NEW: Trace Evidence II: Hobson's Choice (04/10) (X/CRA)
Vampyres Incorporeal
Title: Trace Evidence II: Hobson's Choice (04/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!
New Berlin, New York
New Berlin Sheriff's Office
Mulder and Scully had introduced themselves to
Sheriff Kusch, and now sat in her comfortably appointed
office. Word traveled quickly in a small town, and after
questioning only one or two of the regulars in front of
Tom's Diner, they had been officially invited back to the
sheriff's office by her solitary deputy, Ian Schwalb.
"Ian tells me you've been asking a bunch of
questions," Sheriff Kusch said amiably, offering them
M&Ms from a glass dish on her desk. "We don't get a
lot of Federal Agents around these parts."
Mulder nodded, taking a few of the candies from
the dish. "We're investigating a possible fraud on the
Internet, and the origin of the information in question
was here."
"Internet fraud," she repeated. Though her
words fell in a lazy drawl, there was no mistaking the
penetrating mind behind her sharp, attentive eyes.
"Thought the Treasury department handled that."
"Usually they do," Scully cut in, inwardly glaring
at Mulder as he crunched an M&M between his teeth.
"This case falls under our jurisdiction because of a
possible threat to national security."
Sheriff Kusch nodded her head seriously.
"National security. Well, that is important, isn't it? What
can I do to help?"
Mulder exchanged a surprise look with Scully.
"We're looking for someone named A. Gilson; he, or
she, doesn't have a phone number or address listed."
"Check the social security data banks," the
sheriff asked idly.
"Naturally," Scully said. "But with no first name,
place of birth, or even sex, the list was, as you can
imagine, quite long."
Standing, the sheriff picked up her hat. "Well
come on."
Gilson Dairy Farms
Knocking on the door, Sheriff Kusch smiled at
the federal agents apologetically. With her hat tucked
under one arm, she peered through the windows, then
knocked again. Mulder and Scully stood back, their
badges ready to present to the man now identified to
them as Andrew Teo Gilson.
"Might be milking time," the sheriff said when no
one answered on the third knock. "Come on around,
watch your feet."
Following her around the house, they headed
toward a barn, painted in classic brick red. The lowing
of cows hummed in the background, growing louder as
they drew near. Passing a pig pen and a chicken coop,
Mulder nudged Scully.
"Old MacGilson has quite the spread," he
quipped.
Stepping into the barn, they saw a young, dark-
haired man walking in and out of each stall, talking
softly to the cows just under the mechanical churning of
the milking machines. He looked startled when he saw
Sheriff Kusch standing at one end of his barn, flanked by
two total strangers in dark suits.
"Afternoon, Sheriff," he mumbled, wiping his
hands on his leather apron.
"Andy, this is Agent Mulder and Agent Scully.
They're from the FBI, and were wanting to talk to you
about something they found on the Internet."
A brief flash of recognition flashed through his
pale face, but disappeared as soon as it had come. He
walked over to shake Mulder and Scully's hands,
apologizing for the dirt under his fingernails.
"Mr. Gilson," Mulder started. "Do you have an
account with America Online?"
Andy shrugged, nodding. "I did, but I canceled
it. I couldn't ever get through."
"And how long ago did you have this account,
sir?" Scully's voice was reassuring. Something felt not
quite right about the situation to her; local law
enforcement didn't usually go out of their way to escort
them to witnesses, and they certainly never stood darkly
in the corner, as if monitoring the conversation.
"Hell, I don't know," the man half whispered.
"Maybe a couple of months ago? Waste of money
anyway, I never used it but for e-mail."
"Why don't you let 'em have a look at your
computer," Sheriff Kusch said sternly. "Be a shame for
them to come all the way from Washington and not get
a look, just to be sure."
Mulder's head snapped up, and he stared at the
sheriff from the corner of his eyes. "You're not required
to let us look at your computer, but the Sheriff's right,
we'd appreciate it if we could."
"Sure," he said nervously, taking off his apron.
"It's right inside."
