"Mercury Falling" cslatton17@yahoo.com
Part 5 of 27: Cannibals in the Cafe
5:15PM. It's still Tuesday. We're still in Wheeling.
Harris extended the courtesy of an unmarked unit and Purdue got his team registered at the
Fort Henry Motor Lodge: no room service, but free-- imagine that-- cable TV and hot and
cold running highway traffic just outside your bedroom window.
Mulder had remained silent through the proceedings. The wall was back up and as
impenetrable as those mirrored shades he'd slipped on when they'd left the precinct
station. Mulder had made no effort to remove them in the dim confines of the motel office,
either.
Purdue honored the self-imposed solitude; Sauceda was chattering away enough for the three
of them anyway. In fact, Purdue got the impression Hot Sauce was trying to cover for his
partner's silence, maybe hoping the ASAC wouldn't notice. Purdue allowed the man his
little delusions and doggedly took care of business.
He'd requested a block of three motel rooms when Mulder finally spoke: a request for one
of the rooms to be several doors away from the others. Mulder was looking at the desk
clerk when he made the pronouncement but Purdue had Mulder enough in profile to detect the
uneasy shift of his eyes as the words tumbled out. Purdue nodded his agreement to the
clerk and told Sauceda to shut his yap when the pathologist began squawking about it.
Purdue felt Mulder's wall slip just a bit as the ASAC signed for the rooms; the profiler
even managed a quick "thank you" when Purdue handed him his key. It was far more
than the ASAC had expected.
Fort Henry's was conveniently flanked by a twenty-four hour Wal-Mart and a diner calling
itself Chris' Cafe. Purdue gave his little flock just enough time to dump their luggage
before gathering them up again. They descended on the cafe for dinner.
As they walked across the parking lot, Sauceda simply picked up where he'd left off,
yammering away about this and that; Purdue wondered where the hell he was managing to find
so much of nothing to talk about. Mulder, still within his sanctuary of silence, remained
doggedly unaffected by his partner's ramblings.
Chris' was one of those Norman Rockwell places idolized by "American Graffiti":
soda bar, retro chairs, booths leathered in teal and pink, waitresses crowned with little
Florence Nightingale hats and sporting round ruffled aprons tinted to match the leather.
The pastels reflected brightly in the mirror of Mulder's shades; the profiler seemed
determined to retain his eyewear even here.
Purdue sighed. *Well, what the hell ever.*
The cafe was obviously popular; the place was packed, but Mulder surprised the ASAC by
wordlessly blazing a trail to a vacant booth. The profiler waited patiently as Sauceda
claimed the first seat, scooting down the bench to make room for the younger man. Purdue
accepted the opposite bench as his own and stretched his legs wearily. He told himself
that he really needed to stop worrying so much and start sleeping better.
The jukebox was hopping to the Fine Young Cannibals. Purdue chuckled silently as Mulder
began drumming along with the tune unconsciously.
Sauceda, propped comfortably against the wall, gave his partner man a playful slap on the
arm.
"You know, Marty, if you need to work off some excess energy, we can take you
cruising later and pick you up a redhead or something," Sauceda winked at Purdue.
"Women love a man with a badge. I'm sure you find one willing to flop on her back for
love of Mulder and country."
"Screw you, Lenny," Mulder answered absently; it was obviously a tired joke
between them.
"Forget that," Sauceda wriggled his brows dramatically, "I ain't floppin'
for you for nobody's country."
Mulder ignored him as one of the pink waitresses came over and automatically began pouring
coffee. It was a beverage requirement, apparently, but she flashed them a smile that was
pleasantly more than just obligatory.
"You boys in town for some greyhound racing?"
Purdue returned the smile perfunctorily and inspected his cup. If the coffee were any
darker it could have saved her the trip and walked itself to the table.
Sauceda was grinning, though, a sure sign of impending mischief. "My friend here's
looking for a little different kind of action. You know, kinda expanding his love life.
Know anyone that could help him out?"
Mulder shot Sauceda a look they could see even through the shades.
"Oh," the woman fell easily into the game, regarding the profiler thoughtfully,
one hand on her hip. "And how does that wife of yours feel about that, honey?"
