| Must you answer it? I thought it was your day off."
Bodie grinned at his companion as he reached for the car radio. "Just consider it one of the joys of going out with a civil servant, my dear." He wouldn't apologize for it. William Andrew Philip Bodie seldom apologized for anything, and if he ever were to apologize for something, it wouldn't be for this. CI5 came first for all operatives; that was a given when they signed up. For his female companions, that meant broken dates, evenings out that ended abruptly with a call-in, or nights when he was simply too tired or bruised to do anything more than lounge about the flat and watch the telly. No, he wouldn't apologize. It was just the way things were. At least, Marcia, as a researcher for MI5, was in the same business and understood the risks and pressures of the job. And the inevitable R/T calls. Bodie took advantage of the red light to lean over and give her a quick peck on the cheek before thumbing the switch and putting the handset to his lips. He was dedicated to his job, but he wasn't stupid. You could only push a bird so far and they'd fly away. "3.7 here—on an ordered day off," he added distinctly, haughtily nodding his head at her. He recognized the switchboard operator's voice as she reeled off a telephone number for him to call. "Can you put me through, Jackie? Be a dear." Bodie had a way of tempering his natural insolence with a rakish charm that had worked well for him over the years. Except on Jackie. "You know that's not allowed, 3.7." "Neither is passing on messages," he said lightly. "Now, you called me, remember? Put it through, luv." Bodie waited a moment, noting her continued reluctance, then added, "If you called me, you must have thought it was important, else why did you bother contacting me with it?" Jackie's voice had a long-suffering stubbornness, the result of more than a few run-ins with members of CI5's A squad. "She may have said it was important, but it's a personal call. She made a point of saying that." "She?" Marcia repeated, her eyebrows rising as she smiled across at him. Bodie shrugged. "I don't recognize the phone number. Come on now, Jackie," he said into the handset, impatience beginning to tinge his words. "Did she leave a name at all?" "I'm not your private message centre, 3.7." "I realize that, luv. But I'm in the car and there's no phone boxes anywhere close by. Did she say if it was urgent?" he persisted. It could be one of their grasses, afraid to say they had information. More than once they'd been contacted at home because the informant was too unnerved to talk to them at CI5. It could be many things... There was a sigh at the other end of the line, and Bodie could picture Jackie glancing around the office before her voice came in muffled. "She asked if you could call her as soon as possible. I'm sure it was Lisa, from Soho Scissors. You know, 2.4's old girlfriend." "Soho... She asked for me, not 4.5?" "For you. Sorry, 3.7. That's all I can give you." "Uh, thanks, Jackie. I owe you one." "You owe me several, 3.7. But I'd settle for one." The line went dead. Without so much as a glance to the young woman beside him, Bodie made an illegal U-turn across the central reservation to the other side of the dual carriageway and headed in the opposite direction. He needed to find a phone and he needed to think for a moment. Not that he required the full attention of his mind to devote to the problem, but he figured if there was a possibility he was going to head over to Soho, he might as well not go any further along the A40 in the wrong direction. As it was, he could get there within twenty minutes, quicker if he had to. Bodie stared ahead down the motorway, jaw set, his eyes narrowing beneath lowered brows as he watched the first drops of water splatter against the windscreen, like paw prints dancing across the tinted glass. His lips were pressed tight, the left corner of his mouth slightly curled, his nostrils flared. Lisa didn't say it was an emergency or even urgent, just for him to call. It was probably nothing, but he'd never been naive enough to take anything at face value. Not when the stakes were this high. It wasn't really CI5 that came first. His partner did. Always and forever. And if his partner needed him for some reason... It was a baffling phone message. Soho Scissors was the name of the shop where his partner, Raymond Doyle, went to have his hair cut. It took an expert to work some sense into that mane of curls, and Ray wouldn't let anyone else touch his unruly locks. Adamant about it, as a matter of fact. It wasn't that he was vain or obsessed with his appearance—quite the contrary; he usually looked like a ragged moppet heading for the dole queue. Bodie's hand left the steering wheel, tugging absently at the neck of the dark turtleneck sweater. Even on an off-day, he still wore his shoulder holster beneath the black leather jacket, the comfort of the Walther tucked under his left arm. Dr. Ross might go on about the Freudian implications of agents feeling undressed without a weapon, but she wasn't the one putting her life on the line day after day. The thought quickly segued into another; it had probably been Ross' suggestion to Cowley that prompted the chief to order Bodie out of the office the night before. Cowley had suggested— as only he could—that Bodie get away from it all for a day. He was too close to it, too wound up, and a few hours of relaxation apart from the job—and his partner—would do him good, Cowley maintained. It had been nice, Bodie acknowledged to himself, but figuring MacGregor's whereabouts had still occupied a corner of his mind. How could it not? He spotted his turning coming up and pulled over to the outside lane. After the obligatory wait at the traffic lights, he was finally turning into Great Portland Street and heading towards Soho. I shouldn't have listened to Cowley. Or Ray. The hair on the back of his neck was warning him about something. Why would Lisa phone and ask for him and not for Doyle? Bodie's fingers tightened briefly on the steering wheel, trying to remember what his partner had planned for today. Ray wasn't supposed to have planned anything. Bodie had spent Saturday with him after the hospital had released Doyle, and he had only returned to his own flat in the evening when Ray was settled for the night. Satisfied that his partner could now fend for himself, he had checked on him twice the next day, taking time to pop over during his shift, and then to bring dinner, staying for a few hours until Doyle began to nod off. Doyle had seemed his customary volatile self, cursing his body's inability to keep up with his personal schedule for recovery from an assignment. But Ray was under doctors' orders, not to mention Cowley's, to stay in bed for a few more days and regain his strength before venturing out. When Bodie had rung him first thing that morning, Doyle had wanted some time alone—demanded some time alone—and Bodie had reluctantly obliged him and called on Marcia instead. It had been a rather pleasant Monday off, watching a midday cricket match with her. Doyle wasn't much for cricket anyway; his partner favored football. Bodie had planned to stop by Doyle's place a little later to bring him some takeaway before he headed over to Marcia's flat for a leisurely dinner and evening. Despite Doyle's insistence that he was fine and would be back to work by Thursday, one look at him had been enough to convince Bodie that his partner had a way to go yet. There were dark lines under the cat-green eyes, and an edginess in the way Ray moved restlessly about the flat. He was really in no condition to... "I thought Ray wasn't supposed to be out yet." "Hmm?" "Earth to Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. Come in, Bodie." He glanced at Marcia, the tight smile forcing its way through his thoughts. "Just thinking, luv." "Well, take it slow at first," she quipped, providing the old line. "Will Ray be okay?" "Sure. Him? He's taking it all in his stride, as usual. Says he'll be back to work on Thursday, bright and chipper." Carefully negotiating a subject that had been off-limits all day, Marcia asked, "What exactly happened to him? Or is it restricted information?" Bodie shifted gears, passed a lorry, then tucked the car in front of it. "The doctor says Ray'll be fine. Hardly a scar when the stitches are out," Bodie said easily, choosing to answer her previous question, rather than the last two. He felt no remorse for repeating the same platitudes he'd recited to his co-workers at CI5 the day before when he had ventured into the office to finish his report on their last case. Murphy had already done most of the paperwork, but it needed Bodie's signature before Cowley would accept the document. Bodie had read it several times, then added his name to the bottom. There was a lot about the case they didn't know yet, and wouldn't know until they captured MacGregor, or until Ray remembered enough to give a more substantial report. To date, Doyle had been vague about what had gone on, claiming he had been blindfolded much of the time and unconscious