Essence of Inhumanity
by Lucy and Kimberley Lynn Workman
The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them; that is the essence of inhumanity.--George Bernard Shaw
"Hey, wait up! Henri!"
Henri Brown's hand shot out, catching the elevator door just before it closed and sliding it back open. He grinned at the approaching figure. "My, my, my. If it isn't always-punctual Detective van Rij. If it isn't let's-make-Henri-look-bad-by-always-being-on-time Mister Rafe."
His partner flashed him a look that was half-way between a glare and a smile, and somehow a combination of both. "Yes, Henri. I’m late. Go sing it from the rooftops."
Henri let the door slide shut. "What happened? You score last night? Stay out too late?"
"Nope. I was...I just overslept."
"You're lying to me," Henri observed easily.
Rafe shot him a look. "Look, H, sometimes people sleep late, okay? You do it twice, three times a week. I don't see why I'm not allowed."
Henri raised his hands in defeat. "Touchy. Okay, you overslept."
"Thank you." Rafe's mouth twitched in a smile. "Besides, a gentleman never kisses and tells."
"Oh, you asshole. I knew it! You went out with Sandburg last night and got lucky, didn't you?"
"Are you crazy? Jim wouldn't let me touch Blair."
Henri gaped at his partner for a minute, then swatted him on the arm. "That's not what I meant, wise-ass."
"I was only kidding anyway. I sat home all night going over the Perkins' reports."
"Perkins? I thought we had that case closed a week ago," H said as he leaned back on the elevator wall.
"Nope. Stephens is blabbing to his lawyers about accomplices, and not naming any names. You know how high-profile that case was. Simon's got us on the look-out for these invisible other men."
"Great. Just great. How come I wasn't told about this?"
"You were out at the Rivedale bust, remember? Doing everybody else's job again."
Henri glanced at him, surprised at the sudden bitter tone in his partner's voice. "What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing."
"Rafe."
The younger man sighed. "Look, Henri, I know I get on your case about showing up late every day, but at the rate you're going, I'm not surprised. You were out past midnight last night, weren't you? Talking to those jerks from the 23rd."
Henri shrugged. "So what, man? Just doing-"
"Your job? No, you weren't, you were doing your job and my job and the jobs of the detectives at the 23rd. You've got to cut it out, H. You're going to give yourself a complex."
The door to the elevator swung open on the sixth floor, and a man stepped in. The partners shut their conversation up for the time being, but after a few moments of silence, Rafe couldn't hold back.
"Look, I don't want to upset you. I know why you do it, but you have to stop driving yourself so hard and start driving me and the rest of the station a little more, you know? If I didn't know you like I do, I'd think you didn't trust me or something."
Henri's eyes shot to Rafe's face, surprised. "What's this got to do with you?"
Rafe shrugged, almost blushing. "Nothing. That was a dumb thing to say, sorry. We're just worried, H."
Henri studied him for a moment, then finally smiled. "Well, fear not, worthy sidekick. I'm fine."
The doors opened, finally depositing them at the floor of Major Crimes. The two men stepped out together, unconsciously falling into rhythm as they walked.
"Why am I the sidekick? How come you never have to be my sidekick?"
"Because I've been here longer. I've got the experience. I've got the look. I've got the moooooves." Henri slid his way in through the doors to the bustling office. "Hey, Hairboy. Where's GI Tightass?"
Rafe followed behind him, shaking his head and trying not to grin at his partner's antics. He was used to being the sidekick, actually, for reasons just like this. Henri tended to burst into rooms, to make an entrance. He was always loud, making people laugh, and he was a good enough cop to have every single person's respect in the office.
Rafe was more the wallflower; the straight man for Henri's gags, the one who always laughed at Henri's jokes. In private, the two men bantered and were on equal ground, but in crowds, Henri Brown definitely had it all over Rafe.
People liked Rafe, he guessed, in a quiet sort of way. He had been told often enough times how attractive he was, he always dressed the part. He had a good heart -- that was one he heard a lot. That surprised people who didn't know Rafe very well. People who guessed from his appearance that he came from money, they were surprised he was as nice and down to earth as he was.
He never bothered correcting them on any of it.
And it wasn't like he was unhappy. He was proud to be partners with the man making an entire room full of cops grin like idiots. Henri Brown had his hidden side too, and Rafe was the only one in that room to know the full story. That gave him a certain edge over the crowd, even if none of them realized it.
And it only took Henri a minute of greeting people before he was back by his partner's side. "Alright, Rafe, don't stand there frozen, we got criminal asses to wallop."
Rafe grinned and followed Henri further into the room, towards the desk they worked from.
Behind them, the door to Major Crimes opened again and two men stepped in. No one familiar, so the crowd didn't stop its bustling. The first and most prominent was a tall, olive-skinned man with gray hair, a sturdy stance, and eyes that swept over the room. He hesitated for a minute by the door, then made his way into the room, his eyes on the office in the rear -- the office of Captain Simon Banks. The second man, an obvious lackey, followed without even looking around.
Rafe was unfortunate enough to decide to want a cup of coffee right as this man was passing by, and when he turned he ran right into the stranger.
"Oh, sorry." A smile naturally came to Rafe's face, polite and distant, as he passed the man and his associate.
But the stranger didn't start walking again. Instead, his eyes followed the detective's movements as he walked. He watched Rafe as he suddenly pulled to a dead stop in the middle of the room, his body going rigid. Watched him turn slowly back around, wide eyes returning to the man.
"Ryf." The man's voice reflected his bearing -- sturdy and proud.
Henri Brown heard him and glanced over to see what was happening. He studied the stranger with interest, then followed his gaze to where his partner stood-
-and got up immediately, heading for Rafe's side. The man looked like he had just seen a ghost, pale and tense, eyes haunted. "Hey, Rafe, what's up?" he asked quietly, coming to his friend's side.
"Excuse me, Mister Smola?" A uniform appeared behind the man, drawing his attention. "Captain Banks can see you now."
The stranger nodded briskly and gave one cool glance back to the frozen detective before turning and following the woman to the back of the room. His shorter companion followed without a word.
The moment he was in the door and out of sight, Rafe sagged. Henri reached out, surprised, and supported his partner, leading him to his chair quickly.
"What the hell is going on here, Rafe?"
Rafe shook his head, his eyes still wide and unblinking.
"You okay, man?"
Another small head shake.
"Come on, Rafe, talk to me. You're scaring me here."
Rafe blinked, slowly raising his gaze to his concerned partner. "Henri-"
"Hey, is everything okay over here?"
Henri looked up in annoyance, only to have it fade when the worried blue eyes of Blair Sandburg met his. "I don't know," he replied honestly.
The new voice seemed to have snapped Rafe out of his stupor. He pushed to his feet suddenly, and took a few quick steps towards Simon's closed door. He turned and looked at Henri, his eyes strangely bright. "What is he doing here?" he asked in a strange, flat tone. His accent was suddenly much more prominent.
Henri glanced at Blair, who was equally stumped. "Uh, look, Rafe, why don't you come sit down, tell us who that guy is, and we'll figure it out."
Rafe came forward obediently, but when he reached Brown's side he turned and headed the other way. His steps turning into a nervous pace, he couldn't stop his eyes from going to the closed door.
"Rafe-"
"Don't worry about it," Rafe said to him.
Henri watched him pace for another minute. "Look, partner, we can-"
"Leave it, Henri." Rafe all but glared at his partner as he passed.
