Title: Sticks and Stones (3/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Sequel to Many Bells Down; Riverside ‘verse AU. Khan is hell-bent on destroying everything and everyone James Kirk cares about until Jim surrenders the most important person of all—himself.
Previous Part: 1 | 2

Part Two

“Oh, James! I knew you would come!” crows someone happily as two men enter a parlor resplendent with antiquity. The woman called Lady Q (known by this title to both the outside world and the secret circles of the Q) is almost entirely hidden beneath the ruffles and lace of a gown reminiscent of Marie Antoinette’s era of fashion. Ensconced as she currently is in a high-backed chair like a throne, were she to cry “Let them eat cake!” the demand would only enhance the image of her.

Seated across from her is a dignified man in a neatly tailored business suit. His poise (on par with manners of royalty) is no less diminished by the addition of a cat who leaps upon his lap and settles there to wash her whiskers.

Lady Q addresses her companion: “He has come to save you, for you are his paramour and at this very moment a damsel-in-distress. James is such a Don Quixote at heart!”

Spock strokes the cat lovingly with one hand and lifts a delicate china tea cup toward his mouth with the other. “You make an interesting comparison, Lady Q. I assume you are aware Cervantes wrote his tale as somewhat of a spoof of chivalric behavior.”

She beams.

Leonard shoulders past Jim to scowl at the pair of reclining adults. “What about me?”

Lady Q waves her fan languidly. “Every knight needs a squire, my dear Doctor McCoy—one which is capable of tempering a hero’s enthusiasm with common sense as well as polishing his armor and tending his horse. In your case, I fear your work is more belaboring than the average squire’s,” she concludes graciously.

Leonard clearly cannot decide if she complimenting him or insulting him. Still, he agrees reluctantly, “Jim does get some crazy ideas.”

Jim ignores the fact Lady Q is waiting for his gentleman’s greeting and looks at Spock. “Are you all right?”

Spock nods solemnly but his eyes are twinkling with amusement. “Lady Q assured me I would remain un—”

“Don’t be absurd, James! This is not the time for melodrama,” the old woman cuts in. “I requested Mr. Spock’s company, and he obliged me. We were having a lovely chat.”

She sounds annoyed that he is ignoring her.

“About what?” Jim wants to know, still watching Spock. They both know his paranoia concerning the Q is well-founded in fact.

Lady Q answers. “Oh, this and that. Do you know that Mr. Spock is an expert on the art of meditation? You must teach me some time, for I fear I am not naturally prone to a calm state,” she says, turning back to Spock. “And oh! Have you considered becoming one of those new-age gurus? I hear they are all the rage these days. I have half a mind to employ you right now!” She laughs delightedly.

“Ma’am,” McCoy interrupts. “I’m… glad you like Spock’s company but it’s upsettin’ to the rest of us when we don’t know where he is. We might have thought something bad had happened to him.”

The nod of Lady Q’s head is judicious. “You are a wise man, Squire. I have no desire to cause you distress. I can only assume you did not receive my message.”

Leonard’s expression shows exactly how much he likes his new title. “‘Doctor’ will do,” the man insists.

Jim folds his arms. He hasn’t forgiven Lady Q yet. “We did not receive a message.”

She frowns. “But I gave her explicit instructions to tell you of the whereabouts of Mr. Spock.”

Now Jim frowns. “Who are you talking about?”

The fan points at the occupant of Spock’s lap. “Why, her of course!”

“You told the cat,” Kirk says flatly.

Lady Q smiles. “She is very intelligent, James—born from the litter of Lord Q’s own Jezebel!”

Leonard echoes, “Jezebel?”

But Lady Q continues on. “Why else would I have given her to you, if not as a liaison of the Q?”

Jim stares. “…So it’s not because I saved her?”

“From what?” counters the tiny woman in the grandiose gown. “I hear she was testing her agility when you rudely plucked her from the rooftop.” Lady Q rolls her eyes with incredulity. “Then carted her down a tree, no less! It was a boon indeed that she forgave you for such mistreatment, my silly man; but I am of the firm opinion her forgiveness is accredited to Mr. Spock, to whom she has given her most loyal favor.”

Here Lady Q looks fondly upon Spock and the cat. Bo Peep rubs her face against Spock’s knee, purring.

Leonard whispers into Jim’s ear, “This woman’s crazier ‘n a box of Crackerjacks. I’m afraid Spock’s going to follow her down the rabbit hole if we don’t get him out of here.”