the rest. Until they had something else to go on, the case had been returned to its previous status. MacGregor was just one more nutter they were looking for and Bodie was already assigned to investigate another case. MacGregor would surface again eventually, with another victim, but until then there were more pressing matters, at least as far as CI5 was concerned. Bodie shrugged to himself, turning his attention to the problem at hand. He absently scratched his head. Soho Scissors. Ray, old son, what have you got into now? Steering away from the negative, he tried to see the more obvious possibilities. It was likely Ray had woken up feeling fine and had decided to not waste the day, so had made an appointment to have his hair cut. What was unusual about that? It needed it. That bastard MacGregor had butchered it... had butchered him... Bodie let the anger twist inside him for a moment, then turned it off deliberately. Ray had probably made an appointment to have the damage fixed and then had forgotten to show up or something. You need a keeper, goldilocks. Why would Lisa be calling him, though? The shop was successful enough that she wouldn't be trying to drum up extra business. Maybe she was angry with Ray for missing an appointment, but odds were he had missed other appointments—what with their schedule and all. One client not showing wasn't going to put her out of business. It just wasn't something serious enough for her to call into CI5 and ask for him to be paged. Bodie cast about looking for other possible scenarios. There had to be a reason... He laughed suddenly. Maybe Ray was just in a snit about the haircut she gave him and she wanted a second opinion to convince him it looked fine. Or she had colored his hair orange, and he had walked out without paying. If there was a serious problem, she would have said so, instead of stressing it was personal. Lisa had dated 2.4; she knew what business they were in. She knew that the CI5 phone number was only for emergencies. "Figure it out yet?" Marcia asked, patiently. He shrugged, and pulled the Capri around the corner to a petrol station. "Nah. I'm going to give her a call. Won't get any peace about it if it's something important." Bodie could feel the tension in his body as he strode across to the phone box, shoulders squared. He yanked open the door and slipped inside. The coin dropped into the slot and he punched in the number he had memorized. He leaned against the back of the box, arms crossed, the phone tucked under his chin. Lisa answered on the third ring, sounding as if she'd run for the phone. "Soho Scissors." "Yeah, it's Bodie. You called?" he asked, blowing a saucy kiss through the glass window of the box to Marcia in the car. It would be nothing. He would deal with this and then they could grab some dinner. Then he'd grab Marcia... He could take Doyle the leftovers later. The little bugger could wait. "Bodie, thank God," Lisa sniffed. He stood a little straighter, turning his attention away from his car. "What is it?" His jaw began to tighten. "Ray's here." His heart started beating faster. There was something in her voice... Lisa continued,"Can you come here, Bodie? I think something's wrong." "I'll come straightaway. Are you in danger?" "No, but—" "Put Ray on the line." "I can't. He's in the loo." "Is he ill?" "I don't know. Can you come here?" she repeated. Cold blue eyes stared at the call box, fingers tightening on the receiver. He knew he had signed the case away too quickly. It wasn't over yet; it wouldn't be over until they got him. That bastard MacGregor... "Is anyone else in the shop, Lisa?" "No. Why?" "Be a good girl and lock the door until I get there. Don't let anyone else in." "Door's already locked. I usually close at three o'clock on Mondays." It was nothing. Just Ray feeling light-headed. Nothing. "Sit tight, luv. I'll be there in about fifteen, if the traffic holds." "Ta." With another shaky sniff, Lisa hung up.
Parking was always difficult to find in Soho, but Bodie's luck held out and he found a spot down the street from the shop. He had dropped Marcia off at a taxi rank, leaving her with vague assurances that he'd call later. The sky had finally opened, rain pouring from gray clouds. Jungle rain. He ran along the pavement, sticking close to the buildings, seeking some shelter under the colorful awnings. Past a bargain shop, a Chinese takeaway, several Bohemian-style clothing shops, a coffeeshop, and then the hairdressers. A sign in the window said that Soho Scissors was closed, but Lisa showed up quickly when Bodie knocked on the door. "What's up? Where's Ray?" Bodie asked, shaking the water from his hair and peeling out of the dark leather jacket, setting it over the back of one of the chairs. His eyes darted around the small shop, but there was no sign of his partner or anyone else. "Ray's still in the loo." Lisa was biting her lip, staring to the rear of the narrow shop to a closed door. Her jeans were fashionably tight, topped by a cropped, flowered t-shirt. Over-permed blonde hair was held in place off her face with several clips. Bodie and his partner had met her at CI5's Christmas party the year before and she hadn't taken her eyes off Doyle's hair, frowning at the cut and insisting he come round and let her fix it. He had been a faithful customer ever since. "What's wrong with him?" Bodie asked, double-checking that the outside door was closed and locked. "I don't know. Ray came here first thing for an appointment, but then left before I even shampooed him. Bolted out the door without a word. He came back awhile ago, just before I closed, and apologized for having left so quickly, and since I had a cancellation, I suggested he stay and I'd do him right away..." Bodie stared at the closed door, then gave a shrug and walked decisively to the back. He gave a quick knock, found it unlocked and pulled it open halfway, enough for him to poke his head into the room. "Bloody hell," he whispered inaudibly, not prepared for the sight. Blood. No, not blood. Not blood this time. His first perception had been the too-real memory of his partner as they had found him a few days before, lying crammed behind the desk at an automotive parts warehouse, his exposed skin stained crimson, sightless eyes staring at nothing. Looking more dead than alive. This time it wasn't blood. It was a red t-shirt. He stopped the growl in his throat before it became audible. His hand tightened on the door knob. "Hiya, sunshine." "Bodie?" Doyle was sitting on the floor, leaning against the toilet; his calm whisper scarcely carried across to him. Bodie took in their surroundings with one glance. The four-foot square room was lit inadequately with one bare bulb hanging from a cracked, water-stained ceiling. An uneven coat of hospital-green paint covered the lower walls, with a chemist's calendar tacked above the light switch, as though an attempt had been made to make the bathroom/storage area respectable enough for the salon's clients to use. Bleached, overwashed towels were stacked on the narrow strip of counter to one side of the deep sink. Shelves extended to the high ceiling, filled with perming solutions and bleaches and foul ammonia-smelling chemicals. A floral scent lingered, an air freshener unable to mask the other smells. And on top of that, was the distinct sour odour of vomit. Doyle took up most of the floor space, leaning against the wall, face grey, eyes watery. His knees were drawn partway to his chest, an arm around them, the other elbow resting on the edge of the toilet. The red t-shirt was sweat-stained and stuck to his skin. "What the hell are you doing here?" Doyle murmured, his eyes not rising high enough to meet his partner's. "Can I come in?" Bodie kept his tone light, masking the hammering in his chest. When Doyle nodded wearily, as though he knew he had no other options, Bodie pulled the door open all the way and stepped into the tiny bathroom, careful to avoid Doyle's feet, and then pulled it shut after him, leaving them without an audience. He crouched down and studied his partner. "You look terrible, mate." Doyle found a shaky smile and lifted his head, finally acknowledging the dark-haired man's steady gaze. "Gettin' to be a bad habit of mine, innit?" Bodie reached out and lightly touched the cold perspiration on Doyle's forehead. "Should I call an ambulance?" "No. No need to." Doyle shook his head, the smile falling from his face. "Just get me out of here." "In a minute." Bodie stood and reached for one of the hand towels. "Wipe your face first." There was only room for him to sit or stand, so he slid down the wall to sit across from Doyle, their legs jostling for space in the narrow confines. "And tell me what you're doing here when you're supposed to be in bed." "Getting a hair cut; what do you think?" Doyle mumbled, burying his face in the terry cloth. "Don't you think you could have waited a few more days?" "Nah, just wanted it fixed." Doyle brushed a trembling hand through his tangled, uneven curls. Bodie controlled a shiver, staring now at those curls, and seeing them lying adrift in a pool of blood.