Henri shook his head slightly, confused. "Rafe, why don't you tell me what's wrong?"
"Why is he taking so long?" Rafe muttered in reply, more to himself that anyone else.
And now Henri couldn't keep a twist of amusement out of his eyes. Simon's door had only been shut for a minute. "Patience is a virtue," he said lightly.
Rafe stopped his pacing and spun towards his partner. "So is silence, Henri, so shut the fuck up!"
Mouths around the office dropped open in shock. Rafe yelled at Henri. Good-hearted Rafe had turned an actual glare to his partner, and yelled at him. And now he didn't bother to take it back, or apologize. He just kept pacing.
Until the door to Simon Bank's office opened again a few minutes later, exposing the gray-haired stranger.
Rafe stiffened, but it seemed more with resolve than anything else, and stood straight, facing the man as he approached, followed by the companion that dogged him liked a shadow, and Simon Banks himself.
Smola paused in front of Rafe.
The detective swallowed. "Meneer."
Smola glanced back at his constant companion, and gestured to the detective with no small amount of scorn. "Dit is Ryf." He looked Rafe in the eye. "Hy is Niemand." He stressed the last word with a dark smile.
Rafe paled, but made no move as the man brushed past and started for the door. "Moenie..."
Smola turned slightly at the near whisper, but it was only to gesture to his companion. "Kom saam. Dadelik." His lackey was at his side in an instant at those words and the two men were suddenly out the door and gone as quickly as they'd come.
Rafe suddenly found himself the focal point of too many stares. Every eye in the room was on him. Henri Brown and Simon Banks were studying him like he was a new life form, while Blair Sandburg's eyes were thoughtful, searching the young detective.
Rafe stood silently, deciding what to do. Finally he turned and went to his desk, sitting silently, opening the first file he came to, saying a steady prayer that the eyes would lose interest and look somewhere else.
As if reading his mind, Simon Banks broke the strange silence. "Get to work, people," he barked, his eyes not leaving his youngest detective.
The room pulsed into action again, and if the voices were a little more hushed and murmured and eyes kept going back to Rafe's hunched form, Simon paid no attention. Instead, he turned a questioning look to Henri Brown.
Henri read the expression easily, and shrugged. He didn't have the faintest clue what that was all about.
"Why don't you go join your partner?" Simon suggested softly in response.
Brown nodded and made a beeline for his desk. He hesitated once he was at Rafe's side, uncertain. He decided finally to try for light. "So you have hidden talents, I see. What the hell kinda language was that, anyway?"
The slumped form didn't move.
Henri swallowed. "Uh...hey, man, you wanna make some room?"
Rafe didn't say a word, just scooted the files so Henri could see them too.
What Henri saw was that his partner was examining a case that had been closed yesterday. He reached out gingerly and closed the folder, moving to sit on the edge of the desk. "Alright, Rafe. You gonna tell me what's wrong?"
Rafe met his eyes, a dark look on his face. "No."
Henri put on his most reassuring, I'm-with-you-man expression. "Look, it can't be that bad. Why don't you-"
"God dammit, Henri, why can't you ever leave anything alone?" Rafe shot out of his chair, almost throwing Henri off-balance, and grabbed his jacket.
"Where you going?" Henri asked immediately, concern overwhelming his surprise at Rafe's sudden behavior.
"Nowhere." Rafe stormed towards the door.
"Detective!" Simon Banks, watching from a distance, wasn't about to ignore this problem. "Where do you think you're going?"
Rafe -- ever-obedient, gentle Rafe -- didn't even look back. "To lunch."
"Van Ryj, get your ass back in here!"
Tension in the room shot up about a hundred percent. It was everyone's habit to refer to the young man as Rafe, all the time. It was what Rafe preferred. Even Simon was in the habit of saying Detective Rafe. This sudden appearance of his last name didn't bode well.
But if Rafe realized that, he showed no sign. He glanced back briefly, but continued to the door, almost knocking an incoming figure over.
"Watch it!" Rafe pushed past the startled man without a pause.
"Uh. Sorry, Rafe," Jim Ellison mumbled in response, brow furrowed. Who was this and what had he done with their Rafe?
After a surprised second spent listening to the younger man's footsteps going to the elevator, Jim continued on into Major Crimes, glancing back at the now empty doorway. "What was that?" he asked H and Blair, who were now crowded around Brown’s desk.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Henri responded, worried. "He was fine for all I knew and then he just went ballistic over some guy who came in."
"I would have gone weird too if some strange guy told me I was nobody," Blair broke in.
"Nobody? Sandburg, what are you talking about?" H asked, still peeved.
"The guy said Rafe's name, though kind of a different pronunciation of it. Ryf, I think. More guttural."
"Get to the point, Chief."
"Yeah, sorry. Then he said something like nothing, nobody, I'm not entirely sure."
Henri turned to him, surprised. "You understood it?"
"Not all of it. I have some basic knowledge of the Afrikaan language from my studies, but not enough so that I can carry on a sensible conversation."
"He’s like a walking encyclopedia," Jim threw in with a smirk, seeing Henri's shocked face. "That's what made Rafe go off like that?"
"Now that I don’t know," Blair admitted.
"Well, you better find out fast because we need his help on a new case." Simon walked over from the direction of his office to join them.
"Does it have anything to do with that guy that was in here?" Blair asked.
"Everything. I don’t know what he did to make Rafe so mad, but he’s got his hands all over this case, so Rafe’s either got to get over his tantrum or bail on it."
"What kind of case?" H questioned.
"I think it’s best if we wait for Rafe, talk to everyone at once. When he gets back, I want all of you in my office," Simon said to the three men as he turned and walked back to his office.
"Well, I hate to break all this up, but we have paperwork to get done," Jim said to Blair. He looked over at the concern still evident on Henri's face. "It’ll be alright H, he’ll cool off and be ready to talk soon."
"I hope you’re right Jim, last thing I need is Rafe going psycho on me." Henri looked at Ellison. "Always gotta look out for them, you know…." He gave him a meaningful look.
And Jim understood perfectly. "Come on, Chief, we’ve got a whole stack of reports that are just dying to get typed," he said as he shuffled Blair over to their desk.
"What did he mean, ‘look out for them?"
Jim knew enough by now not to keep things from Blair, but this time it wasn’t his secret to divulge, so he just pushed on. "Henri’s just worried about his partner," he answered as he flipped through a file he picked up from the desk.
"I've never seen him angry…" Blair faltered. "But he probably had a good reason."
Jim looked at the younger man, questioning the meaning. "What possible reason could Rafe have for almost taking off my shoulder on the way out?"
"It’s complicated, man. Rafe’s complicated." It was Blair's turn to hide in the files to keep from looking at his partner.
"Now who’s keeping secrets?" Jim retorted as he dropped his own file on the desk. "You and Rafe talked, didn’t you? That night me and Henri were on the stakeout, you guys talked?"
"What are you talking about?" Blair chuckled, trying to hide his nervousness.
"When Simon sent me and Henri on that stakeout, you and Rafe followed us," Jim reminded his wide-eyed partner. "Don’t try to deny it, I saw you two parked up in Rafe’s car."
"Well, we were worried about you and…"
"I knew you’d probably pull something like that and you know how I feel about it. You wouldn’t be Blair Sandburg if you didn’t disobey every single thing I said.”
“You wait until NOW to bring this up? You certainly are good at holding grudges aren’t you? Besides, I didn’t disobey you technically….you told me you didn't want me going with you, and I didn't." Blair tried to wiggle out of Jim’s glare.
