her attention, however, or the sheer number of offspring. For some reason she'd never figured out, she'd always been mesmerized by pregnant women.
"I said, blue isn't a Christmas color," Amanda repeated.
"What? Oh," Tess said, pulled back to the present. "But Chris loves blue. He'd love to see you in that dress."
"How do you know Chris likes blue?"
Tess stepped sideways to let the double wide stroller pass, giving her a split second to regroup. She couldn't tell Amanda that she'd broadcast a picture of her in that dress into Chris's mind which had obviously had an impact, meaning it wouldn't hurt to actually show up in it. "I asked around," she said after the stroller had trundled past and they came back together. "I figured you'd want to know. You want the blue dress, and lots of eyeliner, and we'll fluff up your hair, and wear that gold necklace your grandmother gave you....just leave it to me. I know exactly the look that will work."
"Okay," Amanda said doubtfully, "but how do you know?"
"I got the spirits to talk, didn't I? Trust me. I know."
Amanda lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. While Tess's Ouija Board trick always garnered her great respect, it also generated a good deal of uneasiness, something she didn't really mind. Living on the run for her entire life had taught her that having people be a little bit afraid of you wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
Although it could put the damper on friendship. "Why don't you come in for a few minutes, and I'll show you what I have in mind," Tess suggested as they approached her house. "And then you can 'yay' or 'nay' it, of course." Although you won't, she added silently. All it would take was a well-timed image of Amanda in full regalia accompanied by a gaping Chris to convince her that Tess had the right idea.
"Maybe some other time," Amanda said nervously.
Tess glanced up at Amanda, afraid that maybe she'd overdone the whole "spirits" thing. But following her gaze, it was clear something else was on Amanda's mind. Nasedo was standing on the front porch, arms crossed, wearing that stony expression that made him look furious, but was actually his customary look. "Yeah," Tess sighed. "I see what you mean. Maybe tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Amanda said doubtfully. "Does he always look that.....mean?"
"Pretty much."
"Does he just look mean, or is he really mean?"
"He's....intense," Tess said truthfully. "Not mean, not exactly. Just very intense."
"Right. Well....bye, Tessie. See you tomorrow."
Amanda hurried on past the house, walking fast with her head down. "Is it absolutely necessary for you to stand there glowering?" Tess demanded when she reached the porch. "Honestly, I make some friends, and all you do is scare them off."
Nasedo blinked. " 'Scare' them? I didn't say a word."
"You don't have to!" Tess exclaimed. "You're wearing an expression that looks like grim death. No words required."
"I was merely waiting for you to get home from school because I have something to show you," Nasedo protested.
"Then wait inside," Tess said crossly. "At least let people cross the threshold before you glare them to death."
"Is there some advantage to being 'glared to death' inside as opposed to outside?" Nasedo asked. "Look at it this way—I saved us all a lot of time because if you'd brought her in, I would have sent her right back out."
"Great," Tess retorted. "As if moving around so much doesn't make it hard enough to make friends, then there's you, with all the social skills God gave an aardvark. Excuse me."
She pushed past him into the house, dropping her backpack on the kitchen floor before heading to the fridge for a drink. He followed her inside, waiting until she'd opened a can of Coke before saying anything.
"I'm sorry I put a damper on your social life—"
"You don't 'dampen' my social life, you preclude any social life," Tess broke in, exasperated. "The minute I get even a little bit close to anyone, anyone, you yank me away like I'm some sort of marionette on a string. I'm not like everyone else, and you tell me there are others like me, but you won't let me near them. Even you're not like me, although I guess I don't really know that because you've never let me see what you actually look like. And don't you dare tell me it's for my 'safety', or I swear to God, I'll scream."
"Even if it is?"
"Especially if it is," Tess said sourly. "I haven't the faintest idea what I'm being 'saved' for, or if it's worth it."
"It is."
Tess snorted. "Says you."
"I told you you're a queen—"
"Oh, for God's sake, you just made that up!" Tess exclaimed. "But I've got to hand it to you, you had me. For a couple of days, you really had me. And then I realized it must be some dramatic announcement just to shut me up."
