As usual, language has been blipped as needed to meet MOL standards. If you want the unblipped version, it's on ff.net, right here.

-----------------------------------------------------------



Aftershocks

Four: Cubist



There’s some kind of music going on in every big city – and the most interesting ones have a kind of supercharged underground music scene, where the stuff that’s going to be popular next year is just now being invented. In a city like that, there’ll be lots of little venues that appear and disappear almost overnight, kinda like flowers do out in the desert. They pop up suddenly in some barren spot, when the conditions are just right for just that moment, and most of ‘em vanish just as quickly.

I know a lot of musicians – a singer friend of mine claims that I originally started sleeping on my own couch as a way of guarding my turf against stray drummers – and it seems like every time one of them gets a gig, it’s at some little club I’ve never heard of. But they’re all pretty much the same, so I don’t suppose it matters.


The wall of noise coming from the Oh Zone was almost visible under the sour glow of the streetlights. It was just past one in the morning, and the band was hitting its stride – and only narrowly avoiding blowing its speakers, as far as MacGyver could tell. He was glad to be outside the club, and not just to avoid the sheer impact of the decibels. Even at this distance, he imagined he could smell the ripe mixture of cigarettes, pot smoke, and rank sweat from the closely-packed crowd dancing in the mosh pit.

Mac saw them emerging from the club at last: Addie first, with Stephanie right behind her and Rafael bringing up the rear. Addie was fanning her flushed face; she shrugged out of her leather jacket and handed over to Stephanie, the swags of silver chains swinging and clashing against each other. Stephanie slipped the jacket on but did not zip it up; Addie ran a hand through her already-wild hair and turned to Rafé, who handed her a pack of cigarettes.

They’d given the full signal. The goons had shown up, and were following them out onto the street.

Mac slipped out of the nook where he’d been keeping watch and dashed across the street straight towards them, waving his arms and shouting. “Hey, you guys! Hey! There you are!”

All three looked up, and Mac could see the disorientation and shock pass over all three faces. They had seen him in his disguise when they’d had their final briefing just before they’d headed out to the clubs; but that had just been MacGyver wearing funny clothes.

This was their first real look at Dexter, which wasn’t the same thing.

The heavy, horn-rimmed glasses, complete with taping over the nose; the long sandy hair pulled back into an unattractive ponytail; the battered, faded jeans and the sloppy, half-tucked shirt under the stadium jacket. The facial expressions, shifting between gawking and grimacing, or reverting to an embedded sneer. And the voice: that harsh nasal bray, with the added irritating smarmy edge. As Dexter darted across the street, a car braked and swerved and a stream of obscenities rained down on him; he half-turned and made a rude gesture that MacGyver would never have made.

“Didja see that guy? What a nerve! What a dipstick!” he was prattling as he approached Rafé. The look of stunned astonishment on the young man’s face was only just beginning to pass. “Hey, you guys, I thought you were gonna wait for me. How come you went off without me? I’ve been looking for you for, like, hours.”

Addie was the first to regain her voice. “Oi, f*ck. Rafé, you din’t actually tell that right little spod Dexter where we was gonna go tonight, did you?”

“‘Course I didn’t. I ain’t stupid. Dexter, what the hell you doin’ here?”

Dexter took a half-step backwards. “Lookin’ for you, of course. I’d’a been able to leave earlier but I had to finish up some stuff on the computer.”

“The computer – Dexter, you ain’t supposed to go anywhere near them computers! That’s part of your parole, ain’t it?”

They’d gone over the details of their story several times, but Rafé was finding the whole thing surreal. The superior smirk on Mac’s face was so completely unlike Mac, and it made Rafé want to hit him hard enough to knock the smirk off, as if that would bring back the familiar face of his friend.

“Hey, c’mon. Me stay away from the computers? What’s it matter as long as they don’t catch me, huh? And it’s not technically pa-role, it’s an ar-range-ment.” Dexter sniggered.

“Look, Dexter, you may have Thornton and Willis and MacGyver and all them Phoenix eggheads fooled, but you ain’t never fooled me.” Rafé found himself grabbing the obnoxious, too-familiar stranger by the front of his jacket and leaning into his face. He knew Mac was taller than he was and strong enough to knock him down, and yet somehow the man he was holding was smaller, shrunken by a cringe that made Rafe want to shake him – MacGyver – Dexter – like a rat. “You may be down with them computers and sh*t, but you are not down with me and my friends, you hear?”

