Tony let him do it, even stood still without turning his face away. The guy's hand would have skidded then and turned from him, but that wasn't what was needed, so he only closed his eyes in the moment the bodyguard hit him. Solid contact. The two other ‘bouncers' in the back corner didn't even flinch. They were probably used to this. If they could have, they probably had the ability tear Tony to pieces with his bare hands. Tony was waiting, face burning and aching, for it to happen again when he realized that the guy had already receded into the shadows. He felt his head fall heavily downward, dragging the rest of his body with it. He fell in a slump on the ground, all ropy muscle and rage, not fighting but not surrendering, either.
"Christ, that hurt," he mumbled through a mouthful of blood. He couldn't swallow the words, had to spit them out, throw them against the clean and sensible iron-gray walls of the room, had to use them to break the glass wall that stood between him and Johnny Keller. The edges of his world were black. He felt Burley's hands on him, on his wrist and on his shoulder, steering him up and to his feet. The solid surface of the floor finally began to reform under his shoes and Burley tugged and twisted him into the light again, into the sweetly sensible connections between cause and effect, into a world with a possibility – however scarce – for good. He could see Burley somewhere out there, then too close to him, white-faced and concerned.
"Clean ‘em," Tony heard a voice say.
The three indistinct bodyguards moved to form a wall around the two of them, pulling earwigs from ears and wallets from pockets. They threw their equipment to the ground and a large, polished shoe crushed them into a thousand microscopic electronic pieces of metal. The only satisfaction Tony got at that moment was from the knowledge that at least Probie's ear would be in a hundredth of that pain that his face was.
"You know, you're pretty stupid." Johnny Keller stepped out from behind the glass strip of wall. His voice was directed at Burley. "If you'd just had your little chat with Em instead of going to find your partner, you might've got what you'd wanted."
Burley glared back at him. Keller stepped forward toward the two of them and twisted his head down and to the side, not in an un-Criminal Intent-like manner, Tony noted. Only Vincent Dinofrio seemed to be much more intimidating when he did it. Still, you had to give Keller credit. At least he was trying.
"Special Agent Burley," he said, flipping open their two I.D. wallets, "and Special Agent DiNozzo. NCIS." He over pronounced the last four letters in a condescending way. "Naval, Criminal Investigative Service, correct?"
Burley and Tony clamped their jaws shut. Burley could still hear Tony's breath hitching every so often in pain.
"I recognise your names. You've both been on the television," Keller continued, smiling and throwing their wallets onto the table behind him. He leaned back against it, relaxed.
"What can I say," Tony said, blood beginning to dry on his chin, "they like to use the prettiest faces in the room." He smiled – not his best smile or his real smile, but one designed to catch attention as quickly and effectively as a bite. "If you watch so much television, you must have heard about Harry Burke."
"It keeps me awake at night," Keller said blankly. He picked up a letter opener and began picking away at his nails with it.
Tony clicked his teeth together. He thought about what he might do if that opener was in his own hands. "He was a client of yours."
"Thousands of men visit my place every week, agents. Half the town is a client."
"There are details never released on television. No such thing as full disclosure in a homicide investigation," Burley said. "Details that people don't want to hear. Like crack dealers. Like crack dealers dealing to navy lieutenants."
A smile cracked its way across Keller's lips. "I didn't deal to Burke. And I sure as hell didn't kill him."
"If we thought you had, I'd be asking your girls out there for an alibi, which I'm sure you have at least three of," Tony said. "You're not the kind to get your own hands dirty." Tony's eyes drifted up toward the three shadows of men standing behind them.
This earned him a blow to the gut.
Tony spluttered and heaved as he fell once more to the ground, his stomach recoiling in pain.
"We just want to talk to Emma," Burley said. "Backstage."
"My property. No warrant."
"No need for one," Burley said. "We're not here to arrest you."
"Does anyone ever believe you when you say that?" Keller asked.
"Of course they do," Burley replied. "They've seen me on television."
Keller's smile made a reappearance. "Look, agents, I'll save you some time and some pain." He looked to Tony, who was now picking himself off the floor once more. "I was with Emma and Dean that night. Dean was a month overdue on his payment. Good customer, I give him a bit of leeway. Harry showed up and paid me. Said Dean would never be dealing with me again." He paused to raise himself from the desk. "I got my money, and I lost a customer that would potentially have ended up screwing me over a few times anyway. Now tell me, agents, what the hell kind of motive would I have to kill someone who was paying me my money?"
