HEROES Chapter 2

Tim held Morgan close and said softly "Thar now, thar ain't nuthin' ta be sarry of. Ya are safe an' that is what counts, in my book. Ya jus' hav' ta remember that things are a bit more dangerous fur us now. We gots ta be real careful an watch ar tails." Tim lifted Morgan's chin with his finger and gave her a kiss on the lips, then said "What say we mosey inta town and get sum gub an supplies, I reckon Zoe cud use a carton ar two of cigarettes." Tim then escorted Morgan to the Hummer, opened the passanger door and helped her climb inside. He then walked around to the drivers door and climbed in.

CIRCLE "T" RANCH - ARNETTE, TEXAS

"Well thar yung man let's have gander at this har warrent ya say ya got." Henery said as he leaned down and took the warant from Agent Mitchell . "Yep that's right a warrant sur 'nough, Agent Mitchell of the FBI. So got right on and have a look see 'round ifin' ya mind ta. Ya might watch whar ya step and keep a sharp eye out fur rattle snakes and coyotes." Henry said slowly and unemotionally. "But fur ya go pokin' round and wastin my tax dollars, ya ain't gonna find no 67 Mustang har. That thar automobile, is in storage in New York City, and has been fur nigh on ta ten years, I reckon." Henery turned his head a spat tobacco juice onto the ground, then turned back to look at Agent Mitchell.

Moving so quickly they his head throbbed and his muscles burned, Cassius abruptly jumped up and whipped his fist across the remaining guard's face. As the man stumbled, caught off guard and sent tumbling to the ground, Cassius swiftly grabbed the man's gun and twisted it smoothly from his hands. As soon as the guard hit the ground, the young man fired twice into his chest before quickly turning, gun at the ready, squinting at Toril. The pain coursing through him was unforgiving, yet Cassius held his ground, his gun steady, his stance balanced and the only sign being the inkling of a grimace across his solid expression.

"I gotcher back, big dude," he said.

Kaleb who was still lamenting over his scuffed shoe was distracted at the sight of the brown spit trailing out of the cowboy's mouth. It was definitely far more romantic in the old 'westerns', and it was definitely not behavior that would be condoned in New York. The agent turned and surveyed the Timble property, searching the premises for anything that even remotely whispered 'New York' but the premises were genuine Texan.

Mitchell knew the cowboy was testing him when he made the 'rattle snake' comment, and though he wasn't looking forward to coming across one he was prepared to whatever it took to unravel the connection between Timble and the Wrangler. From what he learned from the profile, Timble wasn't old enough to be the suspect's father. 'A brother perhaps?'. He had ran a complete check on the man while he was on the road, and learned he had a couple of siblings but nothing that set off any alarms.

Strolling round the other side of the horse, Kaleb noticed a truck in a shed and beside it an older model pick-up truck. By the items strewn across the dashboard and hanging from the rear view mirror of the second vehicle, Kaleb figured that it didn't appear to fit old Henry's character one bit. He figured there was someone else living on the ranch and out of habit, he memorized the license plate.

Agent Mitchell then turned back to Timble. "You don't strike me as the kind of guy that get's down to New York very often, Mr. Timble?" Asked Agent Mitchell as he removed his sunglasses. "Why do you have a suped-up muscle car stored in New York, anyway?" probed the agent. He remembered while reading Timble's history that he had never resided in New York so he was curious what the man's story would be.

Unbridled rage gripped Toril as he lifted the large marine called Bull into the air and ran toward the gate. After seeing what these men had done to Cassius he no longer cared whether they lived or died and with all of his strength he violently threw Bull into the barred doorway. The marine sailed through the air while the third guard, unaware that the hinges were broken stood close behind the gate waiting for his fellow soldier to bounce off the bars and give him a clear shot. The big man struck the barred doorway with such force that the lock bent and snapped. The awaiting marine thinking he was safely protected never knew what him, as Bull's bulk and the heavy iron gate cracked his skull and crushed him against the concrete floor.

As Toril spun around to face the remaining marine there were two shots fired. Two rounds that would have shot him dead if it wouldn't have been for Cassius. Toril turned to see the bloody body of the guard sprawled on the floor and the young man forcing his weakened muscles to keep his weapon trained on Bull who was groggily moving off of the gate that crushed the third marine.

Toril held up a staying hand to Cassius, picked up the man's rifle and clubbed bull across the head, knocking him out cold. "Need a clean uniform." he explained to Cassius as he began to strip the large soldier.

Toril moved the gate so that Cassius could get obtain the uniform of the crushed soldier and quickly put on Bull's uniform, only the boots were a size too small so he had to chance that no one would notice his casual brown walking shoes. Hopefully they wouldn't be hanging around long enough for it to become an issue. He then stripped the last soldier and slipped his bloodied uniform over the unconscious Yelena's blue skin.



