Chapter 3

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It was just one minute from the hotel to the barrack with guards, on the docks.

"Nate, I'm out." Hardison's voice was clear, coming both through the earbud and near him. The hacker was around the corner of the barrack. "Told them I went to my car – I got Sophie and USBs and we're clearing out."

Now he could see them both, two darker shadows near the back windows.

"No need to hurry," he said. His voice was surprisingly normal.

They both turned around and froze, seeing him holding Martin in front of the gun. For a moment nobody said anything; they didn't know which stage of plan this was, and how much everything was compromised.

Hardison was first to speak. "Something going on?" he stated cautiously, forming the question neutrally.

Nate couldn't open his mouth. He tried, but no sound came out. One more surprising thing, because his mind was completely normal, working at its usual speed, going through all possibilities and outcomes at once. Nothing wrong with his thoughts. But he couldn't say it. Saying it would be confirmation; it would make it real.

He watched them. They were looking at him. Martin stood stiff as a stone.

Sophie was the first to move. She made one small step forward, not towards him, but nearer to Hardison, placing her hand on his arm. "Who's dead?" she whispered.

Not the first time she asked him that, but the first time he had replied instantly. Now he just took a deep breath. No names; Martin was listening.

"We've lost a Joker," he said finally.

It wasn't what he said, but how he said it.

They had enough composure left not to say anything compromising, both noticing his choice of words. "We're going to the island. Martin has a motor boat. Move." He pushed Martin in front of himself, avoiding their glazed stares, passing by them. He could hear when they moved and followed them. They didn't exchange any words; they just silently walked after him.

He saw the guards through the window of the barrack – all four of them busy with removing the furniture and preparing the stage for Hardison's performance. Four good guys, in a good mood, friendly.

He stood next to Martin when they got aboard and when the engine started, to keep an eye on him. He wasn't a typical bad guy either, just a frightened and troubled man, dishonest but benign.

How everything could go so completely wrong? Somehow he felt it would be easier if this had happened in some nasty trouble, some deadly shit; they would have been prepared for things going south. This was… unacceptable.

Sophie was standing while the boat quickly cut the fog. Her back was turned to both of them. She watched the other shore, hugging herself as if chilled. Hardison sat on the bow, his elbows on his knees, his hands going through his hair in a monotone, repeated move, over and over again.

Their silence was deafening.

It was in the moment when the boat touched the bank and Martin turned the engine off, when he heard the static again. It cleared in a few seconds, and an unknown voice gently said, "Would you like a nice, warm cup of tea, dear?"

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"Would you like a nice, warm cup of tea, dear?"

Being dead sucked big time. Being dead brought a headache.

That thought got him together; how the hell could he have headache when he just got killed with two shotgun shells in the chest?

Something wasn't quite right here.

Eliot opened his eyes to the smiling face of the old lady leaning over him. She really had a cup in his hands, and he blinked once, squinting. "The hell is this-"

"Watch your language, young man!"

What the fuck? He blinked once more, clearing his vision. He was at the bottom of the stairs, near the railing. He reached with his hand to the railing, trying to push himself up, when it hit him… an explosion of burning pain in his chest, abdomen, shoulders, everywhere. He moaned and fell back, and only his instincts stopped him from curling up.

Watery eyes blinked at him with warm compassion. "Nasty, isn't it?" The old lady turned away, leaving a cup on the floor. He was still trying to catch his breath – Jesus, it burned – through gritted teeth when she returned with a huge green watering can. What the fuck…? He stared at her in disbelief. Without a word, she turned it over, pouring cold water over him in a soft drizzle.

He was too shocked to react, and between terrible dizziness and burning his thoughts didn't have a chance. But he had to get it together, able or not.

Assess the situation, disarm all threats, secure the perimeter, find Parker.

A situation: his killer was watering him like a plant.

He left the assessing of the situation for some better time, and concentrated on disarm all threats. He couldn't see the shotgun anywhere near, but it wasn't so important now; if she didn't reload it, it was useless.

Secure the perimeter. Right, on it. In a second. When she moved away from him again, he gritted his teeth and again tried to hoist himself up; this time it went better. He was still disoriented, everything danced around him, and he had to lean on the railing to keep himself upright.

"S're you don't wan' that tea?" a gentle voice was back. He looked at the little lady that came to him with another watering can, almost too heavy for her lithe body. Her hands were occupied, and she had something between her teeth, a small paper box.

Okay, maybe he was dead, he thought when she tilted the can, this time without a rose on it, and splashed the water on him again. No more soft drizzle this time. He looked down at his chest, and froze. His shirt and jacket were torn and ripped with dozens of bloody holes in them. How wasn't he dead already?

