6. None (three p.m.) - G
Posted: Tue Apr 27, 2010 8:10 pm
Title: None
Author: redwinter101
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: this is the sixth story in the Divine Office series - there is a separate A/N here explaining a bit more.
It's 3 p.m. and time for Mick to catch up with an old friend. The case referred to here is from Pearl - in 1982 Bobby asked Mick to investigate the disappearance of four little girls and that investigation eventually led Mick to discover that Coraline had kidnapped Beth.
*************************************************************************************************************
--- None ---
August 2002
Nearly fifteen minutes sitting in the parked car, engine off, windows closed, and the high heat of a downtown summer afternoon was beginning to take its toll on both of them. Bobby ran a sticky finger round his well-worn collar, straightened his tie for the umpteenth time and flexed his hand over the manila file clutched against his knee.
“So, we’re just going to sit here, are we?” Angie’s patience had finally run out, an edge of exasperation to her voice.
“We’ll sit here until I’m ready to go in, young lady.”
“Dad, look-“
“Don’t you ‘Dad, look’ me. We’re here on your account so let me take my time.”
“I know that, Dad, and if it makes any difference I’ll say sorry for the hundredth time, but who says this guy can even help? The police have got nowhere and all we’ve done is spend more money we can't afford on lawyers without-”
“Mick St. John is the best I ever met - and I met a few.” He ignored Angie's sigh. “It’s been a lot of years since we last saw each other but if anyone can help, he can.”
“But-“
“Trust me, darlin'. I can’t make this right on my own. I wish I could,” a wash of regret in his voice, “but there’s no-one else I’d rather have in my corner.” He knew she was her own woman, making her way in the world, about to make him a proud grandfather, but he couldn’t squash the urge to protect his little girl. He and Ella had always been careful with money but there was no way he’d ever be able to make up what she’d lost. Or rather what her fool husband had lost.
The ache of disappointment in his voice brought a sting of tears to Angie’s eyes. All he wanted was for her to be happy, to be able to keep them all from harm and her husband’s foolishness had taken that away from him. She could forgive David for getting conned. She wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive him for making her father feel useless. If this St. John character could give him back that power, then she would be forever in his debt. “So how come you lost touch?”
He shrugged, "It was just the way of things, I guess. Mick always kept himself to himself – not unfriendly, just kinda private. He came to the house a few times. Your mother liked him," he smiled, "but eventually we just drifted apart. I owed him a couple of favours too, but he never called them in."
"What kind of favours?" She calmed, stroking a soothing hand across her swollen belly. Even the baby seemed overtaken by late-summer lethargy.
"Oh you know. Just cases he helped with." His unseeing gaze drifted to the mid-distance, remembering all the times Mick had come through. He knew in his heart that Mick had crossed the line but he didn’t care. There was a trust and respect he’d felt for few civilians and anyone who brought scum like Spaulding to justice was all right in his book. "I'm surprised he's still in the business – being a PI is not a profession for an old man. Guess he really was that good."
"But you're sure he's still working?"
Bobby nodded, "When I heard his submission at Spaulding’s parole hearing and realised he was still around, he was pretty easy to track down.”
The hearing was Bobby’s ritual, his last connection to his old life, Mick's name an echo of the younger, fitter men they had been once, a flash of vibrant memory, simpler, happier times when he was whole and healthy. He had his Ella and while he may have felt the briefest pang of envy for Mick's footloose and fancy-free lifestyle, he'd known he was a lucky man. He took Angie's hand with a gentle squeeze, "Let's go in." It was still awkward, finding his footing on a strange sidewalk, having to wait for Angie to take his arm and guide him across the busy street, white stick in his other hand, tapping out his path to Mick's door.
Bobby struggled to admit that a simple journey to see an old friend was now a major undertaking and he fought the urge to shake off the hand at his elbow as Angie steered him toward the elevator. The cool blast of the air-conditioning was welcome, giving him a chance to compose himself, brushing a hand over his hair, straightening his jacket and tie, wondering what kind of man Mick had become and if he would help.