Mulder glanced up. Even Purdue could see she was checking out the ring. The profiler
turned a shade of pink not quite as garish as her apron and stared into his empty cup,
looking like he was trying to find the nerve to swear. "There isn't a wife," he
said.
"She know that?" she asked. Purdue busied himself with his menu.
"Yeah," Mulder admitted quietly.
Her voice was just a tad softer. "You know that?"
Mulder's head dropped so far down Purdue could see the trembling of the man's lashes as he
squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't speak.
Sauceda was choking with laughter, oblivious to the desolation beside him. Over top of his
menu, Purdue glared at him to little effect.
Sauceda didn't seem to notice the angry glint in Pinkie's eye either. She tried for a more
direct approach, though, leaning past Mulder to ask sweetly, "You want some more
coffee, pal?" She was holding the pot over the pathologist's lap. Sauceda recovered
quickly and declined.
Pinkie looked back to the profiler. Her sudden proximity seemed to have exorcised his
heartache at least temporarily; his blush was gone and he looked like he was reassessing
initial impressions.
Purdue watched the couple discreetly, careful to keep the menu between himself and
Sauceda. The woman was cute. Not overly pretty, but she carried herself well. A dainty
little brunette, maybe five foot nothing, maybe five or six years older than Mulder. Steel
blue eyes and perfect teeth that must have set mom and dad back on her college fund. No
ring on the appropriate finger.
She straightened and poured Mulder's coffee slowly, letting him get a better look. She
must have felt the man's eyes through the shades because she smiled softly. The expression
seemed to hit Mulder like a blow, however; the young man actually caught his breath.
Purdue blinked and re-inspected his menu but Mulder recovered quickly enough,
concentrating on upending the sugar dispenser into his coffee.
Pinkie relented her flirtations, flipped open her pad and took their orders: specials all
around, salad, no baked potato for the man in the shades.
Business handled, she flipped another page and got that smile again, readying her pencil.
"Well, now," she purred to the profiler, "if I'm supposed to get you set up
with someone, honey, I'll need to know what it is you like."
Mulder choked on his coffee and Sauceda howled.
"Oh, I know just his type!" he offered, slapping Mulder on the back
solicitously.
"Uh huh. And that would be...?" Pinkie requested.
"Breathing," Sauceda threw the punch line and twisted on the bench in a fit of
giggles.
"Oh, come on," Mulder deadpanned. "I can't afford to be *that*
choosy."
Sauceda totally lost it and even Purdue and Pinkie had to smile. The jukebox reset for the
Bangles.
"You got a name, honey?" she asked the profiler. She managed to ask the question
like it was no big deal.
"Mulder."
She raised critical brows and his lips twitched ruefully. "You wouldn't believe me if
I told you the first name," he explained.
"Try me."
Deep sigh. "Fox."
Pinkie paused, skeptical gaze swinging to Purdue, then back to Mulder. "You got ID to
back that, angel?"
It was clear Sauceda would never recover. Mulder fished out his badge with the air of a
man donning his blindfold before a firing squad.
"Well, well, Fox," she smiled, "your parents must have been psychic."
Mulder's blush was pure scarlet this time and Purdue shook his head. So, this was the man
Patterson had tried to pass off as the son of the Antichrist... Hell, maybe the Bureau
needed to bring Baez back in to analyze Bill Patterson.
Pinkie let the profiler recover before reaching to shake his hand. "Hi, Fox. Welcome
to Wheeling."
"Hi yourself," he squinted over his shades at her name tag, "Kay."
She winked lightly. "I'll be back with your orders, boys. Sit tight."
Sauceda watched her walk back to the next table before leaning over to his partner.
"Yep, someone's got that Wheeling feeling--"
"Shut up, Lenny." Mulder's voice was suddenly tired.
"Uh, huh. Now I know what the big deal was about getting a room away from mine or
Purdue's. You don't want any embarrassing interruptions in case she turns out to be a
squealer--"
"No, I just get tired of your headboard ramming into my wall every time you call your
wife."
"Why, you little prick--"
"Jeezus. Are you two always at it like this?" Purdue demanded.