Bodie stared across at his partner now, hunkered low by the toilet. He schooled the anger from his voice, saying gently, "You should still be in bed, goldilocks. You couldn't fight off a house cat if one jumped you." "It's not the house cats that worry me." Doyle cleared his throat and tried to sit up straighter. "I just figured," he shrugged, "how much energy does it take to sit in a chair and let someone cut your hair? I thought I'd be fine." He looked up now, trying to meet Bodie's face. "I'll be okay. Just help me to my feet." "I'd rather you stay there until you have some color in your face. Don't fancy you taking a nose dive." "I just wasn't ready before. Wasn't thinking straight. Guess I am a bit under the weather still." Doyle shrugged again, his gaze back on the floor. "I thought I'd be fine." Anger erupted suddenly, violently, the lean frame almost rigid with the intensity of the emotion. "Damn it! What's wrong with me?" Bodie winced as Doyle's fist slammed against the floor. "I thought I'd be fine. I should be fine. Shouldn't let it get to me like this!" "Well, you'd think that, wouldn't you? No sense under all that hair." Bodie took a good look at him, reaching out again to physically touch him. He rested one hand along the side of Doyle's throat, his fingers seeking the pulse. "How's the blood pressure holding out?" "Lay off, mate. Yer not my doctor." Doyle batted his hand away, but Bodie returned it to the carotid artery, easily holding his partner in place. From what he could tell, the skin was too cold and clammy, the pulse rapid. "Then suppose you tell me what's wrong." "Nothin'," Doyle muttered, glaring up at his partner as though daring him to disagree. "I didn't break a date with Marcia for nothin', did I?" "Looks like it. What're you doin' here, anyway? Never asked you to come." "Lisa called me." "I told her I was okay. She shouldn't have bothered you." "Why not?" Doyle shrugged. "It's not important. Just feeling a bit off. Stomach's a bit queasy. Don't know why." I do, Bodie thought.
"If yer not going to leave, then give me a hand up, Bodie." Doyle wiped the sweat off his face. "I'm okay now. Don't know what the problem was; just felt a little lightheaded suddenly. Sorry Lisa called you. I told her I'd be okay if I rested a few minutes." Bodie didn't move, watching as his partner ran agitated fingers through his curls again, always going back to the spot on the back that MacGregor had cut, patting at it, as though trying to hide the damage. Damn it, Ray. You really don't know what's wrong? You haven't put it together yet, have you? "You scared Lisa, mate. Bad form," Bodie scolded softly, never taking his eyes from Doyle's face. "Never spook a woman with scissors in her hand." The reaction was so abrupt that it took him by surprise, even if he was expecting that very response. Doyle twisted in time to retch into the toilet, the spasms jolting his already exhausted body. Bodie scrambled to his feet, his face screwing up with aversion to the close quarters. He reclaimed the towel, ran some water over it, then held it against the back of Doyle's neck, offering support with his other hand. It had been the scissors.
Doyle grabbed the towel from Bodie's hand, wiping his face. "Get out of here. Leave me alone for a bit." The taller agent pursed his lips. "Nah. I think I'll stay for a while." "There's hardly room for one in here, let alone two of us." Bodie shrugged. "We've been in close quarters before." "Get out, Bodie," Doyle mumbled into the towel. "I want out of here. Let me out." "Come on then, mate." Bodie reached down and pulled his partner to his feet, frowning when he realized how much Doyle was relying on the other man's strength to keep him upright. Shivers racked the slim body, nerves reacting even as Doyle fought to keep under control. "I'm okay. Back off." Ray shifted away, looking anywhere, everywhere, but at his partner. He staggered against the counter, his legs striking back against the toilet and almost losing his balance. "Careful now." Bodie reached out and steadied him "Don't bloody well tell me what to do," came the acrid response, Doyle twisting out of his grasp. The tiny room became smaller as Doyle pushed at Bodie, trying to get more breathing room for himself. As Doyle had said, there was scarcely room for both men to stand and move, but Bodie wasn't ready to leave yet. "Someone's got to tell you what to do. You're stuck in the loo. How long you've been here now? An hour? What can't you face out there?" "Bugger off. Never asked for you to come in here." Doyle's breathing became erratic as he gulped in huge lungfuls of air, as though he were suffocating. He stumbled forward, brushing angry tears from his face. "Just relax, mate." Bodie got a grip on Doyle's arm. "Take a deep breath—you're hyperventilatin'." "Lemme go. That hurts, you bastard." Bodie eased his hold without letting go, but the struggling became more physical anyway, Ray trying to escape him, flailing arms impacting the wall. "Don't touch me; back off!" There was nowhere for him to escape to; Bodie blocked the doorway. Suddenly it wasn't Bodie with him, it was someone else—Bodie could see the lack of recognition in his partner's eyes. The gasping was pronounced, frantic. "Back off. Let me out of here!" Doyle's eyes closed, fists striking the air, some connecting with Bodie. "Lemme go! I said, lemme go! Fuck it. Leave me alone! Get yer fuckin' hands off me!" The last words were almost screamed, Ray's raw emotions echoing in the small room as he fought to crawl over his partner to get to the door. "Bodie!" The ex-merc grimaced at the call for help, cursing when nothing he said seemed to get through the panic. Doyle had lost it, had no idea Bodie was there, no idea it was his own partner he was struggling against, using arms and legs and head. Afterwards, Bodie remembered where he had seen it done before. In a shop, a mother calming her child who was having a tantrum. The child was out of control, unable to stop the hysterical screams, the anger and fear that had been all bottled inside, exploding out. The woman had dealt with it before, obviously, and ignoring the staring, disapproving crowd—Bodie included—she had dropped her parcels and wrapped her arms completely around the child, holding him close against her and not allowing him to hurt himself or anyone else, while telling him calmly that he was okay and loved. Nothing else would reach him. Bodie reached out now, enfolded Ray to him, his arms trapping Doyle's clenched fists between their bodies. Doyle struggled, cursing, but was unable to escape Bodie's grasp. "Calm down. It's just me. Bodie. Your partner," he murmured, not letting up the pressure. "No one else is here. Just me. You're quite safe." Doyle still struggled, swearing, terror and anger making him stronger than he should be, but he was tiring quickly, the movements coming in bursts as he tried to free himself. His legs kicked out, usually so deadly, but now not able to do more than keep him on his feet. "Lemme go." Finally, Doyle stopped fighting except for small shivers that traversed his bony frame. Bodie moved so he could rest his hip against the counter, taking some of the weight that was slowly entrusted to him. All he could see was the bent head, the hacked-at curls that still bespoke the violence done to his partner. Doyle's face was pressed into his shoulder, against the dark sweater, eyes tightly closed, face scrunched as he tried to keep the emotional backwash under control. "Lemme go... lemme ... Wha??" Doyle slumped against him, fingers tightening on his sweater. Tears welled from closed eyes, silent sobs tearing from the thin body, bending it double in cramped agony. A minute and it was over, only the harsh sounds of rasping breathing left as Doyle struggled to regulate his air intake, to regain some control. His name again, but now it was whispered. "Bodie?" "Yeah?" He pressed his lips into the curls, knowing Doyle would need the tactile reassurance of a trusted friend. His partner stayed motionless against him, too tired to even shiver. "What the hell just happened? Where am I?" "Ya just reacted to something, mate. It's over now. We're in the loo at Soho Scissors. Remember now?" Strike while the masks were down. Bodie changed the topic quickly, willing Ray to let it go for now. Later, if they had to, they would broach the subject. "Ray, tell me what happened with MacGregor. What do you remember? I'll write the report if you want, but I need to know all the facts." He kept his voice low and unemotional, but didn't let Ray loose. "Can't." The tremors started again. The strained whisper hardly sounded like Doyle at all. "Sure you can, Sunshine. Just start at the beginning. What did he do when you walked into the garage and the other hostage was freed?" "Bloody hell, Bodie," Ray breathed into his shoulder, his voice raspy. "I told you before that I can't remember. Lemme go." At least Doyle still knew who he was with, whose body supported him, not trapped him. Bodie exhaled slowly, calming his own nerves. "S'not that easy, mate. I need the report. You're a CI5 agent. Tell me what happened," he demanded, his words smooth and measured. "Lemme go." "As soon as you start talking. I'm staying right here until you do." "Damn you, Bodie." Again there was a brief struggle, Doyle cursing as he tried to get out of his partner's firm hold and reach the door. "Let me the fuck go." "You're not going anywhere," Bodie persisted. "Talk to me. I think you do remember what happened. It's in that head of yours somewhere. You just don't want to remember it." It was ridiculously easy to keep Doyle in place, and he ended up simply holding the man upright, well aware how close Ray was to blacking out. "It's just me here. No one else. I want to know what went on with MacGregor. Tell me about it. Tell me what happened at the beginning. It's just me here," he repeated. "MacGregor?" Perhaps a minute went by before Doyle spoke, his fingers entwining firmly in Bodie's sweater as he concentrated on answering. "Can't think." His breath caught in his throat. "How many of them were there?" "What? How many? Uh, four. And him. There were four of them. Five of them. Two with guns on me. Didn't recognize them. Except MacGregor. Four of them. And him." Doyle's breathing became rough and Bodie shifted his body so he could glance at his partner's grey face in the mirror. "Take a deep breath and let it out," he instructed, waiting again until the tremors faded. Ray exhaled slowly, his hands uncurling and lying flat against Bodie's chest. "‘M'okay now. Just a bit shaky." He pushed back further, but stayed calm, still relying on Bodie to keep him on his feet. Doyle had never shied away from physical contact before, and didn't now, but Bodie could see the embarrassment his partner felt at his perceived lack of control and his disjointed memories. He was struggling to regain some dignity, attempting to cover his reactions with determined intensity. "No masks, Ray. Not between us. Just tell me what he did to you." Doyle met his eyes then, taking a deep breath for courage, then closed his eyes, unable to face his partner's calm scrutiny. "All right. It wasn't so bad; don't know why I can't talk. Uh ... It all happened fast. One bloke blindfolded me. They took my jacket off. Tied me in a chair, my arms and legs. He... MacGregor... stabbed my shoulder first, then my leg with something." Doyle swore, trying to control the shivers that enveloped him. "Wasn't sure what he used. A knife of some kind. Then he got my arm. Not deep wounds—you saw ‘em. But they hurt something fierce. It got to me, Bodie... Didn't know what he'd do next."
