Choked Up

by Hank Edwards

  "You earned that one," Mark said. He rolled out of bed and switched on the desk lamp. "Come on, let's get dressed and grab some dinner before we go to the bar. I want to get there early."

  Pearce got up and folded his arms around Mark from behind. They were facing the full-length mirror near the bathroom, and he looked over Mark's shoulder at their reflection.

  "You're really up for this, aren't you?"

  Mark nodded. "I am. I think tonight will be fun."

  "Okay, let's go." Pearce kissed Mark on the neck and smacked his ass before pushing him off toward the bathroom.

  They used Lyft again, and Pearce leaned up into the front seat and lowered his voice as he relayed their dinner destination to the driver.

  "Oh sure, I know that place," the driver said. "It's not far."

  "Where are we going?" Mark asked when Pearce settled himself into the backseat.

  "Dinner," Pearce replied with a smile.

  "And why didn't you share the location with me?"

  Pearce feigned surprise. "Oh, you didn't hear what I said to the driver?"

  "Not when you whispered it."

  "Sorry about that." Pearce turned away with a grin to look out his window.

  The driver chuckled.

  "You're in quite the mood tonight," Mark said.

  Pearce nodded. "I have another evening off, and I get to spend it with you. What's not to feel good about?"

  Minutes later, the driver pulled up in front of a Coney Island restaurant. Mark smiled and practically jumped out of the car. Pearce laughed, thanked the driver, and got out as well.

  "This is where we met," Mark said. "Well, kind of."

  "It's where I first got a really good look at you," Pearce said.

  "After you pulled a gun on Bata and we had to evacuate the FBI building."

  "And were shot at in the alley."

  Mark smiled up at Pearce. "Ah, memories."

  They both laughed, and then Pearce waved for Mark to go ahead of him. "Shall we?"

  Mark entered the restaurant with Pearce right behind him. A few people sat scattered throughout the place, and a passing waitress told them to sit wherever they liked. As Pearce suspected, Mark led the way to the very booth where they'd sat to decide what course of action they would take next. While it really wasn't that long ago, to Pearce it sometimes felt as though it had been years.

  "Wow," Mark said once they'd sat down. "It feels kind of weird to be back here again. Sitting in our same spot."

  "At least we're not in as much trouble as we were back then." Pearce grabbed a menu.

  Mark nodded and opened a menu as well.

  The waitress took their orders and hurried off. The food arrived quickly, and as they ate, they talked about all that they'd been through in the past year. They had both ordered iced teas, which the waitress kept topping off, so that by the time they'd finished eating Pearce was riding a substantial caffeine buzz.

  Mark requested another ride as Pearce counted out cash for the bill. By the time they stepped outside, the car was waiting, and they got right in.

  "Do you know where the bar the Bone Yard is?" Pearce asked.

  The woman at the wheel looked up in the mirror and smirked. "Hell yeah. You boys going out to party for Halloween?"

  "Something like that," Mark replied.

  "That place can get crazy," she said with a chuckle. "I hope you both took the day off tomorrow."

  "Wish I could," Pearce said.

  "I'll sleep in for both of us," Mark assured him.

  "Smartass," Pearce grumbled. "You're getting a job when we get home."

  "Amen to that," Mark said.

  "You both look pretty strong," the driver said, glancing up in the mirror now and then. "But be careful. With all the news going around about those murders, it seems pretty dangerous out there."

  Pearce exchanged a look with Mark before saying, "Thanks for the warning. We'll be careful."

  It didn't take long before the driver pulled up at the Bone Yard. She told them to have a couple of shots for her as they got out, and they assured her they would. It was early, not even 9:00 p.m. yet, so the line was short. Once they stepped inside the bar, the loud, almost thrashing song that was playing made Pearce squint.

  "Calvin's changing up his style," Pearce shouted over the music.

  "Yeah," Mark shouted back.

  Pearce got them each a beer, and they made their way toward the dance floor where they discovered a young kid dressed as Frankenstein's monster in the deejay booth. Pearce exchanged a puzzled look with Mark before they moved to the other side of the bar as far away from the music as they could get.