Baltimore, Maryland
The Waterfront
Lewis followed Munch around the bar, trying to
get the older man's attention. "Didn't you hear a word I
just said? Bayliss wants us to buy him out of the bar."
"I heard you," Munch said. "I'm just not
listening."
"Well what are we gonna do?"
With a shrug, Munch adjusted one of the tables.
"If he wants out, we'll buy him out."
"No, we won't," Lewis scowled. "He's part
owner. Just because I don't approve of his. . . that. . .
whatever it is with Mulder doesn't mean we just let him
walk out of the bar business."
Munch whirled around, and Meldrick nearly ran
into him. "Man, proud man, dressed in little brief
authority. . ."
Raising an eyebrow, Lewis stepped back. "What
the hell does that mean?"
Munch shrugged. "Nothing. I just haven't had
the opportunity to quote Shakespeare in a while."
"This is not funny," Lewis insisted. "He wants us
to sign papers tomorrow. To-mor-row!"
Staring at Meldrick, Munch tilted his head.
"Everything is funny."
Walking away in disgust, Lewis threw up his
hands. "Tomorrow!"
"Yes, tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow," Munch
repeated, rolling his eyes. "Tomorrow, Bayliss will come
back in here, and he will have changed his mind, because
this is what Bayliss does."
"I'm telling you, he's serious!"
"Tell me this, Lewis," Munch said, taking a seat
at the bar and leaning back. "Why do you think Tim
wants us to buy his third?"
"Hell if I know. He came in all pissed because
we hired Wendi, then threw his damned glass in the
corner for no reason at all."
"So you think it had nothing to do with the fact
that you can't even have a civil conversation with him,
or look him in the face?"
"It don't matter what I think. He's gonna do
what he's gonna do."
"So do you think you're his type?"
Lewis' eyes bugged out. "What kind of shit are
you talking, John?"
"C'mon. It must bother you for a reason. Are
you afraid that after hours, when the lights are dimmed
and there's a little Mahalia Jackson playing in the
background that Tim's gonna come up behind you and
with a . . ."
"That's sick, Munch," Lewis interjected.
"Well, if that's not the case, then what is it? You
don't want him around, but you don't want to buy him
out. You chatter like a woodpecker about it in the
coffee room, but you want everything to be the same as
it was before. If you're not afraid of him, then what is
it?"
"You wanna know what it is," Lewis asked.
"What it is, is that he played us. All this time he been
running around chasing 'tang like the rest of us, then he
up and pulls a fast one. A man as _interested_ in women
as Bayliss been, and now he's suddenly gay?"
"I believe the term you're looking for is
bisexual," Munch said lightly, pouring himself a beer
from across the bar.
"I believe the word I'm looking for is hypocrite,"
Lewis sputtered. "Th'ain't no tweenies here, you either
like men or you like women."
"Huh. And all this time, Bayliss has just been
_pretending_ to sleep with women. I get it."
"I feel betrayed, okay? He betrayed us."
"You're just angry at yourself," Munch said,
tapping his finger on the edge of his glass.
"Oh, and how's that?"
"Because you like Tim. Tim's a great guy. A
little brooding sometimes, but a good guy. He's a good
murder police, he's a good bartender. You can have a
conversation with Tim, but all this time, he dared to hide
the one aspect of himself that would suddenly negate
everything that is good about him, and you, Meldrick
Lewis, you never knew. You never sensed that Timmy
was switch hitting, and that, my friend, pisses you off."
"You got an answer for everything," Lewis
frowned.
"That's why you don't want to let him sell his
part of the bar, even though you don't want to have
anything to do with him," Munch continued. "You're
conflicted, Lewis. Yin and yang, the light side against
the dark side."
"And this don't bother you, not even a little?"
Munch smiled over the top of his beer. "Nope."
"You don't worry that he might be checking you
out?"
Shaking his head, Munch's smile widened.
"Frankly, I'd be honored. I need as many fans as
possible."
Lewis squeezed his eyes closed. "You are some
serious twisted fuck, Munch."
"Thank you."
(End Part Four)