"He touched you?" Bodie supported him, easing him forward, trying to contain the exhausted trembling. "Like he was basting a goose, rubbin' me with my own blood." Doyle shivered, irked when he couldn't get his body to stop shaking. "He was all over me." Bodie stilled his own hands, realizing his calming gestures were probably anything but. "You switched locations about then?" he prompted. Doyle tried once again to free himself from his partner's firm grip, but the pressure only tightened, Bodie making it clear he wasn't going anywhere until he had finished his report. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on the scattered images his memories were finally grasping. "Yeah. We moved a couple of times, I think... Then he'd start all over." Doyle shifted so his face was against Bodie's right shoulder, not against the leather holster. Bodie's gun had saved his life so many times before, but at that moment it was cold and rough and reminded him of death. "When did he cut the rest of yer clothes off?" Bodie asked, his voice strained. "When he got bored with my chest, I guess. I'm not sure how long it was before he sliced through my jeans. Even cut my trainers off my feet." Doyle's body jerked in memory and suddenly it was hard to breathe again, until Bodie's calming words registered on his brain. "Take a deep breath and let it out, Sunshine. Let it out." Doyle tried to listen but he was cold, as cold as he had been in the garage, naked now with the nutter's hands on him, running possessively over his body.
The amazing thing was that Doyle fell asleep in mid-sentence, utterly knackered, his multi-bandaged body propped up by the sturdy form of his partner. Shifting so he could see, Bodie grinned into the mirror at the sight of the bent head resting on his right shoulder. "Oi, mate," he whispered, his smile fading as the relief at Doyle's capitulation hit him. "Now we're starting to get somewhere." Bodie buried another fierce kiss in the scattered curls, this time for himself, then rested his cheek on top of Doyle's head, his own taut nerves relaxing in the trust of his sleeping partner. The memories—confusing and disturbing as they were for Ray—were coming back, which meant they could be dealt with and processed finally. The claustrophobic room was a quiet haven, for now cut off from the rest of their world. In a bit, they would have to go back out there and deal with the events that had happened, but for a moment, he could relax and enjoy the living, breathing, aliveness of Doyle. Safe. Too soon, Bodie took a deep breath and softly kicked at the door with one booted toe until Lisa's uncertain voice came from the other side. "Bodie? Everthin' all right?" "Open the door, luv." The door opened a crack, just wide enough for her to peer at him. Lord knows what she had been hearing through the thin wood, Bodie realized. Doyle throwing up, the shouting, fighting, and tantrum. Must have sounded like Bodie was beating the hell out of his partner. "You got a blanket?" he asked softly. She nodded and disappeared, back a moment later with a grey army blanket. He shook it out with one hand and draped it around Doyle's narrow shoulders. "What's wrong with ‘im?" "He's asleep," Bodie smiled down at her, turning so she saw the exhausted trust in Doyle's stance. "Give me a hand, will ya? I want to get him to the sofa." She held the door open for him as he managed to lift Doyle enough to manoeuvre him across the shop to the overstuffed old sofa in the waiting area by the entrance. Mercifully, Ray didn't wake up, just allowed himself to be settled on the sofa like a soused school boy. His arms and legs were sprawled over the edge until Bodie tucked him in a bit better. He grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his partner's face and neck, then covered him again with the blanket. "There," he said finally, standing back and staring at his handiwork, hands on hips. "That should keep him." Bodie turned around and grinned at the perplexed shop owner. "Put on some tea, luv, and I'll go get some takeout. Chinese down the block all right?" he asked, pulling on his still-damp jacket. Lisa blinked, then nodded. "Ta." "Lock up after me, then. Don't worry about him," Bodie said, as he slipped out the front door. "He'll sleep for at least an hour. Don't let anyone in, all right, luv?" He waited until the door closed behind him, the bolt snapping it locked, then stepped out onto the street, letting the anger finally rush over him. Anyone who knew him would know from the agitated stride that this was a good time to get out of Bodie's way. Gettin' as bad as Doyle, I am. Bodie made it to the Capri, slid into the front seat and reached for the R/T. "Get me Alpha," he snarled into the handset. "It's 3.7." Cowley's voice was on within the minute. "Yes, 3.7? You are supposed to be off duty." "I thought we were never off duty as far as CI5 was concerned." There was a beat of silence at his caustic remark, then Cowley prompted, "What do you have to report?" "I'll be in later to make some modifications to my account on what happened to 4.5 while he was abducted. I just had a talk with 4.5 and got some more information on what went on. Any word on MacGregor?" Bodie asked. "We'd have been notified immediately if he'd been spotted, Bodie." "Nothin' concrete, then..." "Why do you ask?" Bodie filled Cowley in on what he'd learned from Doyle. It wasn't anything they hadn't expected, but there had always been the hope that MacGregor had been doing anything else than indulging in his usual routine. "Sir," Bodie said finally, "I don't know what the chances are, but there is the possibility that MacGregor might come back after 4.5. He did that with one of his victims, didn't he? He's obsessive about it." "How would he know your location, though?" "Could have followed either of us here. He could be sittin' outside watchin' now for all I know. Could you get someone around to Soho Scissors? Just have them watch the place from the outside. There's no other way in or out but the front, so a car detail should be enough to keep an eye on the entrance." "Aye, the possibility exists. How long do you plan on being there?" "Let's see if we can lure the bastard in. It's already getting dark, and with the lights on, he can see in clearly. I'm gonna get some food and then go back there for a while. I have my gun. Doyle's is probably locked in his car wherever he parked it." "Is he up to a confrontation?" "He's not quite mobile yet. I'd say an hour or two." "Do you need medical assistance?" "Nah. He's sleepin' for now. Just worn out. He'll be fine," Bodie quickly reassured him, wishing he had the same assurance himself. "3.7, keep in mind that if MacGregor can see in, be sure to remove your holster. He won't come if he thinks it's a trap." Bodie scowled, but agreed. "We'll be the picture of casualness, sir." He was back at the shop in fifteen minutes with the bag from the takeaway place and another shopping carrier that he tossed on the floor near where Ray slept restlessly on the sofa. Bodie pulled off his shoulder holster and stored it behind the counter, but the Walther was tucked in his waistband beneath his roll-neck sweater. He checked on Doyle, carefully shifting his partner into a more comfortable position, then covered him again with the blanket, all the while carrying on a soothing banter. Once satisfied that Doyle was resting as peacefully as could be hoped for, he joined Lisa at the cash counter where she was removing the Chinese food containers from the paper bag. "You're a good bloke, Bodie," Lisa commented, perching on a stool at the counter and staring at Doyle, curled on the sofa. "I knew you'd know what t'do. He was hurtin', wasn't he? And yer gentle with ‘im." "Rarely." Bodie's face darkened. The night wasn't over yet.