  "Maybe Calvin starts later?" Mark suggested.

  "Want me to ask the bartender?" Pearce asked.

  "I'll do it." Mark got up, and Pearce watched him walk away.

  Mark had definitely turned a corner, and it made Pearce very happy. It was like the Mark he'd met here in Detroit had returned from a long trip and replaced the skittish Mark someone had tried to put past Pearce in his place. Pearce wanted to believe he'd been a part of the recovery process, but the truth was pretty evident. It had taken him to leave Mark on his own for him to really start getting back on track. Now if Mark could just get the nightmares under control, maybe they could focus on something other than recovery for them both.

  Before he could pursue that line of thinking any further, Pearce saw Mark heading back from the bar. Something was wrong. He could tell by Mark's wide-eyed expression and the way he pushed between people. Pearce's heart thumped so fast it was almost in time with the music.

  "What's wrong?" Pearce asked.

  "I talked to the manager," Mark said and took the beer from Pearce's hand and set it aside, then pulled him toward the door as he shouted over his shoulder. "Calvin didn't show up tonight. He didn't call or text or anything. He's never done that before."

  A shudder went through Pearce as they stepped outside, and it had nothing to do with the breeze. The chill ran up his spine and into his brain, freezing his thoughts.

  "Not Calvin," Mark said, and then repeated it as he turned in place on the sidewalk. "Not Calvin. God, not Calvin." He pulled out his phone and started typing out a text. "Not him, please God, not him."

  "We don't know anything, Mark," Pearce said. "Send Calvin a text and then order the car."

  As Mark's fingers tapped rapidly on his phone, Pearce paced, knowing in the dark corners of his heart that Morgan was responsible for Calvin not showing up for work.

  28

  Mark felt a serious case of déjà vu as he stepped inside the Detroit offices of the FBI. The unassuming 1950s-era lobby, the elevator, and on the 26th floor, the lines of cubes stretching out from the central hallway. A tight feeling in his chest made it difficult to take a deep breath. If there had been people milling around and more fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, Mark would have thought he'd stepped back in time to the days before he met Aaron, when he'd come there to talk to Agent Bata.

  But this time felt even worse than the one before. Pearce walked ahead of him, shoulders broad, big hands clenched as they swung in time with his long strides. Mark followed Pearce along the corridor to the one conference room with all the lights on where they found Jake and Agent Bata, both looking tense and tired.

  "Mark," Bata said with a nod. "I wish we were seeing each other under better circumstances."

  "Thanks, Agent Bata. I do as well."

  "We don't know anything yet," Jake said as he squeezed Mark's shoulder.

  "I can't reach him," Mark said. "I've tried the entire ride over here, and there's been no response."

  "Is his phone ringing?" Bata asked.

  Mark shook his head. "It's off."

  "Which means we can't trace it," Pearce said.

  "Give me his number, and I'll find out his position at the last point it was on," Jake said. "Do you know which provider he uses?"

  "No, sorry." Mark had to look in his contacts for the number. Jake wrote it down and
left the room. Bata approached Mark, his dark eyes wide and filled with concern. He stood close and looked Mark in the eye.

  "We are not sure he's been taken," Bata said. "But if it turns out that he has, every resource of the FBI as well as the Detroit and state police will be brought in if needed. We will bring him home."

  Tears blurred Bata's face, and Mark knew if he tried to say anything he would lose it. He nodded and dropped his gaze as Bata walked out the door, leaving Mark and Pearce alone.

  "Come here." Pearce pulled him into a warm, tight hug.

  Mark fought back the tears that wanted so badly to break free. He was afraid. However, if he started crying, he'd never stop.

  "This is all because of me," Mark said into Pearce's shoulder.

  "What?" Pearce held him at arm's length and fixed him with a scowl. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Morgan has to have been following me," Mark said. "If I hadn't come to Detroit, Calvin would be safe right now because Morgan would never have found out about him."

  "Look, we don't even know if Calvin's missing," Pearce said. "Let us do our jobs and work on tracking him down."

  "He's never missed a night working at the bar," Mark said. "The manager said so."