*****************************
Mick roused with a growl, the prolonged knocking at the office door breaking through his silent slumber. Whoever it was, they were persistent. Clambering from the freezer, slipping on jeans and a shirt, he checked his watch and padded downstairs. Three o'clock, he registered with a sigh and an irritated rake of hand through hair; there was no point going back to sleep now so he may as well see who was foolish enough to wake him at this ungodly hour. He didn't recognise the face in the monitor, peering closer, waiting. Another knock, then a half-turn. There was something familiar, enough to hold his attention but also to keep him from opening the door to confront his visitor.
Then he heard it. A deep, warm, velvet rumble. The years may have taken their toll but he'd know that voice anywhere. Instinct drew his hand to the handle, paused only by a second voice, a young woman standing at Bobby's side.
Eyes closed, memories conjured, a young man, a kindred spirit, a friend. Flickering open again Mick registered the grey hair, the shoulders stooped with age, the years etched in groove and furrow. Bobby Desmond was part of his past and whatever had brought him to Mick's door would have to remain a mystery. Sad, concerned, curious and more than a little intrigued, Mick couldn't tear himself away from the monitor as Bobby asked his companion to write a note.
"Just put, “Call me” and my number. That’s enough. Either he’ll do it or he won’t." A hint of a smile. If there was any trace of the old Mick, he'd know soon enough. He tucked it into the folder and Angie slid it under the door. As they left, Mick finally saw the white stick. Hand to his mouth, only stopped from tumbling out the door, calling him back, by the woman’s presence. Flicking from screen to screen he watched as they left in sedate procession. Pacing through to the office he retrieved the file and took a seat to read what it was that had brought Bobby Desmond to his door.
*****************************
One week later
Mick paused, hands on hips, taking a final check up and down the street. It was nearly twenty years since he’d last stood outside this house and much had changed. There was no childhood clutter in the front yard, no car in the driveway, no warm welcome spilling out through the open door but most of all there was no sound, a deathly hush where once there had been music and laughter and Ella singing. Her spirit was gone and without her the house was just another tired suburban box, indistinguishable from every other on the block. He'd waited and watched long enough to be sure Bobby was alone but he still listened at the door to be sure, stepping inside the screen door, knocking and waiting.
Josef had warned him to stay away; that the risks were too great; that an old, blind cop was still a cop; that he should let it go. But he couldn’t. More than that, he didn’t want to. Protests hadn't prevented Josef from helping him; the boiler room was pretty simple in principle but this operation had been very smooth and his contacts had proved helpful in tracking down the man behind it all. It was a straightforward case, one that Bobby in his prime could have solved in a few days, but now he needed help – and a different kind of justice.
"Coming, coming," from within, accompanying a soft, slippered shuffle toward the door.
"Hey, Bobby."
"Well, well, well, Mick St. John as I live and breathe. Come in, come in," Bobby stepped aside with a chuckle, beckoning Mick through to the kitchen. "How've you been, old friend?" Bobby set about making tea, motioning Mick to sit. "When you didn't call I figured…" his voice trailed off with a shrug.
"I've been good, Bobby. It's good to see you." He winced at his clumsy phrasing, eyes darting to the stick resting against the counter.
"Well that's where you have me at a disadvantage," another chuckle, "but you sound just the same as the last time we met. It's been a while."
"I should have kept in touch."
"That's okay, Mick. I reached out a couple of times but I figured, I’m an easy guy to find – if you wanted to, you’d track me down. I'm just glad you're here now. You got news for me?"
"I have. And it's good news." Mick paused as Bobby settled steaming mugs on the table and settled himself into a chair opposite. "You'd done most of the work already - I just put the last few pieces together."
Bobby smiled, “Some things don’t change, I guess."
“Valentine Harris – that’s the real name of the man your daughter and son-in-law knew as Hanson Bell. He’s got a record that’d make your head spin. Large scale grifts through to cyber-crime. He pretty much founded boiler rooms on the West Coast and he made some serious money. Lots of investigations, no convictions. Never even indicted. Nearly got tripped up over his taxes,” a wry smile, ”a modern-day Capone. But he wised up and moved almost everything offshore. If it’s any consolation, your son-in-law got taken by the very best."