"You're sure about that?"
"I'm not sure about a damned thing, but it's the only thing that makes sense," Tess said. "If you need to ruin my life further, I'll be in my room."
Nasedo said nothing as she slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed for her bedroom. He'd really had her going over the whole "queen" bit. What girl didn't want to be told she was a queen? But a couple of days later, after she'd fallen off cloud nine and had some time to think about it, she'd decided it must be a metaphor. He was always telling her how important she was. "Queen" was probably code for "important', nothing more. Which meant he really hadn't told her anything back when she'd begged him to answer one question, just one question. He wouldn't even do that. Although he hadn't destroyed her Ouija Board this time. It was still on her dresser, right next to the.....
Tess's backpack slid slowly to the floor as she froze in her bedroom doorway, staring. Her entire room was papered with photographs, big ones, 8"X 10" at least and all black and white. They were everywhere, on all four walls, on her desk, on her bed, and all were of some combination of three different people, two boys and a girl.
Footsteps sounded behind her, which meant he wanted her to hear him; Nasedo could walk absolutely silently when he wanted to. "Who are these people?" she whispered, picking up the nearest picture.
"These are the people you wanted to see."
Tess's heart nearly stopped. "You mean.....the others?"
"Yes," Nasedo answered. "The others like you."
****************************************************
Mescalero Indian Reservation
"Hey, Eddie," Jackie called, tidying the bracelets on the tray. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"You either," Eddie answered, leaning against the side of her cart. "How's business?"
"Slow," Jackie said. "But Christmas is coming, and it usually picks up then. And then there's Valentine's Day and Mother's Day. The best part of the year is usually December to May."
"Maybe you should raise your prices," Eddie suggested.
"Raise my prices? Why on earth would I do that?"
"Because people don't like anything that's too cheap," Eddie said. "There's such a thing as too high, and such a thing as too low. Or that's what my grandfather says."
"Your grandfather," Jackie chuckled. "Is that why you're here? You're grandpa-sitting?"
"He doesn't need 'sitting'," Eddie said. "People tell all kinds of wild stories about him, but most of its bunk."
"Tell that to the girl over there."
"What girl?"
"The one over there," Jackie said, pointing. "The one he just scared the wits out of by grabbing her when she was trying to show me some old necklace she had, and....." She paused, looking toward the road. "And the one he's walking up to right now."
Eddie's eyes widened as he followed her gaze. "Damn it!" he muttered, taking off at a run.
You said it, Jackie agreed privately. Everybody knew Eddie's grandfather was a handful, which is precisely why she'd told that girl to stay away from him.
It was always wise to stay away from River Dog.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 19 next Sunday.
Too bad Topolsky didn't live longer; I always thought those two would have made a good team. Maybe Valenti in Roswell and Topolsky as a mole in the Special Unit? But that's another fanfic.keepsmiling7 wrote:And oh yes, the Sheriff and Miss Topolsky!
It's that time of year! But thank you. It's nice to be missed.cjeb wrote:Two weeks...NNNNOOOOOO!!!!!!
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
November 12, 1999, 8 a.m.
West Roswell High School
"Kathleen! Wait up!"
Kathleen Topolsky came to a halt in the school hallway as Steven Sommers, West Roswell's version of the tweedy history professor, puffed after her. "I missed you yesterday," Sommers said, catching up with her. "Are you feeling better?"
"Much," Topolsky smiled. "Thanks for asking."
"I just wanted to thank you again for that exercise you put together for me," Sommers said. "I actually enjoyed grading papers last night."
"My pleasure, Steve."
"I thought maybe you'd like to see the results," he continued. "Perhaps we could get together later and go over them? Maybe hit the Crashdown, get a bite to eat....that sort of thing?"
Topolsky stifled a smile at the eagerness in Sommers' voice. She'd been interested in the results when she'd first proposed the exercise, but given yesterday's events, it was hardly necessary to go rooting through some two-bit history assignment to find out that Max Evans wasn't who he said he was. "It's just that I know how seriously you take your work," Sommers rushed on, "and your questions were so insightful that I figured they'd help out with your counseling."