Doyle woke slowly, vaguely aware of the voices behind him somewhere. His head felt abominable, a vice around his skull, digging back into his eyes. His body was trying to tell him he'd been in one hell of a fight. And lost, from the feel of things. He ached everywhere, sharp pains that dug into him when he moved. He tried to turn over and nearly rolled off a sofa. A sofa? Not in the rest room at CI5 then. Not at his place or Bodie's. Where the hell was he? "Got some kip, did you?" Bodie's voice settled around him, too loud and too damn chipper. "Go ‘way," he mumbled back. "Bugger off. I feel like crap." Doyle shifted his hips, trying to untangle himself from the blankets that had wrapped around him. He swore as the movement sent piercing stabs of pain all over his body. "Now, now, Sunshine. There's a lady present. Watch your mouth." Again, Bodie's cheerful banter. Doyle succeeded in freeing his limbs and rolled to his other side, then closed his eyes with a groan. The salon. What was he doing sleeping at the hairdressers? Bodie was there? And Lisa? Damn. The loo. I lost it. Bodie sauntered over and crouched down beside him, his voice far too low for Lisa to hear. "Need a medic, old son?" "Nah. Just some aspirin. Lots of aspirin. Why'm I ‘ere?" He risked opening one eye again, peering up at his partner. "Didn't want to drag your sleepin' carcass ‘round with me, that's all. Rather you walked out on those two bony things y'call legs." Bodie disappeared, back again in a moment with the pills from his jacket pocket. He studied the label thoughtfully, then shook out two tablets onto his palm. Doyle dry-swallowed them, then took the offered cup of tepid tea and drained it. Bodie was still standing in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. "Hungry, mate? There's takeaway." "Yeah. Sure." Doyle eased his body upright, closing his eyes against the dizziness. His head ached, but his brain felt wounded, too. Burned. Memories he didn't know he had, that Bodie had found and pulled from him. MacGregor's hands on my chest. Doyle shivered, swallowing as the bile rose in a throat already sore, and promptly detoured from any further exploration of the dark shadows within. "So did you abandon Marcia somewhere to come runnin' to my rescue?" he asked, rallying himself to smile. Bodie nodded. "She's fine with it. Can't help it; probably head over heels with me." "Don't need to know the positions, mate." "‘Give you some pointers, if you think you can handle the information." Bodie was coming back too fast with the rebuttals. It was making Doyle dizzy again. He closed his eyes, one hand grasping hold of the sofa's arm. Bodie seemed to understand and his partner's voice dropped yet again. "Marcia said to say hello, and that she's going to give you a good tongue lashin' when she sees you next. You were supposed to stay in bed today, Goldilocks." "Yeah, well, been through all that already, haven't we?" "For now, maybe." "Why we still here, then?" "Figured, since Lisa's free tonight, why not get your hair cut? I'll hang around and make sure you get home again." Doyle looked up from rubbing his neck, stiff from sleeping on the short sofa. There was something else, something that Bodie wasn't saying. "Thought you said I should wait until—" Bodie shrugged. "Now that you've had your little nap and your pain tablets, there's no time like the present. Besides, Lisa said she'd give me a trim, as well. Free of charge," he added with a smirk. "Wants to get her fingers in me hair, she does." "What hair?" Doyle sat up straighter, waking enough to relax in the usual banter. "Need a magnifying glass to see it." He looked around, giving Lisa an apologetic smile, then fastened on the cardboard boxes on the cash counter. "Leave me anythin'?" he said, loud enough for her to hear. The worried cast to her face eased and her face
broke into a smile. "I'll bring it over to you. Stay
there, luv." Lisa rushed about, spooning piles of food onto a teetering
paper plate.
Bodie smiled at her, catching her eye, and she slowed down her actions. Considering what they had briefly discussed, she was doing beautifully. He tossed his partner the shopping carrier bag. "Change your shirt, mate. That one's a bit damp." "You bought me a shirt?" Doyle pulled an olive green t-shirt from the bag and stared up at him, a puzzled frown on the tired face. "No good offending the lady," Bodie said, helping him ease out of the stained red shirt. A few of the his previous wounds had bled again, making the shirt stick to the new skin. Lisa clicked her tongue and brought over a first aid box, but Bodie waved her away. He would deal with Ray's external injuries, and with any luck, the inner ones as well. With a skill born of countless scrapes and lacerations, Bodie cleaned the re-opened wounds, moving quickly, aware of how vulnerable Ray would be feeling, the numerous stitches covering his body ample witness to what he had been subjected to. He applied a few strips of elastoplast where needed on Ray's chest and arms, then Doyle was helped into the new t-shirt. "That's better," Bodie announced, standing back and looking at the effect, then dropping the offensive red shirt in the trash. "Yeah. Ta," Ray said absently, eyes shuttered. Lisa placed the plate of Chinese food before Ray and he started in on it right away, trying to ignore them as she took Bodie over to the sinks to wash his hair. Through the chatter and laughing and water running, Bodie kept his partner under observation. Ray didn't look much interested in the food, but he ate anyway, a bit of color returning to his face. Bodie sat down in the salon chair, towel-dried hair still dripping into his face. In the mirror's reflection, he could see Doyle bent over the food, using another chair as a low table as he forked the rice into his mouth. "Just trim around the back, Lisa. Straighten it out a bit. Not too much," he instructed, watching Doyle falter for a moment, then determinedly keep eating. Lisa combed through his hair, then picked up the scissors, her eyes meeting Bodie's in the mirror. He had told her enough of what had happened to Ray for her to understand his partner's violent reaction earlier that day. Bodie smiled, nodding at her to continue. As the first snip echoed through the salon, Doyle froze, then swallowed carefully, still not looking up. Bodie watched as Ray reached for more food, almost shoving the noodles into his mouth, fingers white with his grip on the plastic fork. The snips continued for almost two minutes as Lisa went about her task, falling into her usual pattern of idle chat with a customer. Bodie told her about the cricket match he had seen with Marcia earlier in the day and Lisa apparently knew one of the players, so the conversation flowed naturally. There really wasn't much for her to do—he'd had his hair trimmed a few days previously— so within five minutes it was all over. Lisa pulled the plastic sheet from Bodie as he stepped
from the chair, ostentatiously inspecting the haircut in the mirror, while
taking the opportunity to observe his partner. Doyle had stopped
eating, the plate, only half-finished, pushed back. It was a start,
at least.
"C'mon, Ray. I'll shampoo you," Lisa said lightly, heading back to the sink. With a poisonous, darted glance at his partner to let him know he was well aware of what was happening, Doyle pushed up carefully from the sofa and stalked over to the sink, plopping down in the chair and trying to hide the wince that followed as his healing nicks and cuts protested the abrupt movement. He leaned back when instructed to do so and let Lisa wash his hair for the second time that day. It wasn't until he was sitting in the salon chair, droplets of water dripping in his face, his heart hammering in his chest, that he said anything. "Don't cut any more than you have to. Just even it up." Beneath the plastic sheet, his hands were tight on the arms of the chair. His leg began a restless shaking that he stilled as soon as he was aware of it. Lisa came closer to him and he tensed, then made himself relax as she took a hair pick and began to comb through his curls. "I shouldn't have to cut much," she said, peering at the back of his head. "It's only one spot, really." "Ray, if you're not ready, we don't have to do this now." Bodie was sitting in the chair beside him, the scissors in his hands, not meeting Doyle's eyes. "Guess we'll find out." It was all he could do to sit still and not bolt from the room. His leg was shaking again, and when he finally controlled it, the other one started up. Stupid being scared of scissors. Before I know it, I'll be runnin' from me own shadow. He watched in the mirror as Bodie stood and passed the scissors to Lisa when she finished combing him out. The scissors gleamed in the light, then scraped
open.......