  "There's a first time for everything, right?" Pearce directed him to a chair. "Sit down and try to relax. I need to go see what I can do to help Jake and Bata. You going to be okay?"

  Mark nodded and watched Pearce leave. Moments later, he heard their conversations, too quiet for him to decipher what was being said. He fidgeted in the chair for a bit, then got up to pace. His mind was running fast, thoughts snapping into life only to pop out of existence moments later. He remembered seeing Calvin at the community center just the day before, heard his loud laugh, saw how good he was with the kids in Erik's Gaymer Group.

  The thought of Erik made Mark stop and look at the case information board. He stepped up and looked over the photos and details of each case, checking the disappearance and discovery dates. Each man was missing a different period of time before his body was discovered, but it seemed to average out to three days. They had three days to find Calvin. Only three days.

  Exhaustion fell over him, heavy and crippling. His eyes burned, and his thoughts slammed to a stop. The muscles in his chest ached as his breathing turned shallow. He recognized the symptoms—he'd experienced so many panic attacks since Barbados—and knew he needed to get off his feet or he'd pass out. Mark stumbled back to the chair and sat heavily. He put his head between his knees and closed his eyes. His breathing needed to be his sole focus, but it was hard to put concern for Calvin out of his mind.

  "Mark?" Pearce knelt beside him and rested a hand flat on his back. "I'm here. It's okay. Breathe. Come on, breathe."

  Mark nodded to show he heard and was trying to follow Pearce's instructions.

  "So I found… Shit, is he okay?"

  The sound of Jake's voice sent a flash of embarrassment through Mark even as his pulse slowed and his breathing deepened.

  "He's fine," Pearce snapped back. "He's having a panic attack."

  "Oh, sorry," Jake said. "I just… He startled me, that's all. What can I do?"

  "Give us a couple of minutes," Pearce said. "Okay?"

  "Yeah, sure. I'll be down the hall. Come get me."

  A few more breaths, each deeper than the one before, helped Mark get back in control. He sat up, found himself looking at the pictures of the men who had died, and closed his eyes as he focused on filling his lungs. The victims' faces all floated before his in the darkness, however, and he wondered what connected the four men. Where in all the information Pearce and Jake had at their disposal was the key to finding Morgan and putting an end to his game before Calvin's picture was added to that board?

  Mark opened his eyes and flashed a quick smile at Pearce. "I'm okay."

  Pearce raised his eyebrows. "Sure?"

  Mark shook his head. "No. But I'm okay for now."

  "Well, at least you're being honest with me."

  Pearce pulled over a chair and sat directly in front of him. He took both of Mark's hands in his and looked him in the eye. "You're not going to like what I have to say next."

  "I don't want to leave," Mark said. "I'll go crazy back in the hotel room not knowing what's going on."

  "I understand that," Pearce said with a slow nod. "But the fact is, if Morgan has taken Calvin, I need to be able to focus all of my attention and energy on figuring out where he is. If you're back in the room with the door bolted and the gun in the safe, I'll be able to concentrate on finding him. If you're here, I'll worry about you, and it's going to distract me."

  "Aaron, please, no," Mark said. "I don't want to be away from you right now. Aren't I safer here in the FBI than in the hotel? Let me stay, please?"

  "I don't like this."

  "I know you don't," Mark said. "But I think this is the best place for me to be. I'll sit here in the room and drink coffee and be completely silent."

  Pearce rolled his eyes. "I don't think I've ever seen you completely silent."

  Mark managed a tired grin. "Care to bet on it?"

  "Not even a little." Pearce stood up. "I know how stubborn you can be when you get an idea in your head."

  "I prefer tenacious."

  "Prefer it all you want," Pearce said as he moved his chair back into place at the table. "But it boils down to good old-fashioned stubbornness."

  Mark heard Jake and Bata talking from down the hall. He looked up and motioned for Pearce to move closer, then lowered his voice as he asked, "What about Jake? Where was he earlier tonight?"

  "Let me worry about that, okay?" Pearce squeezed his hands. "You sit here and be quiet. We'll work on bringing Calvin home."

  "We don't have long," Mark said.

  "I know, which is why I need to go see what they're talking about." Pearce tugged Mark to his feet and pulled him in for a quick kiss and a strong hug.