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Topolsky said. "I'm delighted it worked out for you, but I already know my kids pretty well."
"Okay, then....how about just the bite to eat?" Sommers suggested hopefully.
"Maybe some other time," Topolsky said gently. "But I appreciate the offer. Really."
Sommers' face fell. "Right. Well....thanks again."
"Any time, Steve."
Topolsky continued her trek to her office, greeting no less than a dozen students and three faculty members on the way. There was a "get well" card on her desk signed by the office staff, along with two others from students and one from a janitor. Maybe I missed my calling, she thought, sinking down into her chair. Everyone seemed to think she was such a boffo guidance counselor. It was weird to listen to Agent Stevens' tirades and then come here and get high-fived at every turn. He'd been somewhat mollified when he'd learned they'd retrieved what the kids had taken from Atherton's house despite the fact that the pile of papers had proven to be of no more value than the rest of Atherton's stash. She'd been privately hoping that Max had managed to walk off with something valuable, but no dice. Still, he'd made a very telling move, and she'd followed him, something she'd been at pains to point out to Stevens per Moss' advice. Stevens hadn't responded, but he also hadn't yelled, and Moss had warned her not to let the lack of a response deter her. "Keep saying it," he'd told her. "Men don't feel obligated to acknowledge they've heard something the way women do." Good advice, even if he did have a crush on her.
A knock sounded on the door. "Who is it?" Topolsky called.
The door opened slightly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
Valenti. Topolsky plastered a smile on her face as she faced yet another problematic male in her life, this one higher on the list. "Of course not, sheriff. You're always welcome. So, what can I do for you?"
"I just needed your assistance on a small matter," Valenti said, hat in hand.
"Certainly. What is it?"
"There was a....a break-in at Max and Isabel Evans' house yesterday."
"I hope no one was hurt," Topolsky said.
"No. No one was home when it happened. And I was just wondering if you could tell me......"
Topolsky smiled faintly. "My whereabouts, sheriff?"
The sheriff returned her smile. "Of course not. No, I was just curious if there'd been any trouble with any of the students here at the school."
Topolsky made a show of considering for a moment. "I don't know of any of my kids who would do anything like that," she replied. Unless you count breaking and entering in another state, she added silently. Then she could finger a handful.
"Right," Valenti said. "Well, it's just a thought. I know you keep a close eye on your students here."
"That's my job," Topolsky agreed.
"I can see you're a person who takes their work seriously," Valenti continued. "Take it home with you. Take it on the road with you. I woke up with one hell of a headache."
Topolsky felt her stomach clutch. "Must've had your head in the wrong place," she said in what she hoped was a light-hearted tone.
"Yeah, must've," Valenti agreed. He tipped his hat. "Ms. Topolsky."
Topolsky remained at her desk, pen poised over paper, unmoving for the next five minutes, partly in case Valenti returned....and partly because she was terrified. What in blazes had that been about? The sheriff's tone had been casual, but the wording....was it possible he'd seen her? No! she thought fiercely. He'd been out cold. She was sure of that. She'd checked. But then why the comment about taking her work on the road? Why the reference to a headache? Perhaps he'd seen something, but not enough to identify his assailant and was fishing for a reaction? And I gave him one, she thought despairingly. Why, oh why, had she made that reference to the "wrong place"? She should have asked him if he'd slept poorly, or had some kind of stress in his life, or even if he'd tied one on last night, all perfectly logical counseling questions, but here she'd gone and dropped a breadcrumb. Idiot! she chastised herself, vaulting out of her chair and pacing the room. If Valenti knew she'd been out there, she was screwed. Not only would she be pulled back to Santa Fe, she'd be on desk duty for the rest of her career, and that was if she was lucky; if she was unlucky, she'd be emptying wastebaskets. There were simply too many people in the Unit who would be delighted to see their first and only female agent fall flat on her face, and the fact that she would have been brought down by a Valenti would only add insult to injury. Not this time, she thought fiercely. This time it was a different Valenti, and she was a different kind of agent. This time, things would be different.