...... "Ray? C'mon now. Take a deep breath." Bodie's voice came from a long ways away. A hand was touching his face. His head was bent forward over his lap, a cold cloth at the back of his neck. I fuckin' fainted! Christ, I fuckin' fainted. The realization hit hard. Doyle was out of the chair, half stumbling across the room, tearing off the plastic sheet tied around his neck. "Forget it." He got as far as the counter, grabbing at it as his knees gave way. "Get me out of here." Bodie hauled him to his feet. "Nope. Get back on the horse, Sunshine." "Sod it, you said if I wasn't ready—" He wasn't prepared for the look on his partner's features as he was spun roughly to face an irate figure towering over him. "Giving up, mate? What's wrong with you?" Bodie's angry sarcasm was biting, as painful as the hands that shook him by his upper arms. The blue eyes flamed, patience evaporated. "You turn into a coward? Afraid of a pair of scissors? You've been shot before—yer not afraid of guns! You've had a blade in you and I didn't see you flinching from your steak knife yesterday!" The scorn hurt, cutting him deeper than the knife had. The fingers digging into the wounds on his arms made his eyes tear from the pain inflicted. "It's not the bloody scissors, Bodie!" he yelled back, feeling whatever control he had left slipping away. "Good." Bodie let the anger drop from his face as though it had never been there. "If it's not the scissors, get back in the chair." Bodie stood before him, infuriatingly calm. The hands supporting him let go, leaving Doyle reeling from the sudden change of temper. "What?" "If it's not the scissors, there's no reason for you to pass out from Lisa cutting yer hair." Cast adrift, Doyle spun around and walked back to the chair, slowly lowering his body to sit in it. "Go ahead then, Lisa. Cut away." Lisa wiped tears from her face, the scissors in her hand shaking. "Bodie, maybe this isn't a good time. I don't want to hurt him." "You won't hurt him." "It's not you, luv," Doyle assured her, tearing his gaze from his partner to look at the young woman. "I'm sorry ‘bout all this. Don't know what's happenin' in my head. But it's not you." "He's just got to work a few things out, Lisa," Bodie added sitting in the next chair, one long leg draped over the other. "Better now than later." "Ray? That man— He hurt you, right?" She crossed her arms, the scissors disappearing from his sight. "Yeah. He hurt me. He was a bit of a nutter, he was. I don't remember a lot of it— Too out of it. I lost a lot of blood. I don't know much how to explain it." Lisa stared at him, chewing on her bottom lip for a moment before answering softly, "Bodie told me that subconsciously you probably remember everything that happened to you, what that man did to you. And, like, your subconscious is trying to tell your conscious mind about it." "Yeah." Doyle found a shaky smile for her, then met Bodie's eyes briefly. "M'partner thinks he's a bloody shrink." "Were you scared?" she asked. Doyle shrugged. "Yeah. I guess." He flinched as she tied the plastic sheet back around his neck, and closed his eyes. It was happening again. The roar in his ears. The blackness seeping into his consciousness. "Bodie?" "I'm ‘ere." "Yeah." Doyle nodded, eyes still closed. "Go ahead, Lisa. I'm ready." "I'll be quick. Just sit still, luv." Two words brought it all back, in vivid terrifying detail.
Bodie stood, moving to touch the cool hand clutching the salon chair. There was no reaction; Doyle seemed locked in his memories, his mouth slowly opening and closing as though the words he had spoken had somehow caught in his throat. "You're okay, Sunshine. He didn't do anythin' permanent to you. They'd have told me. You'd know. You're healin' up fine." Doyle's eyes slid shut. "He would've." "Yeah. But he didn't." "What did he do to them other blokes? The ones that died?" "Different things. You're okay, though, Ray." Bodie reached around to his partner's neck, tugging the plastic sheet free, eyes narrowing as Doyle flinched at his touch. "Just me, mate. Just me." "M'cold. God, I'm cold." "Yeah." Bodie walked quickly to Doyle's jacket, pulled out the small pill bottle and stared at the dosage, then shook another two tablets into his palm. At a gesture, Lisa brought over some more tea and without any fuss, Doyle swallowed the additional pills, only partially aware of being wrapped in the blanket. Bodie drew him from the chair and walked him over to the sofa, both relieved and annoyed at his partner's compliance. He sat on the floor, out of sight from the main window, Doyle crumpling beside him and allowing himself to be held gently until the medication kicked in and swept him away in the numbing fog. Bodie was vaguely aware of Lisa asking him something, but he only shook his head slightly that now was not the time for questions. He was totally absorbed in trying to figure out the next few steps. MacGregor would come back. Tonight. Bodie glanced to the door. The bolt was drawn. It would be ridiculously easy to break the door down. "Bring me the R/T, luv," he said, not looking at her. Murphy was outside. "Can't see anything, Bodie. No sign of him. We're in the plumbing van across the street and we're watching. We'll let you know as soon as we see anything." "Thanks." Bodie shifted his partner, holding him closer in one arm as he called to the CI5 operator again. "Yeah, Jackie. Put on Dr. Laurent." "3.7?" "Put on Laurent," Bodie snapped, not wasting words. There was a delay of a few minutes while the CI5 doctor was tracked down. "Paul Laurent here." "It's Bodie. What was the hospital report on Doyle's injuries?" He listened, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, as the doctor read off the list of wounds. Laurent seemed almost indifferent. "Nothing that should take too long to heal," he said, summing it up. "The loss of blood was the main concern, but they gave him a few pints in Casualty. The injuries themselves were minor. I expect he'll be back on Thursday or Friday, at least to desk work. I'll check him out then." When Bodie didn't respond, the doctor added cautiously, "Do you have a specific concern, Bodie?" "He was just telling me about what happened. Remembering some of it. Seemed a bit upset." "That's not surprising, considering the circumstances. You and I have already discussed the probable sequence of memory return. Has he been able to sleep? I gave him something to take if he needs it." "I gave him his pain tablets awhile ago. Then some more just now. He faded out on me." "Take it slow with him, Bodie. Give him a few days to heal. Wasn't easy what he went through, not for anyone. His reactions might be a bit off until he regains his strength. Best to keep him at home, warm and calm. Let me know if anything else develops. I can't diagnose what I can't see." Bodie mumbled a few words of thanks and switched off the R/T. He asked for the telephone, and Lisa brought it to him, tugging the long cord to get it to come that far. He then put a call through to the hospital to speak to the doctor who had been on duty in Casualty the night Doyle had been brought in. The reports were identical. Other than minor bruising, there were no other obvious signs of sexual abuse, no cuts to groin or genitals. Whatever threats had been made, MacGregor hadn't gone through with them. MacGregor was a perverted nutter who was an expert at what he did and took great pleasure in his victims' fear, knowing exactly how far to go to push his captives to the end of their endurance. Doyle was the first one to survive. Maybe not all in one piece yet, but he survived.
