The Spider and the FBI: Part 2 "...Upon the Axle Tree"
"...Upon the Axle-Tree" Part II of "The Spider and the FBI"
by PR Chung
I-84
Sweetwater County, Wyoming
Thursday, July 1st 5:48 p.m.
"The cellular customer..."
"You are trying to reach," Scully finished the message now emblazoned in her memory as she terminated her umpteenth attempt to contact Mulder. "Yadda, yadda, yadda," she scoffed, putting the phone down.
Skinner glanced at her, frowning at her uncharacteristic tone.
"Still no luck contacting your partner," Bernstein said from the back seat.
Scully didn't respond and tried to concentrate on adjusting the air vents then her seat belt and the slight twist that had developed in it.
Skinner flicked his eyes to the rear-view mirror, seeing Bernstein half-smiling as he nodded to himself.
"You're concerned," the man said, "of course you are. So far away from him."
He was quiet then, watching the scenery go by with a pained expression.
"Absence," he finally said with a long, dramatic pause. "Absence, it does make the heart grow fonder, you know, Agent Scully."
Eyes forward, jaw clinched, she refused to respond.
"In today's world it's hard to believe that, when travel is so readily available, bringing the once forlorn together. Perhaps that's why so many relationships fail. Odd, isn't it? But to desire something is always so much more interesting, satisfying even, than actually having it."
"Is there a problem, Bernstein?" Skinner questioned the man.
He looked thoughtful. "No, I don't believe so. Is there?"
"It seems like you have a problem keeping your nose out of other people's business."
"Well, how observant," he retorted leaning slightly forward. "Now isn't that why we're all here, because I stuck my nose into other people's business?"
"We're here because you embezzled from the wrong people."
"Are there right people to embezzle from?" He countered. "Don't you see that I'm like the Robin Hood of the underworld."
"And John Gotti's the Sheriff of Nottingham?" Skinner came back.
"What a stale reference, I'm shocked," Bernstein mocked surprise taking out his bottle of eye drops to toy with the cap. "I would have expected something less mainstream from the Assistant Director, that is your title, isn't it?"
"I hope you're prepared to talk this much on the witness stand, Bernstein."
"The FBI sat upon the axle tree of the chariot... what a dust I stir, they say..." Berstein muttered to himself.
"Is there something you want to share with the rest of us?" Skinner questioned the man.
"I need to get out of this car." He said, petulant.
Skinner started to protest but Scully spoke first.
Leaning her head against the seat, she rolled it restlessly, saying, "so do I. There was a sign for a rest stop back on the road a mile or so, let's pull over at it for a moment."
************************************
"The cellular customer..."
Scully put the phone down, warn by trying to reach Mulder. Surly it was the service area, she thought, glancing around at the terrain. Mountains and hills, and wide expansive of nothingness, where cell towers were sparce. Yes, certainly it was just the service, she told herself and forced her attention toward the rest stop restrooms.
It was beginning to feel like Skinner and Bernstein had been gone a long time. Hopefully, Bernstein wasn’t turning a simple trip to the bathroom into a holy nightmare for Skinner. She was all too familiar with the man’s ability to twist every situation into an opportunity to spew his poorly disguised psychological manipulation.
She certainly wasn’t going take the quiet for granted. Maybe they had been gone for what seemed like a long time now… but it was a much-needed break from Bernstein’s constant needling commentary. She was grateful for Skinner running interference, recognizing the man’s schtick and not letting it get to him, and he was doing what he could to keep Bernstein from getting to her as well.
Scully was grateful, but she couldn’t help but reconsider Skinner’s motivations for inserting himself into this assignment.
She'd known him long enough to understand his attitude of getting things done right by doing them himself, especially when it came to situations such as the one with Bernstein. But still, after everything that had happened over the last eight months, the close calls to overstepping their boundaries, he shouldn't have come. He should have sent someone else... or should he have? Why should he alter any actions he would have normally taken? What indications did she have to determine his arrival as anything more than a strictly professional gesture of caution and concern other than her laughable presumptions of his interest in her?
She straightened in the seat rigidly, her initial excitement passed, replaced by unclassifiable animosity. There was no escaping the inability to understand where the man stood, on either a professional or personal level. It was so aggravating that she could just-
The cell phone rang beside her, and she jumped.
"Damn it," she cursed both the phone and herself. "Scully," she answered the call, huffy.