"Continually," Mulder assured him.
"You might have warned me."
The agent shrugged. "You didn't ask."
And finally the wall had broken down just that much more, just enough, perhaps for the
question Purdue had been strangling since they left Harris' office.
"Yeah," the ASAC nodded, keeping his voice neutral. "Well, apparently I
haven't asked quite a few things--"
Mulder swore silently and retreated back against the bench, head turning abruptly away. In
profile, the eyes behind the shades were unyielding.
"You're going to make me ask, aren't you?" The ASAC sighed. "Jeezus,
Mulder, why do you have to make everything so damned hard--"
"Is that your question?" Mulder demanded.
Sauceda made a noise and Purdue told him to shut the hell up.
"Allow me to quote, Mr. Mulder," Purdue's voice was calm, but clipped and harder
than he'd intended, "'I'll let you know in the morning.' Just what the hell was that
all about?"
"What did you think it was about?"
"I'll be damned-- Don't start that shit with me, Mister. I ask you a question, you
give me a straight answer. Jeezus, answering a question with a freaking question-- You
were willing to answer to a homicide detective who doesn't know you from your maiden aunt,
you can answer to me, dammit."
Mulder sat up straighter but didn't look particularly contrite. Cornered, but not
contrite. He distracted himself, swirling patterns in the sweat of his water glass as he
answered.
"I'll know where the other victim is by morning. That's all," Mulder shook his
head, his voice softer. "It was a stupid thing to say," he conceded. His hand
slipped around the glass, knuckles white, clinched as tight as his jaw. He leveled a look
at Purdue. "But it's true," he seethed. "What's the matter, Purdue? Isn't
that what you brought me out here for? So you could show off your wacko profiler to your
friends? Or maybe I'm just here to perform a few tricks to up the Bureau's PR with the
locals? You know: sit, roll over. Retrieve the dead?"
The surprise on Purdue's face must have been answer enough. Mulder glanced away and Purdue
was left with that revealing profile; again, the lashes fluttered behind the shades.
"Look," Mulder mumbled, "forget it. I don't want to fight with you--"
"The hell you don't." Purdue made the statement but didn't elaborate. He was
giving Mulder room and an opening to lay some cards out on the table if he chose to do so.
He didn't figure the odds were high, though.
Mulder's hand slipped from the glass and flattened out beside it, long fingers pressed
against the table, seeking the assurance of something solid. His head was back up, his
voice fiercely composed. "I *said* I don't want to fight with you. And I *won't*. I
just don't want to discuss this... stuff. And I won't. Everything I had to say about it is
on record."
Purdue snorted. "A record we both know was written by Patterson and quotes you only
twice--"
"That's all I had to say to him, either."
"Have you even read the report, Mulder?"
"No."
"Aren't you curious--"
"No."
"Well, I am." Purdue waited for a reply that was apparently not forthcoming.
"Look, Mulder, I can appreciate that you get a little tired of the Amazing Wunderkind
routine but you have to see this thing from my side. I'm not the type of man who can have
a quiet chat with a corpse then enjoy a smoke on the hood of my car while the locals dig
up thirteen bodies. That's not generally part of my routine. Until now." He sighed.
"I don't want to pick your brain, Mulder. I woud just like a few answers."
Mulder had studied him intently during the speech, and in the pause the ASAC realized
suddenly that his words, his actions, his whole freaking life was being weighed in a
balance, assessed. The possibility Mulder might find him somehow unworthy was oddly
disturbing.
The profiler looked away after a minute, picking absently at the edging on his napkin. He
hadn't responded one way or the other on the issue, though and Purdue decided to take the
silence as permission to continue. He chose his words carefully, keeping his voice level
and unassuming.
"Do you always know when these insights are going to... come to
you?"
Mulder startled him by actually answering. "Not always." He apparently didn't
intend to elaborate and Purdue sighed. This was like pulling teeth.
"But you know this time," Purdue prompted.
Mulder nodded.
Purdue raised questioning brows at Sauceda. The pathologist shrugged and resumed his
scrutiny of the label on the ketchup bottle.