Bodie sat on the floor by the sofa, Ray wrapped safely in a blanket in his arms. He couldn't wake him up. Even in the hospital, drugged, Doyle had wakened at his presence. Emotional shock, the hospital had diagnosed over the phone. Keep him warm and quiet. If he develops difficulty breathing, or doesn't respond within thirty minutes, call an ambulance. Bodie wasn't concerned. Not anymore. Ray would be fine. Whatever MacGregor had threatened to do, Ray was still alive. And Bodie would keep him that way. Alive and sane. Lisa had finally stopped crying and was making tea. Bodie had sent her to the far side of the shop when Doyle had first crumpled forward in the chair, far enough away so she wouldn't hear him talking. Doyle had been totally overwhelmed with the words coming from his mouth, the memory returning only as the horror was recounted. Lisa was a smart bird, though, and Bodie was knew that she had been around long enough to have a good idea what was going to be said. She didn't need to hear all the details; the frightful look on Doyle's face was enough for her to know that something bad had happened to her friend, and she had easily pieced together the rest. "Is he okay?" She handed Bodie a fresh cup of tea, her hands still shaking. "He's just exhausted. Not up to the strain yet. He'll come around once he warms up and knows he's safe." Lisa adjusted the towel around Ray's damp hair, trying to keep the draft off him. "Were you talking to the hospital again?" "Yeah. To the doc in Casualty who sewed him up a few days ago. He said he was confident that Ray would wake up soon." On cue, Doyle's eyes flickered partway open. His hands fidgeted beneath the blanket, then stilled when Bodie spoke quietly to him. He rolled over, his face buried in the crook of Bodie's arm, hidden from view. Bodie calmly reached for his tea, sipping on it while rocking slightly, as though this were something he did every day. Doyle was asleep again, but Bodie suspected this was more from exhaustion now than from anything else. He bent his head to listen to Ray's quiet even breathing, smiling to himself, satisfied. "Why would someone do that to a person?" Lisa asked, sitting cross-legged beside him. She covered Doyle's legs with the blanket, tucking it around him. "Who? MacGregor? He's a nutter. Just does it for the kick it gives ‘im. Nothin' personal in it." "If you don't catch him, he'll do it again, right?" "We'll catch him." "But if you don't catch him--" "We will." Bodie took another sip of the tea, looking across the steam at her. "Have to." Lisa was quiet for a few minutes, idly stroking Doyle's leg. "It said in the newspaper that Ray exchanged himself for another bloke. And the man died anyway." "Yeah. It happens." "Aren't you mad that Ray did that? Almost got himself killed for nothin'?" "Makes me furious. But it's the job, luv." Bodie grinned at her, still cradling his partner. "S'what makes Ray who he is, though. Don't have to like it. Just live with it. Keep living with it." "I'd be afraid to let ‘im out of me sight." Bodie didn't answer, but put the cup down and drew the blanket closer around Doyle's shoulders, smiling down at the dazed green eyes looking back at him. "Listen, Lisa, what we talked about before... I still think there's a chance MacGregor might come back here. Tonight." Doyle started trembling and Bodie clamped both arms around the smaller man and rode out the attack of shakes. Bodie continued, his eyes on Lisa. "We've got men stationed outside, but the later it gets, the less safe it is. I know you say that you want to stay, but I think we'd better get you out of here." She glared back at him, still stubborn. "What about him?" she asked, pointing to Doyle. "I'll wait until he's up to walking out." "What about his hair?" "His hair?" Bodie laughed. "S'not important. He can get it cut another time." "But you were right before, Bodie. He should have it done now. I think he would feel better about it all if he had it fixed. My friend, Julie, had a guy rough her up, force her—you know—and it took awhile for her to get over it. I had her come over one night and we cut and permed her hair and she said afterwards she felt a lot better. Like the damage had been repaired on the outside at least, and she didn't feel that everyone was looking at her. I think that's what Ray wants, why he had to come down here today." "He's been beat up worse than this before, luv. He's just disoriented right now." "I know. I've seen him in here with bullet wounds and black eyes, and he just joked about it. But this time he wouldn't talk to me. He just looked like he'd been raped." She mouthed the last word, so Doyle wouldn't hear her. Bodie glanced down to his partner, but Doyle seemed to be concentrating on breathing steadily. "Regardless, Lisa, you should get to safety. Like I said, we've got a van outside watching the place with some of our agents in it. I'll get one of them to run you home." "No way. I told you before, this is my shop. I'm staying." Lisa threw herself into one of the salon chairs, clutching the arms as though expecting the CI5 agent to pull her from it. "Don't be a fool," Bodie thundered, startling Doyle into full wakefulness. "You'll go if I say you go." "I shan't! Not till I've cut his hair. He came in today for me to cut it, and I'm going to bloody well cut it." Arms folded across her chest, she wasn't about to back down. "You listen to me, Lisa— I'm going to get Ray home and into bed. When he's had a good night sleep, we'll come back tomorrow and you can cut his hair then." Bodie was trying to sound reasonable, but she would have none of it. "I'm booked all day tomorrow and the next. It's got to be today." "I said I'm going to take him home to get some sleep!" "He--" "Haven't slept since I left the hospital," Doyle interrupted, sitting up and pulling away from his partner. "Didn't know why." "Well, now y'know." "He's still out there?" "Yeah." "He'll come back." "That's his M.O." "I'll be ready for him." "We both will be ready for ‘im." Doyle pushed away further from the closeness, both distracted and embarrassed with Lisa's presence. "How long was I... sleeping?" "In all, about forty-five minutes. Are you warmed up yet?" Doyle looked confused for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Enough. Let's get this over with, Bodie. Let her cut my hair and then we can get out of here." "Sure you're up to it?" Bodie watched his partner stumble to his feet and over to the chair. "Yeah." Doyle nodded. "I know what the problem is now, right? Just the memories comin' back. I'm fine." Lisa slowly went over to him, determined, although uncertain of how to try again. Bodie winked at her, nodding for her to continue and she gave an answering nod. She retied the plastic sheet around Doyle's neck, but even as she reached for the scissors, Ray swore, trembling fists pressed into his eyes. "What the bloody hell is wrong with me?" Doyle grated out. He looked up, eyes locked with his partner's, asking for an answer. "Why can't I get past this?" Bodie shrugged, then picked up the scissors from the tray where Lisa had dropped them. He opened and closed them a few times, as though experimenting. Then he looked across at Doyle. "Mind?" He stepped in front of Ray, stopping as his partner raised a cautioning hand. "Trust me, Sunshine?" "Christ, Bodie. What are you asking?" The scissors loomed closer. Without further explanation, Bodie leaned towards him, his left hand twirling around a curl by Doyle's temple. "Bodie?" "Close yer eyes, Ray. It's just me." Snip. "Bodie?" Snip. "I'm just taking a wee bit off. Nothing Lisa won't be able to repair." Snip. "Bodie? Stop it." Doyle was angry, frustrated by the fear in his voice. "Please." "Who is it cutting yer hair?" Bodie demanded, his voice harsh. "What?" "Answer me. Who is cutting yer hair?" Snip. "You are." "Say my name." Snip. "Christ, Bodie--" "Right. And who am I?" Snip. "My bloody partner." "What else? Come on, what else am I to you?" Snip. Snip. "Me best mate." Doyle gave a half laugh and swallowed hard. "Bodie?" "So, would I hurt you?" "Maybe. If you had a good reason to. If you had to." Bodie stopped and bent to look him full in the face, his eyes questioning. "Would I want to hurt you?" Doyle was still occupied with the scissors so close to his head. "What do you want me to say? That I trust you? Okay. I trust you, you sod." "Good." Bodie kept snipping at the front of Doyle's hair until Ray slowly began to relax in the chair. That accomplished, he spun him around so Doyle couldn't see in the mirror and Bodie began to work around the side of Doyle's head, gradually moving to the back, out of sight. He passed the scissors to Lisa who kept going without a word, repairing the damage MacGregor had done to the curls. "You can move around her, Bodie," Doyle said dryly after a few moments. "I know it's Lisa cuttin' now." Bodie walked slowly back into Ray's sight, a smirk on his face. "Think yer so smart, don't you?" "Yup." Bodie sauntered over and poured himself a cup of tea, perching on the stool at the counter. "I'm a bloomin' genius. Should be a psychologist. Maybe I'll take over from Ross." He sipped at his cup, happily grinning at the faces Doyle was making, and the directions his partner began issuing to Lisa, who responded by telling Ray to mind his own business. Lisa was almost finished when the telephone rang, and Bodie reached across the counter to answer it. "Yeah. Soho Salon and Counselling Centre." "Bodie? Listen carefully. It's Murphy. MacGregor's just pulled up. He's stepping out of his car with about three other blokes. Looks like he's getting ready to go in. We're ready to move as soon as he does, but we don't want to spook him or he'll either take off or grab someone else. Can you secure everything inside without giving it away? We can see you clearly outside. If we can, he can." "Yeah. No problem. Thanks for calling." Bodie smiled pleasantly and hung up the phone, then stretched and casually turned his back to the window. "Lisa. Doyle." Doyle glanced over at him, alerted by the monotone coldness that signified Bodie at work. "What?" "We're being watched, kids. Ray: smile. Lisa: keep cutting his hair." "But I'm finished," she whispered, freezing. "Better yet. Slowly put the stuff down as though you are cleaning up from a cut, as usual. Brush him off with the whisk." He waited until she was following his instructions, before continuing. "Ray, sit tight. It's MacGregor. He's coming in. When he does, I want you to get Lisa into the loo. There's a lock on the inside of the door. Use it." "What about you?" "I'm armed. You're not." "I'm not going to hide--" "You're going to guard Lisa. We don't want another hostage, do we?" "Bodie--" "Do we?" he said louder. "No." "How long do I do this for?" Lisa asked, her voice shaking as she tried to concentrate on the simple task. "Until Ray sees someone at the door. I'll yell and fire at them, long enough for you to go with Ray into the back. Understand?" "Yes." "Doyle?" "Yeah." "Do what I say. You're not in any condition to fight him." "Shadow at the door," Doyle barked suddenly. At the first slam against the door, shaking it on its hinges, Doyle was out of the chair, dragging Lisa into the back. Bodie ducked behind the counter, then came out at the side, gun pulled on the first man through. "Drop it," he yelled, then answered the shots with one of his own, satisfied to hear the man stagger and fall with a strangled cry. It hadn't been MacGregor, though. He was following a second man through the door, both men keeping Bodie pinned behind the cash counter. MacGregor began moving around the counter, and Bodie knew that in a very short time they would have him trapped. Gunshots outside meant MacGregor had others with him. Murphy and whoever was with him had their hands full.
