POI Episode #3 Death Dealer

Summary: Stakes rise when the machine gives the team five new numbers - further complicated by the fact that they are highly trained ex-military and former gov. agents with tarnished pasts. Less than ethical occupations and strange outside interferences will dangerously blur the big picture. Are they perps or victims? Will the team find out in time and survive the answer? Please R&R

Background: Takes place a couple weeks after their last case in New Orleans, "Twisted." You don't need to read it first, but there was a bit that happened between Reese and Carter, on a personal level. Nothing physical, just acknowledgements of deeper feelings for each other and much confusion as to what to do with these revelations. And of course, Reese gets put through the physical ringer - as is always my MO. (moo-hoo-hoo-haa-haa-haaaa Love the wumpage.)

This story is complete, however not entirely edited yet, so will be posted as 'incomplete' for now. 40k+ words so far. I'll post as fast as I finish the work (between real life work LOL)

As always, and sadly so... I do not own any of these incredible characters... I just enjoy the chance to play with them.

Death Dealer - Ch1

It was around 1am and the heavy mist continued its unrelenting goal to saturated every inch of the city... and then some. Small beads of water clung to the dark fibers of his wool coat, glistening under the play of the street lamps' glow. Reese flipped his damp coat collar up against the cutting breeze as he crossed the water slicked streets and made his way toward the sleazy bar.

He breathed deeply, smelling the city air. Not fresh, not particularly good, but he liked it none the less. It was home, and it was good to be back to work.

John Reese had long ago come to realize that he and boredom were not friends. They were a bad combination of two volatile ingredients never wise to mix. Add the irritation of confinement and slow healing wounds... and it was only a matter of time before something bad happened.

It had now been a little over two weeks since the brutal New Orléans case, most of the pain was gone, maybe a little stiff, still pulled, or twinged, but was ignorable. Fine. Which as Finch liked to point out, his idea of 'fine' didn't count.

He still had plenty of days he felt like crap, just didn't do anyone any good to acknowledging them, and he wasn't one for lounging around licking his wounds regardless. Any physical discomfort at this point was nothing compared to Finch's sidelong glares every time he moved wrong, or a groan eliciting a mantra of doctor's.

To make matters worse, Carter and Fusco had been picking up the slack when it came to the numbers. Thankfully there hadn't been too many, but enough to rub it in, and he was going nuts. There was no way he would have spent one more day 'resting' as Finch would call it, or in 'lockup' as he did.

All this concern for his well being was hard for him to accept. Apparently though, it was something he 'had better get used to, since this job was, admittedly, not going to get any less physical...' Or Finch and Carter any less smothering... John mused.

Suffice to say, when the machine gave them a new number three days ago.., Reese was all too ready to hit the streets. It didn't matter whether they were the perp or victim. Which ever it turned out to be, was fine by him. He was just glad to have an outlet and was pretty damn sure, he needed this as much as the number needed him.

John quickly sidestepped, avoiding a man suddenly launched through the front doors of the bar.

"...I see your face again.., you won't recognize it!" The thick bouncer spat as he disappeared back inside.

Amusedly, John checked to make sure the man, now decorating the sidewalk, wasn't his guy and moved on. "Yup. Good to be back." Reese admitted to himself as shoved through the heavy, old double doors of the bar.

The stifling smell of stale smoke and vomit mingled with the wafting mustiness generated by unkept bodies in an unkept space. All mandatory elements to be considered one of the more, seedier bars in town.

Perpetually cloaked by his nonchalant demeanor, John's assessment of the surroundings was instantaneous and imperceptible, even to anyone that cared to look. Twelve patrons populated the small murky space. The disinterested bartender and out of shape bouncer had returned to guzzling beers at the front of the bar, five men sat along its length most likely rehashing old tales of grandeur made new by multiple drinks, and four beefy bikers played pool at the two tables. And at the back of the bar was his target.

Randy Norton sat in the farthest, darkest booth doing his best to fade into the sticky, red pleather seats. Their latest number was a thirty-eight year old professional criminal - if you could call him that. Wrong-place, wrong-time arrests, double crosses, and botched robberies, resulted in him being in prison more than he'd been out his adult life.

