Jonathan Creed

He had thinning blond hair and sharp blue eyes, and always reminded me of an aging movie star.

I picked up the rest of the bottle, and stowed it in my desk, right next to a full bottle and an empty one I hadn't thrown out.

"I know." I replied somewhat sullenly.

Jim gave me a close once over. No doubt taking in my mussed up hair and loosened tie. He shook his head.

"John, if you weren't so good at what you do I wouldn't let you get away with half this stuff. But you do get results. So I put up with your little eccentric moments." He paused. "Just don't let it get too out of hand."

I nodded half heartedly at him.

His brow cleared. "I just came in to let you know that we're sending a raiding party to UniCORP in Chicago. Our boys have warrants to ransack everything and anything. UniCORP will not survive this debacle. The team has standing orders to bring in Dr. Brigs and the CEO Ronald Turner for questioning. Because this happened on our turf our chapter gets to make the interviews. If all goes according to plan we should have them nabbed by breakfast."

"Good to hear." I said, trying to force as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible.

Jim simply eyed me again. I knew my strained reply was not lost on him. Without another word he turned around and left, closing the door behind him.

I dimly listened to the phones ring for another hour.

-------

I sat in the dark for a time. Eventually things in the office settled down. All the immediate work and filing had been taken care of. All the agents with nothing to do stood around the coffee maker. I could hear them talking in a steady murmur.

We were all waiting for a call from Chicago.

I turned on the small television that was perched on top of my filing cabinet. I flicked through late night T.V. I watched two hours of the previous day's news loop on CNN. I wondered what the reporters would say tomorrow. I wondered if there would be a story on my case. The pale glow of the T.V. eventually put me to sleep.

-------

I awoke with a start.

I lifted my head from my desk. A string of drool followed my cheek up.

My phone was insistently trilling on my desk. Have I mentioned I hate phones? I wiped my mouth and picked it up. I managed to mumble something close to "Hello?"

It was Jones.

"Jonathan, get down here. Dr. Brigs has just been brought into custody from Chicago. He and Mr. Dribble are about to get the runaround from Special Agent Brown. We want you on the other side of the glass taking notes."

I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me nodding, "Yes sir, right away."

Jones sighed, "Interrogation room C and D Jonathan, don't linger."

He hung up.

I flung the phone back down into its cradle and frantically tamed my hair into something decent. I straightened my tie, and after wiping the last of the drool from my cheek I ran out the door of my office.

The interrogation rooms were in the basement. Each room had two parts. One was the room where the interrogation actually took place. The furniture in those rooms consisted of simple metal table bolted to the ground, and a similar metal chair also bolted to the ground. The room opposite to it was the important one. Almost everyone knew that the mirror in their interrogation room was one way. But few knew what was in the room behind the mirror.

The room usually contained a recording system, a coffee maker, a military grade 'Panther' tranquilizer dart gun, a first aid kit, and a panic button. It also contained some chairs far more comfortable than the metal ones in the interrogation room.

It was into one of these rooms that I entered.

Special Agent Karen Smith occupied one of the chairs. She glanced over to me and nodded briskly to acknowledge me. Special Agent Smith was a thirty nine year old woman who ranked under me. She fell into the category of 'resentful of my age.'

On her head was a pair of headphones. She was staring intently out the glass into interrogation room C.

I took a seat next to her, and put on an identical set of headphones. The headphones allowed us to hear what was going on inside what was otherwise, a sound proof room.

Dribble was sitting in the room alone. He was staring intently at the mirror. Most criminals did this. They felt as if they needed to let us know that they knew we were watching. It didn't matter to us one way or the other. It was even more annoying when they fixed their hair in the mirror.

The door to the interrogation swung open. Jim slowly walked in, his head intently buried into Dribble's file.

Jim casually sat down in the chair.

He glanced up at Dribble's wiry frame.

"You're in quite a bit of trouble you know."

Dribble simply nodded. It was always a sign. When they didn't ask for a lawyer one just knew fight had gone out of them.

-------

Half an hour later Dribble was escorted off the premises into the custody of two NYPD officers. Who would take him to jail proper.

I removed the head phones and rubbed my ears gently. Jim came into the observation room and sat down.

Jim looked at me to say something first.