Toril then moved the bodies of the marines into their cots and covered them up so that they looked like three sleeping people and placed the iron gate back on the hinges as best he could. He didn't know if the illusion would fool anyone, but he figured it would buy them a little more time.

They now had uniforms, weapons and key cards, but one of them was unconscious and they had no idea where they were or how to get out. Toril carried Yelena, doing his best to conceal her appearance by pulling the oversized hat down over her face.

One of the marines had a ring of jail keys on him as well and Toril found the one that unlocked the gate at the end of the hallway. He swung the gate open then turned to Cassius. "Well kid, d'ya have any bright ideas on how we're going to get outta here? This is all I got." he said with a wry smile.

CIRCLE "T" RANCH - ARNETTE, TEXAS

Henery spat again and looked at the FBI agent "Well thar Agent Mitchell, I did mosey up thar ta New York City once, with a friend of mine. Never did have a hankerin' ta go, ain't enough air up thar. But seein' as though this har friend's mama was right nar death's door, an he was askin', I went. Wilst we was up thar, I tooka likin' ta that thar Mustang so I bought the damned thang. Figered I give it ta my son, when he garjieated from Texas A&M. So I just stored it up thar. Seemed ta make a tad more sense than drivin' tha thang back har an parkin' it in tha barn." Henery looked down at Agent Mitchell and nodded his head at the agent's pant leg. "Ya might be wippin' the horse shit ofan your pant leg 'afore ya climb back in that thar govnerm't vehicle. I 'spect they don't look kindly on horse shit in the taxpayer's vehicles." Henery spat the plug of tabacco out of his mouth onto the ground.

The screen door on the porch creaked open and out onto the porch stepped an attractive dark haired woman in a straw coloured cowboy hat, burgandy shirt, bluejeans and a wide belt with a large rodeo barrel racing champion belt buckle. She smiled at the FBI agent and then looked at Herery and frowned. "I swear Henry Timble, Ya ain't ya got no manners, It ain't no wonder that boy a ares runns 'round like an wild injun haf tha time." She then turned back yo the FBI agent. "Why don't ya come on up har on the porch an have a sit. I'll go in and get us some coffee. Henery har ain't got tha manners of a range rider."

She then turned and walked back into the house. as she stepped thru the open screen door back into the house, she said "I'm Mrs. Timble."

Late that morning Agent Kaleb Mitchell had found the back road to the Circle "T" Ranch and when he had emerged from the winding dirt road found himself on the picturesque spread of Henry J. Timble. The cowboy had been less than hospitable to the agent, to which Kaleb harbored no grudge, most people weren't fond of the FBI, and hadn't been for years.

As the sun rose closer to it's noon position the day's heat began to rise and the arrival of Henry's wife could not have been timed better. Henry seemed to be getting more ornery by the minute and when the beautiful barrel rider stepped onto the veranda and offered Kaleb a cup of coffee he readily accepted it. Henry didn't seemed to impressed with the gesture, but he nonetheless dismounted and climbed up onto the veranda. There was a well worn, rocking chair in the corner of the porch, which Kaleb instinctively avoided and sure enough the cowboy planted himself into it as if it were molded to his body.

When Kaleb had first seen Mrs. Timble, he did a double take and could hardly maintain his composure. He looked back at the weather beaten face of Henry Timble then back to his wife, who could only be described as gorgeous. "What the hell did she see in that crusty old cowboy?" he thought to himself.

Mrs. Timble returned with a tray upon which was carafe and fine china ware. She also brought a damp cloth so that Kaleb was able to clean off his shoe. He thanked her and then made himself comfortable while she poured the coffee.

"Sugar?" Asked Mrs. Timble reaching for an ornate sugar bowl on the silver platter she had placed on weathered antique table on the veranda.



"No, thank you." Said Kaleb.

Mrs. Timble smiled sweetly and proceeded to question the agent about his business at the Circle "T" and Kaleb provided her a recap of what he and her husband had been discussing. She seemed to corroborate everything that Henry had told him but they seemed to be avoiding the mention of their friend's name in New York.

Kaleb took a sip of his coffee and complimented Mrs. Timble on it's flavour and her hospitality then he cut to the chase. "Mr. Timble, as soon as we are finished our investigation and find your mustang you will be able to file for insurance, so it's in your best interest to assist me in any way that you can in getting to the bottom of this mystery."

Henry leaned back in his chair in anticipation of more of the agent's questions.

"This friend of yours in New York, the one that you said had the dying Mother. What was his name? And can you give me the location of the storage facility where your car was being kept, please." Inquired the agent.

