The Price of Love
Part 5
By 10:00 that morning, the two detectives had worked out their plan. Peter would enter Fielding's office, posing as one of Jackson's friends and drop hints that he had evidence of the money laundering and that Jackson had leaked the information. Hopefully, the veiled hints would cause Fielding to panic and contact his mob links for assistance.
Simms had dropped by Kermit's office and inquired as to what her two detectives were scheming about, suspicious any time they were huddled together and whispering. Peter fidgeted, trying to avoid his Captain's stare. She was waiting for an answer, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to tell her what his plan was. It was clear, though, she wasn't going to leave Kermit's office until a satisfactory explanation had been given.
Peter summarized his plan to set up Fielding. As he spoke, he could easily read the disapproval growing on the Captain's face. "Sounds like entrapment to me," she finally said after hearing the details.
Peter shook his head in denial. "Nope. I'm just going to drop some hints that Jackson told me about a money laundering scheme, and maybe a reference to his mysterious death. That's it."
Karen shook her head. "Why? Why do you think this is the best way to proceed?"
"It's been two days and we have absolutely no other lead in the case, except for the statement of Jackson's drugged-up girlfriend who tells us that Jackson was planning on blackmailing Fielding. I don't know how else to connect Fielding to the murder if I don't try to bait him." Peter was trying his best to remain calm.
"And what's your roll in this little skit?" Simms looked at Kermit.
"Believe it or not, Peter asked me to be his backup."
"Will wonders never cease," the Captain's voice was sarcastic. The she became quiet, obviously thinking about whether to approve the plan. She nodded slowly, "Okay. You can try this, but I want you" she pointed at Peter, "going in with a wire. And I want you," now pointing at Kermit, "to watch out for him. If you're right then Anderson Fielding killed Jackson in cold blood. I don't want the same thing happening to you."
She stood and left the office, hearing the obedient "Yes, Captain" from the two men.
By noon, Peter had met with Anderson Fielding. The man fidgeted during the entire conversation. Peter hinted that Jackson had told him about Fielding's involvement with the mob, that he suspected Fielding and Jackson had met in the alley two days before. Fielding, not surprisingly, feigned ignorance. Peter told him that if he was interested in keeping the information out of the hands of the cop, to call. The number was to a cell phone used by the department in undercover operations. During the conversation, Peter had successfully placed a bug underneath the chair he had been sitting in so that Fielding's conversations could be monitored. Peter left, hoping that he had created enough fear in the attorney to cause him to be careless and head straight to his boss, or at the very least phone him. Phone records could be accessed later.
He returned to the Stealth, where Kermit was waiting, wearing earphones and with the receiver in hand. "Did you get it?" he asked his partner anxiously.
"Yep. It's all on tape. Now we wait." Kermit pulled out the cell phone, checked the battery level and handed it to Peter. "By the way, I don't want you making any arrangements for a meeting with Fielding unless I know about it first. I don't want any solo operations from you."
Peter smiled, "Who me?"
Blaisdell looked at the cassette tape for a long time. He was certain that whatever news it contained wouldn't be pleasant. It was tempting to just drop it the trash bin and walk away. But he couldn't do that. There was too much at stake.
He wrapped his trench coat tighter around his body, took a deep breath and walked out into the rain. The cold water drenched him immediately and chilled him to the bone. He didn't know why he stayed in this city. Maybe because it was where he met Annie for the first time. It was a place where he could feel close to her; lose himself in the memories of days gone by.
He fumbled with the keys to his studio apartment and entered the small room, shaking the accumulated water from his jacket. Drops of rain continued to run through his thinning hair and down his neck.
He looked at the tape again. He hadn't received a communication from Rykker for several weeks. To have a message from him now could only mean that there was trouble somewhere.
He shrugged and decided that maybe a little action was what he needed. Maybe it was time to get back out into the field. Anything would be better than sitting here day after day lamenting over the loss of his family.
He pulled out the tape player and dropped the tape in. Rykker's voice immediately filled the room.
Five minutes later, Paul Blaisdell had left the city.
There had been no word from Anderson Fielding, nor had he made any attempts to contact his mob ties. By 8:00 that night, both Kermit and Peter were ready to call it a day. Peter kept the cell phone, just in case Fielding called during the night, but each man was starting to believe that Fielding was innocent of Jackson's accusations.
"Focus on the flame, Peter." Caine sat half-lotus in front of his son, once again trying to guide him to a meditative state.
Peter's eyes were half-closed, his head tilted down slightly, and he appeared to be looking through the light of the small candle.
"That's good. I can feel you relaxing," his father whispered.
Peter, once again, attempted to clear his mind with the same technique he had tried the previous night. A hallway appeared in his mind, the thoughts of the day contained in rooms with doors that opened into the corridor. He walked down the hallway, saw the thought and then shut the door.