A moment later, she was on the phone. Moss picked up immediately.
"I need all the information you can get on Valenti and his father, and I need it ASAP."
"How am I supposed to do that and tail the kids?" Moss asked.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, they're in school all day," Topolsky said impatiently.
"Not Guerin," Moss chuckled.
"Then let Butler babysit him," Topolsky said. "I can't do it myself. I need Bureau information, and if it comes from me, they'll ask questions."
"They'll ask questions if it comes from me too," Moss pointed out.
"Then tell them you need it because you're keeping an eye on the sheriff," Topolsky argued. "Please, Pete. For me."
There was a pause. "All right, then....'Kathy'. I'll have it for you before school's over."
Topolsky closed her eyes in relief. "Thanks. I won't forget this."
"Neither will I," Moss assured her.
Topolsky hung up the phone, marginally calmer now. She needed every scrap of information on Valenti she could get to formulate a strategy should he discover who she really was. A fellow agent's crush was a small price to pay to get what she wanted.
*****************************************************
The Dunes Motel,
Carlsbad, New Mexico
Room 210 was on the upper level of the dingy motel, and Daniel Pierce grimaced as he climbed the staircase, stepping around piles of something or other as he did so. It had taken Brian several days of digging and himself several hours of driving to get to this point, and now they'd find out if their information pipeline was as good as it had been, so many things having changed since Summers' death, none of them for the better. He knocked on the door, and waited. Not long, as it turned out, because it was clear from the look on the occupant's face that he hadn't been expected.
"What the hell are you doin' here?"
"Hello, Hub—"
"Don't call me that."
"Hello, Everett," Pierce corrected. "Nice to see you, too."
"How'd you find me?" Hubble demanded.
"Let me in, and I'll tell you."
"And why would I do that? You broke faith, young man. We had an arrangement, and you altered the terms of that arrangement with nary a word to me."
"I didn't alter a thing," Pierce countered. "Agent Summers was murdered—"
"I know that. You think I don't know that?"
"Then you know I should have immediately been appointed his successor," Pierce said. "But I wasn't. The Bureau's newest director wasn't pleased to discover the Unit operating right under his nose, and he's having a bit of a tantrum."
"And you couldn't tell me this? You just disappeared, and took my stipend with you."
"I've deposited at least a small amount in your account every single month," Pierce protested, "and right out of my own paycheck."
"Damned right it's 'small'," Hubble declared. "I depend on my income from the Unit to fund my work. Can't hold down a regular job with all the hours I'm on the road. You know that."
"Of course I know that—"
"Then why didn't you tell me what happened?"
"Because I didn't think it would last this long," Pierce said. "I'm sorry. It was a mistake."
"A mistake?" Hubble echoed. "A 'mistake'? No, son, a 'mistake' is when you can't balance your checkbook. This wasn't a 'mistake', it was 'abandonment'."
"Always the drama queen," Pierce sighed. "Are you even the least bit interested in what brought me here, or should I leave?"
"Do I get my stipend?"
"Since when is money more important to you than information?"
"Since you stopped payin' me," Hubble retorted. "You see this place? It's a dump. Didn't used to have to stay in dumps. Didn't stay at the Ritz either, but at least they weren't dumps. Pony up, or I shut this dump's door in your face."
"Fine, I'll give you the full amount for this month," Pierce said impatiently.
"And back pay."
"No can do. I don't have that kind of cash. Wait!" Pierce exclaimed when Hubble tried to close the door. "Look, we've had a working deal for a decade now: We give you intel you wouldn't otherwise have, and you sniff around where it's harder for us to go. But we all got screwed when Summers died, and that includes you. What makes you think you're untouchable? You wanted in the game, but being in that game means you get knocked around sometimes. Sucks for all of us, but them's the breaks. So stop bitching, and take what you can get."
"For what?" Hubble demanded. "What exactly would I be tradin' five months salary for?"
"Like I'm just going to dump it in your lap," Pierce chuckled.
