Part 9
Kermit stayed in the kitchen, his exhaustion claiming him and causing him to lay his head on the island at which he sat.
Waking up, he was amazed at the time, 6:30 p.m. 'Had Peter cried out?' Kermit asked himself. As quietly as he could, Kermit walked back into the common room and saw Peter still sleeping, though uncovered and mildly thrashing about.
A flash in the window caught his eye. It was time for Karen to get back. Kermit smiled; he was glad she had insisted on coming back, though he had at first opposed it.
He waited for the car to appear, but it never did. Warning bells started going off in his head. His muscles became taut when he caught a glimpse of Larsen approaching from the lake. Kermit went to the china cabinet and felt along the top edges for the elephant gun he usually carried and the .38 special he had hidden. Retrieving them, he went back to Peter and aroused him.
“Kid, listen. We may have company.” Kermit pressed the small pistol into Peter’s left hand, placing the index finger near the trigger.
Peter opened his eyes, listening to his friend's words as sleep tried to tug him back under.
Kermit watched the war Peter fought, hoping the young man was oriented enough to understand what Kermit had said and the reason for the weapon. Replacing his sunglasses in his preperation for war, he stepped out onto the porch. “What do you want, Larsen?”
“It’s not Larsen anymore, Mr. Griffin. It’s Huddlestone,” Larsen responded, walking closer. “I see you are still thinking that you are in charge. I've thought about this day ever since I was arrested in Florida. Sitting in that cell, waiting for Dessa to have someone kill me, became boring. So, I turned my mind to other things, like how close you and your friend, Peter Caine, seemed to be. Of course, it meant spending extra money, but that didn’t matter. When I found that he was someone close to you, I wanted to see if you had improved in the 'brother' department.”
“You sick bastard. I should kill you now.” “Let’s not be hasty. I believe I have someone else you value.” Larsen motioned behind him. Two men walked up behind Larsen, pulling Karen between them, her hands cuffed behind her back.
“Now, let’s see who means more to you, Peter Caine, to whom you profess to love like a brother, or the lovely, though slightly damaged, Captain Simms.” A sly smile spread over Larsen’s face as he watched and waited for Kermit’s answer.
“Don’t think I’m stupid, Larsen, or whatever your name is now. I know you’ll kill all of us.”
“No. I promise. I give you my word as a gentleman. Whichever you choose, I’ll let live. And I won’t go inside the cabin to get your friend; I’ll wait until he comes outside. How’s that? However long it takes. Now, if you happen to choose your sleeping friend, then --” Larsen pulled his gun from its holster and put the muzzle to Karen’s temple, “-- I’ll kill her now. So, who shall it be?”
Her wrists were restrained behind her with her own handcuffs. Her dignity didn’t matter anymore. Not that it had mattered when she had been caught. Karen listened as Larsen spelled out his plan and promises. She berated herself for being so stupid to have been caught, knowing that she now played bait for the man to whom she had grown to love. ‘Damn it, Karen. You knew they were going after Kermit and Peter.’
Meeting Kermit’s stare, she silently pleaded with him to let her go and keep Peter safe. Feeling the cold metal pressed into her skin, she thought about her options of escape. One was to attack Larsen and run as far as she could. Another was to hope Kermit would choose her, giving them more time for any rescue by Skalany and Kincaid, if they found out where she was. Their options were limited.
Kermit wanted so badly to wipe the smugness from Larsen’s face. Looking toward Karen, he saw her shake her head, signaling him to not choose her. But if he could get her, then maybe they could take out these goons before Peter came looking for him -- that is, if Larsen kept his word, which Kermit didn’t think would happen.
**
Mary Margaret waited in the cool evening air for her scheduled visit with Peter’s snitch/friend. She turned back to see her current partner sitting in the front seat of the gray Taurus and the two FBI agents in the back seat. She smiled as she remembered Captain Simms talking with the two men after making a phone call to someone in Washington. “Wonder who she has connections with,” the dark-haired detective mused out loud as she started to scan the buildings that surrounded the meeting place.
“If I could answer that question, I believe I would have a million dollars,” came an unsolicited reply as Donnie stepped out of the shadows.
Though Skalany had been waiting and watching for him, his sudden appearance caused her to jump. She quickly recovered, willing her heart rate and breathing to slow. “Whatcha got?”
“I have heard of a man who was seeking some men that would not be too devastated at the loss of a few officers of the law. Mind you, I do not agree with this, but it is the word I have received. They were to meet at 5 and, since I figured it had something to do with our mutual friend, I went and let my ears do the work for me. The target practice is supposed to be in the woods, at a cabin that both Detectives Caine and Griffin know about.” Donnie relayed his information, trying to appear casual as he looked behind him. In his attempt to ferret out the location of the meeting, he thought someone had watched him, and he suspected he was being followed.