Henry, looked at the FBI agent "Tell me sumptin' thar Agent Mitchell, di ya hav'ta go ta college ta get that thar badge? An' ifin' ya did, did they teach ya ta listen ta what folks tol' ya? Na' wait a scoche, if figur' your brain has jus' gotten furgetful, breathin' all them plutants in that big city." Henry waited a moment then said "First, I never said my friend was in New York City. I recallect that I tol' ya I went ta New York City with my friend, cause his Mother was on her death bed, an he axed if I'd come 'long." Henry reached over and took a cup of coffee from his wife, smiled at her and said "Thank ya darlin'."

Mrs. Timble smiled at he husband and said "Yur welcome sweetheart." giving him a now you behave look " Agnet Michell, you'll stay for lunch of course. You do like smoked brisquette and bar-b-qued prime rib sandwiches I hope."

Agent Mitchell leaned back in his chair taking a deliberate defensive posture but forced a smile to be polite to Mrs. Timble and graciously accepted her offer to stay for lunch. "I'd be delighted." He said staring directly into Henry's eyes. "I do enjoy a nice smoked brisquette." Agent Mitchell's smile was almost fiendish, the kind of expression a man just wanted to wipe away with a fist.

Kaleb then retrieved his notepad and pen from his pocket and tried to convince himself that this old 'rattlesnake' was just staying true to his nature and if he kept out of striking range they would get along just fine. "Mr. Timble, I stand corrected. Allow me to rephrase my question for you. I would like to know where your mustang was stored and the names of any people in the state of New York that still associate with or might remember, and I am interested in knowing the name of this person that 'accompanied' you to New York."

Agent Mitchell bent down and took another sip of coffee then made himself more comfortable while awaiting Henry's response. "I'd rather not have to assemble a team and invade your home, Mr. Timble. I'm sure you and your wife wouldn't appreciate that, but if you cooperate with me and answer my questions it won't be necessary."

Special Agents Jameson and Henkel had driven back to Troy in the morning and had been cruising around town trying to track down Frank Shepherd most of the morning. They were about to take a break when something caught Jameson's eye.

"Hey, Simon. You see what I see." Alerted Jameson.

Henkel followed his partner's gaze to the back alley of a grocery store where a black, 2002, Chevy Tahoe was parked. "Let's check it out." he said.

Tim dropped the small plastic basket of items he had gathered and ran out the door, across the steet and into the grocery store, with the stock boy hard on his heels. "Police Officur!" Tim shouted as he held up his badge and ran down a center aisle towards the back room of the store. Bursting thru the two steel doors the stock boy right behind him. Seeing Morgan he said "Whar is tha sonof abitch?"
Morgan pointed to the back door. Tim knelt down and looked at her leg just a scratch thar darlin. He then said "Ya stay right cheer with this har boy, both ya stay down. Morgan, once I get thru that dar ya have this har boy hep ya to the Hummer. Then ya get yurself on tha floorboards and lock tha doors. Ya don't let nobody septin' me in. Ya here me?"

Tim then turned to the boy "Son I'm a police officur in the protective witness program on special assignment ta protect this har young lady." Tim then flashed his badge "Afta ya get Morgan har in the Hummer ya call the sheriff. Ya tell him 'xactly what happened and giv' him a description of the man that did this ta Morgan."

Tim then ran to the back door, drew his two .40 caliber semi-automatics kicked the doors open and stepped out into the alley, gowing immediately into a crouch.' behind a stack of pallets. Tim could see the black Tahoe parked at the end of the alley pointed at the street, with a man behind the wheel

Jameson pulled up in front of the black Tahoe, blocking the alley to make sure the vehicle couldn't escape, then he and Henkel stepped out of their car and approached the man in the truck.

"Mr. Shepherd? FBI." Shouted Henkel. "We'd like to have a few words with you. Could you please step out of the vehicle." He asked as he held up his badge.

Tim heard the FBI agent idnetify himself and immediately recognized his face, as the agent in the tunnel in New York. He then saw Frank's arm move to the center of the cab and then he stepped out of Tahoe. Tim thought *Shit we gotta get out of here and quick* he then stayed crouched and moved back into the grocery store stockroom. Once inside, Tim stood up, slipped his weapons back into his shoulder holsters.

Henkel waited for the man to walk around to the front of the vehicle and Jameson was in position at the side of the Tahoe before he engaged him. "Mr. Frank Shepherd, I'm Special Agent Henkel and this is my partner, Special Agent Jameson. May I see your identification." He requested and while awaiting the document he continued, "We recovered a wrecked vehicle in your name just north of Catskill off of US Route 9W. It appeared to have skidded off the road and turned over a few times, we also found several rounds from gun fire embedded in the body. What can you tell us about that, Mr. Shepherd?"