Jim sighs in acknowledgment of his duty and clears his throat loudly. “Lady Q.”

Lady Q’s fan snaps shut. “Yes, James?”

“We would appreciate the return of our… paramour.” He is certain he is blushing. “Please?”

“Well, Mr. Spock,” the companion is asked, “are you ready to go home?”

“Your company has been most enlightening, Lady Q, but I would prefer to retire to my abode at this time, if you are amendable to my departure.” Lady Q applauds Spock’s manners, and the lawyer collects Bo Peep and rises from his chair. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Lady Q waits until Spock is done bowing to her before she sinks forlornly into her chair. “I do enjoy company, yet my friends rarely see fit to visit me of their own accord!” Her eyes cut pointedly to Jim. “Such a shame, is it not, considering how well I treat them?”

Bones pokes Jim in the back. At the second prodding, Jim fights down a grimace and tells the old woman, “I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”

She holds out an imperious hand and beckons him to her side.

Finding his options limited (Lady Q will probably sequester them all in the compound if she deems it necessary), Jim shuffles over to her chair.

But she is having none of his hesitancy. Her hand beckons him closer still.

When he is almost level with her face (oh god, is Lady Q or the dress that smells of mothballs?), she asks, “Are you truly sorry, James Tiberius Kirk?”

He is, at the moment, sorry for many things, though not keeping a regular visiting schedule with this old kook isn’t one of them. “Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs.

One of her hands grasps his and squeezes it. “Then you are forgiven.”

When she lets him go, he immediately tucks his hand away into a pocket and steps back. Jim can’t bring himself to thank her for that forgiveness. He signals for Spock follow him in his retreat.

Just as the three men reach the door of the parlor, Lady Q bellows, “Mr. Spock!”

Spock turns back to her and raises an inquiring eyebrow.

“You should consider my offer of employment with the utmost seriousness. While I understand you are not in dire straits, I believe you would find our organization to hold more reward than a mere paycheck.” She rings the bell upon the sidetable by her chair and an expressionless Q appears in the open doorway. “See these gentlemen safely home please, and procure me some pen and paper. I mustn’t forget to make note of today’s deeds. Who has the next appointment?”

The Q bows to her, saying, “The Captain, your Ladyship,” and then directs Kirk, Spock, and McCoy to follow him from the Hall of Q.

The drive back to Spock’s house seems too long and Jim is very agitated by the time the Hummer pulls into Spock’s driveway. He announces without preamble “Got to hit the head” and locks himself into a bathroom.

There he leans against the closed door and pulls from his jacket pocket the tiny folded piece of paper Lady Q had slipped into his hand. It reads only an address, date, and time, nothing else. The back of his head connects with the door as Jim sighs deeply. It seems rather pointless to hope he can escape these games of the Q.

He can’t sleep for thinking of that stupid piece of paper so he wakes up very early on a weekday morning and quietly dresses in his favorite running clothes. But when Jim steps out of his apartment to go for a morning run he is shocked to find Gaila standing outside of his door. He pockets a pair of headphones blaring with music and says, bemused, “Hey.”

She offers him a tentative smile. “Morning, Jim.”

Watching his friend bite down on her lip, he slips his hands into his loose hoodie. “Is everything okay?”

Gaila begins to nod but her breath hitches oddly and she puts a hand to her mouth. The curls of her hair bounce as she shakes her head no.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Jim says softly, holding out his arms invitingly. She presses her face against his shoulder but he doesn’t think she is crying.

Gaila says crying is worse than watching a football game. Whereas football wastes her time, tears waste her time and ruin her expensive makeup. Yet Jim remembers that Gaila once mentioned her mother never did anything but cry for days on end, and Jim believes that piece of unhappy family history has more to do with Gaila’s hatred of the act than anything else.

He hugs her tightly, in his heart feeling ridiculously glad to see her.

She pushes him away after another minute and wrinkles her nose. “You stink.”

He grins unabashedly. “I was going to shower after my sweaty morning run.”

“I can’t run in my heels.” She peeks at him from under her eyelashes but something about her expression seems off, like she is afraid he wants her to leave.

“Then we’ll walk,” he says, striving to sound relaxed.

She nods and silently loops her arm through his. They cross the apartment complex’s parking lot before turning onto the paved sidewalk of the neighborhood.