I took a breath. "Pretty straightforward if you ask me."

Jim nodded, waiting for me to continue.

"I mean, he was strictly low class, no real information besides what was told to him. As he said he was contacted two weeks previously and asked if he would like to make half a mil. He agrees and he is taken to UniCORP in Chicago where some other low class nothing shows him what he's selling. He was probably mildly startled that the merchandise happened to be pretty girls, but the thought of half a mil was encouragement to keep his mouth shut.

Jim nodded. "I figured. He's just a scrub. We only have to hope Dr. Brigs lends more help to the case. Our boys weren't able to find Mr. Turner, and by the looks of some of UniCORP's labs a lot of their research was moved before our boys got there."

We all stood up and left.

We walked across the hall to the Doctors interrogation room. Karen and I went into the observation room, while Jim entered the interrogation room.

Karen and I donned on a new set of headphones and settled down for another long information drag.

We both watched as Jim sat down in front of Elijah Brigs. Elijah was a very pale man. In fact he almost looked like an albino. He had a bald head that looked shaved. He had an impressive hooked nose. His eyes were a very dark shade of black.

The most disturbing thing, however, was the big scary smile plastered on his face.

"Good Morning Agent..." Brigs fished.

"Brown." Jim supplied.

"Brown," said Brigs. "Agent Brown, perhaps you could do me the courtesy of letting me do all the talking. You'll get your answers faster, and then I'll get to leave."

Jim raised an eyebrow, "I don't know how soon you'll be leaving Elijah."

Brigs shivered. "Your good, your voice is very soothing. But I assure you, I need no convincing to tell you quite a little tale."

Jim still looked skeptical, but waved his hand. "Alright, talk."

Elijah smiled, "I knew you would see it my way." He took a deep breath.

"I was hired by Ronald Turner personally about eleven months ago. My job ... was to create what I failed to do at John Hopkins ... which was effectively a mind altering chip. And I succeeded with financial help from UniCORP around November. After the initial structure of the chip was created and the method of attachment was perfected, I asked them what kind of mind altering program they wanted. Ronald said to start he wanted something he referred to as the 'ultimate fantasy program.' But that is just the general idea. If you want to look at it deeply, I created a flux program of unlimited proportions."

As I listened in on Dr. Elijah's rant, I could feel the color drain out of my face. My hands started to shake. My mind went to the red headed beauty in the warehouse. That poor girl ... has become ... that ... all because of me...

I saw Karen shoot me a glance. She scowled. No doubt she thought that I was being young and easily shaken.

Dr. Brigs was similarly escorted out of the building by two NYPD officers. All the while he talked animatedly to them about how his lawyer would get him off on a plea of insanity. Dr. Brigs claimed to suffer from schizophrenia all the way to the elevator.

I left the observation room before Jim could return. I used the second elevator to return to my office. I quickly walked past the bullpen and the humdrum of everyday life at the Bureau.

I arrived at my office and shut the door.

I was determined to finish my bottle of scotch, and make a damn good dent in the second one.

-------

Chapter 3

I could feel someone shaking me.

"Jonathan ... Jonathan ... wake up, you have got to wake up."

The shaking continued. Why couldn't everyone just leave me in peace?

Suddenly I felt an icy splash.

I started to cough.

Someone had just poured a glass of water on my head. I blearily cracked my eyes open. I was on the floor of my office, staring up at a little crack in the ceiling. I could see Jim's wispy blonde hair out of the corner of my eye.

Jim was holding an empty glass, and wore an expression of concern mixed with anger.

"Jonathan you little bastard you drank yourself into a goddamn stupor!"

I simply groaned in response. My head was pounding. I had never been this drunk before. I tried to sit up, and the dull throb behind my eyes broke into a splitting blinding pain. I dropped back down to the floor with a grunt.

In the back of my mind I realized my chair had tipped over.

"Is that broken glass Jonathan? Goddamn! This is a mess." Jim was fumbling around with something that looked like a CompVac. Which is a little box on a stick that is twice as effective as a broom or a regular vacuum.

I tried to speak, but all I managed was a little gurgle.

"Some genius you are." Jim said sarcastically.

I simply groaned again.

"Well come on, we've got to get you home somehow."