Bobby snorted, “Hmph. Thought he was so smart. Thinks money’s just gonna fall from the sky without having to work for it, that was his problem. Made him an easy mark.”
“Well Mr. Harris has seen the error of his ways where Angie and David are concerned.” He pressed a thick envelope into Bobby’s hand, “There’s fifty thousand dollars there, plus an extra twenty-five grand for the inconvenience.” Bobby whistled, gingerly placing the envelope on the table. "Make sure they don’t flash it around – put it back in the bank accounts it came from and explain it away as a loan if anyone asks. No-one will be any the wiser."
"You still work fast. Not bad for an old guy," Bobby grinned. "Seriously though, Mick, thank you. I-"
"Don't sweat it, man," Mick gripped Bobby's arm, "I'm glad I was able to help."
"But some of this," he riffled the sheaf of notes, "should be your fee – must cost quite a bit living in that fancy apartment."
Mick grinned, “Harris was kind enough to take care of that too.”
"I probably know the answer, but I'm gonna ask anyway. Are the police involved? Will Angie need to go to court?"
"Harris decided co-operation was a nice way to avoid any unpleasant consequences. It’s over, he won’t bother them again. They can rest easy and get on with their lives. Because with a baby on the way-"
"How d'you know about the baby?"
Mick smiled, "I'm thorough. They're gonna have enough on their hands without worrying about going to court."
Bobby heard the warmth in Mick's voice, "You always had a soft spot for a kid in trouble as I remember," he held up his hand to stem Mick's protest, "It’s okay, I still don't wanna know, Mick. Whatever you did, I know you got to the bottom of what happened to those little girls and I'm grateful. It helps me sleep easy at night knowing those parents finally got some peace."
Mick rose to leave. He’d known they’d come back to this, sooner or later and as the memories crowded in, pressing against him, he edged toward the door. It was the photo that stopped him, pausing, picking it up reverently, his smile warm and wistful. Bobby and Ella when they were young, newly-weds he’d guess, beaming for the camera, dressed in their Sunday best. He took in the rest of the room, seeing for the first time the hole left by her absence. Everywhere was still neat and clean, but it wasn’t a home any more. “I’m so sorry about Ella, Bobby,” his voice soft and sad.
Bobby moved to stand beside Mick, looking over his shoulder, the picture clear in his memory. “I got your card when she died – it was good of you to think of us.” Four years had passed but Mick could hear the unhealed grief in his voice. “Ella always had a soft spot for you, you know?”
Mick smiled, “Yeah, I know. She was a beautiful woman.”
“She…" Bobby coughed, composing his thoughts, "well let's just say I’m glad she isn’t around to see the mess Angie got herself in. She knew, though. She knew David was a nice enough boy but a little vain and a little stupid. Then I guess you never think anyone’s good enough for your little girl.”
Mick’s thoughts strayed, images of Beth, wondering who she would end up spending her life with. The thought unsettled him, a constant shadow he daren't illuminate.
“You ever marry, Mick? Kids of your own?”
“No.” Jolted back to the present, he placed the photo back on the table, turning, stepping close, “It just never happened for me.” He pulled Bobby into an awkward embrace, “I gotta get going.”
“It was good to see you, Mick. And thanks, buddy. Thank you for-“
Mick interrupted with a hand on the old man’s arm, “No thanks needed, Bobby. It was a pleasure and it was great to see you. You take care now and call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mick. We’ll catch up real soon.”
Mick nodded, smiling his agreement, understood without the need for words, but his joy at reconnecting with a warm and welcoming part of his past didn’t even last the short walk to the car. Bobby may be older, nearly blind, a man he could call friend, but it still wasn’t safe. Too many questions he couldn't answer. Once a cop, always a cop and one with a family who expected Mick to be a man in his fifties. He couldn’t take the chance.
He slipped into the car, closing the door gently, taking a moment to stare back at the house. Jabbing his sunglasses on he started the engine and pulled away, sure in the knowledge that he and Bobby Desmond would never see each other again.
Author: redwinter101
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: this is the sixth story in the Divine Office series - there is a separate A/N here explaining a bit more.
