Blue Bloods

Charlie lay on his cot, the blanket neatly tucked beneath him. A slight breeze wafted across the room, chilling him awake. He opened his eyes to slits; his office had no drafts. The door stood open; Troy frozen halfway through sticking his head into the room. Charlie slipped to the floor, checked the locked box holding his costume, and took a deep breath. When a few minutes of meditation brought his heart rate back to normal, he let his time flow again.

"Hey, Charlie, you in here?"

Charlie stood, drawing Troy's gaze. "Yeah. What's up?"

"You sleepin' under the cot again, Charlie?"

"Nah. I fell off just before you came in. Bad dreams."

Troy's smile slipped. He'd been Charlie's sidekick since they met in kindergarten. Even then they'd looked after each other. "The helicopter again?"

"Yeah, something like that. What did you need?"

Troy shrugged. He never pushed, and Charlie appreciated that. "The section of the junk yard you roped off the other day... it had a Toyota Echo with solid quarter panels and some of the drive train left, didn't it?"

"Yeah. I stripped it down before I roped that spot off. Everything salable is in sector four with the rest of the unsorted parts. The rest I dumped in the recycle pile. Customer need it?"

"Yeah. I'll have the guys sort through that lot and bring me the bits he needs." Troy turned to go, but stopped halfway out the door, arguing silently with himself. Charlie waited patiently. When he turned back into the room, he spoke before Troy had a chance.

"Special project. To do with the Rain."

Troy nodded, but a frown flickered across his face. "I figured something like that." He paused again, the frown making another appearance. "Who's doing the work?"

Charlie grinned at him. "Who else would I trust with it?"

"You've done all that yourself?"

He shrugged his reply, then bent to pick up his toolbox. "Now that you mention it, I do need to get back to work. The first bit's almost done. After that I'll need to bring you in to handle the crew."

Troy blinked. "Crew?"

"Yeah. I've got some big plans. We might not be dealing junk for much longer."

"No? Too bad, I kinda liked it. Saving the planet by recycling, y'know?"

"You'll love this, then."

The frown disappeared completely, chased away by Troy's usual optimism. "We're finally building that recycling plant we always talked about?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what, man?"

Charlie lifted one finger to his lips, hefted his toolbox, and left his office, Troy retreating in front of him. Before walking away, he reached into his pocket and pressed a pair of buttons. A reassuring paired clunk echoed down the hallway, drawing Troy's attention from Charlie long enough for him to get around the nearest corner of the little shack.

The moment Troy couldn't see him, he held his time and sprinted into the junkyard.

***

The massive patchwork tarp still covered Charlie's project. He didn't expect any of his employees to be a problem. They were solid guys, and he paid them well. Better, for some of them, he didn't ask questions about their past or their personal lives, so long as it didn't interfere with their work. They respected his privacy as much as he respected theirs.

He lifted the edge of the tarp and slipped under. Inside, the oppressive heat wrung sweat from him instantly. Droplets of water hung from the underside of the plastic. The ongoing wheeze of the old dehumidifier still echoed through the space, but it had no deeper buzzing counterpoint, and no growling bass line. The generators had gone down again, taking the fans with them.

"Dammit. The concrete won't cure right like this," he muttered. For the thousandth time he thought about pulling down the tarp. He wanted his project to be a surprise, but it had to come out right, or he wouldn't show it to them at all.

Just before he reached the clear space with the dehumidifier and the fans the smell of rotting meat hit him between the eyes like a hammer. He muttered curses under his breath as he looked around until he found it. An irregular oblong mound bulged from one of the foundation footings he'd poured the day before, a few ruptured bubbles showing the source of the decomposition gases. If the intruders hadn't messed up the fuel feed on his generators, the stuff would have set before anything floated to the surface.

"Son of a bitch." He enunciated each word clearly and carefully, letting his sudden rage flow out with them. His time flowed out along with his temper, and he yanked a utility knife out of his toolbox. A few minutes of work later the tarp collapsed, sections falling to cover the most important parts of his project, the rest flopping away to snag against neatly the stacked remains of old cars, heavy appliances, and outdoor furniture.

That done, he pulled his cell phone from its holster and tagged the first speed dial. A few moments later she answered.