"We’ll talk about this later, ok? I just....uh, figured you two talked about some things.”
It wasn't hard to miss the slight apprehension and guilt in Jim's tone. Blair looked up and faced him squarely. "Jim, we've talked about this before. It is not cool for you to listen in on my personal conversations!"
Jim knew better than to deny it. He had been spying. "Calm down, I didn’t hear hardly anything. You two started talking about how overprotective we were and I tuned out. It doesn’t interest me to listen to my faults."
"It wasn’t like that. We were just comparing how alike you two are and then….we talked about some things."
"I figured as much," Jim laughed.
"I know, you and H probably sat in silence the whole time and didn’t even say a word right?"
"Well….not entirely. I guess we both had an interesting time that night, huh?"
"More than you’ll know, Jim," Blair answered quietly.
"You’d be surprised," Jim responded. The two sat and looked at each other in silence for a few moments, then Blair broke the mood.
"Well, if we don’t get these reports done soon, Simon will have a fit."
"Take it away Darwin, they’re all yours," Jim smiled as he picked up his coffee cup and walked towards the break room.
"Oh, great. Thanks a lot." Blair didn't even raise his voice, knowing Jim was listening. "This really sucks," he said, quieter. And he wasn't sure he meant just the paperwork. *******************
"Idiot. You stupid...idiot!" Rafe didn't bother to look around and notice the strange looks following him as he mumbled to himself angrily.
This day was a disaster, that much was for sure. And he really, really wished he hadn't rushed to get out of the station like that. Now Simon was no doubt pissed at him, Henri was probably mad, and he had no one to talk to. And Ellison. He had actually pushed Jim Ellison out of his way. Jim The-Most-Intimidating-Man-on-Earth Ellison. Man, he didn't look forward to facing that guy again.
Well, he didn't really look forward to much of anything right now. Whatever Smola had been doing at the station, it wasn't good. Whatever he was doing in this city, in this country...and why whatever it was had brought him to Cascade, to his precinct, to Major Crimes....
The world wasn't nearly large enough. Rafe should have come to terms with that fact a long time ago.
As if responding to his thoughts, a coldly familiar voice caught his ears suddenly. "Ryf."
Three different urges pulled Rafe at once. The first was to keep going, pretend he didn't hear. The second was to run straight to his apartment, pack his things, and get as far away from that voice as possible.
The third was more sensible, and for some reason that's the one he went with. He turned to face Gustav Smola. "Meneer," he greeted for the second time with some effort.
Smola smiled grimly. "We will speak English."
Rafe nodded slightly. "Uncle."
"I don't know what to say, Ryf."
Rafe cringed. Even that pronunciation was starting to stir up memories.
"I have heard from my brother how you deserted your family. I have heard that you were living in a city, earning money, while your mother and sisters barely have enough to eat. I have heard, but I didn't want to believe. Now I see it was correct and I am almost glad of the circumstances that brought me here."
"Uncle, I have-"
"I think about how I put you on the plane to America myself. I think about how your family lived off of my kindness for nearly a year. I can remember every single time you gave me or your parents trouble, and yet somehow I thought the man you would grow into would be better than the child you were. I see that that was also incorrect."
It occurred to Rafe to wonder why he was standing there listening to this man, but he knew from past experience that no amount of will would start his body moving away.
"You have forgotten yourself, Ryf. Who you were. What you are. It does not do for a man to forget his place in the world."
Miraculously, Rafe was able to speak up, his throat dry. "I have to go back to work."
Smola nodded once. "I will see you at your station, I'm sure." He wasted no time, leaving his nephew's side and starting across the street.
Rafe watched him go for a long time, before he could finally get his legs to start moving again. He turned and slowly headed back to the station, knowing that whatever awaited him there, it wasn't as bad as what had found him out here.
"Ow! Damn it!"
"Hey, keep your voice down. There are innocent ears in this room."
Blair glared over at Henri, who smiled half-heartedly in response. He stuck his injured finger in his mouth without a word, turning back to the file in front of him.
"Sandburg!?"
Blair's eyes flew up as Jim Ellison came pounding in, his eyes going straight to his partner. "Uh. Hey, Jim."
Jim went to his side without a pause. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just smashed my finger in the drawer. I'll live." Blair's eyes crinkled in sudden amusement. "You were listening in on me?"
Jim shrugged, dropping down into the seat beside him. "Not deliberately. Your...uh, your heartbeat sped up suddenly. I guess I automatically tuned in, heard you say ow."
Blair's eyes grew as he took that in. "Let me get this straight. You were listening to my heart beat, and as soon as it sped up, you unconsciously tuned your hearing up in time to hear me say ow?"
Jim nodded. "Yeah. So?"
"So there was maybe a one second pause between me being hurt and me actually saying 'ow' out loud. Which means in one second you were able to filter out all the other sounds around and focus directly on me. Jim, that's amazing! We have to focus on this! If we could get to the point where you were able to do that-"
"Chief?"
"-with just...oh. Yeah, Jim?"
"Reports?"
"Oh, you mean these things I've been filling out for the last hour?" Blair gazed at him pointedly.
"I'm here now, so why don't we work instead of ramble, okay?"
"I don't ramble."
Jim snorted. "Right, and I need glasses."
"Ha ha." Blair shook his head, but returned Jim's grin as they faced the pile of papers on the desk.
Jim sat up a second later, his smile vanishing, his eyes going to the door. "Rafe's coming."
Blair turned with him and saw their friend entering the office. If Rafe had looked stunned, or furious, before, now he just looked drained. He dragged his feet over to his desk and sat down without looking at anyone.
"Whoa. You think we should go talk to him?"
Jim thought about it. Henri had stepped out for a few minutes, probably down to Records, and Rafe sure looked like he had something he should get off his chest.
"I don't know, Chief. It's not really our business, is it?"
"Rafe! Get your ass in here, now!"
Blair glanced over at the door that had hardly opened, then shut again. Simon Banks must have had some kind of radar that let him keep track of his men. "This does not bode well," he commented in a whisper only Jim would hear.
Jim shrugged. It was none of their business.
"Ellison?"
He glanced over. Simon was sticking his head out again, watching Rafe's slow progression away from his desk. "Yeah?"
"As soon as Brown gets up here, I want all three of you in my office."
Rafe made his way to Simon without even noticing there was a conversation going on around him. He went in silently and Simon shut the door behind him.
"Can you hear anything?" Sandburg breathed just loud enough for Jim to hear him.
The Sentinel shot him a stern glance. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who told me that it wasn’t proper to listen in on private conversations."
"Yeah, but this is different. Rafe’s our friend…" Blair stopped. Well, Rafe was his friend and he was H’s friend, even if he admittedly had problems with Jim. "Anyway, he might be in trouble or something."
"Fine, fine, but only for a minute. I’m not some spy for your personal amusement you know?" Jim gave Sandburg a mock grimace as he tuned into the office conversation.
"I’m sorry Captain, I had no right," Rafe's voice matched his bearing -- tired and drained.
"You’re damned right you didn’t! I can’t have you going postal and then storming out of here!" Simon was yelling.
"I was just…."
"That was a direct undermining of my authority and you know it!"
"Captain…"
"You made me look like a fool, ignoring me like that!"
"I know…"
There was a pause as Simon managed to calm down. "I can’t afford to reprimand you right now because I need you on this case, but you’re walking a very thin line, son."