It's 3 p.m. and time for Mick to catch up with an old friend. The case referred to here is from Pearl - in 1982 Bobby asked Mick to investigate the disappearance of four little girls and that investigation eventually led Mick to discover that Coraline had kidnapped Beth.
*************************************************************************************************************
--- None ---
August 2002
Nearly fifteen minutes sitting in the parked car, engine off, windows closed, and the high heat of a downtown summer afternoon was beginning to take its toll on both of them. Bobby ran a sticky finger round his well-worn collar, straightened his tie for the umpteenth time and flexed his hand over the manila file clutched against his knee.
“So, we’re just going to sit here, are we?” Angie’s patience had finally run out, an edge of exasperation to her voice.
“We’ll sit here until I’m ready to go in, young lady.”
“Dad, look-“
“Don’t you ‘Dad, look’ me. We’re here on your account so let me take my time.”
“I know that, Dad, and if it makes any difference I’ll say sorry for the hundredth time, but who says this guy can even help? The police have got nowhere and all we’ve done is spend more money we can't afford on lawyers without-”
“Mick St. John is the best I ever met - and I met a few.” He ignored Angie's sigh. “It’s been a lot of years since we last saw each other but if anyone can help, he can.”
“But-“
“Trust me, darlin'. I can’t make this right on my own. I wish I could,” a wash of regret in his voice, “but there’s no-one else I’d rather have in my corner.” He knew she was her own woman, making her way in the world, about to make him a proud grandfather, but he couldn’t squash the urge to protect his little girl. He and Ella had always been careful with money but there was no way he’d ever be able to make up what she’d lost. Or rather what her fool husband had lost.
The ache of disappointment in his voice brought a sting of tears to Angie’s eyes. All he wanted was for her to be happy, to be able to keep them all from harm and her husband’s foolishness had taken that away from him. She could forgive David for getting conned. She wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive him for making her father feel useless. If this St. John character could give him back that power, then she would be forever in his debt. “So how come you lost touch?”
He shrugged, "It was just the way of things, I guess. Mick always kept himself to himself – not unfriendly, just kinda private. He came to the house a few times. Your mother liked him," he smiled, "but eventually we just drifted apart. I owed him a couple of favours too, but he never called them in."
"What kind of favours?" She calmed, stroking a soothing hand across her swollen belly. Even the baby seemed overtaken by late-summer lethargy.
"Oh you know. Just cases he helped with." His unseeing gaze drifted to the mid-distance, remembering all the times Mick had come through. He knew in his heart that Mick had crossed the line but he didn’t care. There was a trust and respect he’d felt for few civilians and anyone who brought scum like Spaulding to justice was all right in his book. "I'm surprised he's still in the business – being a PI is not a profession for an old man. Guess he really was that good."
"But you're sure he's still working?"
Bobby nodded, "When I heard his submission at Spaulding’s parole hearing and realised he was still around, he was pretty easy to track down.”
The hearing was Bobby’s ritual, his last connection to his old life, Mick's name an echo of the younger, fitter men they had been once, a flash of vibrant memory, simpler, happier times when he was whole and healthy. He had his Ella and while he may have felt the briefest pang of envy for Mick's footloose and fancy-free lifestyle, he'd known he was a lucky man. He took Angie's hand with a gentle squeeze, "Let's go in." It was still awkward, finding his footing on a strange sidewalk, having to wait for Angie to take his arm and guide him across the busy street, white stick in his other hand, tapping out his path to Mick's door.
Bobby struggled to admit that a simple journey to see an old friend was now a major undertaking and he fought the urge to shake off the hand at his elbow as Angie steered him toward the elevator. The cool blast of the air-conditioning was welcome, giving him a chance to compose himself, brushing a hand over his hair, straightening his jacket and tie, wondering what kind of man Mick had become and if he would help.
*****************************
Mick roused with a growl, the prolonged knocking at the office door breaking through his silent slumber. Whoever it was, they were persistent. Clambering from the freezer, slipping on jeans and a shirt, he checked his watch and padded downstairs. Three o'clock, he registered with a sigh and an irritated rake of hand through hair; there was no point going back to sleep now so he may as well see who was foolish enough to wake him at this ungodly hour. He didn't recognise the face in the monitor, peering closer, waiting. Another knock, then a half-turn. There was something familiar, enough to hold his attention but also to keep him from opening the door to confront his visitor.