Doyle swore, kneeling on the counter in the loo, rifling through the upper shelves trying to find something to use as a weapon. He had no intention of hiding in the back while Bodie faced MacGregor and his bunch alone. Lisa was white-faced and shaking at the sound of gunfire. "Why aren't the bloody coppers out there? What happened to that Murphy that Bodie said was outside?" "Don't know. Don't have time now." Doyle froze staring at an open box at eye level. One hand slowly reached for it, trembling. He swallowed, got control of the blackness that threatened him, and dumped the contents of the box into the sink. "These new?" he asked, reaching for one. "Yeah." "Stiff? Tight?" "Yeah. I usually have to loosen them before I can use them." Lisa stared at him, tugging on one arm. "Ray, you can't--" "Not a lot of choice, luv." They both jumped as another shot fired.
Bodie growled softly as Doyle's voice sounded from the back of the salon. "MacGregor, you came for me." He turned to see his partner walking towards them, arms out at his side, his steps remarkably steady. MacGregor's voice, despotic and arrogant. "I most certainly did come for you. Enjoyed it, did you?" "I'm unarmed. I'll go with you, just leave them alone. Call off your men," Doyle directed, capturing MacGregor's complete attention and refusing to meet Bodie's eyes. There was a saunter in Doyle's walk, a knowing swagger that had MacGregor staring at his hips, the man's eyes hot. Damn it, Ray. "Come on!" Doyle yelled. "Do you want me as a hostage or not? If you hurt anyone else, I won't come quietly." He let a tremor shake his voice. "Just let me live, all right?" MacGregor licked his bottom lip, eying his prize. "I wasn't finished with you yet." "I didn't think so. I still have blood in my veins." "And I do hate to be interrupted." MacGregor gave a short order to his accomplice to stand aside. "You took one away from me, Doyle; you already owe me." "I'm told the man died shortly afterwards. You wouldn't have had him for long, anyway. Actually, I don't figure I owe you anything. You've had all of me that you're going to get." Doyle stopped abruptly, hands resting on his hips. Bodie could see MacGregor now in the mirror, his gun pointing right at Doyle's head. The other gunman had moved so that the moment Bodie tried to clear the counter, the man would shoot. "Keep moving, Doyle. Unless you want us to kill your pretty partner here." MacGregor darted a look in the mirror, smiling at Bodie's predicament. Doyle started walking towards the doorway, hands raised. Outside, the even sound of shots being exchanged meant no one had the upper hand yet. Bodie tensed, waiting, knowing that with a gun to Doyle's head MacGregor would have all the advantage. MacGregor would be able to walk out the door with his hostage, because everyone knew the man would kill Ray without a moment's remorse. Bodie couldn't get MacGregor in his sights and had lost track of the second accomplice. He risked peeking above the counter, only to feel the hot breath of a bullet sting the side of his cheek, just missing his eye. The momentary distraction was enough for Doyle to act, his arm an unexpected blur of motion. Silver spun through the air, end over end. Then stopped, reaching its target with an accuracy that couldn't be repeated. MacGregor was standing, eyes bulging, with a pair of shiny new barber scissors imbedded blade-deep at the base of his throat. Doyle threw himself out of the line of fire as Bodie cleared the counter and shot the second man in one swift move, spinning to turn his gun on MacGregor. For one long moment, MacGregor's body swayed, then it toppled backwards, lifeless, the last of his air hissing through his clenched teeth. Murphy and Anson seemed to have won the outside battle, bursting through the door as Bodie stepped over to MacGregor's body to make sure he was dead, keeping the two downed gunmen in his sights. "Everything under control here?" Murphy asked quickly, his gun on the unconscious man as Anson bent to check him. "Yeah, we're fine." "Call Cowley. He wants a report from you now." Murphy checked the other body as Bodie went to retrieve his R/T. Anson disappeared outside to deal with the crowd that had gathered, along with a few policemen who belatedly appeared on the scene. Bodie finished his initial report to Cowley, then glanced around the shop for his partner. Lisa was standing next to Murphy staring in dismay at the damage to her shop, while the kind-eyed agent reassured her that she would be compensated for it. Police were writing up their own reports, and the coroners' wagon was at the door. Ray was not in sight. The bathroom door was closed. Bodie nodded to himself, stepping around the coroners' crew and headed to the back of the shop. He rapped once on the door, heard the toilet flush, then stepped into the loo, shutting the door after him. Ray was back on the floor, looking miserable. "Lost yer dinner?" Doyle nodded, arms wrapped around his chest, shivering. The once-clean t-shirt had flecks of red on it from re-opened wounds. His face had again taken on a grey sheen. "There's an ambulance here. Should I get someone to come look at you?" "Nah. I'll go home as soon as they're all gone." Bodie stared down at the closed eyes, then crouched
in front of Doyle, one palm resting against the cool cheek.
Doyle's "Yes," was soundless. "Anything else happen that you remember and should tell me about?" "No, that's about it. Unless you can tell me why it bothered me so much." "You just couldn't remember it all. Put all the pieces together and you've got a better perspective ‘bout it." "I should've been able to deal with it better. I toppled like a scared kid. I'm cold, I'm tired, my head hurts, and I feel like a sodding fool." Doyle shuddered, drawing in on himself. "Usually I'd agree, mate, but this time you're wrong. Come on. Get up." Bodie gently pulled his partner to his feet, then wrapped his arms around the exhausted body, warming the nerve-wracked shivers. "Can you hang in a while longer?" he asked the riot of curls pressed into his shoulder. "Just want to go home." "I won't fight you on it this time." "I know. M'tired. Give me a minute before we go back out there. M'head's spinning." "All the time you need. Hey, thanks for saving my hide back there, Sunshine." "Hmm." They stood in silence for a few minutes, Doyle gradually growing heavier in his arms. Got to keep him awake. "Next time you want a hair cut, let me know, all right? We'll need to arrange for more backup." Doyle gave a shaky laugh. "Yeah, Jax and Murphy and Susie and Benny and --" "Them, and the Royal Guard. If you want Jax, though, you'll have to wait until he gets out of the hospital. He'll be in for another week or two at least." "S'okay. Not due for a cut until March." The slurred words were spoken with difficulty. "Your quarterly?" "Nah. Three times a year whether it needs it or not." Bodie laughed softly, shifting to rest against the counter again. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were drunk, mate." "Wish I was. Think I need my tablets already. Hurt all over." Doyle drifted for another few moments, then mumbled, "Pay Lisa for me, okay? I forgot my wallet at home." "You're really adding up a bill here. Hair cut, dinner tonight, the shirt, the damages, plus Marcia's cab fare home." "‘Thought I saved yer life." "But I saved yours right afterwards, so technically we're even again." "Yeah?... Missed that... I'll write you a cheque." "Nah. Forget it. It'll only bounce." "Me dinner bounced. It's only ... fair ..." A soft, muffled snore sounded in Bodie's ear. "Hey," Bodie said frowning. "Don't go to sleep on me, Sunshine. We still have to get you out the door. Doyle? Ray? C'mon. Wakie, wakie. Ray? Raymond? Oh, c'mon, Ray. Wake up. Sod it, don't do this to me. Lisa? Murph? Hey, somebody, open up here! Murphy!" I can't believe this. I can hear the Cow now: London's finest, stuck in the bloody loo.
- end - |