"You're sure as hell going to dump somethin' in my lap, or I have no reason at all to even consider your 'generous' offer," Hubble said.
"Do you want to know about current alien activity in Roswell, or not?" Pierce demanded.
"You must need me, or you wouldn't be here," Hubble countered. "Do you want my help, or not?"
Pierce hesitated, framing his answer carefully. It had to be enough to pique Hubble's interest, but not enough to give away the farm. Not yet.
"It's another handprint," he said. "Only this one didn't kill."
"Bullshit," Hubble declared. "Jesus, what kind of an idiot do you take me for? They always kill."
"Not this time. Not according to Jimmy."
"Jimmy? You mean Jim's Jimmy?"
"James Valenti Jr., current sheriff in Roswell. He's the one who called it in. Now may I come in?"
The pause which followed went on for so long that Pierce was beginning to think he'd have to force his way in, but at length, Hubble stepped back.
"Don't make me regret this."
Pierce held his tongue, crossing the threshold quickly before Hubble changed his mind. The interior was in better shape than the exterior, which admittedly wasn't saying much. "This is better than I thought," he remarked, glancing at the semi-ancient fixtures in the bathroom. "Does the toilet actually flush?"
"Very funny. At least it's second floor. Cuts down on the ants comin' in off the parkin' lot. Start talkin'."
"First things first," Pierce said firmly. "No back pay. Are we clear?"
"And liftin' a finger means full pay in addition to this month's pay, which is just for hearin' you out."
"Deal," Pierce answered.
Hubble's face registered a modicum of surprise, as though he'd expected a much tougher fight. "So what'cha got there, Danny?" he asked, sinking down in the room's one chair, making Pierce sit on the bed. "Must be pretty good if you cave that fast."
"I already told you what 'I got'. It's a handprint that didn't kill."
"No, what've you really got. That was just a cockamamie story to get my attention, and a crappy one too because you know I know better."
"And since I know you know better, what would be the point of even using it? It's no story, Everett. I've got a handprint that didn't kill. First time. Pretty cool, huh?"
Hubble eyed him in suspicious silence for a moment, as though afraid he was being taken for a ride. "I'm listenin'," he said warily.
"September, this year," Pierce said. "A waitress was shot during an altercation between customers in a diner in Roswell. Witnesses reported that a teenaged boy, a local high school student, bent over her, put his hand on her....and all of a sudden, she wasn't shot. No injuries. The gun definitely went off, but no bullet was ever found."
"And the alibi?"
"Girl said she fell and broke a bottle of ketchup. We did find plenty of ketchup on the uniform, but we also found blood, and a hole that could be a bullet hole."
"Mmhmm," Hubble said doubtfully. " 'Could be'. And since I know the Unit would be all over this if it were an iron clad case, it's pretty clear it's not. You wouldn't be here if this was a slam dunk. What'ya leavin' out?"
"We did find blood on the uniform, but not enough to indicate a gunshot wound. And although there were several witnesses to the shooting, only two said they saw this kid put his hand on her, and those two were Crash Festival Tourists."
"Amateurs," Hubble muttered. "I hate amateurs."
"But Jimmy's no amateur," Pierce said. "The only reason we have the uniform at all is that Jimmy filched it off the waitress and handed it over to his Bureau contact, who's Unit, of course, although Jimmy doesn't know that. And get this—Jimmy's own son reported seeing a silver handprint on the waitress's stomach the day after the shooting."
"Did Jimmy see it?"
Pierce hesitated. "No. It had faded by the time he looked."
"Or was never there to start with. I hate to break it to you, Danny, but you just paid for nothin' 'cos you've got nothin'. Crash Festival tourists? Kids seein' things? That the best you can do?"
"There's blood on the dress," Pierce argued. "Why would there be blood on the dress if this hadn't happened?"
"A more important question is why would an alien want to save a human at all, never mind in public," Hubble said. "These are killers, Danny. You know that. They don't save people. They never have."