Then he heard it. A deep, warm, velvet rumble. The years may have taken their toll but he'd know that voice anywhere. Instinct drew his hand to the handle, paused only by a second voice, a young woman standing at Bobby's side.
Eyes closed, memories conjured, a young man, a kindred spirit, a friend. Flickering open again Mick registered the grey hair, the shoulders stooped with age, the years etched in groove and furrow. Bobby Desmond was part of his past and whatever had brought him to Mick's door would have to remain a mystery. Sad, concerned, curious and more than a little intrigued, Mick couldn't tear himself away from the monitor as Bobby asked his companion to write a note.
"Just put, “Call me” and my number. That’s enough. Either he’ll do it or he won’t." A hint of a smile. If there was any trace of the old Mick, he'd know soon enough. He tucked it into the folder and Angie slid it under the door. As they left, Mick finally saw the white stick. Hand to his mouth, only stopped from tumbling out the door, calling him back, by the woman’s presence. Flicking from screen to screen he watched as they left in sedate procession. Pacing through to the office he retrieved the file and took a seat to read what it was that had brought Bobby Desmond to his door.
*****************************
One week later
Mick paused, hands on hips, taking a final check up and down the street. It was nearly twenty years since he’d last stood outside this house and much had changed. There was no childhood clutter in the front yard, no car in the driveway, no warm welcome spilling out through the open door but most of all there was no sound, a deathly hush where once there had been music and laughter and Ella singing. Her spirit was gone and without her the house was just another tired suburban box, indistinguishable from every other on the block. He'd waited and watched long enough to be sure Bobby was alone but he still listened at the door to be sure, stepping inside the screen door, knocking and waiting.
Josef had warned him to stay away; that the risks were too great; that an old, blind cop was still a cop; that he should let it go. But he couldn’t. More than that, he didn’t want to. Protests hadn't prevented Josef from helping him; the boiler room was pretty simple in principle but this operation had been very smooth and his contacts had proved helpful in tracking down the man behind it all. It was a straightforward case, one that Bobby in his prime could have solved in a few days, but now he needed help – and a different kind of justice.
"Coming, coming," from within, accompanying a soft, slippered shuffle toward the door.
"Hey, Bobby."
"Well, well, well, Mick St. John as I live and breathe. Come in, come in," Bobby stepped aside with a chuckle, beckoning Mick through to the kitchen. "How've you been, old friend?" Bobby set about making tea, motioning Mick to sit. "When you didn't call I figured…" his voice trailed off with a shrug.
"I've been good, Bobby. It's good to see you." He winced at his clumsy phrasing, eyes darting to the stick resting against the counter.
"Well that's where you have me at a disadvantage," another chuckle, "but you sound just the same as the last time we met. It's been a while."
"I should have kept in touch."
"That's okay, Mick. I reached out a couple of times but I figured, I’m an easy guy to find – if you wanted to, you’d track me down. I'm just glad you're here now. You got news for me?"
"I have. And it's good news." Mick paused as Bobby settled steaming mugs on the table and settled himself into a chair opposite. "You'd done most of the work already - I just put the last few pieces together."
Bobby smiled, “Some things don’t change, I guess."
“Valentine Harris – that’s the real name of the man your daughter and son-in-law knew as Hanson Bell. He’s got a record that’d make your head spin. Large scale grifts through to cyber-crime. He pretty much founded boiler rooms on the West Coast and he made some serious money. Lots of investigations, no convictions. Never even indicted. Nearly got tripped up over his taxes,” a wry smile, ”a modern-day Capone. But he wised up and moved almost everything offshore. If it’s any consolation, your son-in-law got taken by the very best."
Bobby snorted, “Hmph. Thought he was so smart. Thinks money’s just gonna fall from the sky without having to work for it, that was his problem. Made him an easy mark.”
“Well Mr. Harris has seen the error of his ways where Angie and David are concerned.” He pressed a thick envelope into Bobby’s hand, “There’s fifty thousand dollars there, plus an extra twenty-five grand for the inconvenience.” Bobby whistled, gingerly placing the envelope on the table. "Make sure they don’t flash it around – put it back in the bank accounts it came from and explain it away as a loan if anyone asks. No-one will be any the wiser."