Jim is just about to ask her what’s going on when she breaks her silence. “Khan said you wouldn’t come to the wedding.”

Jim is careful of his answer. “I don’t want to watch you marry him, Gaila.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate him.”

They pull up short when she stops walking. “You mean you hate the idea of Riverside changing, and since he is the one behind the change…”

“No,” he interrupts. “I hate Khan.“

Gaila looks like she wants to shake him. “Then help me understand, Jim!” Her words echo of desperation. “I don’t want to get married without you!”

“Gaila…”

Gaila takes a deep breath, one which shudders out of her. “At this rate,” she says, slightly hoarse, “I won’t have enough attendees to witness my marriage to Khan. Do you know how that feels, Jim? To know your closest friends have cast you aside. To realize nobody supports you? Khan’s right,” she say bitterly. “Why should I live among people who don’t love me?”

Incensed at this accusation, Jim grabs her by arms. “I love you, Gaila, and don’t you ever, EVER let that bastard tell you otherwise! Everyone still loves you; we just can’t abide your decision to marry the person who wants to cut the heart out of our town.”

Gaila leans in to him. “It’s not like that, Jim. Khan’s going to make things better here.”

Jim swallows, looking down into her earnest face. His next words are said very quietly: “I told you what he did to me.”

Her face drains of expression.

“Gaila.” Though her body doesn’t move but he feels her pulling away from him. “Gaila,” Jim insists, “I promise I’m not lying.”

Gaila drops her gaze to the pavement. “I want to believe you, Jim. But if I believe you, I-I am giving up on Khan.” She whispers, “He’s been so good to me.” She lifts her eyes to his, imploring him to understand. “I want to marry him, to be happy.”

“I’m sorry,” Jim says.

“Me too,” she murmurs. Wrapping her arms around herself, she gives him a sad smile. “You’ll tell the gang I said hello?”

He nods, unable to speak until he finds the courage to say what she needs to hear. The red-headed woman turns away and retraces their path to his apartment building.

Morose, Jim looks at up at the overcast clouds of the grey morning and hates himself. “Damn it, Jim,” he says. A heartbeat later, Jim gives in and spins around with a sharp cry of “Gaila, wait!”

She slows down, stops, but does not turn back.

“I’ll be there!” he promises. Please don’t hate me.

He doesn’t understand why her head falls forward, as if in disappointment, and she quickens her pace in the opposite direction. He huffs out a sigh and jerks his headphones out of his pocket, putting them on and turning up the music until his ear drums throb. He starts to jog, then, and crosses the street after a quick look in both directions. He never notices the black sedan rolling sedately down the street; he does not see that it stops ahead of Gaila and a door opens, or that she, without protest, climbs into it and is whisked away.

After Jim finishes his run and showers, he encounters Leonard hunched over a giant steaming mug of black coffee and watching the morning news with the expression of a man who hates waking up. Leonard’s gaze never leaves the television screen as he grates out, “Mornin’. Good run?”

Jim pauses in pouring himself some coffee. “It was… the same, I guess.”

His boyfriend makes a noise between a grunt of disinterest and fuck, how can you get up so early?

Jim decides not to mention Gaila. Instead he drops onto the couch beside Leonard and says too cheerfully, “You can’t go to work in your bunny slippers, Bones.”

“Alligators,” mumbles McCoy.

Jim looks fondly at Leonard’s neon-green alligator slippers, courtesy of Joanna McCoy (and paid for by Eleanor McCoy). Smiling, he leans comfortably into Leonard’s side, more than content to share Bones’ body heat.

As if Jim’s snuggling is a cue, Leonard discards his mug on the table and unceremoniously abandons the couch. “I’m gonna shower.”

“But I want to cuddle!” Jim complains, like he thinks any good housewife might.

“And I want a million dollars,” grumbles the sleepy man as he drags his feet toward the bathroom.

Ah, the joy of living with Leonard Horatio McCoy. Jim trades his normal-sized mug for Leonard’s oversized one and flips the channel to early morning cartoons. Watching an animated Batman is much better than thinking about how much he may have let Gaila down.

Two days left.

Jim is supposed to be distracted being eating Saturday lunch with Spock at the Enterprise Diner but he is twisting his paper napkin into bits while mentally repeating two days, two days, two days. The bell above the door announces a newcomer. Curious as always, and needing to think about something else, Kirk peers around the corner of his booth to see who it is. The man who steps into the diner and slowly looks around makes Jim’s heart lodge in his throat.