"I miss you, too," Mulder's sarcastic voice came back at her, "Bernstein getting to you?"
"Uh," hesitating, she caught sight of Skinner and Bernstein approaching the car. "Something like that," she replied and quickly shifted the subject not wanting to lie any more than necessary, "where have you been, I've been trying to call you for the last hour and a half, Mulder?"
"Sorry, I just got one of the less popular call blocking features on my cell phone about two hours ago- At least I think it was two hours ago... my watch has stopped."
"What are you talking about?"
"I had the Corleone twins waiting for me at the motel room when I got back from the doctor this afternoon," he explained, "and my cell phone got caught in the crossfire."
"Are you all right?"
"Sore, but otherwise fine, no leaks."
"Who were they, and how did they find you?" she questioned as she got out of the car, meeting Skinner as he approached.
"One got away, the other is in the hospital right now having a bullet taken out his shoulder. He wouldn't talk, but I should have something back on him soon, I sent his picture and prints in before I called you."
"How could they have known where we stayed?" Her question piqued Skinner's curiosity as well as Bernstein's.
"Who?" Bernstein questioned nervously, getting no response from either of his keepers.
"Tit for tat, Scully," Mulder offered his opinion, "they've got their sources the same as the Bureau. Judging by the time it took them to get here, I imagine your call to Skinner this morning clued them in to our location. But they didn't know you were leaving, somewhere their information got screwed up."
"What happened?" Skinner asked her while making Bernstein get in the car.
"Mulder had a run in with two men at the motel we stayed in last night," she answered him briefly.
"Scully, who was that?" Mulder asked, but before his partner could answer, he cranked out more questions, "was that Skinner? What's he's doing there?"
"There were no Agents available from the Denver office-"
"None?" He exclaimed.
"Mulder," she mirrored his tone, "no, there weren't."
"No wonder I couldn't reach him in his office." Mulder replied after a moment then gave her the description of the man who escaped him, as well as the car, but he would undoubtedly replace it with another vehicle. The state police were alerted and now she and Skinner. It was only a matter of taking all precautions possible now to avoid their location being discovered once again.
"I can't go back to D.C. after this, I want to join back up with you and Skinner..."
"No," she told him abruptly, "we can't risk you leading them to us."
Skinner's eyes narrowed when he heard this.
"You need back up, Scully."
"At this point Mulder we may be best left alone."
Reluctantly, and not altogether convinced, Mulder agreed and let her go knowing full well there were more than enough ways to pinpoint a person using a cell phone, even in the middle of nowhere.
"Did Bernstein make any calls while you were in the room?" Skinner asked her, keen to the situation by just her end of the conversation with Mulder.
"No," she shook her head.
He took a deep breath, pushing the folds of his jacket back to plant his hands on his hips. "Did either you or Mulder make calls out from the room phone?"
"No, when I called you, I used my cell phone."
He searched the interstate, his jaw grinding some consideration.
"How ever they found out," he finally said and turned, going around the car to the driver's side door, "it's going to be hard for them to do it again as long we keep moving."
*******************************
Chugwater, Wyoming
10:46 p.m.
It may have been a quarter of eleven for Wyoming, but Skinner's internal clock was still running on East coast time; his head throbbed, his eyes hurt, and his back was stiff. He was far from being a lightweight when it came to going without sleep, but he'd been going steady since 6:00 a.m. and nearly seven hours of his day had been spent behind the wheel of a car, not to mention the two-hour flight into Cheyenne, then another forty-five minutes into the Rock Springs municipal airport.
He was exhausted he reluctantly admitted to himself pulling into the Chugwater Inn parking lot. He had wanted to keep going, driving through the night, sharing shifts at the wheel with Scully, but she was in no shape to drive.
Despite the fact that he had done all the driving since meeting up with her, she'd gotten no rest.
He looked at her in the seat next to him; head tilted toward him and against the seat back, her eyelids fluttering slightly. She had been trying to sleep, but just couldn't seem to settle in. And it seemed as though every time she did drift into any type of deep rest Bernstein had made another request to stop.
Skinner glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing that the man had stretched out on the back seat and appeared to be sleeping quite contentedly. Too contentedly, giving Skinner the gut feeling that there was something in the works with this guy, even in his sleep.
Skinner turned his attention back to finding a parking space, which wouldn't be hard; there were only a couple of cars in the motel's small parking lot. The lack of guests wasn't surprising; the place was far from the interstate, yet appeared to offer all the luxuries that a motel along the interstate might. There was a small diner attached to one of the three one story buildings and an even smaller gated pool set at the center of the U-shaped arrangement.