Tim reached in his back pocket and took several folded bills. He unfolded them, pealed off a fifty dollar bill and handed hit to the stockboy. "Thank ya fur yur hep son, I'll see ta it she gits medical attention. Now ifin' that thar man comes back 'round har ya lay low and git the sheriff ta hep ya. The FBI is a talkin' ta him right now. Ya take care now son and watch yur back. Ya be shur and tell the Sheriff and them FBI agents what ya seen 'im do ta Morgan. Now ya go on an call tha Sheriff."

Tim then walked out of the storeroom and out to the Hummer. Glancing quickly towards the alley, he could see that one of the FBI agents was blocking Frank's view of the Hummer. Tim climbed in, shut the door and bulckled his seat belt. Starting the Hummer, Tim looked at Morgan. "Ya alright thar sweetheart? Ya jus' buckle up an' sit back wilst I git us the hell outa Tombstone. He leaned over and gave Morgan a kiss, headed north on US 4 outa Troy, as they reached the edge of Troy, they could hear the wail of sirens and a Rensselaerd County Sheriff vehicle sped past them headed for the grocery store. Tim then turned left onto NY7 and sped up headed for Hoosick Falls and the Vermont state line.

Grey curled into himself as the Boss's foot plowed into his stomach for the umpteenth time. Gasping and coughing, he rolled into a fetal position and groaned softly, as each impact seemed to ripple out through his entire body.

"I ask you to do one little thing and you show up telling me you got too f#*&ed up and lost him?!" In spite of himself, Grey out another pained grunt as the heel of Boss's boot slammed hard into the back of his head. Another punch slammed his face against the floor before he felt the man's sausage-like fingers dig into the roots of his loosely curly hair and pull his head up. Gasping, Grey squinted into the large man's eyes, gritting his teeth in pain. "Get your ass outta here and bring me this Wrangler freak, or you become RAID's problem. Got it?" If Grey was capable of replying, his boss didn't wait to find out. Thrusting his head down, he let Grey's forehead slam against the ground before he gave him a few more kicks in the side and stomach for good measure before he dropped something light on top of him before he and his lackeys strolled out of the office, slamming the door and leaving Grey to roll over in his own agony.

After a moment, he spat a few flecks of blood on the dirty floor and very slowly sat up. His muscles jerked painfully and he shouted "DICK!" before his eyes fell on the tattered newspaper the boss had apparently thrown at him on his way out. Stretching out painfully, he opened up the paper and squinted through the pounding in his head and his bruised face at the picture on the front. It would take another moment for his vision to clear and make out the words on the page. So this redneck-looking guy was the Wrangler. At least now he had a picture to go on.

Getting slowly to his feet, Grey took the newspaper with him as he uncontrollably muttered "redneck. Freak." Swinging the door open, he squinted in the harsh sunlight and made his way back to his apartment, limping slightly as his entire body throbbed. He had little patience to read the entire article word for word, but he managed to scan it enough to catch that he had been sighted up near Troy.

"Great..." Grey grumbled, letting his head drop, the paper dangling from his limp hand as he entered his apartment. Cursing his boss under his breath, he dropped the paper on the living room floor and collapsed on his couch. "F#$& this shit," he snarled to himself as he popped a few vicodin and leaned back, wincing a few times before he managed to relax and shut his eyes. Tomorrow. He'd go after this freak tomorrow.

Frank's explanation held about as much water as a thimble and Henkel had a feeling this guy was trouble. Call it extinct or perhaps just common sense, since Henkel knew that bear encounters in the state of New York were rare at the best of times.

Catching a subtle cue from his partner, Jameson slowly reached into his jacket and unclipped the snap on his holster, letting his hand hover over his sidearm.

Henkel was a big man, well trained in self defense and didn't feel it necessary at this point to draw his weapon but he did sense that this man could get hostile in a hurry so he was on guard. "Did this bear happen to shoot .40 caliber rounds into your vehicle as well, Mr. Shepherd?" Queried the Agent, "We also found shells from a .45 caliber pistol in the cab of your truck. Do you own a gun, Mr. Shepherd?"

Jameson sensing that the situation was becoming more intense drew his pistol and clicked off the safety, keeping the weapon in a ready position in case the suspect tried to make a break for it.

When Jameson heard the police sirens, he assumed somebody must have called the cops on them, but as he looked to the nearby door through which the local cops might enter the alley he caught sight of the blood. Outside of the back door of the grocery store, only ten feet away he spotted a blood trail. "We've got blood, Simon." He alerted his partner as he raised his weapon at Frank.

Henkel immediately followed suit, drew his side arm and aimed it at Frank Shepherd. "On the ground now!" he commanded.