The last four, however, something changed. It seemed as if he'd made an attempt to straighten up; he even held down a legitimate construction job, until more bad luck had him recently laid off.

If this guy didn't have bad luck, he wouldn't have any luck at all. Reese realized. But whether by design or ignorance, the results could be detrimental, easily pushing someone like Randy to the end of his rope and leaving a desperate, potentially dangerous and unpredictable man.

Randy's number had come up three days ago and Reese had been following him round the clock. It was the unknown scenario that most put Reese on guard. The guy could easily be a perp, victim, or both, making everyone Randy came into contact with a potential suspect or victim.

"Mr. Reese how's Mr. Norton doing?" Finch's voice chimed over his earpiece.

"Still shockingly upright. In three days, he hasn't slept or eaten; I haven't seen any evidence of drug use, so what ever's driving this guy is consuming. I suspect it involves whatever's in his backpack. He's been clutching it like his life depends on it."

"How are you holding up?" Finch asked.

"Thought about slipping Randy a tranquilizer or two, so we can both get some sleep, but otherwise I'm fine."

"Perhaps you should put Fusco on him and get some rest Mr. Reese. This isn't exactly a good receipt for your recuperation."

Reese could only roll his eyes. Finch's ability to even mother him over the phone was irritating, but he knew he meant well, so bite back the snarky response. "I'll call Fusco in the morning, if the situation doesn't become clear tonight, Finch."

The words had barely been uttered when Reese's phone chirped with an incoming text to Norton's phone.

PARKING LOT W $ OR U NEVER SEE HER AGAIN

"You get that Finch? I'd say that's pretty clear." Reese waiting for Randy to exit the bar before smoothly following at a cautious distance. "See if you can find out who the 'she' is."

A faded, crimson sedan was parked along the cyclone fence to the back of the parking lot and just outside the safety of any light. It was backed in, suggesting an intended quick get away.

Behind a nearby car, John couldn't tell much. The cover of night and black tinted windows prevented any guess as to the car's occupants, until a shadowed figure emerged from the driver's side. A heavy hooded coat obscured any discernible features, but Norton walked a straight shot through the parking lot without hesitation. He was expecting this.

John stuck to the shadows staying close to Randy, until he came to an abrupt stop about fifteen feet from the mystery person.

"You have the money?" A female voice ground out.

"Mary, you bitch! Where is she! How could you do this? She's all I have; the only good thing in my life! I'll kill you if you've hurt her!" With shaky hands, Randy hugged the backpack tightly to his chest as if it somehow embodied the 'she,' he was referring to.

The women flipped down her hood. "You'll kill me? Ha! You're the biggest pussy I know Randy!" It was hard estimating the woman' true age. Her face was dry, grayish, and sickly thin with the dull, sunken eyes of too many drug devoted years. Her twitchy excitement increased as she barked an order over her shoulder. "Tony, Danny!"

Two car doors opened. The old suspension groaned with relief as two hulking, muscle-bound goons stepped clear. Each fondled a weapon while sporting grins drunk with anticipation. The first, a gruff, tower of a man in his mid thirties, repeatedly slapped a crowbar across his palm and leered at Norton. The second man, resembling a short, solid brick wall, moved forward flying a double-edged bali-song blade. Impressive speed, Reese had to acknowledge.

The woman snarled a smile. "Get the backpack!"

"No get back! Not until I see her! Where is she?" Norton's voice had climbed a few shaking octaves.

"Finch, the party just grew by three - plus. Time to crash it." Reese stepped from behind a nearby van, walking straight passed a startled Randy, to intercept the steroid twins. "Fellas. Mind if I join the party?"

"Who the hell is the suit?" One of the men questioned wearing a puzzled expression.

"Just someone that believes in evening the odds." Reese smiled.

"Fuck Tony, take him out!"

The tank of a man, Reese now knew as Tony, pounded toward him. "Don't look even to me!" He danced the knife back and forth, locking eyes with Reese just before rushing a lashing swipe at John's stomach.

Reese jumped back to avoid the sailing blade. Sure, he could easily have pulled his gun and ended the cocky display, but he'd been itching for a release for weeks and things were just getting fun. John parried the knife hand with his right and cracked Tony with a left upper cut. Though the punch was well placed it had little effect against the neanderthal's jaw, causing only the slightest stagger before the goon refocused.