“What is he doing here?”

Spock requests that Jim resume his previous position so that he too can see who has arrived.

Jim faces Spock, saying, “Pike just walked into my diner.”

“Jim, you do not own the Enterprise.”

He ignores that and makes a snap decision. “I’ll be right back.” Spock nods at his unspoken after I find out what Pike wants.

He vacates the booth and heads toward the register where Pike currently is, looking impressive in his military uniform—and talking with Winona Kirk. Their conversation is not low enough not to be overhead.

“You don’t look a day older than the last time I saw you, Win.”

Winona smiles in a way that means she is flattered. “I would return the compliment, Chris, but you do have a smidgen of gray hair at the temples,” she says with a hint of mischief.

The two people share a laugh.

Pike steps up to the counter and leans toward her. Jim, observing the man closely, doesn’t like what he reads in Pike’s body language.

Pike is saying as Jim approaches them from the side, “I will admit I was jealous of George for being married to such a beautiful, smart woman as you.”

Winona tucks an errant strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “So you never… married?” she asks tentatively.

Pike’s grin is charming. “I am still shamefully single, I’m afraid. I never found someone who measured up to my ideal woman.”

Jim really, really doesn’t like the way Pike is looking at his mother either.

The color rising in Winona Kirk’s face could be the result of a blush. Jim bursts into the exchange (flirtation, but the word makes his stomach flip) with a too-loud, “Mom!”

Winona turns to her son. “Jim! You remember Mr. Pike, don’t you?”

“Actually,” he replies, meeting Pike’s eyes, “I remember him like it was yesterday. How are you, Pike? What brings you to town?”

Pike straightens up to meet his interrogation like a true solider. “Jim. I’m well, thank you for asking—and I am came to town on business.” Business undoubtedly means Khan-business.

Which, in Jim’s opinion, still doesn’t necessitate Pike flirting with his mother.

The two men hold eye contact for a long moment before Jim ends their tense staring contest to say, as though Christopher Pike’s presence is a trivial matter, “Hey, Mom, Bob called me. He said he had a great time on your date.”

Winona opens a navy blue bank-bag of cash to retrieve a stack of one-dollar bills. “What date?” she asks almost absently.

Jim blinks. “You know—your date. With Bob.” He cuts his eyes at Pike and adds, “The mayor of Riverside.”

Winona frowns as she finishes counting the money in her hand and stuffs the bills into the open register drawer. Then she turns to Jim, eyes narrowed. Her words are hot—and not what he expected. “We went out last Tuesday. So Bob calls a week late? He couldn’t have picked up the phone sooner than that?”

“Uh…” Jim widens his eyes as his brain scrambles to rectify an obvious error in his logic. “It’s not Bob’s fault…” As his mother’s eyes narrow a little more, he explains hastily, “I mean—I forgot to tell you until now.”

Winona is silent for a few seconds. Then, “Why would Bob call you when he could have called me?”

Crap. He panics and grabs for the closest thing to hand, which happens to be an innocuous container on the diner counter. “I, uh, need to get back to Spock. Just came up here to get some sugar for his tea. Bye!”

He is hurrying towards the booth occupied by Spock, who is watching him curiously, when a hand snags the back of his jacket, followed by a sharp, “Jimmy!”

Jim cringes, certain he is in trouble for lying.

Instead Winona turns him around to say, “Don’t you dare give this to Spock!” She plucks the container from his hands. “It’s salt!” She releases the back of his jacket then shoves another container (labeled in bold letters SUGAR) into his hands with a look of her face which clearly means how did I raise such an unobservant child?

He grins in relief. “Thanks, Mom.”

“It’s Spock who should thank me for saving him,” she quips with a smile of her own.

As Jim scoots into the booth opposite of his boyfriend, he sets the sugar container between them.

Spock raises an eyebrow at it. “I assume you do not intend for me to consume the sugar by itself, Jim. It would be prudent to order a cup of tea to.. validate your story.” Spock looks pointedly in Jim’s mother’s direction.

Jim rubs his knuckles against his cheek, sheepish.

“Also,” Spock continues, “might I inquire why you felt the need to lie to your mother?”

“About the sugar?” he asks innocently.

“Concerning Mayor Wesley.”

Caught. Jim’s eyes track back to Pike, who is once again leaning against the counter by the register, no doubt waiting for Winona to return. “Don’t know.” He shrugs carelessly but his mouth pinches into a thin line.