"I’m very sorry about my actions and it will never happen again. I accept all responsibility and any punishment you deem fit," Rafe replied without emotion.
"Rafe," Simon sighed. "I don’t want to punish you. I know there’s got to be a good explanation for what you did and I wish you’d tell me about it, but for right now let’s just let it rest, ok?"
"Yes, sir."
A tap on his arm brought Ellison out of his eavesdropping.
"So, what did they say?"
"You mean you couldn’t hear? Simon was practically blowing his top in there."
"I know," Sandburg commented. "But then it got quiet. They didn’t kill each other did they?"
Jim chuckled, "No Chief, I think they’re just going to let it go for right now."
"Good, now if Henri would just hurry up and…" Blair said as he caught sight of H. "Speak of the devil. Hey H, come over here!"
"Our presence is requested in Simon’s office," Jim told H as he and Sandburg arose from their seats. "Rafe is already in there."
Henri brightened at the news, but hid it under a mock-grimace. "Tongue lashing?"
"Not too bad, actually," Jim replied as the threesome steadied themselves and entered Simon’s office. Rafe was slumped in one of the chairs, trying not to look at anyone.
"You wanted to see us, sir?" H asked tentatively.
"Come in," Simon motioned to them. "We’ve got a new case for you guys."
The three men took their places around Simon’s desk, Rafe still unmoved by the events.
"All four of us?" Jim questioned, surprised. This one must be big.
"Yes, all four of you. It involves a South African businessman, name’s Franz Gierhake. He was in Cascade to meet with Thomas Jackson, the CEO of Glory Shares. It’s a computer-based business that relocated secondary headquarters to South Africa about five years ago. The workers come cheaper and so do the diamonds that run the industry. Gierhake headed the sister company down in South Africa. The desk clerk said he left his hotel at 6PM last night to go to a meeting. We found him this morning in an alley on 35th Street, stabbed to death." Simon slid some crime-scene photos across his desk to the waiting detectives.
Jim glanced at it, let out a low whistle. "Robbery?"
Simon shook his head as Henri examined the picture next. "When the body was searched, he had over $2,000 American dollars on him."
Blair whistled. "That’s a whole lot of cash."
"There’s more." Simon looked over at Rafe and then back to the other three men. "I got a visit from a Mr. Gustav Smola this morning…"
"Smola."
"What?" Simon glanced back at Rafe.
"It’s pronounced Smola," Rafe repeated quietly, his accented voice giving a slightly different flavor to the name.
"You know this guy?" Blair spoke gently -- they had pretty much figured out by now that Rafe knew the guy, somehow. But he wanted to hear it confirmed.
Rafe looked at him, eyes full of pain. He should have known it would come out sooner or later; he wished it had all just stayed in South Africa where it belonged.
"He’s my uncle," he finally admitted.
Henri sat up quickly, his expression clouding with concern as he watched his partner. "That was your uncle? From Pretoria?"
Rafe nodded bleakly.
Henri's jaw tightened, but he faced Simon again without a word.
"You should have told me, Rafe," the captain said tiredly. "I need as many people on this as possible. If you're going to be too close-"
"No, Captain. I'm fine."
Simon just looked at him.
"Look, I'm sorry I overreacted this morning. I can find a murderer, sir. I just...I..." He frowned. "How much does Smola have to do with this, sir?"
Smola. Not Uncle, not Gustav. Smola. Blair filed that away for future reference.
"He's president of this company in Africa. Our victim's boss. He's a heavy-hitter, he could get the Feds involved if he raises enough hell."
"Damn," Jim made a face.
Simon glared at him. "If it comes to that, you'll work with them and like it, Ellison," he barked. Then lowered his voice. "Let's just make damned sure it doesn't come to that."
"What do you need all four of us working on this for, Captain? We've had higher-profile cases before," Henri said.
"Smola wants as many of my men as I can spare. And I'll tell you now, the facts of this case don't make much sense. We have a witness, a woman out walking her schnauzer or something, who swears up and down that Gierhake was killed by a homeless man who usually sleeps in that alley."
"A homeless guy? Who left two thousand bucks in the guy's pocket?" Henri didn't bother concealing his doubt.
Simon shrugged. "She lives nearby, says she saw him clear as day. But this guy’s disappeared and nobody's talking. Homicide's been handling the case all morning, they've got some guys interviewing the local sidewalk population, but they aren't saying a word. We've got to figure out if it was some random crime by a psychopathic bum or something more substantial."
"Captain?" Jim was back to studying the picture, and his eyes had focused in on something.
"You see something, Jim?" It was Blair who responded, trying to sound casual.
"I think so. Have we got a better picture of his injuries?"
Simon flipped through the photos in his file. He made a slight face and pulled out the last one, a close-up of Gierhake's chest. The blood staining his shirt was more clear.
Jim studied it for a second, then looked up. "Where's the body?"
"My guess would be the morgue. What do you see?"
"Some kind of pattern...it's hard to tell, the blood's spread too far. I think if we look at the wounds themselves, we'd be-"
Simon's phone rang abruptly, cutting Jim off. He grabbed it, annoyed. "Banks...yeah...You found what?" His eyes went to Jim. "Carved into his chest," he repeated.
Jim set the picture down, trying not to follow his urges and listen in on the conversation.
"No one knows....okay, we'll look at it. Thanks." Simon hung up. "So you're psychic now too, huh?" he asked Jim sardonically.
"What you got?"
"Some kind of symbol, carved on Gierhake's chest. No one down in the morgue can recognize it. They're faxing a picture over."
Blair hoped he didn't look too pale. "Oh, goody."
Simon glanced over as, right on cue, his fax machine starting whirring. He ignored it for the time being. "Jim, you used to work Vice near 35th. You know the area, right?'
"That was a long time ago." Jim shrugged.
"You ever deal with the homeless?"
"Not much. And whoever I did know down there could be dead or moved on. No telling."
"Well, you've still had more experience with them than anyone else here. You and Sandburg are going to have to go canvas the streets, find somebody that'll talk to you about that night, or this homeless guy the witness thinks is our killer."
Jim nodded silently.
"Rafe, Brown, I want you to look into Gierhake, find out when he got here, who he talked to, what color underwear he wore. Everything. This guy Smola isn't being too generous with his itinerary." Simon leaned over as he talked, taking the completed fax off the machine. He studied it for a minute, then slid it over to them. "Take a look, tell me if it rings any bells."
Jim grabbed it and held it up so the others could see it. A rectangle, with straight lines coming from one side that branched off into diagonal. Looked like a sideways Y.
Blair studied it impassively, trying hard to pretend it was just a mural on paper, and not wounds on a corpse's skin. "It looks like some kind of crest, or-"
"Flag." Rafe's quiet voice cut him off.
"You recognize it, Rafe?"
He nodded, looking sick. "I think you can rule out the psychopathic bum theory. Unless the homeless population in Cascade would be familiar enough with the South African flag to carve it into a man's chest." *******************
"Look, we don't know, you know? We see some things, and then they aren't there, see."
Jim rubbed away the beginnings of what was going to be a real bitch of a headache. "You wanna stop talking in riddles and try that again, Sammy?"
The fifty-something man in front of him grinned, revealing large gaps where teeth used to be. "We're all crazy down here anyway, officer. Sometimes what we see we don't know, and we don't know what we see."
Jim growled his frustration. "Sammy, go have a drink or something."