"Then why was there blood on the dress?" Pierce demanded. "What the hell happened to the bullet? Why did Jim Valenti contact us? Something's not right here, Everett, something—"
"Somethin' very well not be right, but it doesn't sound like somethin' alien," Hubble broke in. "Honestly, what would Jimmy know about this? He's just as amateur as those tourists. He never believed his old man, not for a second."
"He called us," Pierce insisted. "He swiped the uniform. He worked the case, he's still working the case—"
"And what's the Unit doin'?"
"The Unit is making a show of doing something useful by putting a greenhorn female agent in Roswell," Pierce replied. "She recently called for back-up because the shooting victim lost her diary. 'Nuff said."
"But they put an agent there," Hubble said. "So they did respond, even if they're not tootin' horns like you want them to."
"Kathleen Topolsky is not what I'd call a 'response'," Pierce protested. "And I'm locked in a battle with the Bureau's director, who not only won't install me as Summers' successor, he wants to shut down the Unit entirely. I can't go to Roswell without showing up on the radar—"
"So you want me to go," Hubble said. "I get it. I'm just not gonna do it."
"I said I'd pay you—"
"It's not the money, Danny. You asked me when money became more important to me than information, so now you see it hasn't. I'm just not gonna waste my time on a no go. I'm doing some huntin' of my own."
"Hunting what?"
"Another teenager," Hubble answered. "Uses a Ouija board to cover her tracks, but she's done it once too often."
"Impressive," Pierce deadpanned. "You're picking on my kid with a handprint, and all you've got is a kid with a board game. That the best you can do?"
"Watch your mouth," Hubble said sharply. "I've been trackin' this one all over the southwest for over a year now, her and her so-called 'father', and I've gotta figure out where they've settled now. Got some leads, and I'm not gonna drop all that for some two-bit story from a couple of tourists and a kid who never believed his father. No way." He stood up. "We're done here. Give my best to the Unit, or what's left of it."
"Everett, please," Pierce pleaded. "The Unit isn't pursuing this because they're making the same mistake you are—they're assuming a handprint can't heal, or that an alien would have no reason to heal a human. But what if he does? What if he needs this girl for some experiment, or something? What could possibly make a football player like Kyle Valenti say he saw something as bizarre as a silver handprint if he hadn't actually seen it? How does a jock make up something like that? Why would he even bother? Like I said, something's not right here, and I can't get near the place without jeopardizing the entire Unit. Which Topolsky will no doubt do all on her own, which is why I need you to do the sniffing you do so well before she tips them off." He pulled a roll of papers from his inside suit pocket. "Look it over. At least look it over before you say 'no'."
"I've already said 'no'."
"You might change your mind when you read that."
"And what makes you think I'm gonna read that?"
Pierce smiled faintly. "Because I know you, Hub. You go take your field trip, but you know as well as I do that you won't be able to keep your mitts off that."
"Out," Hubble ordered, holding the motel room door open. "And don't call me 'Hub'."
Pierce shrugged slightly and stepped outside, the door banging closed behind him. That had gone better than he'd expected. If he couldn't go to Roswell himself, Everett Hubble was the next best thing. He gave him a month, maybe two, before he caved.
******************************************************
Artesia, New Mexico
"Can you believe it?" Amanda squealed, literally jumping up and down. "He asked me! He actually asked me! I didn't know what to think after that séance thing we did, and the board said what it said, and I didn't really believe it, but I so wanted to, and I kept hoping, and now he finally asked me, and I just can't believe it, and I don't—"
"Amanda," Tess said firmly, taking her by the shoulders. "Inhale. Please. Before you turn blue and fall over."
Amanda blinked, then obediently sucked in a breath. "You're right," she nodded. "You're right. I'm getting carried away. I'm just so excited!"
"Yeah, I got that part," Tess answered. "But we have to cross the street now, and I'd really rather have you stay in one piece. Can you just hold that thought until we're on the other side?"