“Then Pike’s interest in your mother does not disturb you?”

Jim fixes a hard gaze on Spock. “Are you saying it’s okay for Pike to go after Mom?” Kirk leans in, his speech suddenly fevered. “Bob’s been in love with my mother for decades, Spock, and now he finally has a chance to win her!” He thumps his fist on the table. “Pike has no right!“

“Jim,” Spock murmurs, “you need to lower your voice if you do not want to alarm your mother.”

Jim pulls back and proceeds to channel his anger into gripping the edge of the table. His voice, while calmer, is no less fierce. “I don’t like it,” he states flatly.

“Interesting.”

“Not to me,” Winona’s son counters, and they speak no more of the dangerous subject. Jim flags down Uhura, ignoring the waitress’s comment of “Who’s the hottie hitting on your mom?” and orders a cup of tea for Spock and a chicken salad sandwich for himself. By the time he and Spock are ready to leave the diner, Pike is settled in a booth by himself, looking very much like he has nowhere else to be.

Jim grinds his molars and returns the man’s short nod of acknowledgement as their eyes meet across the room. Then Jim seeks his mother to tell her he will gladly come over on Sunday for their traditional family meal. She kisses his cheek and jokes, “Worried about your poor mother being alone, Jimmy?”

Worry doesn’t quite cover the territorial protectiveness motivating him to make the offer. But she doesn’t need to know that. Caught up in his dour thoughts, he almost misses the rest of Winona’s words.

“…if you don’t mind…join us for dinner.”

“What?”

“I said Pike should join us for dinner. Jimmy, it’s rude to tune out your mother when she is talking to you.”

His head whips around to look at the man perusing a lunch menu. “Why the hell is he eating with us!”

“Jim!” his mother gasps. “How unkind! Christopher will be a house guest, and I extend courtesy to all my house guests!”

Jim has to clutch at the edge of the diner counter to stop the odd rotation of the room. “Guest?” he repeats dumbly. “You’re renting a room to Pike?”

“Mmhm,” she confirms. “I run a bed-and-breakfast, and he needs a place to stay. It is a fairly logical thing to do, you know.”

“But I thought… with the diner, you weren’t doing the renting rooms thing anymore,” he protests. Hadn’t she said that?

“Oh, Jim,” his mother sighs, and he can tell she is exasperated with him. “He’s a friend of your father’s. And a friend of mine, too, actually. We have to make exceptions for friends, baby.”

He won’t change her mind, he knows that.

Jim decides against storming out of the diner—there’s no sense in letting Pike know how pissed he is, not yet at least—but that does not preclude him from kicking gravel once he is in the parking lot. Spock interrupts his fit to say, “I gather the rocks offend you, but please direct them in the direction opposite of my car.” Then the lawyer proceeds to unlock his Corvette and start her engine.

Spock remarks to Jim some time later, as they roll to a stop at an intersection, “I do not believe Winona would end her relationship with Mayor Wesley in order to pursue Christopher Pike.”

For a moment Jim remains silently slumped in the passenger seat. Once the street light changes from red to green and the car is in motion again, he responds, “Trust no one, Spock.”

Spock glances at Jim. “You do not trust Pike?”

“I don’t trust anyone with a personal goal in mind who is professionally trained to eliminate all obstacles in order to achieve that goal.”

“Ah.” A pause. “Someone like Khan, then.”

Jim sighs. “I don’t think it’s professional training in Khan’s case—more like an innate sense of evil.”

“I highly doubt Captain Pike is evil.”

“If he tries to date my mom, he is.”

“I… am not certain I understand your point of view.”

Jim cannot help but smile a little. “I could try explaining it in another way.”

Spock flips on the car’s left turn signal. “That will be unnecessary, Jim. I shall consult with Leonard.”

Jim laughs. Ha! Let Spock keep his delusion that McCoy can translation Jim’s behavior better than Jim himself. Amused, he removes his hands from inside his jacket and drapes an arm along the top of Spock’s seat. “Are we headed back to your place?”

“Soon enough,” Spock says. “It would be wise to visit the supermarket before returning home.”

“Ah,” Jim murmurs in instant understanding.

Spock is out of cat food. If they were reckless, stupid men, they would go home without Bo Peep’s meal. But Jim (courtesy of Spock, Bones, his mother, Uhura, Jose, and many many other people) is learning to be much less stupid and reckless these days.