Dexter yelped and tried to pull away. “Stop it! Geez! All I did was offer to show you guys a couple of back doors – ”

“I do not wanna hear ‘bout no back door, you hear me?” Rafé roared. “You think ‘cause you white, they ain’t watchin’ you? They watchin’ me all the time, man! You stay away from me! I ain’t lettin’ you f*ck this up for me!”

Dexter snivelled. “Why’s everyone always so mean to me? How come you’re never nice?” He looked past Rafé’s glowering face at Stephanie in her club-going attire, laughed nastily and leered. “I can be real nice back.”

A murderous scarlet haze burned in front of Rafé’s eyes. “Don’ you look at her like that, you slime . . .” He shoved Dexter away from him, and heard another yelp of pain as the man went down hard on the rough pavement of the cracked sidewalk.

Rafé had forgotten that he was facing off against MacGyver, until he saw him sprawling at his feet. Holy crap, I just . . . that’s Mac I just knocked down . . . if Breeze ever hear ‘bout this, he gonna kick my a*s so bad . . . He started forward, about to stammer an apology and help him up.

Dexter half-sat up and met Rafé’s eyes, and recognised the thought. Behind the heavy glasses, just for an instant, Rafé caught a satisfied, approving gleam that was pure Mac. Then the whining stranger was back.

“I’ll get you for this, Rafael! You just wait! You all just wait and see!”

Rafé pulled himself together and fell back into his role. “You threatenin’ me, whitey?”

From where he was sprawled on the sidewalk, MacGyver felt the tremor of the approaching booted feet before the expected interruption. Mac recognised the two young men easily from the sketches Rafé had made: in their early twenties, clean-shaven with buzz-cut hair, one wearing a black bomber jacket, the other an Army surplus jacket. Both wore jeans and plain white t-shirts under their jackets, and heavy combat boots.

He and Pete had expected that a threat to the art collection would be most likely to come from the Mob – they were the driving force behind most of the high-end art thefts in California – and Mac had already put out feelers to his contacts in the syndicates. But these hoods weren’t Mafia muscle. Addie had simply described them as skinheads, and she had been right.

Dangerously right. The brute in the bomber jacket was looking at Rafé like a trigger-happy kid who’d just gotten his first hunting license. His partner was leaning over Mac, offering him a hand up.

“Hey, easy there, buddy. This n*gger givin’ you a hard time? You want us to teach him a lesson?”

Oh, man. Not good. If they think they don’t need Rafé any more and try to jump him instead – instead of accepting the hand, Dexter eyed the young man suspiciously. “Who’re you?” he brayed.

“I’m Cody, and my buddy here’s called Jake. An’ we really don’t like seeing n*ggers hasslin’ white folks.”

Dexter looked from the skinheads to Rafé and back again, screwing up his face. “Rafael’s not black. He’s Puerto Rican,” he explained pedantically.

Jake snorted. “Can you believe this guy?” He looked over at Addie and Stephanie, and smirked. “Hey, why you dolls still hangin’ with Sambo, here? Me an’ Cody could show you a real good time.”

Stephanie reddened and tugged at Addie’s jacket to cover herself up further, but Addie cocked her head to one side and gave him a considering look. “Ta very much for the offer . . . but I’d sooner be sodomised by a camel with the clap, if you take my meaning.”

Jake’s face went white with rage, and Cody’s already thin lips narrowed even further. He turned away from MacGyver and started to advance on Rafé, but Mac chose that moment to shift position suddenly and awkwardly, as if he was trying to get up. One flailing foot caught Cody’s ankle just at the moment when he was off-balance in mid-stride, and he blundered heavily into Jake, nearly knocking him over. Mac rolled as if he was still trying to scramble to his feet, and collided with both of them as they jostled each other. Jake staggered again, and Cody stumbled and almost fell.

The obscenity Jake had started to shout at Addie turned into a general bellow of rage. By the time the two skinheads had untangled themselves, Rafé and the girls were a block away, climbing into Stephanie’s car.

“That f*cking cu – ”

“Leave it, Jake!” Cody snapped. “We can teach ‘em a lesson some other time – explain just what happens to whores and race traitors.” He turned back towards where MacGyver still lay sprawled on the sidewalk, his legs splayed out awkwardly, city grime and mud smearing his face and hands.

Dexter drew back from the skinheads, an anxious grimace on his face. Jake glared at him. “I oughta break you in two for that, assh*le – ”

“Jake.” Cody’s voice carried a ring of command. No question who was the alpha there: Jake continued to glower, but he stuffed his clenched fists deep into his pockets and settled back on his heels. Mac breathed a bit more easily. This time, when Cody extended a hand, he took it and let himself be hauled roughly to his feet.

