we'll begin at zero and assume it's an unknown species."
"Like the old man does."
"Yeah, like Doc does. We'll take this and run a phosphorescent scan on it for any tracings that might have been picked up by the plaster. The plaster is already contaminated, so unless we find an actual hair or trace of hemoglobin, we'll never get a DNA trace. But let's look for it anyway. We'll start at the top of the list and work down. Then we'll worry about classifying it."
"Just go by procedure," Gina chimed in.
"Right. Just go by procedure. Like the doc says. But this is a rush job so put everything else on hold." Rebecca stood as she spoke, staring down at the mystery. "If we find a piece of this thing no bigger than a grain of sand, we own him."
"Chaney!"
Asleep at his desk at the U.S. Marshals Service in Washington, Chaney raised bloodshot eyes. He saw the haggard face of Marshal Hank Vincent, or "Skull" as they called him for his merciless expression, approaching. He could see that Skull held an expense voucher in his hand, crumbling it into a tight wad.
Chaney muttered, "Oh, shit."
Suddenly finding themselves needed elsewhere, a dozen Deputy U.S. Marshals surrounding Chaney's desk began wandering in separate directions. With a remarkable air of calm, Chaney said, "Hey, Chief, I was just about to talk to you about that little—"
Skull held the voucher before Chaney's face. "Explain to me," he said carefully, "how you can spend five thousand dollars on gas in a single month when you never left the city? I want to hear this one. It's got to be a classic."
"Travel expenses, boss."
"Travel expenses?" Skull stared, as if he'd never heard the term. "Travel expenses? Is that the best you can do?" He pointed. "I want to see you in my office." Without waiting for a reply he turned away.
Chaney rose slowly, making a vague attempt to straighten his tie. Then to a chorus of murmured "good lucks" he walked slowly into Marshal Vincent's office, quietly closing the door. He stood with hands clasped, all dignity, and Skull stared back. Slowly, after a moment, the marshal shook his head. A thin smile creased his lips. It was a rare moment. He tossed the voucher on the desk and leaned back, shaking his head.
"So, travel expenses," he said finally. "But then you busted that cartel last week didn't you, Chaney? Arrested Lau Tai when he was cutting one of his better deals."
Chaney nodded, then looked away slightly as Skull lifted another invoice. "Says here that you maxed out your snitch allotment almost six weeks ago. How long you been working that case?"
"Six months, sir."
"So how did you buy off your snitches in the last month to find the location of the deal?"
After a pause, Chaney said, "Well, boss, I relied upon creativity and resourcefulness. Like we're supposed to."
At that, Skull actually smiled. "Yeah, Chaney, I'll bet you did." He waited a moment, barked a short laugh. "That," he motioned to the door, "is called 'street theater.' I did it because everyone knows what you did and I don't want them following your example.
"You took a big chance, Chaney, and you pulled it off. But you pulled it off only because of your street contacts, and there's not too many that have that. It's a forgotten art. So someone like you could take a chance and win. But the rest shouldn't even try." He frowned a little. "Some of them would, you know. They'd go for broke, spend the money, and still not get their puke. Then they'd burn for it. Even worse, I'd have to burn them for it. 'Cause I wouldn't be able to protect them."
Skull waited; Chaney was silent.
"You know." Skull contemplated a pen. "I caught some heat over that Lau arrest."
"Heat over it? Why? It was a good snag."
" 'Cause Lau was the responsibility of the DEA." Skull gestured with the pen as if, in truth, he really didn't give a damn. "Jurisdictional disputes ...that sort of thing."
"He was a known fugitive from justice, boss."
"Then he fell under our people in the Fugitive
"Like the old man does."
"Yeah, like Doc does. We'll take this and run a phosphorescent scan on it for any tracings that might have been picked up by the plaster. The plaster is already contaminated, so unless we find an actual hair or trace of hemoglobin, we'll never get a DNA trace. But let's look for it anyway. We'll start at the top of the list and work down. Then we'll worry about classifying it."
"Just go by procedure," Gina chimed in.
"Right. Just go by procedure. Like the doc says. But this is a rush job so put everything else on hold." Rebecca stood as she spoke, staring down at the mystery. "If we find a piece of this thing no bigger than a grain of sand, we own him."
"Chaney!"
Asleep at his desk at the U.S. Marshals Service in Washington, Chaney raised bloodshot eyes. He saw the haggard face of Marshal Hank Vincent, or "Skull" as they called him for his merciless expression, approaching. He could see that Skull held an expense voucher in his hand, crumbling it into a tight wad.
Chaney muttered, "Oh, shit."
Suddenly finding themselves needed elsewhere, a dozen Deputy U.S. Marshals surrounding Chaney's desk began wandering in separate directions. With a remarkable air of calm, Chaney said, "Hey, Chief, I was just about to talk to you about that little—"
Skull held the voucher before Chaney's face. "Explain to me," he said carefully, "how you can spend five thousand dollars on gas in a single month when you never left the city? I want to hear this one. It's got to be a classic."
"Travel expenses, boss."
"Travel expenses?" Skull stared, as if he'd never heard the term. "Travel expenses? Is that the best you can do?" He pointed. "I want to see you in my office." Without waiting for a reply he turned away.
Chaney rose slowly, making a vague attempt to straighten his tie. Then to a chorus of murmured "good lucks" he walked slowly into Marshal Vincent's office, quietly closing the door. He stood with hands clasped, all dignity, and Skull stared back. Slowly, after a moment, the marshal shook his head. A thin smile creased his lips. It was a rare moment. He tossed the voucher on the desk and leaned back, shaking his head.
"So, travel expenses," he said finally. "But then you busted that cartel last week didn't you, Chaney? Arrested Lau Tai when he was cutting one of his better deals."
Chaney nodded, then looked away slightly as Skull lifted another invoice. "Says here that you maxed out your snitch allotment almost six weeks ago. How long you been working that case?"
"Six months, sir."
"So how did you buy off your snitches in the last month to find the location of the deal?"
After a pause, Chaney said, "Well, boss, I relied upon creativity and resourcefulness. Like we're supposed to."
At that, Skull actually smiled. "Yeah, Chaney, I'll bet you did." He waited a moment, barked a short laugh. "That," he motioned to the door, "is called 'street theater.' I did it because everyone knows what you did and I don't want them following your example.
"You took a big chance, Chaney, and you pulled it off. But you pulled it off only because of your street contacts, and there's not too many that have that. It's a forgotten art. So someone like you could take a chance and win. But the rest shouldn't even try." He frowned a little. "Some of them would, you know. They'd go for broke, spend the money, and still not get their puke. Then they'd burn for it. Even worse, I'd have to burn them for it. 'Cause I wouldn't be able to protect them."
Skull waited; Chaney was silent.
"You know." Skull contemplated a pen. "I caught some heat over that Lau arrest."
"Heat over it? Why? It was a good snag."
" 'Cause Lau was the responsibility of the DEA." Skull gestured with the pen as if, in truth, he really didn't give a damn. "Jurisdictional disputes ...that sort of thing."
"He was a known fugitive from justice, boss."
"Then he fell under our people in the Fugitive
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