"How is it you know this time," Purdue asked patiently, "and maybe not the
next time?"
Mulder grimaced. "I just know," he said.
"So tell me now," Purdue invited. "Where's the body?"
"I don't know right now." Mulder was back to solemnly swirling patterns on his
glass.
"Do you have to be asleep for it to come to you? Like the thing in
Fredricksburg?"
The young man chewed his lip a moment. "Yeah."
Sauceda squirmed at the answer and Mulder shot him a look that sent Sauceda scooting for
the far corner of the bench.
Purdue raised interested brows. "You have something to contribute to this discussion,
Agent Sauceda?"
Sauceda blinked painfully. "No, sir."
Purdue swore. "That's a lie," he growled. "And I won't tolerate it."
He pointed a stern finger at Mulder. "From either of you, is that clear?" He
glanced around the dining room and lowered his voice when he focused on his profiler
again. "Look, Mulder, I've heard the so-called 'spooky' routine and I don't buy it. I
don't think you buy it, either. You've damn near wound up in the loony bin twice because
too many people *do* buy it. Then you waltz into Wheeling and start this spook shit with
Harris. What do you want? You want him thinking you're some kind of psychic crackpot with
a badge?"
Mulder shifted uncomfortably. "No. I just thought--"
"No, you little bastard, you just thought you had me pegged as Patterson Part Two,
didn't you? Figured you could jerk me off just like you did him-- and like he did you,
too," Purdue conceded as Mulder sank back against his seat. The ASAC sighed
irritably. He was just a little too tired for this conversation. He hadn't had much sleep
since Sunday and that never failed to make him grumpy.
"Okay, I'll lay it out for you, Agent: I think you're a good investigator. I think
you can get in people's heads sometimes. That's fine. I can buy that. I've seen your work.
Some of your insights have been downright frightening. Shreveport. Seattle. Saint Paul.
Solving four-year old cases stone blind. I don't pretend to know where you get half this
stuff you come up with. And I don't care. But damn you, don't ever make the mistake of
lying to me." He turned to Sauceda, "And don't you sit there and back him on it,
you little shit."
Mulder looked over at his partner. Sauceda was watching Mulder warily.
Mulder took the shades off, but didn't look at the ASAC directly. "Sometimes,"
he said quietly, "I see things wide awake. Like I'm dreaming. It's like a film being
played out against a wall. You know, like family movies and somebody gets up and the
images play across their face, their body... That's what it's like sometimes. But
that's... a bad case. Like Shreveport. Twenty-seven kids dead. That kind of case. This
isn't that kind of case."
"You can dream this stuff on demand?"
"No." Mulder rubbed at his face wearily. Purdue recalled Mulder's violent nap on
the plane and wondered how much sleep *he'd* had since Sunday. "I can't just *make*
it happen," the profiler admitted. "But, my mind gets focused on something
sometimes and just, I don't know, works it out subconsciously for me. And I see it in a
dream. Or in the back of my mind."
Purdue nodded, kept his face a mask. There was just too much Mulder wasn't saying.
Watching Mulder's eyes, Purdue realized suddenly that the young man might not even know
the rest of the explanation. That thought was more than a little frightening.
"So," the ASAC asked reasonably, "you think your subconscious is working on
the location of this victim?"
"I don't-- Hell," Mulder hissed. "Look, it's not with every case. And I
could be wrong; it might not even be with this one. But it's not some kind of weird
hocus-pocus. It's sure as hell not hallucinations. I don't care what Patterson told you.
Or Sauceda over here--"
"Hey, Marty--"
Mulder waved off the pathologist's protest. "I *am* a good investigator, dammit. My
investigative technique is in the top ratings; I've never been faulted on it. I'll give
you my best on any case you put me on. But some cases... I can give more than just that.
Somehow--" Mulder wouldn't meet Purdue's eyes again. His voice was soft. "It's
like... It's like someone walking up behind you and not quite touching you. You can feel
them standing there, but... Then, when everything is quiet, they reach out."
Salads arrived and Kay didn't take long picking up the fact that the
table had gone solemn. She opened Mulder a fresh bottle of blue cheese dressing and made
herself scarce.