Door number one- Why didn't Anderson Fielding call? He's guilty, I know it. There's got to be a way to prove it. Shut the door.
Door number two- Need to call Kelly. Haven't heard from her in a couple of days. She's probably mad at me for something. . .Did we have dinner plans? Shut the door.
Door number three- Hope I get some sleep tonight. No more dreams, okay? Shut the . . .PAIN.
Peter's eyes were wide. Caine grabbed his son by the shoulder's to steady him against the shock. "It happened again. You felt pain." Peter could only nod a response. "What did you see."
The younger man frowned, searching his memory. "I don't. . ."
"Peter, think. Close your eyes. What did you see?" Peter obediently shut his eyes and attempted to focus his thoughts on what image had assaulted his mind. It wasn't working. Suddenly he felt the warmth of his father's hands on his temples. He flinched at first and started to pull away from the contact, afraid of what pictures he would see, but then a drama began to unfold in his mind's eye.
The room was dark and cold. Pain shot through his chest and breathing was difficult. There was a groan of pain. Was it from him or was there someone else in the room? He lifted his head and could see movement to his left. He tried to rise, but was restricted by the bindings that held him to the chair and the knife-like pain in his torso.
An unknown voice came from the other side of the room. He lifted his head and could see a man tied to a chair, just a few feet away. He concentrated on clearing his blurred vision and could suddenly see the face of the man. . .Paul Blaisdell. Paul was similarly bound, bleeding from a wound in his leg. A tall man stood in front of Paul, his face hidden from view.
The single light bulb in the room caused a reflection off of something held in the stranger's hand. He brought it up to examine it. . .a wire. The man lowered the wire towards Paul's injured leg and suddenly there was a gasp of pain. . .no scream, only a groan. Anger welled up in Peter. He wanted to stop Paul's pain, rescue him from the threat, but he couldn't move. The bindings held him tight.
There was cruel laughter from the torturer and then the man turned away from Paul to look at Peter. As he stepped forward, his face became clear. It was Peter's face.
End of Part 5
The Price of Love
By Terri D. Thomas
Part 6
Peter couldn't stop the scream which escaped his mouth. "No!" he pleaded, not understanding the cruel vision.
Caine had seen the nightmare too and shook his son to break the meditative trance. "Peter, you are alright." But Peter did not respond, he was gripped in the horror playing out in his mind. "Peter, that is enough! Let it go!" Caine followed the shout with a slap to the face, much harder than his standard love taps given to 'push lessons in.' Peter gasped at the stinging pain and jolted awake.
"Father! I killed him! I killed Paul!" Tears began to make their way down his face.
"No, my Son. It was not you. You were dreaming another's dream. . .living another's nightmare. It was not you." Caine attempted to keep his tone strong and steady so as to provide the emotional strength Peter so desperately needed.
He laid Peter back on the floor and gently massaged his temples. Peter's breathing steadied, but there was still pain etched on his face. "I don't understand. What did I see? Why did I see me?"
Caine shook his head, not having answers which would satisfy the questions. "Have you had this dream before?"
Peter nodded, remembering the horror from the night before. "Last night. I was running through the forest with Paul. People were shooting at us. Paul was hit and fell. I went back to help him and then I was shot in the chest. When I looked up I saw. . .me. I was the gunman." Peter's voice shook.
"Peter, has anything happened recently which would cause this kind of pain for you?" Caine was concerned about the intensity of the nightmares.
Peter shook his head. Before any further discussion could occur, a buzzing sound came from Peter's coat pocket. It was the cell phone he was using to bait Fielding. He climbed from the floor and dug into his coat pocket, answering the phone on the fourth ring.
"Yeah," was the simple answer from Peter. "Tonight?. . .When?. . .Where?. . .I want the same amount Jackson was supposed to get. . .Don't try to doublecross me." He hung up the phone. Caine, who had listened to Peter's half of the exchange, tilted his head in curiosity. Peter smiled at the gesture, "It's business, Pop." Peter dialed a number and waited for an answer. "Kermit?. . .He took the bait. I'll pick you up in 15 minutes." Peter hung up and slipped the phone back into his jacket.
"Gotta go, Pop." He reached out to give his father a brief hug. "Thanks for being here for me tonight."
"Peter, we need to talk about what you saw." Caine did not want Peter to leave without knowing more about the nightmare visions.
"I can't Pop. . .not now. I'll stop by tomorrow, maybe we can make some progress then, okay?" Peter was already out the door and bounding down the stairs.
"No Peter, it is not okay." Caine responded, talking to an empty room.
Kermit climbed into the Stealth looking worse than Peter felt. "I didn't mean to disturb your sleep," Peter apologized to his partner.
"What I was doing couldn't be classified as sleeping." Kermit grumbled.
"Insomnia, still?" Peter pulled out onto the road and headed to the scheduled rendezvous point.