Amanda nodded, waiting more or less patiently for the light to change as Tess shook her head with amusement. As predicted by their encounter with the Ouija board, Chris DeVincentis had indeed asked Amanda to be his date for the Christmas Formal, sending snooty Kara into a tailspin. Kara had gone on a bender, wailing that something foul was afoot, and unbeknownst to her, she was slightly correct—Tess had sent a single image into Chris's mind of a dressed-to-the-nines Amanda that she'd hoped would induce him to think of their classmate in a different light than he previously had. It appeared to have helped, but much as she wanted to, she couldn't take credit for Amanda's date. All she had done was show Chris something he hadn't previously thought of; his reaction to that, be it good or bad, was his and his alone. And credit must be given to Amanda and the newfound confidence the "spirit's" prediction had given her. She'd carried herself differently ever since, something Chris was bound to notice when he finally looked up from his history textbook and actually saw who'd been sitting next to him in class since September. No, they'd really done the work themselves. All she'd done was give them a nudge.
"As I was saying," Amanda announced, picking up where she'd left off mere seconds before her foot hit the curb on the opposite side of the street, "I don't have a thing to wear. Can we go shopping? I want something Christmasy, something red or green or—"
"Blue," Tess said suddenly. "The blue dress with the deep neckline. Wear that one."
"Blue?" Amanda echoed. "Blue isn't a Christmas color."
But Tess didn't hear her, momentarily distracted by the sight of a pregnant mother with twins up ahead. It wasn't the massive stroller they were sitting in which had caught her attention, however, or the sheer number of offspring. For some reason she'd never figured out, she'd always been mesmerized by pregnant women.
"I said, blue isn't a Christmas color," Amanda repeated.
"What? Oh," Tess said, pulled back to the present. "But Chris loves blue. He'd love to see you in that dress."
"How do you know Chris likes blue?"
Tess stepped sideways to let the double wide stroller pass, giving her a split second to regroup. She couldn't tell Amanda that she'd broadcast a picture of her in that dress into Chris's mind which had obviously had an impact, meaning it wouldn't hurt to actually show up in it. "I asked around," she said after the stroller had trundled past and they came back together. "I figured you'd want to know. You want the blue dress, and lots of eyeliner, and we'll fluff up your hair, and wear that gold necklace your grandmother gave you....just leave it to me. I know exactly the look that will work."
"Okay," Amanda said doubtfully, "but how do you know?"
"I got the spirits to talk, didn't I? Trust me. I know."
Amanda lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. While Tess's Ouija Board trick always garnered her great respect, it also generated a good deal of uneasiness, something she didn't really mind. Living on the run for her entire life had taught her that having people be a little bit afraid of you wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
Although it could put the damper on friendship. "Why don't you come in for a few minutes, and I'll show you what I have in mind," Tess suggested as they approached her house. "And then you can 'yay' or 'nay' it, of course." Although you won't, she added silently. All it would take was a well-timed image of Amanda in full regalia accompanied by a gaping Chris to convince her that Tess had the right idea.
"Maybe some other time," Amanda said nervously.
Tess glanced up at Amanda, afraid that maybe she'd overdone the whole "spirits" thing. But following her gaze, it was clear something else was on Amanda's mind. Nasedo was standing on the front porch, arms crossed, wearing that stony expression that made him look furious, but was actually his customary look. "Yeah," Tess sighed. "I see what you mean. Maybe tomorrow?"
"Maybe," Amanda said doubtfully. "Does he always look that.....mean?"
"Pretty much."
"Does he just look mean, or is he really mean?"
"He's....intense," Tess said truthfully. "Not mean, not exactly. Just very intense."
"Right. Well....bye, Tessie. See you tomorrow."
Amanda hurried on past the house, walking fast with her head down. "Is it absolutely necessary for you to stand there glowering?" Tess demanded when she reached the porch. "Honestly, I make some friends, and all you do is scare them off."
Nasedo blinked. " 'Scare' them? I didn't say a word."
"You don't have to!" Tess exclaimed. "You're wearing an expression that looks like grim death. No words required."
"I was merely waiting for you to get home from school because I have something to show you," Nasedo protested.
"Then wait inside," Tess said crossly. "At least let people cross the threshold before you glare them to death."