He eased the car to a gentle halt, cutting the engine off as he gave the place a serious scrutinizing before turning to wake Scully.
This time he hesitated to look at her, amazed again by how easily he was touched and with suddenness that was both overwhelming and infuriating. His ability to control these unexpected surges of acute desire, brought about by the most obscure of circumstances- the certain way light played upon her features, an idiosyncrasy of a turn, a step, a smile or glance, the inflection or particular cadence given to a word or phrase, had substantially diminished... but was not completely gone.
Looking away he took a deep breath, clearing his mind a moment before turning back to wake her.
"Scully," he quietly said touching her arm with deliberate indifference.
She lifted her chin, glancing around.
"Where is this?"
"Chugwater," Skinner answered pulling the keys from the ignition.
She frowned briefly, glancing around behind them, toward the road. "I don't remember Chugwater on I-84, are we still in Wyoming?"
"Yes, just northeast of Laramie. I decided that we should get off the interstate, at least for the night."
Wise idea, Scully agreed. If they were being followed staying off the main drag was their best course of action. "We're on route 34 if you want to look at the map to get your bearings."
She nodded but didn't bother to reach for the map, she would look later, and right now she just wanted a decent meal and some sleep.
"I'll get us rooms," Skinner told her opening the door to get out, "why don't you get us a table in the diner?"
She got out and started to open Bernstein's door to take him with her, but Skinner stopped her.
"I'll take him with me, Scully." He told her.
Again, probably for the best, she appreciatively thought. If Bernstein made a break for it, she couldn't guarantee her ability to stop him. As tired as she was her senses were dull and her reaction time was undoubtedly a fraction of the norm.
Skinner rapped his knuckles on the rear window before opening the back door, Bernstein sat up abruptly, looking disoriented. But despite his apparent disorientation Skinner suspected that the man had been awake and eavesdropping the whole time.
***********************************
The diner was small with a long counter and booths running the length of the front windows. There was only one customer other than Scully, a man in jeans and a plaid short sleeved shirt sitting at the counter, smoking cigarettes, and talking to the cook who was resting casually on his folded arms at the counter, obviously taking advantage of the lull in business.
Seeing her enter the cook straightened up and nodded to her. "Evening, miss."
The customer turned halfway looking over his shoulder, then fully turned to get a better look and deliver his own greeting as well. "Evening."
She returned the greetings and slipped into a booth facing the entrance, exhausted and suddenly wondering if she even had the energy to eat. Looking around she noticed the mishmash of red, white, and blue decorations strung across the establishment in a careless sort of way. Looking at the decorations she realized with surprise that Independence Day was rapidly approaching, not that she had had any plans for the holiday, she rarely did, but just the fact that she had forgotten it surprised her.
The cook came around the counter to her booth.
"Can I get you some coffee, hon?" He asked handing her a menu that doubled as a place mat.
"No, just water and two more menus, please."
"So, you're not traveling alone then, huh?"
She looked at the man a second, processing the question. "No, I'm not."
He nodded grabbing a couple more menus from the counter. "Glad to hear it, I didn't think a pretty young woman like you should be out here all alone."
Scully controlled the impulse to roll her eyes, but barely. She pursed her lips and nodded, thanking him politely catching sight of Skinner heading down the drive with Bernstein from the office.
"You're dressed awful nice to be traveling," the customer at the counter called over to her. He had turned his seat to face her booth. "There is a convention around here or something?"
She regarded him a moment, noting the deep creases in the back of his shirt and the lap of his jeans created by prolonged periods of sitting, and concluded that the semi parked out on the road in front of the motel belonged to him.
"No, there isn't." She replied and Skinner came through the door, Bernstein in tow.
The man at the counter took one look at him and swiveled his chair back around to face the kitchen.
"Evening," the cook greeted him after a moment of sizing him up.
Skinner nodded and ushered Bernstein into the booth ahead of him, up next to the window, then slumped into the seat opposite Scully brushing her legs with his own.
"Excuse me."
"Hmm?" She said having hardly noticed.
Bringing Scully's water, the cook came back to the table. "Can I get you fellas something to drink?"
Skinner glanced at the water glass. "I'll have water also."
"So will I," said Bernstein, then in his usual eccentric way added, "but with a twist of lime in it, please."