I felt him grab my shirt. He tried to hoist me up by the fabric. After a small struggle he gave up and I slumped back onto the floor.

I heard him sigh. "Wait here, I've got to go get some help."

My mind was functioning enough to realize that that might be a problem. Several of my office enemies would jump at the chance to tell Director Jones about my little habit.

My fears, however, were quickly put to rest.

"Ho now! Had a little too much Irish courage have we John?" Paul's loud good natured voice boomed somewhere above my head.

"You could say that again," Jim said. "He's drunk enough to ground a bear."

Paul laughed. "Now let's say you get the feet, and I'll grab him under the arms, and we'll see if we can get him as far as the elevator."

I felt their hands tugging at me, until they finally lifted me. They carried me like a lifeless log all the way to the elevator banks.

It was late again.

Maybe 11:00 o'clock. A few people were still in the office. They glanced my way, but after a stern look from Jim they quickly glanced back.

The elevator dinged. We got in. The doors closed. They gently set me down on the elevator floor. I felt something pressed up against my lips. It was Paul. He was holding a water bottle to my mouth.

"Drink, it'll help clear your head."

I obediently took a big gulp.

"Slowly now," Paul said. "Drink too fast and you might lose your dinner."

The elevator binged again. The doors slide open to reveal an empty lobby. I was once again hoisted up and carried out the front door into the dark and bitterly cold parking lot.

"He can't drive like this," Jim said.

I could hear the smile in Paul's voice when he spoke. "No, but I've got that all figured out ... I called a taxi right after you buzzed down to me in the lobby Mr. Brown."

"He's barely conscious, how do we know the cabbie won't dump him in the middle of the road?"

Paul barked a laugh. "Leave that to me."

The tax was already parked and waiting. I could see it was one of the new brown cabs. The ones you could call and charter. Yellow cabs were just too hard to phone in.

They gently set me down on the curb, where I maintained a position that somewhat resembled sitting. My head had stopped spinning, but my vision still left something to be desired.

Paul motioned for the cab driver to roll his window down. The cabbie complied, and Paul leaned his bulky frame on the windowsill, and started talking to the cabbie.

"Could I see your license pal?" Paul asked cheerfully. I couldn't see what was happening, but I assumed the cabbie complied.

"Now then, Mr. Vasquez, my friend Mr. Creed here has had a bit too much to drink and we'd like you to take him home."

Jim handed Paul a piece of paper. "I got it off of his credentials," said Jim in a whisper.

Paul took the paper.

"On this piece of paper is his address. I'm going to give you one hundred dollars for you to get our friend there and through his front door in one piece. He goes missing tomorrow and I'll be a might upset. I know your name and face, and I'm going to make things a touch uncomfortable for you ya hear." Paul's voice lost its friendly candor towards the end of his speech.

I couldn't hear my unfortunate driver's response, but it must have been in the positive, as I was soon hoisted again, and thrown rather unceremoniously into the back seat. The pressure of my body on the seat made the automatic seat belt slide down and click into place.

"You all settled?" My cabbie asked. He had a heavy Brooklyn accent.

I nodded. He pressed the gas, and we turned off onto the main road, becoming one of the thousands on the roads of New York.

-------

I semiconsciously watched lights pass by my window.

-------

I could see the sun's first light from behind my eyelids. I opened my eyes, and blinked owlishly. Bright rays of sun were peaking in through my living room curtains, creating little slivers of sunbeams around my living room.

I was sprawled on the couch of my living room. I was still fully dressed in my crumpled suit.

I smelled like a bar.

I pulled myself off the couch and began to drag myself up a flight of stairs to the guest bedroom on the second floor. I walked into the bathroom to the medicine cabinet I kept stocked with headache medicine. I kept a stash of the stuff down in this bathroom because I knew walking up another two flights of stairs hungover would kill me before I got there.

Shit

I could already feel a knot in my back developing from sleeping on the sofa. I took out two tablets of R.E.C. from the medicine cabinet. It was new stuff that had bought out Alka-Seltzer a couple years ago.

It worked like magic.

I dropped them into a glass of water and watched them fizz around.

Even that slight sound made my head hurt.