"Is there some advantage to being 'glared to death' inside as opposed to outside?" Nasedo asked. "Look at it this way—I saved us all a lot of time because if you'd brought her in, I would have sent her right back out."
"Great," Tess retorted. "As if moving around so much doesn't make it hard enough to make friends, then there's you, with all the social skills God gave an aardvark. Excuse me."
She pushed past him into the house, dropping her backpack on the kitchen floor before heading to the fridge for a drink. He followed her inside, waiting until she'd opened a can of Coke before saying anything.
"I'm sorry I put a damper on your social life—"
"You don't 'dampen' my social life, you preclude any social life," Tess broke in, exasperated. "The minute I get even a little bit close to anyone, anyone, you yank me away like I'm some sort of marionette on a string. I'm not like everyone else, and you tell me there are others like me, but you won't let me near them. Even you're not like me, although I guess I don't really know that because you've never let me see what you actually look like. And don't you dare tell me it's for my 'safety', or I swear to God, I'll scream."
"Even if it is?"
"Especially if it is," Tess said sourly. "I haven't the faintest idea what I'm being 'saved' for, or if it's worth it."
"It is."
Tess snorted. "Says you."
"I told you you're a queen—"
"Oh, for God's sake, you just made that up!" Tess exclaimed. "But I've got to hand it to you, you had me. For a couple of days, you really had me. And then I realized it must be some dramatic announcement just to shut me up."
"You're sure about that?"
"I'm not sure about a damned thing, but it's the only thing that makes sense," Tess said. "If you need to ruin my life further, I'll be in my room."
Nasedo said nothing as she slung her backpack over one shoulder and headed for her bedroom. He'd really had her going over the whole "queen" bit. What girl didn't want to be told she was a queen? But a couple of days later, after she'd fallen off cloud nine and had some time to think about it, she'd decided it must be a metaphor. He was always telling her how important she was. "Queen" was probably code for "important', nothing more. Which meant he really hadn't told her anything back when she'd begged him to answer one question, just one question. He wouldn't even do that. Although he hadn't destroyed her Ouija Board this time. It was still on her dresser, right next to the.....
Tess's backpack slid slowly to the floor as she froze in her bedroom doorway, staring. Her entire room was papered with photographs, big ones, 8"X 10" at least and all black and white. They were everywhere, on all four walls, on her desk, on her bed, and all were of some combination of three different people, two boys and a girl.
Footsteps sounded behind her, which meant he wanted her to hear him; Nasedo could walk absolutely silently when he wanted to. "Who are these people?" she whispered, picking up the nearest picture.
"These are the people you wanted to see."
Tess's heart nearly stopped. "You mean.....the others?"
"Yes," Nasedo answered. "The others like you."
****************************************************
Mescalero Indian Reservation
"Hey, Eddie," Jackie called, tidying the bracelets on the tray. "Haven't seen you in a while."
"You either," Eddie answered, leaning against the side of her cart. "How's business?"
"Slow," Jackie said. "But Christmas is coming, and it usually picks up then. And then there's Valentine's Day and Mother's Day. The best part of the year is usually December to May."
"Maybe you should raise your prices," Eddie suggested.
"Raise my prices? Why on earth would I do that?"
"Because people don't like anything that's too cheap," Eddie said. "There's such a thing as too high, and such a thing as too low. Or that's what my grandfather says."
"Your grandfather," Jackie chuckled. "Is that why you're here? You're grandpa-sitting?"
"He doesn't need 'sitting'," Eddie said. "People tell all kinds of wild stories about him, but most of its bunk."
"Tell that to the girl over there."
"What girl?"
"The one over there," Jackie said, pointing. "The one he just scared the wits out of by grabbing her when she was trying to show me some old necklace she had, and....." She paused, looking toward the road. "And the one he's walking up to right now."
Eddie's eyes widened as he followed her gaze. "Damn it!" he muttered, taking off at a run.
You said it, Jackie agreed privately. Everybody knew Eddie's grandfather was a handful, which is precisely why she'd told that girl to stay away from him.
It was always wise to stay away from River Dog.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'll post Chapter 19 next Sunday.