The men ate in silence a few minutes, lost in the sound of crackers and croutons. Mulder
drowned his lettuce with the dressing and pushed around more on his fork than he managed
to chew. He kept his head down, risking furtive glances at Purdue when he thought the ASAC
wasn't noticing. Across the table, though, Purdue's mind was churning.
"In Shreveport," Purdue muttered around his saltine, "you told them where
to find the victims. Things about them, too. Their age, sex. How they would be laid
out." He swallowed. "Sauceda says that you're not so much in tune to the crimes
through the killer as much as through the victim. Okay, I've got no problem with that. I
mean, if we believe profilers can get the skinny on a killer, why not the victim? But if
you're seeing through the victim's perspective, how did you know what the killer was doing
postmortem? It's not like these kids would have been aware of that kind of information.
They're dead. Right?"
The profiler was looking at him over his salad. His face was suddenly very pale. Purdue
frowned.
Mulder ducked his head abruptly, staring down at the fork in his hand; it trembled
slightly. He speared a cherry tomato, waiting patiently for the seeds and juice to settle
into the soup of blue cheese. His voice was quiet, his head stayed bowed.
"Sometimes. Most times. Maybe because they're not expecting death when it comes...
The soul exits the body. But it still feels a sense of obligation to it, somehow.
Sometimes they stay for a while, and watch. Like they're not certain what's expected of
them. Or maybe just out of curiosity. Or confusion. Until someone comes for them."
Purdue sat his fork down quietly.
"Sacred Heart of Jesus," Sauceda whispered. "Who comes, Marty?"
Mulder shook his head, staring at the tomato. "Someone," he said. "I don't
know. I can't see." He slipped the tomato off his fork. "It's not me they're
coming for."
Kay was back. She dealt out the chicken fried steaks with gracious finesse, generally
making a friendly fuss. Assured everyone was just pleased as punch with the service, she
took few extra seconds filling Mulder's tea glass. He wouldn't look up at her, though,
busy eyeing his steak. He looked a little odd just then.
She bit her lip, considering. "Honey," she said softly, "let me take that
beef back to the kitchen. Gosh, a Band-Aid and that thing would be back out grazing."
Mulder looked up gratefully and nodded. "I'll bring you a baked potato, okay, angel?
No butter, lots of sour cream."
"Thank you."
Purdue busied himself cutting up his chicken-fried and Sauceda followed his cue. There
hadn't been anything wrong with Mulder's steak but neither man mentioned the fact.
Kay was back quickly with the potato and making a fuss about whether there was enough sour
cream, and dammit if they hadn't gone and put the butter on it anyway--
Mulder protested meekly as she sputtered. Sauceda used the opportunity to scratch a note
on his empty sweet-n-low packet and slip it to Purdue. The ASAC read: "The 'someone
walking up behind' is getting closer."
Kay got things situated to her satisfaction and finally left the men in peace. No one
spoke for a bit. Purdue kept the younger man in his peripheral vision, watching him trying
to not eat a potato while making at least part of it disappear somewhere. Purdue bet the
kid had given his momma hell eating his vegetables. Mulder's inoffensive steak never
grazed itself back to the table and no one mentioned that either.
| Kay returned shortly with more coffee, and, of all
things, hot tea for Fox. Mulder accepted the cup, comically stunned but grateful and
downed fully half the liquid straight off. There was a faint whiff of alcohol to the steam
and Purdue wondered if there wasn't a little honey and whiskey swirling around in there.
Like his granny's home remedy. |
|
Purdue ordered pie he didn't want and played with it, ordered more
coffee he wasn't drinking, waiting for Mulder's tea to settle. Purdue had scooped out and
squashed four cherries flat before he noticed the agent staring at him.
"Just say it," Mulder's voice was harsh.
Purdue set the pie aside and watched as Sauceda begin scooping out cherries for himself.
"I'm telling you this as a friend, Mulder. Hell, I'm telling you as your ASAC. And I
just want you to think it through. Spooky is cool in DC. Spooky's expected. At least as
far as *you're* concerned. But this is Middle America and they don't know your stats from
Dallas. Don't interrupt. Please." He held out his hands, surrender fashion and Mulder
relented. "Don't do this to me. Don't do it to yourself. Even if you *can* do this
crap, even if it works... You just gotta find a better way to deal with it in the real
world."
