Night Falls

Fourteen

Clean nails tap against the polished mahogany desk as the heavy doors across the room push open.

A man in his early thirties scurries in, dressed as if he works in a corporate headquarters.

"Status update?" The man at the desk asks, ostensibly bored, his accent not lost despite the almost five decades since he made his move.

"They have Vine in custody and have officially charged him with Hunt's murder. That, and attempted murder of a witness and witness intimidation." The shake in the young man's voice had disappeared ago as he had slowly climbed the ranks of his organization, but with today's news, it was like it was his first day all over again.

Don't shoot the messenger didn't really apply to his boss—a reason he had so quickly moved up the ranks over the years.

The man with black hair far too dark for his age purses his lips at the information.

"And I am to assume Vine will not be taking any plea bargains." The man phrases it as a question, though he already knows the answer.

"Yes, sir."

The man takes a deep breath as he leans back in his plush chair.

The heavy-set pit bull that lays in front of a steady-flamed fireplace looks up from its bed as his master's chair squeaks under his weight.

"And the witness?"

The young man takes quick steps and places a folder gently on the immense desk.

"Mitchell Grassi. Aged Twenty-five. We know he's under protective custody of the FBI, specifically with Special Agent Scott Hoying."

Brown eyes shoot up to his lackey.

"Of course Hoying is involved," he sighs, his hands coming to rest on his temple. "The boy has been a thorn in my side since the day we killed his mother." The man slowly opens the file and begins flipping through the information.

"Vine should have just killed him right then and there," he hisses to himself, stopping on a picture of Mitchell being loaded into a standard FBI SUV, the date stamp from earlier this afternoon.

"And why is he not dead?" He rubs his temple with a sigh.

The young man swallows hard and fidgets with no answer, his lips giving as his boss' eyes find his.

"Some boy," he spits, slapping the picture, his voice rising. "Is running around with the man whose sole purpose in life is to bring me down." He hollers as he stands up, his fingers resting on the desk.

"Can someone explain this to me?" His Southern voice roars. His pet's ears perk up as he watches his enraged master.

The young man remains frozen in his spot and his boss grunts at his lackey's cowardliness.

The man takes a deep breath, recomposing himself before kneeling down to his pup, giving its ears a shake.

"You know what they say love." The dog groans at her master. "If you want something done right, blah, blah, blah." The dog just stares up with no understanding, but with dedicated attention, aware of the power its master possessed.

"Looks like I'll be paying Mister Grassi a visit myself."

-/::\-

By the time we arrive back to the safe house, the sun has dipped behind the wall of trees and Alex's car is waiting in the driveway.

Jess and Jake don't bother getting out of the car since their shift was over and I thank them both before hopping out to meet Alex at the porch steps.