"I never said I had insomnia." Kermit was grouchy Peter decided.
"Then what is it?" Peter pushed.
"None of your damn business." Kermit's voice was cold.
"Ooo-kay. . .so it's none of my damn business. . .sorry to pry." Yep, definitely grouchy.
"I just want to get this thing with Fielding over with. We set him up, make the arrest and get back to normal work hours." Kermit refused to look at Peter, instead choosing to look out the window at the passing scenery.
"Since when did you keep normal work hours?" Peter joked. No response.
Silence was Peter's only companion on the way to the meeting point. Fielding had decided to meet with Peter in the deserted parking lot of a partially constructed strip mall. He had agreed to pay for Peter's silence. All Peter had to do was go in with the wire, get the man to admit to money laundering, and if they were lucky, Jackson's murder, and then the arrest could be made, state evidence could be turned and major damage could be done to crime in the city.
Peter dropped Kermit off before entering the parking lot so that he could approach on foot and watch Peter's back. Once Peter was certain that Kermit had taken up position, Peter drove slowly into the lot. A dark sedan was parked a quarter of a mile away, its driver was standing outside of the car, leaning against the door. It was Fielding.
Peter parked the Stealth and slowly exited. He approached the man cautiously, one hand on his gun which was contained in his left pocket, rather than his right hip, just in case. "You made a smart move by calling me," he said to the attorney.
There was no response from the counselor. "Did you bring the money?" Fielding nodded, still saying nothing. The man just had a sly grin on his face. Peter extended his right hand, keeping his left in his pocket, near the gun. Suddenly gunfire rang out over the parking lot. Fielding's face changed from a grin to shock and then to death, as he collapsed to the ground without ever making a sound. Peter dove for cover as a second shot rang out, impacting with the ground he had just vacated. He crawled behind the attorney's sedan, but without knowing where the shots were coming from, he was afraid that he would crawl into a bullet.
"Come on, Kermit," he muttered under his breath, "Where's my backup?" As if answering his question, Peter heard the loud rapport from the Desert Eagle and a scream of pain. Kermit had found his target.
Peter slowly peeked his head over the hood of the car, peering into the darkness to find his partner's location. At first he saw nothing. Then he saw Kermit approaching from the opposite end of the parking lot, gun drawn. Within thirty seconds, the ex-mercenary had made his way to Peter's location. Kermit looked down at the dead attorney and then up at the cop, shook his head and simply said, "Well, there goes our case."
Within an hour, Peter and Kermit had made their reports to the nightshift Captain and had promised to be in early the next morning to explain what had occurred and what they were going to do now that the entire investigation had just gone down the tubes.
Peter drove Kermit back to his apartment, anxious to get home himself so that he could climb between the sheets and get some well-deserved rest. Kermit did not talk on the way back, despite Peter's repeated attempts to get him to discuss the shooting. . . the set up. . . anything. When they pulled into the apartment parking lot, Kermit climbed out of the car without so much as a "pleasant dreams" to his partner.
Peter, miffed, floored the Stealth in anger, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake. He came to a busy intersection and the light turned yellow. Peter almost sped through it, but then decided against the action and came to a stop. He closed his eyes just needing a moment's relief from the stress of the evening. His mind drifted back to the forest; running from gunmen with Paul; Paul being shot and falling to the ground. Going back to help Paul and then being shot in the chest; looking into the face of the gunman and seeing himself. And then the dream suddenly took control of his conscious mind. Unlike the first time, it didn't stop suddenly. It kept running like a movie. His face was grinning, laughing at the injured men. Peter felt his cruel double grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and jerking him to his feet. Something fell to the ground and Peter looked down. A set of sunglasses were laying on the leaves next to Paul's body.
A car horn blared from behind Peter, startling him. The light had turned green. Peter accelerated through the intersection, finally realizing what all the dreams had meant. His father said that he was living another's nightmare. . .he was living Kermit's nightmare. Peter slammed on the brakes and made a tight U-turn deciding it was best to confront Kermit about these horrors now.
Within minutes, Peter had pulled back in front of Kermit's apartment. He rang the doorbell, but there was no response. "He's probably asleep already," Peter muttered. He slowly turned the handle on the door, expecting it to be locked. . . or booby-trapped. But nothing happened. The door opened. Not wanting to be shot by the ex-mercenary, Peter decided a verbal warning was in order, "Kermit, it's me. Peter. Are you here?" Silence greeted him.
He slowly walked into the quiet living room. The entire apartment was dark. "Kermit," Peter repeated, only louder this time. "Kermit, it's Peter." Peter suddenly heard a shuffling noise behind him, the sound of footsteps on carpet. He reached across his body for his gun and started to pull it free when an explosion of pain tore into the side of his body. With a gasp of surprise, fear and pain all inter-mixed Peter collapsed on the carpet.
End Part 6