At least, Jim thinks so.

The small shop’s sign reads The Knick Knack Corner. Jim steers his motorcycle through a side alley and to the lot designated for customer parking. As he pockets his motorcycle keys, he double-checks Lady Q’s note then his watch. Should he wait the five minutes until 7:00 pm or go inside already?

Deciding in the latter case, Jim trudges down the alley and around the corner of the shop. The street is lit against the encroaching night but most people have vacated the street to find dinner or get home before dark. Jim pauses in confusion outside of the shop’s door, studying first the crooked CLOSED sign and then the hours of operation beneath it: M – F, 9 am – 6 pm. The shop’s lights are turned off.

But why would Lady Q want him to show up at a place that’s closed?

Jim turns to look down the deserted sidewalk, frowning. “Crap,” he mutters. The crazy old woman is leading him around by the nose again. Frustrated, Kirk pulls on the door handle.

He is surprised when it gives with ease; a small beep annouces his impending entrance. Compelled by the mystery of the note, Jim pokes his head into the building.

But before he can call “Hello?” his eyes catch on a shadow in the corner of the shop. A person in a chair. Apprehension growing, his first step inside the shop is greeted by the crunch of glass beneath his sneaker. The person in the chair tries to speak and though the speech is muffled he recognizes the emotion behind it. This is when Jim realizes, lungs freezing, he has walked into something quite dreadfully wrong.

The chair scrapes against the floor as the person struggles desperately, then sobs against what can only be a rag of some sort.

Oh fuckity-fuck.

A voice echoes his sentiment—or more like sneers it. “Fuck! I told him to lock the fucking door, fuckin’ moron!” A small lamp snaps on and a toothy man grins at Jim from behind a short counter littered with broken pottery. “Hiya.”

Jim should be surprised at the gun pointed in his direction, but he isn’t. Of course he isn’t. His brain has already decided he’s stuck his nose right into the middle of an act of a horridly criminal nature.

The light reveals the person tied to the chair is a woman in her sixties, probably the shopkeeper. She looks at Jim with absolute terror in her eyes. He starts toward her on instinct.

“Bad idea, bud!” snaps the guy across the room. “You stay where I can see you. Moron!” he bellows, “Need more rope over here!“

Another person develops out of the shadows at the back of the shop. “Yeah, what for?” comes the snarl. “I was tryin’ to crack the safe, but it’s damned hard without any lights!”

“Use your fuckin’ flashlight, ya stupid nob,” the guy with the gun snarls right back. “But take care o’ him first—and lock the goddamn door!”

The second guy disappears again questioning the whereabouts of rope.

Jim’s throat feels constricted but he manages to force words past it. “Look, I just—”

“Shut up. What kind of dumbass are you anyway, kid? The fuckin’ sign on the door says CLOSED.”

Jim fights down a flash of anger overriding his fear and shoots for a bravado he doesn’t feel. “Hey, man, you know you’ve tripped the silent alarm, right?”

There is a deadly stretch of silence. Then the guy behind the counter leaps over it and starts toward him. “Ain’t no alarm. We woulda been told about an alarm.” The man is wearing a ski mask and is fully clothed in black. He looks Jim up and down. “Who the fuck are you?”

Jim keeps his hands in the air and shrugs one shoulder casually. “Was looking to buy somethin’ for my grandmother’s birthday,” he lies. “What’s this place sell?” Keep the asshole talking, he thinks. Just keep him talking because surely Lady Q didn’t send him in here to be killed. He feels a bead of sweat roll down between his shoulder blades and wonders if adrenaline is the reason he isn’t a useless puddle of nerves right now.

The robber barks out an ugly laugh and plucks something delicate-looking from a shelf. Then he throws it on the floor, shattering the object at Jim’s feet. “It’s all shit—expensive shit for old ladies. Guess your grandma would like it, huh?” The busy end of the gun momentarily meanders toward the shopkeeper. “Quit your weepin’, lady.”

“What do you expect?” Jim retorts. “You’re terrorizing her and on top of that, breaking her merchandise.”

“I don’t like your smart mouth, kid.”

“I don’t like your gun. How ’bout I shut up if you put your gun away?”

“How ’bout I shoot you in the head?” The barrel of the gun levels with Jim’s temple.

At this point, Bones would beg him to be quiet so he can get out of this nightmare alive. Jim isn’t one to ignore a Bones-voice, even if it’s part of his imagination. He shuts up.