The man nodded, still grinning, and strolled off. Jim gazed around the small shelter, quickly spotting his partner wrapped up in conversation with a younger man. Blair looked safe for the time being, so he moved further into the room, his powerful eyes watching for another likely candidate.
He reached out almost absently, extending his hearing to other conversations in the small room. There weren't that many people talking, so it wasn't that hard.
"Waar die hel was jy gewees?"
The voice jumped out at him; the strange, guttural language, so surprising here in the pits of Cascade. Jim immediately turned to where it was coming from, to see two men confronting a third, hushed and obviously nervous. They looked like anyone else there, dirty and unkempt.
"Pas op," came the hissed response. "Polisie."
Police? Now this was interesting.
"Verdomp."
"Loop ons," the first speaker replied, and the three men through mutual agreement broke apart and started wandering in different directions.
Jim headed for Blair. "Hey, Chief, get over here."
Blair looked over from the man he'd been talking to, not at all surprised at the interruption. "Excuse me for a moment," he smiled politely at the young man. He stood and went to Jim's side. "What's wrong?"
"What language was it you said they spoke in South Africa?"
"Afrikaan. That's what Rafe was speaking to his uncle, anyway. It's mostly spoken by the white population of the country. Some in Nambia, too, and of course there're a bunch of African languages spoken in-"
"Alright, alright. I just overheard a coupla guys here speaking something strange." Jim frowned, concentrating.
Blair instantly realized what he was trying to do, and placed a hand on his arm. "Okay, Jim, no problem, just think back to what was said. Just extend your memory the same way you extend your senses. What do you think you heard?" "I know I heard the word police. Uhhh...polisie? I think that's right. And there was one sentence..." His frown grew. "Uhhh....waar die hel..was jy...jy something. I don't know."
"That's good enough. It sure sounds like it, anyway." Blair glanced around the room. "You want to pick them up?"
Jim thought about it. "I don't know. As big a coincidence as it is, we can't just arrest some guys for speaking another language."
"Man, too bad Rafe's not here."
Jim raised his eyebrows. "Yeah...."
"What you thinking?" *******************
"You want me to go undercover in a homeless shelter because Jim thinks he overheard some guys speaking another language." Rafe managed to keep his voice remarkably calm.
Simon nodded firmly.
"I don't get it, Simon."
"Look, Rafe, we've got a South African businessman murdered with a flag carved into his chest, and we've got a murder suspect who's hiding somewhere among his homeless buddies. Now we've got homeless men in a shelter speaking South African to each other-"
"Afrikaan," Rafe corrected softly.
"Whatever. You know the language, they don't know you. It's just for a day or two, until we either find something else or we catch these guys in the act."
"In what act, Captain? They were just talking."
Simon glowered at his youngest detective. "Don't pretend to be dense, here. It's too much of a coincidence. A man was murdered, and I refuse to believe these guys don't have something to do with it. Now this is your assignment, Rafe. Are you gonna take it or not?"
Rafe raised his eyebrows and laughed bitterly. "Do I have a choice?"
Simon hesitated. He almost wished, looking at Rafe now, that he could offer him a choice. Rafe had changed over the last day. Only slightly, but it was noticeable. That bitter note in his voice was becoming more and more prominent, there were circles under his eyes and he looked as though he'd never smiled in his life. Simon had no idea how the appearance of a family member, even one as obviously estranged as Gustav Smola, could affect him so badly, but it had.
But, of course, there really was no choice to offer. The investigation of Gierhake's activities had led to nothing, there was no clue who this meeting he was supposed to have been going to was with. Jim overhearing that language was the closest thing to a lead they had, and Rafe was the only man in his department, and probably the whole station, who was familiar with Afrikaan.
Rafe was involved in this...well, a little too involved to make Simon happy. But really, no, there was no choice.
"I'm sorry, son. I know this isn't easy, but..." Simon shrugged.
Rafe stood. "Yeah. Thanks a lot." He headed for the door.
"This meeting isn't over yet, detective." Simon couldn't keep the snap out of his voice.
Rafe turned reluctantly. "What? What else is there?"
"Are you okay?"
"What?"
"It's not a hard question. But I want you to be honest. This case is rough on you. I don't know why, but I know it is. If you can't handle it, I need you to let me know."
Rafe studied him for a minute. "And what if I told you I couldn't handle it? What would happen?"
Simon hesitated, but honesty won out. "Probably, a murderer will get away."
Rafe nodded slowly and turned again. This time, Simon didn't bother stopping him. *******************
"Jim! Where’s my blue shirt?"
"It’s in the hamper, with most of your clothes," Jim responded as he entered Blair's room. "You know, Chief, there’s this magical place called a laundry room and it makes all your clothes clean."
Blair raised an eyebrow. "Now is not the time for your jokes. I’ve got a date in half an hour and I can’t find one decent clean shirt."
"You don’t have one decent shirt, period," Jim retorted. "Between your awful Hawaiian-themed ones and those silk nightmares, it’s a wonder you haven’t been charged with public disruption."
"Ha, ha. Laugh if you must, but Fran happens to like my unique style." Blair continued rummaging through his closet, making faces at every piece of fabric he picked up. "Why is this happening now? I’ve got to pick her up and she hates it when I’m late."
"Which would be every time you go anywhere."
Blair spun around to face Jim. "What is with this crummy mood? I was just looking for a little help."
"Oh, now he asks me for help. Great." Jim frowned at his roommate. "You want to handle everything on your own, you can damn well handle this too."
Blair blinked in surprise. "What's up with this? Why you getting on my case?"
Jim opened his mouth, but shook his head after a second. "Forget it, Sandburg. Not like you'd listen anyway."
"This is about that stake-out, isn’t it? You’re still mad about it!"
"Whatever," Jim turned and retreated to the living room, Blair following him.
"It IS about the stake-out!" Blair realized. "You’re mad because Rafe and I were there."
"And why shouldn’t I be?" Jim asked as he sank down to the couch. "Every time I tell you to do something or stay put you go out of your way to do the exact opposite!"
"Maybe that’s because you’re always telling me to ‘stay put’ like I can’t handle myself! I’m a good asset to the department, everyone says so, even if you don’t want to believe it!" Blair was becoming animated.
"I didn’t say you weren’t good!" Jim jumped up. "But you’re always sticking your neck out and getting into trouble!"
"Like that’s MY fault? I don’t tell the local psychos to come looking for me, it just happens. Maybe if you trusted me more, I wouldn’t be the poor, helpless guy who has to be rescued constantly!"
"I trust you more than anyone in my entire life!" Jim replied evenly. He quieted before continuing on, "I’m just afraid that one day I’ll be too late and you won’t come back."
"Jim," Blair breathed in. "I know you worry about me, but you can’t be there every second of the day, and sticking me in some glass cage isn’t gonna keep me safe."
"I know, but I don’t want to risk it," Jim admitted.
"Yeah, well, the same goes for you. You ever think about that?"
Jim looked at him questioningly.
"You don’t think it worries me when you go rushing into a situation where bullets are flying and there’s no way to know if this will be the one day you’re not so lucky?"
Jim’s face softened. "That’s my job."
"And watching out for you is my job. We’ve got to trust each other and realize that we can’t be attached at the hip twenty-four hours a day. Sometimes we’ve got to go it alone."
Jim chuckled. "Speaking of which, isn’t Fran waiting?"
"Oh man!" Blair shouted as he looked at his watch. "She’s gonna freak!" He raced into his room, throwing clothes around in a whirlwind. He finally emerged, dressed in a respectable red shirt and a pair of black jeans.