Sauceda was nodding, cherry juice on his chin.
Mulder's face over the tea was dark. "You want me to lie on an investigation? To
withhold evidence--"
"First off, your impressions, even if they're from the lips of God, are not legally
evidence. Second off, say you *do* know where the body is, you go popping this pertinent
piece of information off on Harris, he'll pick us up for obstruction, thinking we got an
inside somehow and were holding out on him. All I'm saying is this: you know something,
you let *me* know. Let me handle it. That's my job, to take some of the crap off you so
you can do your job. You're a profiler. So, profile. Let me fade the heat. Let me figure
the angles on the locals."
Mulder was quiet, staring hard at the cooling dregs of his tea. "You're not sending
me back to DC?" he asked finally.
Purdue frowned. "Do you want to go back to DC?"
"No."
"Mulder, let's get this straight. If you didn't have the highest solve rate in the
Bureau, no one but no one would put up with your crap. If you didn't have the highest
solve rate in the Bureau I wouldn't have kicked so much ass to get my grimy hands on you.
But I don't expect miracles. Just good investigative work. And you're right, you're one of
the finest investigators we've got. Even without the spook. I want to solve this case.
More importantly, *you* want to solve this case. So do it. You do your part, whatever the
hell you think that entails and you let me do mine. We'll let Sauceda here poke around on
the bodies and let Harris make the arrests." He smiled. "See, that's not so
hard."
Sauceda pursed his lips. "That's easy for you to say, I'm the one that has to put up
with the smell in the autopsy room."
Purdue waved for the check. Mulder's troubled smile took a sudden turn south and he
blanched, teacup rattling. He excused himself and made his way to the men's room. Not all
his steps were steady.
Kay was hot on his heels and got the door slammed in her face for her trouble. She hovered
outside the locked door, her questions apparently ignored.
Sauceda sighed and followed Purdue into the little hall. Behind the door, the faucet
sounded like it was running full blast. The sound almost covered the retching noises.
"Just how much whiskey did you put in that tea?" Purdue demanded.
"A couple of teaspoons," Kay protested, "as God is my witness."
Sauceda shrugged. "It's not the tea, I tell you. Hell. If I had a corpse walking up
behind me, you wouldn't see me keeping anything down either."
Kay eyed the pathologist warily and he took pity.
"Your Fox in there is a profiler--"
"Sauceda--"
He waved Purdue off. "We show the kid photos of murder victims and he tells us what
the killer is like. Then the local PD goes out and finds the bastard."
Her face was thoughtful. "And this is his chosen career? Or did he just luck out in
dog catcher school?"
Sauceda grinned. "No kidding. He's good at it. Really." He called out as the
water stopped: "Aren't you, Marty?"
"I'm good at a few things too," she said, "but if I did them for a living
they'd lock me up."
Mulder got the door open on that one, his head down to conceal the slightly dilated
pupils.
"They threaten to lock me up now and then, too." He managed a smile of sorts for
Kay, quickly lost it as he shoved past Purdue and Sauceda and stalked out of the diner.
Purdue shoved the check to Sauceda and followed. The ASAC had to trot to cover the ground
of Mulder's stride. They were halfway to the hotel before Purdue caught up and spun the
profiler around.
"Look, Mulder--"
Mulder exploded, "Don't ask me anymore, dammit!" Purdue released the man's arm,
watching open mouthed as Mulder's entire body shivered violently. "Patterson's had me
jumping through hoops for a fucking year and now you want to start it all over
again--"
The profiler gasped and jerked away several yards distance. Purdue followed slowly, giving
him room. Mulder pulled his jacket tight, hugging himself as he paced the length of shadow
cast by a parked van. He swore softly all the while. Purdue did not interrupt. He'd seen
enough in Seattle to identify the symptoms.
After a minute or so, Mulder seemed better-- still hugging himself, still pacing-- but his
shivering had eased to infrequent shudders and he registered Purdue's presence again.