At the robber’s request he sits down in a chair ‘Moron’ puts next to the shopkeeper. Jim tells her quietly, “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.” He tries not to think about the guy tying his hands behind the chair.

When ‘Moron’ is satisfied Jim cannot move, he says disinterestedly, “Goin’ back to my real job now. Try not to kill anybody.”

His partner only replies, “Hurry up. We’re already off-schedule.” Once the other guy is gone, he wanders back to the counter and searches for something. Jim’s heart-rate increases threefold when the man returns with a crowbar.

Laughing at the pallor of his captives’ faces, the man shakes the crowbar at them and says, “Don’t look so scared. I don’t hurt old ladies ‘n I’ll only beat you—” He twirls the crowbar at Jim. “—if you say another fucking word. So shut it.”

Then the robber proceeds to smash up the rest of the shop’s glass balls, ornaments, and figurines. He seems to take great pleasure in the destruction and stops only to light a cigarette. After a long drag, he crushes the rest of the cigarette into the teardrop of a sad-faced clown mask and picks up his crowbar again. He is about to send it swinging into another shelf when a red light suddenly sweeps through the shop and illuminates everything.

Jim thinks he is going to pass out at the sound of the police siren.

“Aw fuck,” the robber growls, then hollers toward the back, “Cops!”

‘Moron’ appears. “Shit, seriously? I thought we had another…” He checks a watch. “Guess we don’t. All right, we’re out.”

Jim wonders why a man who owns a Rollex needs to rob people.

The one with the gun waves it at the shopkeeper. “Cut her loose. You hear that, lady? Don’t try anything funny and I won’t have to hurt you.”

She nods, face wet with tears.

To Jim, he says, “Word of advice, kid: when a store says ‘closed’, stay the fuck out of it. Lucky for you, we’re the nice kind of criminals. Today, that is.”

Jim would bet the man is grinning beneath his ski mask.

The moment ‘Moron’ cuts the shopkeeper free of the chair, the two robbers bolt into the back of the shop, no doubt already having an escape route planned through another exit. The woman tears at her gag and starts crying in earnest the moment they are gone.

When she reaches for Jim’s bonds, he says gently, “No, it’s okay, I’m okay—just get the police.”

So she does.

Sheriff Komack looks like a man twice his age. “God, Jim. Why do you do this to me?”

Jim shakes his wrists to get the blood flowing back into them and declines a blanket a deputy tries to secure around his shoulders. “I haven’t done anything, Sheriff,” he says tiredly. Except be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Contrary to what the note specified.

Opening his notepad, Komack wants to know, “Can you think of anything descriptive about the guys?”

“Not really. Their faces were covered.” Jim pauses. “One of them had on a Rollex, if that means anything.”

Komack looks up sharply from his notepad. “Gold band, silver trim?”

Jim thinks about it then nods thoughtfully.

Komack mutters “Shit” and barks something to one of the deputies crawling over the shop.

Jim shifts and lowers his voice so that only Komack hears him and retrieves Lady Q’s note from his jean pocket. He whispers, “She gave it to me a few days ago.”

Komack reads it and, surprisingly, digs a lighter out of his pocket and sets the paper on fire. Jim watches the note float to the ground between their feet and curl up, burning to ash.

Komack is looking away when he tells Jim, “I thought as much.”

Jim stills. “What’s it mean?”

“Means it’s not a random crime, Kirk.” Komack sighs almost soundlessly. “This is just the crackpot theory of an old man,” his voice is rough, as tired as Jim feels, “but the last time these two thugs robbed a place, they scared the owners so badly, the shops closed up for good.”

“I wouldn’t blame them,” Jim says softly, thinking of the frightened woman shaking in the back of an ambulance.

Komack’s smile is humorless. “Then I guess it’s Khan’s good luck they changed their minds about selling to him.” He flips his notepad closed and says, switching back to the voice of authority, “We’ll call you tomorrow. Go home. Get some rest. One of my boys can drive you if you want.”

Jim shakes his head, the name Khan still tumbling over and over in his mind. He needs to be alone, just him and the road, to process everything Komack just told him—and everything Komack didn’t need to say.

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Sticks and Stones (18/18) – from April 19, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (17/18) – from April 17, 2012
• Emotional Much? – from April 17, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (16/17) – from April 13, 2012
• Sticks and Stones (15/17) – from April 11, 2012

00