The cook looked at him. "Lime?"
"Yes, a twist will do."
The man frowned. "You want me to squeeze some lime juice in your water?"
Bernstein shook his head. "No, a twist. You know," he said bringing his cuffed hand up to wriggle his fingers, "a twist."
Skinner pulled his arm back down. "Plain water will do." He told the cook.
"Well, I think I got some lemons back there, but I don't know about limes." He informed them tilting his head to check out the situation with the handcuffs.
"That will work." Bernstein agreed pulling his eye drops out.
"Hey, uh," the man said gesturing toward their cuffed hands, "what's this?"
"We're transporting a prisoner." Skinner answered gruffly.
"I'm the prisoner." Bernstein grinned.
Scully was already digging for her identification.
"You two marshals?" The cook persisted.
"No," Scully said pulling her ID out, but Skinner had been quicker.
"Federal Bureau of Investigation," he said holding open his badge case for the man to look at.
The cook bent forward squinting at the badge and identification card.
"Hey, can I see that?" The man at the counter called jumping off his seat to come over. "I never seen one of those things close up for real."
Skinner flipped the case shut and pocketed it before the man could cross the short distance between the counter and booth, in no mood to deal with this nonsense.
"So, you're a lady FBI Agent, huh?" The cook asked Scully with a cockeyed grin.
"Yes." She said and sighed. "I am."
"Wha’d, you do, fella?" The cook asked Bernstein.
Even Bernstein was beginning to look irritated now.
"It's very involved," he answered beginning to fidget the eye drops bottle cap.
"Could we get our water?" Skinner asked the man laboring to maintain an even tone.
"Oh, yeah," the cook said sounding surprised and as though he had forgotten. "Sorry about that. I'll be right back."
The man was gone, and Skinner was glad, he didn't like the way he had been eyeing Scully. He wasn't a man easily taken to jealousy, but this wasn't matter of jealousy but rather a matter of common decency. Both the cook and the guy at the counter had been leering at her since he'd come through the door.
He looked across the table at her, considering for a fraction of a second brushing her legs again with his to get her attention, hoping to communicate how tired he was and to find that she was just as tired, noticing his silent plea to forget eating and go to the rooms.
As though reading his mind she looked over the rim of her water glass, meeting his gaze. There was hardness in her eyes, tension pulling at the corners, but there was still some measure of loveliness Skinner found in those blue pools.
"Rooms?" She asked him, putting her glass down, her voice growing hoarse.
"Yes," he pulled two keys from his pocket, looking at them for a moment before he put one on the table in front of her.
"They're adjacent to each other," Bernstein told her smirking.
She flicked her brow and pursed her mouth briefly. "Okay, well I'm starting to reconsider exactly how hungry I am." She said taking up the key.
"So was I." Skinner replied taking his glasses off a moment to rub at the bridge of his nose. Surprisingly, there was no protest from Bernstein. Perhaps he too was just as exhausted as they were. "Are you hungry?" Skinner asked him outright.
He shook his head. "No,” he answered, sounding genuinely tired. “I am thirsty, though."
Skinner nodded. "Drink your water and we'll go."
"I think I'm going now," Scully said and started to get up. She hesitated, waiting for protest or approval. There was neither. "All right, then," she stood looking at the key, "number 18."
Skinner glanced over his shoulder at the deserted parking lot, catching once again the trucker watching Scully. "It's the far building." He told her, turning back.
"I'll need my bag," she said, and he handed her the car keys. "I'll move the car in front of the rooms."
He almost told her to be careful but held his tongue and just kept an eye on her as she went, watching her reflection in the far window of the diner.
"Are you worried?" He heard Bernstein ask. Skinner glanced at the man who was watching him closely. "What could happen to her?"
Skinner turned his eyes straight ahead, grinding his jaw. "You always watch your partner's back."
"And what a lovely back it is," Bernstein murmured looking down at the eye drop bottle in his hand.
Skinner started to speak but stopped, looking at the eye drops. He'd seen Bernstein fidgeting with them all day but never use them, and then something he'd overheard once in a bar came back to him; a conversation between two bartenders when they thought no one could hear.
"Why don't you let me give these to Agent Scully," Skinner said taking the bottle suddenly and swiftly from Bernstein. "She's a medical doctor and should be in charge of administering pharmaceuticals."
"But those are just eye drops." Bernstein protested urgently.