"He finally dresses semi-normal," Jim said to no one in particular, leaning against the kitchen counter.
"Not half bad, huh?" Blair smiled, reaching for his coat. "No need to wait up for me. I’ll probably be out late."
"Chief." Jim was solemn. "Be careful, ok?"
"Jim," Blair smiled. "It’s only a little date. Flash some of my Sandburg charm and watch out!"
"That’s what I’m afraid of," Jim chuckled.
"Henri, where the hell did you get this stuff?" Rafe was desperately trying to not sound hysterical as he laughed at the dirty ensemble Henri had clutched in his hands.
"You gonna let me in?"
"Oh, yeah." Rafe stepped away from the door, giving his partner entrance to his small apartment. "Just drop those....ughh. Let me get some newspapers or something." Henri chuckled and dropped the clothes onto the small couch.
"They aren't that dirty, don't worry. Besides, you have to wear them. What touches you can touch your furniture."
"Is that the rule?" Rafe shut his door and stepped closer, looking at the clothes, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Did you just go up to someone on the street and buy his clothes off him or what?"
"Stop griping and get dressed. We've got to do this fast."
"I know, I know. Simon briefed me." Rafe's strained smile faded as he stepped closer to the clothes.
His partner studied his pale face, then nodded slightly. "I know, man. I wish I could go instead."
"Yeah, well...." Rafe trailed off. After a minute he shook his head to clear it and laughed. "This is ridiculous. Just give me a minute."
He grabbed the clothes and marched off to his bedroom to change. Henri watched him go, then turned and flopped down on the couch, allowing his frown to show. This, as Sandburg would say, well and truly sucked. He knew Rafe had to be freaking out on the inside. It was just too much history coming back at once -- the uncle, the South African connection, and now...
It would have amazed anyone in the Cascade PD to hear about his partner's life. It had taken a long time for Rafe to open up to his partner. At the same time, Henri had shared his painful Army stories and Rafe had come clean about his past. The two men were left with a much greater respect for each other, and came out of that night closer than Henri would have thought possible. So Henri knew exactly what it was going to take for Rafe to put on those rags, to erase his identity and become what he used to be -- what he still had nightmares about.
Simon Banks had had no idea what he was sending his detective to do. Henri just hoped they would catch these guys and get Rafe out of there fast.
Speaking of Rafe..."Hey, you okay in there?"
The reply, when it came, was faint. "Yeah."
Henri got up and went to the closed door. "Can I come in?"
Another pause.
"Not yet."
"Rafe..."
The sigh that floated from behind the door was louder than his voice had been, but Rafe opened the door after a minute. "Sorry. I'm coming out."
Henri let his partner shuffle past him, and he couldn't hold back his surprise. It must be true what they say about clothes making the man. This just wasn't his partner. Ever since he'd known Rafe, he'd been Mr. GQ. That's how everyone knew him, everyone Rafe knew in Cascade. Henri knew the back story, of course, but it didn't stop him from feeling shocked. Hell, maybe it was because he knew how much this meant to Rafe, maybe it made him seem so much different. Rafe's shoulders were slumped in these clothes. In the torn, dirty shirt and pants, at least two sizes two large, he seemed hunched into himself somehow. He held his arms closer to his sides, his head down.
Henri didn't try to lighten the air, as he'd been planning. He simply went to his partner's side and set a hand on the tense shoulder.
"Rafe, are you gonna be okay?"
Rafe didn't -- or couldn't -- meet his eyes. "Let's just get this over with," he said quietly.
That accent again. Yesterday when he'd seen his uncle and now tonight, Rafe's South African dialect was in full bloom.
Henri once again got the feeling that this was a really bad idea, on too many levels. *************
Jim and Blair walked into the office jovially talking about Sandburg’s previous nightly escapades.
"She was great, man. Great body, kind heart, high IQ," Blair grinned.
"And I bet you look for them in that order, right?" Jim laughed. He glanced around and noticed something out of the ordinary. It didn’t take him long to zero in on it.
"That’s strange," Jim said as he walked over to his desk.
"What?" Blair asked, following him.
"Henri and Rafe, they’re usually here by now."
Blair glanced over at the absent detectives’ desks. "Yeah, you’re right. Must have been another late night out," he smiled, nudging Jim.
"I can just see those two rolling in here, middle of the afternoon, bragging about their gallivanting."
"They won’t be back for a while," Simon broke in as he joined them at the desk. "At least, Rafe won’t."
"What happened?" Blair was instantly concerned.
"Rafe’s alright, isn’t he?"
"He’s fine," Simon assured them. "He’s just taken an undercover job for the case."
"Undercover?" Jim asked with a questioning glance. "Did they find out something that you didn’t tell us?"
"No, no. You said you heard some guys speaking Afrikaan in the homeless shelter." Simon paused, noting Ellison’s nod. "Well, Rafe’s the only one around here who can actually speak it with any sense, so I sent him in to find out what he could."
"You sent Rafe into a homeless shelter? Undercover?" Blair was suddenly pale.
"Yes, Sandburg, is there a problem with that?"
"Did he want to go?"
"Well, not at first, but…what has that got to do with anything?" Simon hit Blair with his usual early-morning glower. "He was sent in on a job and he’ll do as he’s told."
"Great. Just great."
"So where’s H?" Jim asked, trying to break the mood that was hanging over the conversation.
"He’s helping him get settled in at the shelter, helping him dress for the part. Somebody's gotta show that boy how to wear rags." Simon grinned at Jim.
Blair remained silent, his distress only increasing.
Simon saw the look. "Did you two find out something new?"
"No, sir, we’re just going to look over the files and see if there’s anything we missed," Jim explained.
"Ok, get on it then," Simon said as he turned towards his office. He paused by the door. "Sandburg, are you all right?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah, Simon. I’m fine." Blair didn't look up.
Simon nodded and returned to his office.
Jim, on the other hand, was quick to pounce on his partner. "You want to tell me why you just turned three different shades of white?"
"It’s nothing….I can’t believe he went in."
"Who? Rafe?" Jim shrugged, grabbing his mug and heading for the coffee machine. "It’s his job, Chief. And he is the most qualified of all of us. I certainly can’t understand a word of what they’re saying."
"But...in a homeless shelter."
Jim paused, facing his partner again. "You want to let me in on the problem, or am I supposed to be the dark?"
Blair seemed to shake himself out of his stupor so that he could answer. "Rafe shouldn’t be there. He’s...fragile, and he just shouldn’t be there."
"Fragile? Rafe? Where do you get that from? I know he’s been a little on edge over his uncle, but he’s not going to have trouble with a simple undercover assignment."
"You don’t realize Jim," Blair said quietly. "You just don’t realize." *************
It started with his own partner.
Of course, it was an act. It had to be authentic, that was the nature of undercover work. Just in case. And Henri had always been good at undercover.
"Get out of the car, man, you're stinking up my interior." Henri kept his voice distant and almost rough.
Rafe slid out, looking properly docile, and shifted his gaze to the building in front of him.
The door had opened, and a woman came out, making a beeline for Henri. "Officer Brown?"
"Yeah. You get a call from my Captain?"
"We certainly did. This is the gentleman?"
"Yeah. Look, he didn't break any real laws, so we can't hold on to him. But he was living in the middle of a crime scene, so we have to stash him somewhere until we close this case."
"Of course, we understand. Won't you come in for a moment? I'll need you to sign a couple of forms for us."