“So. Your name’s Dexter, huh? You one of them Phoenix propeller-heads?”

Mac shrugged. “Who wants to know?” He gave another of Dexter’s braying laughs. “You guys got a computer problem?”

Cody didn’t laugh, but he smiled. “A friend of ours does. A real good friend. I think you’d like him. More important, I think he’d like you.”

Mac made a face and scuffed one dirty tennis shoe against the pavement. “Most people don’t. Don’t like me, I mean. Who’s your friend?”

“The Professor? Oh, he’s just this guy. He’s real impressed by smart guys like you.” Jake started to say something, but Cody gave him a quelling look and turned back to Dexter. “You work for Phoenix, huh? You know your way around their computers?”

MacGyver smirked. “They don’t think I do. They didn’t even give me a password!”

“But I bet you got one anyway, huh?”

Another braying laugh. “My first day there, I hacked their security protocols and gave myself a top-level clearance. You would not believe the stuff that goes on there! It’s, like, totally incredible!”

Cody nodded. “That’s real cool, man. Real fine. Ya know, we’re kind of public here – ” He took Mac’s arm and steered him away from the front of the Oh Zone, into the mouth of the alley that ran beside the club. MacGyver noticed that Jake slipped into the alley ahead of them, and that without being obvious, the two of them had fallen into positions that effectively blocked escape in either direction. Not bad teamwork . . . though Jake’s left his back open.

“Much better. What we have here is a fine place for men to have a talk.” Cody leaned in with a confidential air. “Now, you know that n*gger and those two bints? They’re all workin’ on this art project – f*ckin’ around with big old fancy-ass paintings and sh*t. You know anything about that?”

“ ‘Course I do. I’m not stupid, you know.”

“I bet you can get into the computer records for that, huh?”

Mac’s eyes narrowed, and he peered from Cody to Jake suspiciously. “Why? Whatcha getting at?”

Cody reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat wad of bills. “Money, man. Sweet, green, folding currency. F*ck all that other art – let’s talk about some fine old portraits of our great American presidents. Whatcha like doin’ in your free time, Dexter? You got enough money to do everything you want? Buy yourself all the widgets in the world?”

MacGyver let his eyes focus on the bankroll and spark hotly. He licked his lips. Then he looked away abruptly.

“I just toldja I’m not stupid. Whereja get that much money? Who’s this ‘Professor’?”

Jake bristled. “What business do you got askin’, geek?”

Cody waved him down. “Easy, Jake. You don’t have to be so hard on him.” He looked Dexter over coolly. “You might be the guy we need – if you’re really as good as you say you are.”

Oh, good job, Cody, Mac thought. Way to set the hook. He gawked at the skinhead. “You’re after the paintings, aren’cha? They’re worth a lotta money!”

“See, Jake? Like he said, he’s not stupid.”

Mac licked his lips again. “So . . . your Professor guy needs help getting into the vault, huh?”

“More’n that, dude.” Cody tucked the bankroll back into his pocket, watching as Dexter’s eyes followed it. “You just bragged how you busted their computer security. That means you can erase their records, right?”

It was Dexter who gaped at Cody, but behind the slack expression, Mac’s mind raced into overdrive. Oh my god. That’s it – if they steal the artworks before Laura publishes the official catalogue, and the computer record is wiped – there’d be no proof of what was actually gone. They could sell them on the open market and they’d be untouchable.

Dexter let out a braying laugh. “I get it! That’s real clever.” He smirked. “When’s this Professor of yours need it done?”

“We’ll let you know.”

“Yeah? How’m I s’posed to get hold of you?”

“We’ll be in touch.”

Dexter sneered. “Yeah, right. How’re you gonna get hold of me?”

Cody unclipped a pager from his belt and held it out, waving Jake to silence when he started to object. “Cool it, Jake. The guy’s right – we need to be able to reach him.” Mac took the pager and turned it over in his fingers, studying it. It was a standard model, with no special marks or any sign of customisation.

“Keep that handy,” Cody ordered. MacGyver noticed the tone of command that had crept into his voice. “If the Professor decides you’re good enough for him to give you a chance, you’ll get a message. Call the number you’re given. Use a pay phone, and have a pen and paper ready before you call – the instructions will be given once.” Mac nodded and slipped the pager into his pocket.