“Thanks. You need a ride somewhere?” Skalany asked, noticing Donnie’s failing attempt to look like he wasn't looking over his shoulder.
“No, thank you. But, if you could maybe hang around the area for a few minutes after I leave, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“No problem. I have to talk to those goons in the back seat anyway.” She smiled and watched as Donnie blended in with the boxes and alley trash. Finally sure that he was safe and no one was following him, she went back to the car.
“Blaisdell’s cabin,” Mary Margaret stated after relaying the information she’d received from Donnie.
“Well, then, I guess this is where we part company,” Bussy said, trying to open the car door. The handle pulled out, but the release mechanism never engaged.
TJ and Mary Margaret shared similar grins. “I thought you turned those childproof locks off,” TJ questioned his partner, his green eyes dancing with merriment.
“Darn, I forgot,” she answered back as she put the car into Drive and pulled into traffic.
“Look, Huddlestone is our problem. One of the rules in our program is to not get in trouble with the cops,” Bussy began, his round face flushed with anger at being deceived. Simms had arranged for them to be in on the meet with Donnie after talking with their superior, who happened to be a friend of hers.
“Wrong!” TJ turned around to face the two agents. “When Larsen, or Huddlestone or whatever the hell his name is, messed with a member of the 101st Precinct, he became OUR problem.” The vehemence left TJ’s voice and he continued in his normal tone, “Now, if you can play nice, we’ll let you two come with us. But, just remember, we get first chance at him.”
**
Kermit thought only briefly about killing himself. He had failed his brother, failed Paul Blaisdell and Karen Simms, and Peter Caine. The majority of his friends now knew him for the sorry person he felt was. He'd had the same thoughts before, then he'd used that emotion to go after those he was hired to kill or apprehend.
Thinking of the few options they had, he stepped off the porch, praying a silent wish that Karen and Peter would come out alive. “Let her go,” Kermit ordered.
“Not quite yet. I want to make sure you and your lady friend here don’t attempt to rescue your friend,” Larsen answered, waving his gun, motioning Kermit to come to him.
“This is not good,” Kermit murmured, staring into Karen’s eyes as he walked closer. He hoped she had a backup plan.
One of the men holding Karen stepped away, reaching for an object behind a tree.
Kermit froze as he recognized the rocket launcher – modified, of course, to launch the canister the goon stuffed into the muzzle.
Larsen pushed his gun into Karen’s neck. “Remember our deal? Now, I wonder what this says about you being a brother? What do you think, Captain Simms?”
A huge man looking like Hulk Hogan came from around the side of the building. “He’s still on the couch,” he announced. "Brewster is still back there watching."
“I want you to watch our friend, Griffin, here. Make sure he doesn’t try and break his side of the contract,” Larsen said to the hulk.
The large man moved over and stood behind Kermit. The sound of his loud nasal breathing radiated through the ex-mercenary’s head.
“Captain Simms, I don’t believe you answered my question. What kind of brother do you think Griffin makes? I mean, he leaves one to die alone while strung out on dope, and this one --” Larsen pointed toward the cabin. “-- He leaves in a burning building.”
Karen glared at her captor, silently cursing him for the hell he was putting both Peter and Kermit through. “A damned sight better man than you.”
For her inappropriate answer, Larsen slapped her on the face with his gun. Its huge muzzle leaving a red welt where it had traveled. The force of the blow made her head snap to its limit on her neck.
Kermit was held back by hulk as he watched Karen stagger to keep her footing. Anger now fueled him, making him take in deeper breaths to draw more oxygen to his brain, and forgetting the personal denigration that had inhibited his mind only minutes earlier.
At Larsen's signal, the man holding the launcher lit the cloth end that protruded from the muzzle, and fired it toward the house.
“NO! You can’t do this!” both Karen and Kermit shouted as the man aimed the weapon toward the cabin and fired.
Listening for the sounds of Peter screaming, Kermit watched as a blaze started licking at the window, rapidly consuming the draperies.
Having known the younger detective for over ten years, Kermit knew of Peter’s worst fears and nightmares. Kermit lunged forward, attempting to go to the cabin when he felt hulk’s weight bear down, tackling Kermit.
“Changing your mind already, I see,” Larsen taunted Kermit. “Make him watch and listen to the screams of the other brother he left behind. Wasn’t it Cain who asked God if he was his brother’s keeper after he killed Abel? Yes, yes, I believe it was. And God put a mark on Cain to show others what he had done and not to harm him. Well, Kermit, since you have allowed your brothers to die alone and scared --” Larsen’s speech was punctuated by a scream for help from inside the cabin as the fire burned through the roof of the building. “-- Then you too shall wear a mark.”
The smell and sounds of wood burning brought Peter’s dreams of the temple back to him. He called out for help from his father. His only answer was more smoke as the blaze came closer.