"Sure thing." Henri followed her, keeping one arm on Rafe, steering him along after them.
"What's his name?" the woman asked as they headed for a small desk.
"Beats me. He wasn't talking. We can give you a call when his prints come back."
"That won't be necessary. I'm sure he'll open up eventually." She slid a paper his way. "Sign the bottom, please."
As Henri worked, Rafe looked around. He'd been in this place one time before, investigating the murder of a woman who lived out of her car nearby. But he'd been a cop then. Now he was checking in.
Tables were lined up in three rows, obviously the feeding area. There were people sitting around, some talking, some just sitting. The air in the place was desolate, a feeling which Rafe shared in spades.
A few men were sitting near the door, and Rafe wandered a little closer, figuring the sooner he began this investigation, the sooner he could end it.
Unfortunately, they were speaking English. "-says for me to take it elsewhere. After that, I had to come here."
"Of course. They want people here. They do everything they can to get rid of you. Miss paying one month worth of bills, they shut you down." The second voice was tight, pinched with paranoia.
Rafe recognized the tone. He'd interviewed a few people who sounded just like that. Those were the ones he couldn't get a word spoken to, who ranted and raved about people they had known and how they ended up where they were.
And then, from behind them, another conversation was taking place.
"Ek vertaan nie, waar is hy?"
"Wag u. Vandag hy is 'n gevaar. More ons-"
Rafe didn't even wait around to listen in. He turned to his partner, who was now chatting casually with the lady who'd brought them in.
Henri noticed his look. "Yeah, uh, thanks for everything. I gotta get back to work." He smiled at the lady, then turned to Rafe. "And you..." He grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. "What is it?"
"Those two men at the table. Our first two suspects. Afrikaan, clear as day."
Henri studied the men for an intense moment, then nodded. "Got it. I'll send their description out, see what I can find. You be careful in here, Rafe."
"I will. You just remember to feed my fish, got me?" Rafe grinned.
"Sure thing." Henri returned the smile, looking almost relieved that his partner wasn't falling apart on him. "I'll come by tomorrow if I don't hear from you."
"I know the drill."
Henri nodded, then turned. "He should behave," he informed the woman with a grin.
"I have no doubt. Nice to meet you, Officer Brown. Now let's get some food into this man, shall we?" She turned her smile to Rafe and took the arm Henri had released.
Rafe turned back to watch his partner leave, then turned almost blank eyes to the woman talking cheerfully in his ear. He was on his own now. **********
Jim and Blair had been pouring over the case files and witness account all morning. It just didn’t make sense, nothing made any sense in this case. There was no motive, only one witness, and no sensible leads except the one that had Rafe down at a homeless shelter, and even that one wasn't exactly sensible.
"Is she sure of what she saw?" Jim asked suddenly, trying not to let his frustration come out. He glanced up from the file he held and over to where his partner sat across the desk.
"She has no reason to lie," Blair responded. "And she didn't leave much gray area in the statement. She said she plainly saw a homeless man kill Gierhake."
"But why?" Jim was getting frustrated. "What motive would the guy have had? It couldn’t be robbery because the cash was left untouched."
"How about old grudges? Family vendetta?"
Jim peered at his partner. "A family vendetta? You think a man sleeping on the street in Cascade has an old grudge against a visiting businessman from another continent?"
Blair shrugged. "I admit, it sounds strange....but then, what about the flag? Whoever killed Gierhake knew who he was, knew the nationality, everything."
Jim threw up his hands. "This just doesn't fit. This lady says she recognized the killer because he's usually sleeping there whenever she walks by."
"But can we really trust her judgement?" Blair asked.
Jim shot him a glance. "Are you questioning the integrity of this witness?"
"You just did!" Blair protested. "But it leads me to wonder just how sure she can be. I mean it was dark and down an alley. Does she really know some bum by sight? She probably just got a glimpse of something and manifested this story from that moment."
"Chief, I know it’s improbable, but she might have seen exactly what she’s saying."
"But it doesn't fit with anything else."
"I know that," Jim snapped in return.
Blair raised a hand. "Whoa. No need to get testy. I’m just saying it would be much easier if we had some more leads."
"Well, maybe I have the break we need," Henri Brown chimed in as he joined the two at Jim’s desk.
"Hey, H!" Blair exclaimed. "How’d Rafe get along?" his tone now brought down to concern.
"I got him checked in and settled. He’s supposed to be in contact with us daily."
"But how’s he REALLY doing?" Blair probed.
Henri looked over at him, and the two shared a meaningful moment. "I know this is killing him, but he’s too proud to admit it," he answered finally.
"I'm being left out of the loop here, guys, and I hate that." Jim’s tone rose.
"It’s nothing, Jim," H assured him. "Just some issues Rafe’s having to deal with."
"And having his uncle around isn’t helping matters much," Blair added.
"Has Smola been in today?" H asked.
"Simon said he called to see if we had any leads, but that’s about all," Jim said.
"Speaking of leads, I think we might have found out something," H responded. "Rafe said he overheard two guys speaking Afrikaan and I got a pretty good look at them. Both had olive skin, black hair-"
"Hold on, let’s get a sketch artist up here so we can get a picture to go by," Jim said as he picked up the phone.
Within moments, he had one of the sketch artists up in Major Crimes taking down H’s vivid descriptions. It turned out that H had a very good memory for details and pretty soon they had two firm composites to go on. They thanked the artist and returned to the task at hand.
"OK, so we’ll put these two pictures on the wires and see if we can figure out who these guys are," Jim said.
"Now what?" Blair asked.
"Now we wait," H responded. "And for Rafe’s sake, I hope it’s not too long." *************
Rafe sat alone, his untouched food cooling rapidly in front of him. No one tried to approach him during the meal, but he wasn't surprised. Despite what the movies might show, people who were as down-and-out as the ones around him didn't jump at the oppurtunity to talk to someone. They didn't look upon each other with some kind of unspoken fellowship. It wasn't as though talking about the good old days would make them forget what they were now.
His uncle's voice rose to his mind, unbidden. "You have forgotten yourself, Ryf. Who you were. What you are. It does not do for a man to forget his place in the world."
It wasn't quite the truth, though. The truth was, it's nearly impossible for a man to forget his place in the world. Particularly somewhere like this. Every single thing in this shelter was a constant reminder that you have nothing. Even the beds you sleep on aren't your own. You have no possessions, but what's worse, you have no dignity, no privacy. All you have is the company of other people in your position, but that is hardly a comfort. There were no bonds here among men. There was simply the knowledge that even if all of you are on an equal level, that level is lower than the rest of humanity.
So no, no one tried to make friends with the new guy, and why should they? New guys came and went, people moved on, they died, they were arrested, they left for an imagined better life on the streets or in another city.
Rafe knew the feelings too well. He knew the life. And he was quickly falling back into it, with an ease that surprised him.
But he never took his mind off the Job, the thing that would get him out of here and back to the level of decent human beings. And so to keep his mind off his reawakened feelings, he kept his eyes on two olive-skinned men.
He had tried to get closer to them to eat, but one of the volunteers here had seen his searching expression as he stood with his tray and immediately sat him down at a table, assuming he was lost or stupid or God knew what. He kept them in plain sight, though, and observed who they talked to, how they behaved.
As near as Rafe could tell, there was one other man here actually conspiring with them. If anyone else came around, they would tense up and silence their conversation. If he'd been better at reading lips, or blessed with a long-range sense of hearing like some detectives he knew seemed to be, this case would probably be over by now. As it was, he sat and watched, and hoped no volunteers would come around trying to be helpful when the residents all settled in for the night.