Tony finally stepped to his feet and wiped some blood from his lip. "That was a very nice story, Keller, but honestly, we don't care. We really just want to talk to Emma."
"Your talking is getting perilously close to looking. We agreed that this was only a conversation. No need for a warrant. You should never break your own rules."
Keller raised a hand and twitched two of his fingers as if he were tapping out a rhythm; Tony had known that it would happen sooner or later. He did not move. Movement was a threat. When he felt the bodyguard's hand on the back of his neck, he let himself be forced down. Someone began using a Sig to part his hair. He did not look up. The bastard was using Tony's own gun to do it.
Keller continued to talk as if nothing had changed. He took out a handkerchief and began to polish a highball glass. "You don't have a head for business, Agent DiNozzo. You haven't offered me any incentives. We both know that any information I give to you compromises my business – even if you never use the information against me, the release of it injures my reputation. I have an extensive clientele. No one wants their name to ever be said in connection with mine. You see, they don't want to be compromised either. All deals done in the dark."
"You keep your names," Tony said. The steel of the muzzle was cold; the gun had not been fired recently. He couldn't decide if that were better or worse than the alternative. "You have security measures for situations like this. No point in saving the information if you never intend to use it. So how much does it cost?"
He was not confident; he was just cold. He knew that he was not too young to die, if only because he had seen men and women much, much younger than him die for actions much, much less foolish than this. But Keller was right, he did not have a head for business. He had a better understanding for the concept of the gamble – time and training had taught him how to put it all on the line and let it ride. Tony had the best poker face of anyone he'd ever known. The house hadn't won yet.
Keller's fingers squeaked on the glass. "How did you get your information?"
Tony shrugged. The gun barrel smashed into his cheekbone.
"It's not a hard question," Keller said. "And we were getting along so well."
"Absolutely," Tony said. "We should go to a game."
He expected to be hit again, but the Sig had already repositioned itself at the base of his skull and Keller offered no signal to the gunman. He looked thoughtful. He had stopped polishing the glass and instead just stood there with it balanced in the palm of his hand. Tony could not stop his head from swaying back and to the side—the gun traced his movements but did not hinder them. He watched the lamplight glint off the heavy crystal of the highball glass and began to count his breaths. Focused through the haze of pain. He wondered what Keller was thinking.
"Whatever you have - - "
"Was obtained illegally," Tony said. His words sounded mushy. "I've got nothing on you."
"And you want something from Emma. There was someone else there that night that you want her to talk about." He smacked his lips slightly on the last syllable, as if he could taste it.
"Just an answer." He licked his lips and tasted blood. "Possibly some antiseptic. But you want an incentive. I don't suppose I can appeal to your conscience."
Keller scoffed. "What's it to me? I don't have a brother."
Tony leaned back until he was sitting on his heels. His face winced in pain at Keller's words. Burley looked across at him in confusion. Tony could catch a glint of silver at the back of his head. Apparently Burley was getting the same treatment he was.
Tony looked back at Keller and spat out the words even though it hurt like hell:
"Neither do I."
Tony was all wrong for his job, Gibbs had told him so every so often – Tony was wrong for this job because he still thought that if he tried hard enough, if he meant well enough, if he talked fast enough, he could convince people to be human.
"You're beginning to bore me, agents." Keller did not care. Keller did not have a son or a brother and he could not see how anyone else ever could. "Why do you need confirmation? You already know the answer. You already have your lead. What else do you need from me?"
They never trusted him to know what he was doing. "Legitimacy. Proof."
"Proof that you'll make disappear later. Proof that will never see court."
"Proof from an anonymous informant," he said. He was reaching now. "A protected, anonymous informant. Like a tip hotline. Enough to get inside a door that's already cracked open. And then it goes away. Hard evidence overrules testimony. You'll never see the inside of a courtroom on this one. I'll never need to talk to you again. If you help me."
"If," Keller said.
When he smiled, it felt like the entire right side of his face was on fire. He smiled anyway. He saw his reflection in the highball glass and knew how he looked – bruised and bloody, face ashen from exhaustion, and a perfect smile. "If you don't help me, it'll happen again. Someone else's brother. And the first thing I'll have them do is a blood test. Whatever he has in his system, I'll connect it to you. I don't care if the drugs in his blood are Vitamin C and baby aspirin, I'll find a way to drag your business out into the open. And I won't care about legitimacy then. Those records I have, all those names? You'll see me on television again. I'll tell the whole city just how many people in the mayor's office come to you right before their parties. I'll get the green cards pulled for your entire staff. And by the time I'm done, by the time the drug dogs have prowled through your house sticking their noses in every single corner, a dozen college kids will be running your business and it'll be my pleasure."