"Exactly, so you won't be in immediate need of them, will you?"
The cook appeared at the table setting water glasses in front of Skinner and Bernstein, one with- shockingly- a twisted lime peel in it.
"Uh, well, very nice," Bernstein seemed torn between wanting to reclaim his eye drops and approve of the water. "Excellent service, yes."
"That the way you wanted it?" The cook asked appearing concerned.
"Yes. Yes, just perfect."
The cook nodded glancing around. "Where'd your little FBI lady go?"
* "Sweet dream baby, sweet dream baby, sweet dream baby... How long must I dream?" *
From the jukebox, the smooth crooning of Roy Orbison began to play through the diner as Skinner straightened in the booth, bristling at the cook’s choice of words. "Agent Scully." He corrected the cook, his tone saturated with exasperation.
"Like Vin Scully?" The truck driver asked from the jukebox.
"I suppose." Skinner answered tucking the eye drops into his pocket.
* "Dream baby got me dreaming sweet dreams the whole day through. Dream baby got me dreaming sweet dreams in the nighttime, too." *
"I sure wouldn't mind being her prisoner, if you don't mind me saying." The truck driver said returning to his seat at the counter.
* "...dream baby make me stop my dreaming, you can make my dreams come true..." *
"I swear," the cook declared shaking his head as he walked back behind the counter, "there's just something about those red heads, boy."
"Mmm, hmm," the trucker agreed. "Spitfires, every one of them I've ever met." He turned to Skinner, asking, "I bet she's one, id'nt she?"
Skinner ground his teeth on shapeless curses standing up out of the booth dragging Bernstein along like a rag doll, causing the man to spill water down his shirt.
"You're talking about a federal Agent," he rebuked their seemingly innocuous comments, "deserving of a hell of a lot more respect than you're displaying right now."
"Huh?" The cook looked surprised almost scared.
"I didn't mean any harm." The trucker defended himself.
"We were just talking in general, don't get all bent out of shape now."
Ignoring the cook, Skinner hauled Bernstein out the door and the man had to jog a bit to keep up with him as he marched across the parking lot.
"They said they didn't mean any harm," he told Skinner. When there was no response, he added. "Okay, I take it that you noticed the staring. Well, you can't blame them, she is really very attractive."
"Put a lid on it, Bernstein." Skinner warned him, pulling the room key out.
"Please," Bernstein continued insolently. "Someone doesn't conform to your ridged tenets, and you just tell them to shut up? Come on, you can't say you don't recognize how engaging a woman Agent Scully is. A man would have to be blind not to see..."
At the motel room door Skinner stopped and turned to glare at Bernstein. "I respect her. I respect her decency and capability as a federal Agent. She deserves more than to be considered a pretty face."
"I don't think it was just her face they were looking at." Skinner glared at him, and Bernstein looked back at him a moment, something fiendish growing in his eyes. "This has nothing to do with respect," he finally said smirking.
Skinner squared his jaw. "I know your game, Bernstein. You examine and test all the angles, if you can't pit one against the other, you create suspicion, invent jealousy, or provoke confusion. I've dealt with better than two-bit mob bookies like you, and she's dealt with better. So don't play me because I'll kick your ass in the end."
Bernstein looked at him, unruffled. "This has nothing at all to do with respect."
Reticent, Skinner turned and unlocked the door, shoving Bernstein inside the room.
***********************************
Despite knowing she'd be woken for the car keys, Scully drifted asleep atop the bedspread. Exhaustion had won. Her mind tumbled into dreams, fueled by random sounds: a truck, a dog, then voices. One, new. The other, familiar - deep, forceful, oddly soothing. Even with its unappealing qualities, the voice drew her in, murmuring needs.
"Scully?"
Her body reacted to the sound of her name on his lips, twisting with fine craving... If only he knew his power over her.
"Scully!"
She sat up abruptly, the demanding shout jerking her out of sleep. Disorientated, she went to the door, and opened it—Finding no one outside. Confused, she learned out, looking up and down the walk. “Sir?”
"Scully, wake up!" Skinner's muffled voice came again followed by a harsh pounding. She turned toward the sound seeing the door that joined the two rooms. “Great,” she muttered and started across the room.
"Just a minute," she called fumbling the dead bolt to open the door. “Sir, I—” Once again, there was no Skinner, only Bernstein looking back at her from where he was comfortably perched on one of the two beds in the room.
“Lose something, agent?” he asked with a smirk.