I made a promise to myself right then and there that I wouldn't go into work today. I couldn't take any more of that place. The high stress level was going to give me liver failure by the time I reached my thirties.

At my job I couldn't go thirty minutes without shooting someone, arresting a father in front of his children, or stealing a young girl's free will.

With that line of thinking I suddenly remembered why I had drunk what seemed like two quarts of scotch ... I banged my head on my mirror ... which hurt.

After about an hour ... and a big gulp of that heavenly R.E.C. I managed to stagger down the stairs and prepare myself some breakfast.

I was frying eggs when the phone rang.

I grabbed it with my free hand, and flipped my eggs with the spatula in the other.

"Hello?"

It was Jim.

"Hey Jonathan, make it home okay?" He sounded mildly amused at the whole event now that it was over.

"Yeah Jim I'm fine, I owe you lunch or something for helping me out like that."

I heard him laugh over the phone. "I'll hold you to that."

His voice grew somber then.

"John, we've got those girls over here at the station. They've just come back from the hospital ... and well ... we think that they might need to go into witness protection. Apparently the tech that UniCORP placed in them is worth a pretty penny or two. They might try and get them back."

My breathing had gotten a little faster. "Are they all alright?" I asked.

He laughed, "Yeah they're all fine. A little shaken but they'll be alright. We've got a red head that's a little antsy and a blonde that won't shut up, but that's pretty natural. Anyway, I know you had a rough night but we need your big brain to sort out this little problem. You are lead agent after all."

"Sure ... no problem," I muttered.

"See ya in thirty."

I heard Jim click off the line. My stomach felt like it was in my feet ... maybe everything was fine. Maybe the chips were all a hoax or that one was a dude.

My eggs burned while I was lost in thought.

-------

Chapter 4

I reluctantly spooned my eggs into the trash can.

Looks like I would be eating granola for breakfast. I grabbed a bar of the stuff from my pantry, and ran out the door. It was only after I saw my street side parking space empty, did I remember my car was still at the office.

Shit.

I scrabbled through my pockets for my cell phone ... then realized I had left it on my kitchen counter, and ran back into the house.

It was five minutes until I found my phone, and another twenty until the taxi pulled up.

Needless to say, when I got in the taxi I was not in the best of moods.

"26 Federal Plaza," I said.

Cabbies always give me a weird look when I ask to go to the Bureau building. It was always a quick glance into the review mirror. I can always see the same question in their eyes.

They never say it out loud, but the intent is clear. Instead all he said was a quick alright, and then he hit the gas.

The famous morning rush in the Big Apple was over, but that didn't mean traffic was any less than unbearable.

While sitting in the usual bumper to bumper gridlock, I decided to watch the people on the sidewalks and in the other cars. Most of them looked tired. Some were yelling into cell phones, others were looking over files balanced between their laps and the steering wheel. Some were bobbing their heads to music only they could hear. They all looked normal, some of them even looked happy.

I sighed and leaned back into the polyester seat. I smelled the tobacco smoke of old cigarettes.

The cabbie must sneak smokes in-between fares.

Watching the citizens of this marvelous city always filled me with the same melancholy. As a fed I never felt like I was one of them. To me they were always 'civilians' or 'the general public'.

I was always an outsider.

A ray of sun reflected off a glass skyscraper, and illuminated the white snow on the ground ... funny what you notice even in a black mood.

After twenty more minutes of an introspective cab ride I finally arrived.

I had completely forgotten that I would have to do a walk of shame past Paul. As I approached the door his grinning face was there to remind me. In fact, as he bit his lip, I had the distinct impression that he was trying to refrain from laughing...

"Mornin' John, I'm surprised you can even move this morning."

I sucked it up, prepared to laugh it off.

"Ha ha, Paul, good morning to you to ... yes, yes you'd be surprised the miracles R.E.C. can work on poor drunkards like me."

The smile suddenly slipped off his face, and he took a deep breath.

"Now John, everyone gets one ... that's the rule ... but if I ever have to scrape you off the floor of your office again ... we are going to have to have words." Paul's full ruddy face had an expression of the utmost seriousness. I'd often forget that Paul's cheerful good nature belied a secret intensity.

I nodded. I stuck out my hand and he grasped it firmly. His blue eyes looked straight into mine.

"I promise Paul."