"You still work fast. Not bad for an old guy," Bobby grinned. "Seriously though, Mick, thank you. I-"
"Don't sweat it, man," Mick gripped Bobby's arm, "I'm glad I was able to help."
"But some of this," he riffled the sheaf of notes, "should be your fee – must cost quite a bit living in that fancy apartment."
Mick grinned, “Harris was kind enough to take care of that too.”
"I probably know the answer, but I'm gonna ask anyway. Are the police involved? Will Angie need to go to court?"
"Harris decided co-operation was a nice way to avoid any unpleasant consequences. It’s over, he won’t bother them again. They can rest easy and get on with their lives. Because with a baby on the way-"
"How d'you know about the baby?"
Mick smiled, "I'm thorough. They're gonna have enough on their hands without worrying about going to court."
Bobby heard the warmth in Mick's voice, "You always had a soft spot for a kid in trouble as I remember," he held up his hand to stem Mick's protest, "It’s okay, I still don't wanna know, Mick. Whatever you did, I know you got to the bottom of what happened to those little girls and I'm grateful. It helps me sleep easy at night knowing those parents finally got some peace."
Mick rose to leave. He’d known they’d come back to this, sooner or later and as the memories crowded in, pressing against him, he edged toward the door. It was the photo that stopped him, pausing, picking it up reverently, his smile warm and wistful. Bobby and Ella when they were young, newly-weds he’d guess, beaming for the camera, dressed in their Sunday best. He took in the rest of the room, seeing for the first time the hole left by her absence. Everywhere was still neat and clean, but it wasn’t a home any more. “I’m so sorry about Ella, Bobby,” his voice soft and sad.
Bobby moved to stand beside Mick, looking over his shoulder, the picture clear in his memory. “I got your card when she died – it was good of you to think of us.” Four years had passed but Mick could hear the unhealed grief in his voice. “Ella always had a soft spot for you, you know?”
Mick smiled, “Yeah, I know. She was a beautiful woman.”
“She…" Bobby coughed, composing his thoughts, "well let's just say I’m glad she isn’t around to see the mess Angie got herself in. She knew, though. She knew David was a nice enough boy but a little vain and a little stupid. Then I guess you never think anyone’s good enough for your little girl.”
Mick’s thoughts strayed, images of Beth, wondering who she would end up spending her life with. The thought unsettled him, a constant shadow he daren't illuminate.
“You ever marry, Mick? Kids of your own?”
“No.” Jolted back to the present, he placed the photo back on the table, turning, stepping close, “It just never happened for me.” He pulled Bobby into an awkward embrace, “I gotta get going.”
“It was good to see you, Mick. And thanks, buddy. Thank you for-“
Mick interrupted with a hand on the old man’s arm, “No thanks needed, Bobby. It was a pleasure and it was great to see you. You take care now and call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Sure thing, Mick. We’ll catch up real soon.”
Mick nodded, smiling his agreement, understood without the need for words, but his joy at reconnecting with a warm and welcoming part of his past didn’t even last the short walk to the car. Bobby may be older, nearly blind, a man he could call friend, but it still wasn’t safe. Too many questions he couldn't answer. Once a cop, always a cop and one with a family who expected Mick to be a man in his fifties. He couldn’t take the chance.
He slipped into the car, closing the door gently, taking a moment to stare back at the house. Jabbing his sunglasses on he started the engine and pulled away, sure in the knowledge that he and Bobby Desmond would never see each other again.
I agree - those middle years must have been hard. Really hard. It's little wonder that Mick found distraction (and obsession) keeping watch over Beth.
I loved Bobby Desmond, so this fic brings a smile to my face.
One of Mick's most important life relationships. One of the few humans who make Mick feel human. Who he's able to love and accept love from. Tho how bittersweet. He's so sure he'll not see Bobby again. That Bobby will leave him soon. How lovely it is that we know he will see Bobby one more time. Tho that meeting too, will be bittersweet.
it ended up not being quite true.