Purdue watched him swallow hard and look away.
Realization finally struck the ASAC. *Jeezus, Reg. The kid is terrified of you.*
Purdue did some hard swallowing of his own, choosing his words, his tone, even the stance
of his body, very carefully.
"Do you know what I dislike most about you, Mulder?" he asked across the silence
of the lot.
Mulder stopped mid-stride, eyes wide but steady finally.
Purdue smiled. "The way you're always interrupting me. I *hate* that."
Mulder's expression of numbed surprise was priceless but Purdue couldn't find the will to
laugh. The agent remained speechless, wary. Purdue studied his scuffed shoes.
"I know, Mulder, you're used to being out here on your own more or less. But that's
not how I operate. My being here is no slight on you or your work. Or of my respect for
you. I know it may be difficult for you to accept that. But it's true." He frowned,
"And I'm sure as hell not looking for some kind of circus act."
Mulder stared away across the parking lot, not focusing on much of anything. When he
answered, his voice was distant and hesitant.
"Half the time," he said, "Sauceda's scared shitless for me. Or of
me--" He grimaced. "And one's just as bad as the other." He shifted
uncomfortable, rubbing his left arm before finally focusing on Purdue. "Do you know
that when Lenny gets stressed, he shaves three, four," he shook his head, "eight
times a day? Breaks out in a rash of razor burn. I have to hide the batteries on the
Norelco or he'd rip off his entire epidermal layer-- I'm not kidding!"
Purdue was chuckling in spite of himself. Mulder finally grinned, looking about half
embarrassed at the absurdity of his conversation. He watched Purdue, his voice becoming
lighter.
"But *me*, now," he mused, awaiting the ASAC's reaction, "I have a few bad
dreams after studying half a dozen corpses, and they call *me* the nut."
Purdue was still smiling. "You know, Mulder, you need to find the son of a bitch that
told you life was fair and beat the crap out of him. It'd make you feel a whole lot
better."
"No doubt," Mulder smirked ruefully, setting his hands on his hips as Sauceda
came trotting up to hand him his shades. He managed to look almost relaxed, slipping the
shades on, finally safe behind his bit of armour. Purdue felt the wall dropping back in
place, too, but slowly, now, brick by brick. It didn't seem as high this time, either.
Mulder bobbed his head at his partner. "Moocher," he accused. "Making time
with my girl, I see."
Sauceda grinned. "Just getting her warmed up for you, kid. That's why they call me
the Hot Sauce."
Purdue shook his head. "Look, you guys stay out here and shoot the shit if you want,
I'm going to bed. I've had a tough week." He looked pointedly at Mulder. "And I
get a phone call in the morning, it had better be from you with some info. Or a 'Good
morning, Mr. Purdue.' Not Harris telling me where I can pick you up and how much your bail
is."
He didn't turn until Mulder gave him a grudging nod.
Sauceda grinned at his partner and gave him another playful slap before following Purdue
off toward the motel. Purdue turned at Sauceda's approach, kept walking as he glanced back
at Mulder.
The profiler remained there in the gathering darkness, staring across the parking lot
toward the highway. His face was suddenly deadly serious.
"It's a woman," Mulder announced.
Purdue paused and spun around, gravel sliding beneath the soles of his dress shoes. Mulder
turned back to face him, shades reflecting black pavement and burning red sky.
"The victim," Mulder explained, dispassionate as a weather report. "And
it's bad. Worse than the others." He frowned. "The killer found this one a bit
of a challenge..." He bit the inside of his cheek, his voice husky and soft, like he
was talking to himself. "There's something... Something's off. Something odd about
all this. Somehow..."
"What's odd, Marty?" Sauceda's voice was a little too high-pitched.
The profiler scanned the parking lot like he expected to find the answer parked there on
the blacktop. He shrugged and pocketed his hands. "Hell, I don't know. I'm not the
freaking Amazing Kreskin."
Purdue sighed, "You know, you don't have to struggle to turn the world over, Mulder.
Just give it twenty-four hours, it'll roll over all by itself."
Mulder grimaced, still staring across the parking lot. "Yeah," he whispered.
"You hope."
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