"Hey Charlie, what's up?" Drew's voice tugged at him as much as it always had since the Rain. He took a deep breath, nearly gagged from the smell, and ignored it all in favor of more important things.

"You're still with the Fed, aren't you?"

Her response came immediately. "Yeah. Did you need me to drop something off or pick something up?"

He looked around the open space, taking in the lumpy shapes hidden under plastic, the disturbed dirt, and the obstructed sight lines to any roads. After a moment he sighed and turned back to his phone.

"Bring him along. We'll need one. Someone left me another gift."

"Um, I'm not sure he does that kind of thing."

Bless Drew, even after he practically gave her permission to bring the Fed onto his property, she still tried to shelter him. He didn't really need it anymore, except when he slept, but he appreciated the gesture. He took another deep breath, this time through his mouth to avoid the smell. He gagged anyway, but both the breath and the retching interfered with the formless panic trying to overwhelm him.

"Yeah, well. I'm sure he has friends. Besides that, you heard what happened to FBI headquarters; he's probably the only one in North Jersey at the moment."

"Just a second." Static pushed his ear away from the phone; Drew had covered the receiver. He still heard a brief, muttered conversation through the phone; Drew's sultry whisper dipping into a contralto growl, followed by a deep bass answer. After a few rounds of that the static stopped as Drew uncovered her phone.

"Yeah. He's not the normal guy, but Nick's still MIA in NYC. I'll have to do the grunt work, but JJ can sign his name on the dotted lines."

Charlie said, "JJ?" just as a deep male voice on the other end of the line protested, "I think I still remember how to investigate a murder, Detective Williams."

"Yeah. Just keep everyone away from the scene until we get there."

"Will do."

He hung up and stared at his phone. He'd have to spring his surprise early. He hadn't thought to make sure Drew still had Jesse with her, but if she didn't, he'd find a way to deal. Decision made, he flipped to the second number on his speed dial. The answer came almost immediately.

"Doctor Merilyn here. Go."

"Hey, Angela. Are you busy?"

"Just a lot. I'm the only doctor available to the hospital right now. I'm juggling taking care of the inpatients, diagnosing the critical cases in the ER, and my old job of terminal care, which is thankfully down to just Jane, although I'm a little concerned about where Roger ran off to. I'm also trying to figure out what's happening to us, because I'd really like to avoid the whole 'becoming a puddle of blue goo' thing. Oh, yeah, I'm trying to keep from collapsing again, although I've got Steve giving me some help there. You?"

"Waiting on Drew and her pet Fed."

Angela's response came without a pause, confirming a suspicion he'd harbored for a while. "Another body dumped in your junkyard?"

"Yep. You need a break?"

"Desperately. Don't have time to..." she cut off, and for a few seconds only breathing and murmurs sounded through the phone. "Too much to do, and too little of me to do it."

"Right. Put Steve on the phone please?"

"Hey, Chuck," Steve said after a few moments of static. "Angie tells me they left you another one."

"Yeah, and it's right in the middle of something I wanted to show the rest of you."

"Dude. Sucks to be you."

"Yeah. How's Angela holding up?"

Steve paused, and his next words echoed as if he'd just cupped the receiver in his hands to keep his words private. "She's strung out. Her nap pulled her back from the edge, but she needs a break."

"Are there really any emergencies?"

"Well... normally I'd say 'emergency' is anything bleeding, burning, falling, sinking, on or under fire, but the nurses have all the burns and bleeders pretty well under control, and nobody's shooting at us at the moment. There's nothing bleeding or burning unusually right now. She could take a break."

"Should she?"

Steve paused again before answering. "Yeah. She should."

"Good. Bring her on over to the junkyard. I think I can get her some rest without losing too much time, but I can't be in two places at once yet, and I really want to show you this before the place becomes a CSI circus."

"I'm not sure she'll come out to your place willingly."

"So, charm her. You're good at that."

"Yeah, no. Mega-Moppet might not let go of my manliness next time. I'm just going to take her to lunch."

"Gotcha. See you soon."

"Yep. Later."

With that Steve disconnected. Charlie walked over, pulled a chair down from a wall of patio furniture, and sat down to wait.