“What…?”
“Scully, what are you thinking?” Skinner asked suddenly from behind her, coming through the front door of the room she’d left standing open. “Leaving the door open like that?”
She turned to him, taken off guard and dazed. “I thought you were outside, then I…”
“You need to be more careful.” He grumbled, looking around the room.
“I am, I was just confused by all the yelling and banging.”
“Fine,” he dismissed her explanation. "I need the car keys."
“Okay then,” she huffed, aggravation rising quickly with his abrupt dismissal. Snatching the keys off the dresser she all but threw them at him. "Here," she snapped back mirroring his brisk tone.
He looked at the keys then her, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
"What the hell's wrong with you? You come storming in here barking at me without cause—”
“The door was standing open, Scull—”
“I didn’t know if something was wrong the way you were yelling and banging at the door—”
“I wasn’t yelling or banging at the door—"
"Everything okay in there with you two?" Bernstein called through the open door from the next room.
"No!" Scully and Skinner shouted in unison only to realize their mistake.
“Y-yes.” They staggered to correct themselves.
“Get some rest, Scully.” Skinner grunted, turning to leave the room, pulling the door solidly shut behind him.
Scully glared after him. Contention was their standard of operation, but this had been one of the most pointless arguments they had ever had. Pointless, and telling; they were exhausted, taxed beyond norms, and to anyone paying attention, they were both suppressing a multitude of underlying feelings.
Unfortunately, some was paying attention.
“You know,” Bernstein began from the other room, “the two of you really need to—”
*************************
The Ranch Inn
Frontier, Wyoming
11:37 p.m.
Evicted from the Pink Cloud over the shooting, Mulder sat in the corner of his new motel room under the amber glow of a hanging lamp, a report spread across the table in front of him. He poured over the information that had been faxed to him at the local police station from Washington, seeing that now, no matter what the circumstances, Skinner and Scully needed back up.
Steven "Sharkie" Machenko was well known among the law enforcement community; a former Pittsburgh police officer discharged from the department for misconduct, he moved on to a full-time position with those he'd been helping while still a police officer. Aside from his inside knowledge of police work, Machenko also seemed to have a special skill for 'dislocating' people - he was wanted in connection with four disappearances in three states.
Sharkie would be getting a lot of visitors to his hospital room soon enough, Mulder mused turning his attention to the next piece of faxed information; a list of those believed to associate with the man. The pictures were distorted from the facsimile transmittal, but he could make out faces well enough to recognize one as the man who got away at the Pink Cloud motel.
Lawrence Martin Gryzwac was also well known among law enforcement agencies. He had been connected to numerous Mafia lieutenants, as well as a sundry of crimes that ranged from prostitution to gambling, and murder, but never prosecuted due to either insufficient evidence or the unwillingness of witnesses to testify, or worst yet, their disappearances.
Mulder cursed letting him slip away.
He started to check his watch before remembering it had stopped running after the fray at the Pink Cloud. Checking the digital clock beside the bed he reached for his cell phone before remembering it had given its life to save his earlier that day. Damn, what else is going to get broke, his thoughts going to the motel room phone and dialing Scully's number.
"...The cellular customer you are trying to reach has traveled beyond..." Mulder cut the standard message off, dialing Skinner's cell phone number.
The number rang a couple of times then, "Skin-"
Mulder opened his mouth to speak before he realized Skinner's voice had been cut off. He re-dialed.
"...The cellular customer you are trying to reach has traveled beyond the service area or is unable to answer your call. Please try your call again." Mulder ended the call, pouting at the phone thoughtfully a moment before getting up to gather his things into his travel bag.
He didn't figure Gryzwac for the type to let driving all night stop him from finding someone, and Mulder wasn't that type either.
If he drove all night along I-84 he could catch up to them at some point, he thought studying the faxed report once more before packing in his bag. Or pass them up completely. In any case he would be closer than he was now to help.
****************************************
"Damnit," Skinner mouthed a curse, pressing the keypad on his cell phone with more force than its operation warranted. The battery had discharged during the course of the day and apparently all it took was a few rings to completely drain it.
He suspected it could be Mulder calling. Had he tried to call Scully? He hadn't heard a phone other than his own, and he believed he would have heard anything through these walls judging by the sounds he could hear from the next room over. Thankfully, Bernstein had fallen asleep before the mewing and ohing had begun or surely, he would have kept his mouth running all night about it.