  "Find him," Mark said into Pearce's shoulder. "And be careful around Jake."

  "I will." Pearce kissed him again. "I love you."

  Mark nodded as tears threatened again. "I love you, too."

  "And I'll keep an eye on Jake, don't worry. Come on, there's bad coffee down the hall."

  Mark took a step, then stopped and swayed on his feet. "Oh, I need a minute."

  He sat down again and put his face in his hands.

  "Shit. What can I do?" Pearce asked.

  "Nothing, just give me a minute."

  "Do you want me to get you a coffee?"

  Mark nodded. "Yeah, if it's not a lot of trouble."

  "Be right back."

  Pearce left the room. Mark leaned back in the chair and stared at the case information on the board. The victims stared back at him, smiling and carefree, alive and well. A cold, hard ache sat in the center of his chest like someone had driven a spike fashioned from ice into him. Morgan had drawn Pearce back to Detroit not only because of their past relationship, but because Mark and Pearce had both thwarted his plot to blow up the large river cruise ship directly over the submerged tunnel that connected Detroit to Windsor, Ontario. The deaths of the men staring down at him weighed on Mark's conscience as well as Pearce's.

  Pearce came back into the room with Jake and Bata right behind him. He handed Mark a ceramic mug with the FBI logo on it. "Not sure how long it's been sitting on the burner, so apologies in advance."

  Mark sipped the coffee and flinched at the strong, acrid taste. But the warmth worked its way through him and made him feel a tiny bit better.

  He smiled and said, "Thanks."

  "Better?" Pearce asked.

  "Yeah, it is."

  "Good." Pearce turned to Jake and Bata. "Mark's staying here for now."

  "Is that wise?" Bata asked. "He looks very tired."

  "I'd prefer him somewhere close," Pearce said. "Seems that Morgan is becoming a bit braver."

  "Might lead him to fuck up," Jake suggested.

  "Let's hope." Pearce looked at
Mark. "Think you can shift over to the chair in the corner?"

  "Yeah." Mark stood and carried his coffee to the chair across the room. "Just pretend I'm not here."

  "All right, so let's start a new list of everything we know about Calvin Gilbert," Jake suggested.

  A small pang of grief went through Mark. He knew they needed to step back and look at Calvin's disappearance from a distance, work it like a crime committed on a stranger. But Mark couldn't see it that way. All he could think about was Calvin hurt or scared or, worse, already dead, his body dumped somewhere just waiting to be discovered. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to even out as he let their voices dim to background noise.

  They would find Calvin and bring him home alive and well. They had to.

  29

  Pearce paced the small conference room. Mark sat in the corner chair at the table, head supported on one hand as he stared down at his phone. Jake sat across from Mark reading through a case file.

  "Where were you earlier?" Pearce asked.

  "What?" Jake asked as both he and Mark looked up, their eyes glassy from reading and the late hour.

  "When I called to tell you about Calvin," Pearce said. "Where were you?"

  "I was home," Jake replied.

  Mark stood, apparently interpreting Pearce's tone correctly. "I'm going to the bathroom," he said and quickly left the room.

  "Why the questions about where I was?" Jake asked with a frown.

  "Just wondered," Pearce said. "It seemed to take you longer than usual to get here."

  "You trying to accuse me of being lax on my job?" Jake asked.

  "Not accusing you of anything," Pearce replied, giving him a long, steady look. "It was a question. When I accuse you of something, you'll know it."

  "When you accuse me of something?" Jake stood. "What's your problem, Pearce?"

  "I don't have a problem, Perrin," he shot back. "What's yours?"

  Bata stepped into the room. "What is the issue here?"

  Pearce glared at Jake a moment longer, then looked away. "Nothing, sir."

  "Yeah, nothing," Jake said, and sat down again. "We're just tired."

  "I understand that we're all tired," Bata said. "But we must not allow it to distract us from the importance of this case. You two must find a way to work together. A man's life…" He leaned out of the door to look up and down the hallway, then pointed at Pearce and lowered his voice. "The life of your partner's close friend depends on the two of you working together."