"Mr Reese?" John paused, threateningly holding his finger up in a, 'wait a minute,' motion. He thoroughly enjoyed the look of dumbstruck surprise. "Yes Finch?"

"Randy Norton has a four-year old daughter, Sophie, with a Mary Elliot. They've had an on again, off again relationship for the past five years."

"Quit screwing around! Finish him!" Danny growled, spurring his companion into action.

"Finch.., hold on a minute." Reese calmly requested and ducked another swing of the blade.

Tony's frustration grew with Reese's obvious toying disinterested and unthreatened attitude. "You're dead asshole!" With that colorful war cry, Tony lunged, putting all his meaty bulk behind the outstretched blade. John turned sideways, grabbing the extended arm with both hands and shoved it down, hard, across his knee and snapping the elbow. Reese silenced Tony's wild screams with hand chop to base of his skull.

"Sorry Finch.., go on."

Finch continued unfazed. "Miss Elliot has an unsettling history of drug abuse, violent crimes and has been turned into child services on a number of occasions. It would seem Mr. Norton may have been trying to clean up his life, these past four years, because of his daughter."

"You son of bitch!" Danny yelled, wasting no time stepping in to avenge his fallen pal. He swung the crowbar hard, high and fast, toward John's head.

Reese ducked. "Finch, they're ransoming his daughter." He explained after dodging, yet another swing. He was done playing; a child's life was at stake. "I like my head... where it is!" He hissed landing a powerful kick to Danny's stomach. "Thanks."

The man breathlessly doubled over, iron forgotten with a clatter, in favor of using both arms to clutch his now hitching lungs. Reese was pissed and worried about finding the little girl. "Time to end this." A downward step chopped the tree-trunk of man to the ground with the sickening snap of his knee. Even with little air in the man's lungs he managed a howling cry as he hit the wet asphalt with a meaty spatter.

Mary Elliot's previous stance of authority had been progressively shrinking to a less confident cower. Reese set her in his sights, closing the distance in two striding steps. "Now. You're gonna tell me what you did with his little girl." His soft voice boomed with dangerous intent.

The haggard woman spat shaking words of contempt at John. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but I know cops and you ain't one. You got no business fucking with my deal. This bastard owes me!" She started forward, dumbly choosing to take a swing at Reese. He easily caught her weak, bony fist, spinning it around to her back as he shoved her against the car.

John leaned in behind her ear and whispered. "If you don't want me to break your arm... you'll tell me what you did with Sophie. And before you impress me again with your amazing wit, you were right... I'm not a cop."

Fear ghosted across Eliot's twisting face. "Ahhhh! You're hurting me. Ok, ok. Little bitch is in the trunk! She's in the trunk! Stop! But the lock's broke. Ahhh!" Reese ignored her whining and increased the pressure just a little more. It took all of his control not to break her arm - right then and there.

"Randy." Reese turned to the, shell-shocked, man staring at him. "You mind watching your ex for a moment? If she moves, just pull up until you hear a snap." He couldn't help himself. The description wasn't meant for Mr. Norton as much as to terrify the scum pinned to the car.

Leaving Randy holding his ex, John collected the crowbar still laying between the disabled pile of muscle on the ground. Reese expected most of the lowlifes he dealt with to suffer from some form of 'stupid' bubbling up from the human condition. He could deal with that, but when that stupidity involved an innocent child... that's where he drew the line. That was the part of his job he couldn't accept.

The teasing mist had finally turned to rain, causing the men's blood to streak the asphalt as Reese stepped around them. His coat was already damp and quick soaking through, adding to the cold chill of dread as he headed for the, too silent, trunk and tapped his earwig.

John hadn't seen her in two weeks. They'd only spoken a couple times since getting back from New Orléans, and then only clipped, to-the-point check-ins. He was avoiding her. He knew it, wasn't proud of himself, but still felt so conflicted and tethered by his fears. Fears for Carter's safety.

Sometimes he imagined the dark shadows that followed him, crawling up from their recesses, sneering, as they hurt her because of him. It wasn't a fear he could simply ignore. But ignoring her wasn't the answer either.

"Hey Carter... Sorry, I know it's late..."