He was outnumbered. He was bleeding. There was a gun at the back of his head. And Keller's hands had started to shake.
Why use props when he was this good without them?
"Two guys were there. Suits."
"Even Dean told us more," Tony spat.
"Someone's brawn. Said they were private. I asked them about hiring contracts. I've been shopping for a few more personal guards of late and they seemed good enough."
"Military?" Burley asked.
"Possibly ex-. More likely ex-fed. FBI or CIA."
"What did they want with Harry Burke?" Tony asked.
"Couldn't tell you. Hardly spoke a word all night while I was around them. Although they gave me their card." Keller leaned back over his desk and picked up a small white card and handed it over to the agents. "I trust you already have my fingerprints on file."
Burley took the card and pocketed it, without even looking at the name. He kept his eyes on Keller.
"Did you spend long with them?" Tony asked.
"A few minutes, maybe. I told you. They were there with Harry. They were professionals. They're not going to be discussing other business while they're on the job. That's why I wanted them."
"Was Emma there with them?" Burley asked.
"Most of the night, I think. I mean, she's Emma, so she probably hooked a guy and left after a few hours. But I know she was having a good time seeing her brother. He'd just gotten back from Iraq, I believe."
"A few months ago, yeah. It was the first time he'd seen either of them for over a year," Tony said.
"Too bad it was going to be the last," Keller spat.
- - - -
"I don't know how comfortable I am using something you dug out of the evidence fridge as an icepack, Abby." It was token resistance, however, and Tony didn't fight the hand that closed around his wrist and pushed the so-not-an-icepack up to his eye. "Anyway, it's not like the eye's swollen shut or anything."
"Oh," Abby said, "well, if the eye's not swollen shut, then you must be perfectly fine. And anyway, that's not even evidence. It's something Palmer put in the evidence fridge for God only knows what reason."
"I feel so much better."
Abby extended her hand. "Card. Fingerprints. Bad guys. Now."
Tony pulled the card from his pocket and handed it over. "I was under the impression that since you work trace I'd be the one feeding names into a computer. Or is this another one of those things where you don't want me to interfere because you'll think I'll break your fancy-pancy computer?"
Abby crossed her arms. "No, Tony, this is actually one of those things where I'm very busy but still making time for you to be annoying."
"I don't have any cash on me, Abs. Just so we're clear. I mean, there's no way for me to call you in a pizza or magical Caff-Pow delivery service at this point."
"Every once in a while," Abby said, already settling down at the computer, "I throw you one for nothing. Now stop bleeding and let me work." Abby picked up the piece of card and placed inside the glue chamber.
"I feel all warm and fuzzy inside," Tony said, and spun his stool around. The still-not-an-icepack smelled like his high school locker room. "This is TLC right here."
- - - -
"Our best choice are those two suits that were at the club," Kate said, pulling up a photograph of the card on the screen. "Johnny Keller thinks they were ex-feds, so we're thinking that they had something to do with Harry Burke's informant status with the FBI."
"McGee!" Gibbs shouted.
"Uh, yes, boss?" McGee's head flicked up from behind his monitor.
"Do we know what information he was giving the FBI yet?"
"Uh . . . " McGee stumbled. "Well, kind of."
"Define ‘kind of'."
"Well, yes and no. Just . . . without the ‘yes' part."
"Find it! Now!"
"Boss, Abby's working on the card down in the lab and these algorithms are just getting . . . "
"I don't care, McGee," Gibbs said softly. "I don't want you eating, drinking or sleeping until you de-codify those file things."
"Okay, boss," McGee mumbled nervously.
"Where the hell is DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked.
"He's uh, down with Ducky, Gibbs," Kate said. "Getting stitches."
"How many?"
"Seven," Burley said as he stood. "Look, Gibbs, they did him in well. I was there. You know that I'm the last person to want to give Tony any slack, but . . . he did a damn good job in that room. Let him break for a while."
Gibbs stared at him blankly for a moment. He walked over to Burley until he was mere inches away from his face. "Have you completely forgotten what it's like to work as an agent underneath me, Stan?"
Burley stared back at him, dumbfounded. "I, uh . . . I guess I had until now, boss."
"That card," Gibbs pointed to the image on the plasma, "has a number on it. Track down who it belongs to and find them. Kate, you're interrogating Emma with me, now!"
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