Right at that moment, the main door swung open with a violent thrust, and Nate and Hardison burst into the lobby, followed by Adrian Martin. Okay, he could leave find Parker to them. He stared at the mixture of shock and relief on their faces, unable to give any explanation. Burning was eating through his mind steadily, blurring everything.

The woman took the box out of her mouth. "Adrian, dear, you should've told me you would bring guests," she said with reprimanding tone in her voice.

"What have you done, mom?!" Martin cried desperately. His face took on a yellow hue when he looked at his chest, and Eliot turned his head to the woman. He really wanted to hear her answer, the only thing that would make sense in this confusing shit.

"There, there, no need to panic. I caught him trespassing – he's lucky I just shot him." She turned around and disappeared once again.

Nate and Hardison were both at his side now, grabbing him and taking him to sit on the stairs, Hardison pushing him down and tearing the ripped shirt. He let them. He couldn't think of anything better to do now.

"Can you breathe!? What do we have to do? What happened? Can you talk?!" Hardison's frantic questions added to the mess, and Eliot waved his hand to stop him. "What?"

"A headache," he stuttered. He slowly reached with his hand and felt the back of his head. Yep, he'd hit his head, hard, when he fell… he felt blood on his fingers.

The look on their faces would be priceless, and he would enjoy it immensely, if that damn witch hadn't returned and splashed him with a third wave.

Surprisingly, it did help…the burning subsided with every splash of cold water.

"Okay, enough!" Nate's voice cut through every sound like a knife, going painfully through his head, but that did it – everybody froze, even Hardison. "What the hell is going on in here?!"

Before anybody could open their mouth, a soft cling above their heads made them all look up. Parker's head, hanging upside down, emerged from the wooden beam, followed by half of her body, with the shotgun in her hands. She slid along the railway and she was down there in seconds.

She waved the shotgun at Nate, and he snatched it. "She did shoot him," she said. "But those weren't bullets."

"What?" Nate observed a gun.

"Of course that weren't real bullets." The old lady frowned. "I don't kill raccoons, I just chase them away. The shells are filled with a rock salt, huge grains. At twenty meters it just smacks them and scares them away."

"At twenty meters, yes," Nate said coldly. "You fired at him at arm's reach! You could've killed him!"

"Hardly. The hit is stronger, and it did throw him back, yes, but the grains only penetrated the skin, not going too deep. It will burn for some time, and that's all." She took the paper box she'd left on the table and opened it, taking a bunch of band aids out of it. "More water will clean the salt, the deepest grains can be taken out with tweezers, and the burning will soon stop.

Just then Eliot remembered someone was missing. "Where's Sss…" he stopped on time.

"Will be here in a minute, she's limping," Nate said, looking around.

Great, they were all here now. And what now?

For one long second everybody watched Nate. They were disposed, compromised, the job was ruined, their identities revealed in front of the mark, and Nate had a fucking gun in his hand…

He just sighed and closed his eyes. They would need a fucking miracle to walk away from this.

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Nate knew Eliot was fine when he looked up the stairway, to the platform above them, and when a grin flew over his face. He followed his eyes; a bunch of gorgeous, half naked women were piling on the railings, looking down with a mix of whispers and giggles.

Sophie arrived in the moment they started to climb down. That was great – they needed, desperately needed more people to add to this fuck up.

Sophie made one unintelligible sound and flew to Eliot, but she was stopped two steps away from him by a nasty glare. No hugging. Nate smirked and withdrew a couple of steps away from everybody, into the background.

The large foyer had three sets of small tables and chairs, probably for waiting customers, and that reminded him that they only had ten minutes before the first of them started to arrive.

Martin was slumped in one chair. No gun threat, no unknown people in his sister's house, nothing could penetrate an aura of resignation around him. He should be panicking by now, but no. He just sat there, with his legs outstretched in front of him, staring blindly into the staircase.

The old lady – his mother – was busy going in and out, bringing more water and more cups. When he saw her starting to give orders to the nearest girls, the bravest, who were almost down the stairs, Nate knew he had to stop this before she brought sandwiches.

"Eliot, why don't you let those girls to take care of your wounds?"

"Wh-?!" The hitter flinched with indignation; that was unheard of. He took care of himself, always.

But Nate continued, ignoring the accusing stare, "They have nothing to do now, and that will keep them occupied." Keep the enemies herded and away while I deal with Martin. Eliot caught the message, but a grimace on his face clearly said what he thought about that.