He thought he heard his father calling to him. “Peter, wake up. Come on, Son.”
Peter fought as the timber fell across him and his friend, the nightmare continuing. More tugs finally brought his eyes open, waking him from one nightmare and into another. Smoke filled the room as flames lapped across the ceiling. The man standing over him seemed to be enshrouded in the smoke. Peter lost the grip on the .38 Kermit had put in his hand. He struggled for the weapon, but the man who looked like Paul beat him to it.
“Y-You’re n-not real. Kermit? KERMIT, HELP ME!” Peter shouted, fighting the hands that prevented him from moving.
**
Hearing his name being called, Kermit squeezed his eyes tight against the tears that filled his eyes. He had hoped Peter would sleep through the fire and not find out that he was alone, that Kermit had not been the friend that Peter needed.
Karen watched helplessly as the fire continued to grow. The popping of wood from inside the cabin increased as the fire found more and more material to feed on.
**
“Peter, listen to me. It’s me, Paul.”
“No. You left me,” Peter argued, shrinking into the couch as far as he could go. “You’re j-just a d-dream.”
Smoke tickled Paul’s lungs, causing him to cough uncontrollably. He needed to get Peter out of the cabin. Paul had entered through a window one of the would-be killers had been watching. He silently prayed he and Peter could leave the same way.
“Please, Peter. We have to get out. Come on,” Paul pleaded, first placing the spare gun in the waist of his pants then draping one of Peter’s arms across his shoulder and trying to pull up his foster son.
Seeing George instead of Paul, Peter jerked his arm away from Paul’s grip. The fire and crackling around them intensified making the hallucination worse. Peter squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to clear his vision. The smoke gagged him, doubling him over as the pain from his abdomen came back with a fury. His stomach emptied what little contents had been in it, depleting his body of more precious fluid.
Paul took advantage of Peter’s vomiting and grabbed his son, pulling him over his shoulder in a modified fireman’s carry.
Peter continued to deny the man as his foster father, though his screams were now muted.
Depositing Peter in a bedroom, Paul turned and closed the door to slow down the advancing flames and smoke, though he knew it was inevitable that the fire would soon be in the room with them.
Checking the window, he looked outside for more of Larsen's men. Larsen would let Karen and Kermit live only for a few more minutes, but his priority was to get Peter and himself out of the building.
“OK, Son. Listen to me. Kermit’s outside. He needs our help,” Paul tried to explain as quickly as possible, moving back over to his son. He didn’t miss the smoke seeping under the door.
“K-Kermit n-needs our help? Aaaaugh,” Peter cried out as another wave of pain washed through him, drawing his long form into a fetal position. “It hurts,” he whispered, wishing the pain would stop, that the nightmare would end. He didn’t care how, just that it would end soon.
“Peter, look at me. We have to get out of here, but I need your help. You have to trust me,” Paul begged. Hope was slowly fading as timbers cracked overhead and Peter continued not to cooperate.
Then Peter opened his eyes and stared at the figure. Raising his hands, he brushed the bushy eyebrows, felt Paul’s face and lips. Realization came to him as his hands told him more than his eyes. This was his dad, the one who had rescued him from the orphanage, the one who was rescuing him from the hell he lived in now. Peter pulled Paul toward him, embracing him, afraid of letting go.
Paul broke the embrace, though he longed to continue to remain. The crackling and smell of smoke brought their thoughts back to their prediciament. “Listen, they have Kermit and Simms out front. Can you stand and walk?”
“I-I think so,” Peter attempted to move his legs off the bed. They felt like dead weight, though they held him up when Paul pulled him to a standing position.
They coughed in unison, the smoke thick as it rose from underneath the door.
“Sit down here.” Paul motioned to the other twin bed as Peter's strength gave out. Making one last check on the landscape, Paul noted the man he had knocked out earlier was still lying on the ground, not moving. Turning back to Peter, he knelt down. “Look, we need them to think you’re dead. I’ve got a idea.”
Peter listened to the plan, hoping they could pull this off, hoping that he could keep his mind on the present and not have any more of the hallucinations that had been plaguing him these past few days.
**
The last scream Kermit heard from the cabin ended with the crash of something big. Maybe the roof had caved in, or the rock chimney. From his position on the ground, he couldn't tell. It didn't matter, though. Peter Caine had died because Kermit Griffin couldn’t protect anyone, ever.
His head was still being held between the ground and hulk's hands. Kermit could see Karen out of the corner of his eye. "Please, let her go."
Hearing the words Kermit spoke ever so softly, Karen's heart broke. Knowing of Kermit's past, his days as both a mercenary and a police officer, she knew those words had never passed his lips before, at least not with the plea that accompanied them.
There was no doubt in her mind that Kermit blamed himself for Peter's death. Hearing the crash and scream had made her blood run cold.