"You watching the foreigners?"
Rafe started at the sudden near voice, and turned to see a very young man watching him from a few seats down. "Who?"
"The foreigners. Them guys at that table. You been staring at 'em."
Rafe shrugged. "So what?"
The young man obligingly slid forward a seat and leaned in conspiratorially. "So word is they wanna be left alone. Some guys heard em talkin' when they first got here, thought they was prob'ly in trouble cause they don't hardly speak no English, and they tried to help 'em."
Rafe waited expectantly, but the guy fell silent. "Yeah, so?" He made it a point to get the words out as quickly and as accent-free as he could possibly make them.
The guy paused melodramatically. "Those guys ain't been back for a while."
"You saying something happened to them?"
"I ain't saying that. I ain't say anything. Just don't stare at 'em when they can see you, y'know?"
Rafe turned back to his tray. "Thanks for the tip, kid." He kept his voice low, his tone uninterested.
"Look, I'm just sayin. 'Cause it looked like you was watching 'em." The kid slid into the seat between them. "I never seen you in here before."
Great. Just great. The one friendly person in the place, and look who he has to talk to. Rafe hesitated. He'd tried to rid himself of the accent before, but he wasn't exactly good at it. The longer he talked to this kid, the more chance he'd slip up. "Get lost, kid."
"Whatever, man. But hey, if you really interested. You see that chippy over there?"
Rafe frowned. "That what?"
"Chippy, man. Chick. Babe." He nodded a few tables over.
Rafe glanced in that direction, and saw who he was referring to. A young woman sitting alone, picking at her food. "What about her?"
"She's a foreigner too. She just don't hang out with the rest of 'em when they talkin' shop."
Rafe's interest grew, but he hid that fact from his table-mate. "Look, kid, I could care less about some group of foreigners, okay? Now buzz off."
Not even looking put-off, the kid grinned. "If you insist, Capone." He scooted away from the table.
Rafe watched him until he was out of sight, just to be sure, then turned his eyes towards the young woman he had pointed out. She was about as young as that kid, maybe sixteen at most, and sitting alone. Strange, didn't see that too often in places like this. It was a wonder the men around were leaving her alone.
He watched her for the rest of the meal, forgetting his own food as he studied her.
If she felt his eyes, she didn't show it. For twenty minutes she sat quietly, not looking around, just prodding at her food absently, looking a million miles away. She was dressed...well, shabbily enough, he guessed. Her clothes were clean, but obviously hung too large on her frame.
And then, right before he finally decided he'd try to get closer to either her or those men, his thoughts proved prophetic. Two men who'd been sitting a row back and to the right suddenly approached her and sat.
He couldn't hear what they said, but the expression on her face as she watched them was sheer terror.
He stood, not sure exactly what he was doing, and started for her side.
"Hey, man, leave her be."
A hand grabbed Rafe's arm as the voice sounded in his ear, and he turned to see the young man. "What are you doing?"
"Don't go over there, I'm tellin' ya."
"But they-"
"Watch, you'll see."
Rafe wanted to shove the kid away and jump to the rescue, but he realized he'd be acting a little too out of character if he did. So he watched, ready to move in if anything happened. He was closer now, and he could make out their conversation.
"-to know why you were sitting all by your lonesome over here."
"Yeah, we just thought we'd offer you our company. A lady needs a little protection in a place like this."
She was staring at them with huge eyes. "...asseblief, moerie."
Rafe's eyes grew. The kid was right, she was one of them. And she was scared to death of them even sitting beside her.
"What you say? What the hell language is that?" The first man asked, surprised.
"Come on, girly. Talk to us in English. We're not a couple of maniacs or anything." The second one reached out and touched her arm.
She jerked out of her seat as though burned. "Nee, asseblief!"
Her voice had gone up in volume, and Rafe saw as the three men he'd been watching spun around sharply at the sound of the words. Without a pause they all stood up and headed over.
"See? Just watch." The kid was grinning happily.
"Hey, calm down, lady. We just wanted to talk."
"What is going on here?" One of the Afrikaner Rafe was observing asked, his accented tone touched with menace.
"Oh...nothing. We were just trying to talk to the girl."
"The girl," the man repeated frostily. "Is not for you to talk to."
"Okay, man, sure. No problem."
"No, I am afraid there is problem."
The kid beside him giggled as they watched the confrontation. It appeared that Rafe and his new sidekick were the only two in the place interested, though.
The girl backed off, away from the men, her arms hugging her sides tightly.
"Why do not you men come with us, and we will explain problem to you."
"Nee, Freidrich, moenie."
Friedrich. Rafe had a name now, thanks to that girl.
"Hou jou bek!" the man snapped back.
She obediently fell silent, her eyes wide and frightened.
Freidrich and his two cronies led the men, not entirely willingly, to a door leading outside the shelter.
The young man beside Rafe shook his head with a laugh. "Idiots. They ain't comin' back. See what I was talkin' about, mister?"
Rafe turned to him. "You mean they're going to kill them?"
He shrugged, unconcerned. "Hell if I know. Might just hurt em real bad. Either way, they won't be back here."
Rafe glanced around, but no one was acknowledging that anything strange had happened. "How long has this been going on?"
"They been here a couple weeks now. Everybody know now to look the other way. You do too, or you won't be here long." He wagged his eyebrows with another toothy grin, then scooted off to bug someone else.
Rafe frowned thoughtfully. Well, this was the only proof he needed that these men were dangerous. Now he had to go back and catch them in the act, and this case would be closed.
But he had only taken one step when he heard the soft whimpering of the young girl, who was now standing alone and abandoned, arms still hugging herself tightly. Her entire being radiated terror.
Rafe hesitated, and saw two of the male volunteers, drawn by the noise, heading for the door, and he stopped. No, he couldn't afford to get involved this early, not without any stronger proof than a street fight and the words of some demented kid.
So he changed course, heading for the girl. If he'd been smart, he would have gone back and sat down. But he watched her frightened figure, almost shivering in the shelter, and he flashed on a memory.
His first days in America. He had arrived alone, without money, with the faintest knowledge of English to help him. He'd ended up quickly in a shelter, in Los Angeles, and could still remember what it was like.
Whatever she was doing there, he wasn't about to make her go through it alone.
"Hallo?" He approached her slowly.
Her eyes jerked towards him, and she stepped back.
"Aangename kennis," he said quietly, wishing he could remember a less formal way of saying nice to meet you.
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Praat u Afrikaan?"
"Ja." He smiled, hopefully reassuringly. "Ek sal my bes doen om jou to help." He offered his assistance quietly.
She shook her head quickly. "Dit kan nie wees nie." She backed away, refusing his offer, her eyes going towards the back door nervously.
"Wat skort daar?" He asked what was wrong, hoping she would calm down.
"Nee," she shook her head. "Verskoon my." She turned and headed for the back hall, the one leading to the beds of the shelter.
He watched her go, disappointed. Well, it was definite. She was scared to death of something. And undoubtedly it was the very men she was with.
Remembering the words of the young man earlier, Rafe wasn't surprised.
It left questions, though. What was she doing there? Why would this man Friedrich and his friends, if they were truly violent, if they were the killers, have her around? Was she a daughter, a sister?
He had to find out. And he had to find out what Friedrich and his buddies were up to, soon.