"That's a great idea. Come with me." The old lady led the way to the other end of the foyer, to a table and chairs similar to these, and the herd followed her. Nate studied Eliot's steps – yep, that was a concussion – but the hitter managed to hide it from everybody. Maybe not Parker, though; her eyes were sharp and narrowed while she watched him. There would be a lot of poking later.

After the initial shock passed, both Hardison and Sophie became aware of the situation. The hacker came to him. Sophie stayed by the stairs, watching Martin and reading his posture.

"What did you tell him?" Hardison asked lowly, only for his ears, glancing at Martin. "State police? Interpol? FBI?"

"Nothing yet."

Parker was near them in a second. "I told the girls I'm with the FBI. Can you still save them?"

"From what, Parker?" Nate motioned with his head to the herd… relaxed, gathering around Eliot and still giggling. "They aren't being held here."

Martin still paid no attention to them.

"Stay here," Nate whispered to the hacker and the thief, and went to the herd.

"Mrs. Martin, you're aware that you have an illegal brothel?" he stated firmly, with his most official tone.

She just smiled at him. "Girls…" she said gently.

"We're the Webster Crochet Club for Cheerleaders," five of them sang together. "We live here and we master our crocheting skills." All of them shot him dazzling smiles.

"You've gotta be kidding me-"

"These girls are safe here," she said. "They have no jobs, no future, no education and their families are estranged. They can crochet here, or on the streets. Here, they can stick together and form a bond, help each other, without any danger for them. I don't know any crocheting club that provides medical care, gives shelter, and give its attendees all the money they gain by selling their artwork. Do you know any?" Her eyes grew sharper with every word she said. "If you do, please do share, we'd like to exchange our experiences. But if you don't, just walk away and don't turn back." She looked at the girls and the sharpness faded, a smile returning in her eyes. She pulled him by his sleeve, taking him away from the group.

He followed, just turning around to check on Eliot. One beautiful redhead was leaning over him, tapping his shoulder with gauze, but he looked past her, to the two shorthaired blondes that were quietly talking to each other. Those two were almost fully dressed. Nate sighed. At least he would be patched up.

Mrs. Martin stopped him when they had moved enough so the girls couldn't hear them. "They wouldn't survive on their own, and you know it."

"No, I don't know it, and you don't know it either. Crocheting on an island isn't a way of life for any human being, and I don't think it's their choice."

"It isn't. It's a necessity. Have you been in Webster, ever? Have you seen any advertisement for jobs? There's a waiting line for McDonalds; people wait for years to work there. Don't preach – this isn't their choice. They are trying to survive. And no plot or conspiracy my son and you can cook up will change my mind and stop me helping them. We have three babies in the right wing. They've made a life here. Don't try to ruin that."

She didn't think they were police, or any sort of law enforcement. Interesting. More interesting than that, she thought Martin had set this fiasco together with them.

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

She observed him once more, very thoroughly, then she returned to the girls. Crocheting Club, damn. He could bet she had all her papers in order.

He returned to Martin and sat in the chair beside him, stretching his legs the same way he did.

"So," he started. "Your sister provides medical care? Do you have a cook for this little club, or do they do it by themselves?"

Martin raised his head and tilted it a little to look at him. Nate returned his stare without a smile.

The man had been snatched with a gun from his game, by a man who obviously wasn't a poker player, who had a gang of intruders on his property… and he didn't say anything. Didn't ask anything, not even if they were police or something like that. He just watched him with a desperation that seemed so deep that he had no strength even to protest. He didn't care. No, worse than that. He was so low now that he simply gave up.

And Nate knew what to do.

He rested his elbows on the armrests and tented his fingers. "Let me tell you a story about the man who was one step from public humiliation and losing his job and everything he had," he said calmly. Martin just blinked; a slow, tired move. "And who solved all his problems in five minutes, with unexpected help." Not even that brought any life to his eyes.

"You rejected Chief Vickers' claim for tribe recognition because you couldn't allow them to build a casino on this island. Because that would ruin your mother – no matter how crazy and delusional she seems, she cares. And you care for her. And you have no means to stop her in her crazy crusade. You've tried everything already, right?"

"Every damn thing." His voice was just a whisper. "I begged, I threatened, I blackmailed, I begged some more… and nothing. My only hope…" He stopped, swallowed as if gaining strength. "…my only hope is to keep everything here hidden, and pray that those, those… men, who come here, have a sense of discretion. But every day, I'm waiting for the police to bust in… they would take her away in cuffs. I can't, I just can't… there's nothing I can do anymore."