Skinner sat in the dark, facing the window and listening to Bernstein stirring in the next bed. He figured if the phone ringing hadn't woken him, fumbling around in the dark for his phone charger wouldn't either. No matter, he needed to charge the phone.
After a series of misadventures trying to find a free outlet, Skinner settled back into bed, waiting for the phone to charge.
Laying there, too tired to sleep, he stared into the dark no differently than before the phone had rung. He listened to the sound of Bernstein's light snore and heard what sounded like thunder in the distance. Counting seconds between the distant rumbles, Skinner heard the a door open. It was Scully's room.
Without hesitation, he was up and at the window, obscured by the heavy curtains. There she was crossing the parking lot her gate determined, in sock feet and wearing a dark tee shirt and shorts.
He followed her path glancing ahead at the building where she was evidently headed. There, next to the office was a bank of vending machines. I should have known, he mused watching her become silhouetted in the glow of the soda machine lights.
"Next time you go to the vending room, Agent Scully, try to dress more appropriately." His words came back to him, images following with absolute clarity.
Months ago, he had turned his back to her, his eyes searching the hotel hallway for both others who might amble upon the embarrassing scene, and simply look away, to preoccupy himself. He studied the wallpaper design then scrutinized the light fixture which needed good cleaning, from there he glanced at the fire hose case directly across the hall from him. The first reflection he had caught was of himself-- then Scully. He meant to turn away but couldn't, he was frozen, his eyes locked on her bare reflection. Chagrin and guilt gripped him, swelled in his throat, but fascination firmly fixed his eyes on her and the elegance of her movements in that absurd moment.
Skinner shut his eyes, laboring to exercise the memory, but only more came to him.
It was dark out there on that rock in the middle of the lake but there was enough light that he could see the appealing curve of her neck and the damp hair clinging to it. And when she leaned forward the move gave a certain extra hike to the already short hem of her dress and threatened to expose every last inch of her thighs.
He nearly jumped back from the window when he realized she'd turned and was starting back across the parking lot. She was an observant person no matter how fatigued she might be, and he knew if he moved, she would catch sight of the curtains shifting.
He watched her pass holding his breath until he heard the door to her room shut and lock. Stepping back from the window he released his breath, feeling guilt-ridden.
"Did she catch you?" Bernstein's voice came out of the dark unexpectedly and Skinner did jump.
He didn't say anything getting back into bed.
"Just watching your partner's back, huh?"
"Go back to sleep, Bernstein." Skinner grumbled.
"Well, I was asleep until all this heavy breathing woke me up."
Skinner opened his mouth and shut it quickly. The only breathing Bernstein needed to worry about was his own and if it's possible to do it through the pillow he was ready to smother him with if he didn’t shut up.
***********************************
Twin Star Drive in Theater
Outside Tokey, Wyoming
11:58 p.m.
Under a pitch-black diamond studded curtain of night, the peaceful, rhythmical sound of crickets was shattered by the sound of gunfire and a police scanner. Muzzle flashes broke the dark, illuminating objects in brief strobe light-like effects- brush, car hood, brooks brother collarless shirt.
Picking off kangaroo mice scurrying in front of the deteriorating outdoor movie screen, Lawrence Martin Gryzwac sat perched on the hood of the 1976 Caddie he'd picked up at a car lot in Prince Town off route 6, listening to the police scanner he had transferred from the Seville he and Sharkie had been traveling in and that he had had to ditch thanks to the smart-ass FBI Agent.
He squeezed off the last two rounds in his nine-millimeter at scurrying shadows. A squeal sounded somewhere near the rusted, leaning remains of a swing set in a long-abandoned playground.
Gryzwac smiled to himself, humming 'Three Blind Mice.'
Smart-ass FBI pretty boy, he thought while exchanging the empty clip for a full one. Won't have such a smart mouth once he gets it blown right off that face of his. He squeezed off another round into the shadows, the scurrying creatures playing effigy to the federal government.
The muffled twitter of his cell phone sounded from inside the car prompting him off the hood and to the front seat. Turning down the scanner he answered the phone, "yeah?"
He listened for a moment, then, "why the fuck doesn't anyone know where they are? They haven't checked in yet, oh, well that explains it, perfectly fuckin' clear. I'm telling you now, you get her to find out where they are and you call me right fuckin' then, Frank. You hear me? Or I'll come to Washington and break the freakin' bitch's neck myself."
Coming soon Part 3