"Except one thing." Nate now smiled. "Except bringing an entire tribe here, with their casino, and forcing her to close her crocheting club."

"What?"

"You looked at them as a threat… you should've seen them as a perfect help for your cause."

"That's insane."

Nate pulled out his phone. "How many girls are here?"

"Fourteen," Martin whispered. "Why?"

"Excellent." He typed on the phone for a minute, and sent a message. He could do it faster, but Martin needed that minute to think. His eyes weren't so dull now.

"We were here to investigate your decision for the US Bureau of Indian Affairs. I don't think you need an explanation of our results." He waved his hand in a general direction over the foyer. "It's over. You're ruined and compromised. Everything you feared just happened."

Martin glanced to the group at the other end, and took out his pills, swallowing two without water.

"Mrs. Martin, would you join us for a minute?" Nate called. He let her take his seat and stood in front of them both.

"Mrs. Martin, I'm not working with your son. I'm here to investigate his work and put him in jail for a conflict of interest. The Nipmuc tribe will probably sue him and take everything he has. Your Crochet Club is going down, too. Both you and the girls will be arrested. You'll do your time in jail, but they won't – they will be simply charged with fines and thrown on the street. You're ruined."

Oh, he had their attention now.

"However, I'm not law enforcement. We work in a different field. I am in a position to choose my action, to choose justice before order. I can save you both."

"How?" Martin said. His mother was silent, her eyes fixed on him.

"By sacrificing the Crochet Club."

"Out of the question!" she spat.

The soft ping of an incoming message stopped her. Nate checked the message and kept the phone in his hand.

"Martin, in three days, you will approve Chief Vickers' appeal, and make sure all their demands are fulfilled. There will be no charges against you. Mrs. Martin, you will clean the mansion of every trace of illegal activities, and you'll tell your customers that you're out of business. There will be no charges for you, either, if you stop. Now."

"I won't pay for my freedom with their lives. The girls will have to go to the streets, to violence, and drugs and danger."

"And what would make you change your mind?" Nate smiled, slowly. "Just for a moment, let us imagine a surreal scenario, in a happy-ending land far, far away… what would you do if your girls don't have to sell their bodies for a living? If by some unknown miracle they are allowed to stay here, if you want them to, but they were normal young women with jobs, with the possibility for an education and a better life? Would you agree then to close this place?"

"Of course I would – they're saving every dime to make that happen in the future – but that's impossible."

"That's how this is going to be, Mrs. Martin." He opened the message and showed her the reply he got. 'I can do that, no problem.' "I asked for payment from my client. He agreed to pay me with fourteen jobs in the future casino, here on the island. The only things that remain between those girls and their good future are you and your son. He has to make the right decision. You have to close this thing down. Can you do it?"

"I can," Martin breathed. "I will."

She said nothing, her sharp eyes not melting a bit. "Why?" she asked. "What's in this for you?"

He thought a few seconds. It was a tough question. "A happy ending," he said with a smile. "We provide… happy endings."

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"Now you know how it feels to be watered. That will add much needed understanding in your relationship with Geor-"

"Shut up, Hardison."

"And you crawled through the vents. The next thing you'll do will be rope-sliding with me. Do you know you're the only one of us who still hasn't, even once, gone down the rop-"

"Shut up, Parker."

Sophie laughed at the voices from the back of the van, and Nate grinned, watching the trio in the rear mirror. Eliot was sulking at full speed. Soaking wet, with a headache and probably still full of salt – and that was an experience Nate was sure he didn't want to try, ever – and pissed off to the insanity level. Hardison and Parker, of course, paid no attention to all that; they mercilessly continued to poke at him, the thing closest to cooing that he had ever seen.

Sophie still laughed; but the grifter held his hand while he drove exactly nine times longer than she usually did after successful jobs.

She turned her head to peek at him. "I hacked – okay, almost hacked – Hardison grifted, Parker almost fought, and Eliot was as close to being a thief as he would ever, ever, allow himself again," she said, the stars still in her eyes. "What have you done?"

For a change, he did nothing, except worrying. And then panicking. "I shuffled a deck," he said with a grin. "I got a winning hand. Exceptional cards, every one of them."

"Ah? No cheating this time?"

"Yep, no cheating needed," he glanced at the back again; Parker and Hardison were betting whether she, with her eyes covered, could hit a hole on Eliot with her finger, or not. "Because we learned to play the hand we're dealt."

He took The Ace of Spades from his pocket and threw it out through the window.

Lucille turned left, leaving the Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg Lake behind their back, heading for Boston. For home.

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