“And if you got any idea about ratting on us . . . ”

Cody’s sign to Jake was subtle. Mac had to admit they had their moves down – he nearly missed the signal, and it would have been tough to evade the manoeuvre if he’d wanted to. As Dexter, of course, he didn’t even try.

In two quick steps, Jake slipped behind Mac, seizing his right arm and twisting it up behind his back in a painful armlock. Dexter’s yelp of pain was choked off by a throttling arm flung around his neck, pressing against his throat until a black veil tinged his vision. The move had been fast, but MacGyver could feel the skinhead was slightly off-balance – he had underestimated Mac’s height and was reaching farther than he’d braced himself for.

Mac had to block his own instincts. A shift in his own balance, a twist of the hip, and he could have slung Jake over his shoulder right into Cody – which wasn’t at all what he needed to do. This was a cat-and-mouse game, with the mouse playing to lose. But it was hard not to fight back against the chokehold, to struggle ineffectually and bleat instead.

“Owww! Quit it!”

Cody stepped in close; MacGyver could smell cigarette smoke and stale beer on his breath as he grabbed Mac’s jacket front and pulled him forward, increasing the pressure on his windpipe so that he coughed and gasped. Jake’s hold on his twisted arm sent hot fire through his shoulder.

A knife appeared in Cody’s other hand, and he held it up in front of Mac’s face, twirling it between his fingers so that the streetlights caught gleams from the razor edge of the steel. He let the point of the knife rest against MacGyver’s cheek, then trailed a slow line down towards Mac’s neck. He smiled contemptuously, pulled the knife away and held it in front of Mac’s eyes again.

MacGyver could see the swastika carved into the knife handle, deeply etched and accented with red paint. At the sight, he felt a black rage burn through him, and he had to fight himself all over again not to take the two hoods apart. He couldn’t even let the fury show in his eyes; instead, he closed his eyes with a grimace and tried to turn his head away, tugging ineffectively against the armlock.

Cody signaled again, and Jake let Mac go. MacGyver stumbled a few steps away, still hunched over, rubbing his throat.

“You didn’t hafta do that,” he whined in Dexter’s hoarse voice.

“Maybe not. But I think we all understand each other, right – geek?” Cody smirked.

“Yeah.” Dexter studied his feet. “You betcha.”





I’ve never told Pete how much of a kick I get out of being Dexter. He may have guessed, though . . . I was a bit too eager to go do it again after the first time. When we originally created Dexter, it was just supposed to be for that one time.

Of course, Pete’s gotta understand. He put most of his lifetime into the spook business, while for me it was only a handful of years. When he needs to turn into someone else, he just does it. Most of him stays the same – he said once that’s the best way – but whatever it is that changes, changes completely in a way you can’t put your finger on.

For me, it’s different. All those years with the DXS – I occasionally had to pretend to be something I wasn’t – stupid, dishonest, married, injured, crazy, dead – but I hardly ever had to pretend to be someone I wasn’t.

Dexter’s pretty much everything I’m not, and everything I’ve never wanted to be. He’s not in control of his own life, and he can’t even help himself, let alone anyone else.

Dexter doesn’t have to live up to any ideals or meet any standards. Nobody’s supposed to like him, so it doesn’t matter what anybody thinks. In a funny way, it’s a big relief not having to care about that for a little while.


The next morning at the Phoenix art lab, MacGyver had hardly walked in the door when he was pounced on by Addie and both interns.

“MacGyver, you okay, man? No pieces missin’? What went down with those two?”

“Oi, it was brilliant, wa’n’t it?” Addie chortled. She had wrapped her arms around Mac and was beaming up at him, her eyes shining. “You’re a right crafty bugger, MacGyver. I’d’a never guessed it. I hated ‘aving to leg it like that, I’d’a sooner stayed round for the next act! Did you nail ‘em?”

Mac tried to look severe, but he felt too much of an inner glow himself not to grin at her enthusiasm, naïve or not. “It’s never that simple, Addie.”

“But did they buy it?” she persisted.

“Did you learn anything?” Stephanie put in.

“A bit,” Mac replied. “It’s a start, anyway.” He detached himself from Addie, shrugged out of his leather jacket and looked around. “Where’s Dr. Sandburg?”

“She ain’t here yet,” Rafé replied. “Dunno why not. Veronica just went to call her.”

“Funny, that.” Addie shook her head as she slipped into her lab smock. “You’d think she’d’a been ‘ere first thing in the morning to get the news.”

Mac put his head around the opening of the small office that served the art lab to find Veronica on the phone. “Yes, Laura, he just got here. Would you please calm down? He’s here. He’s fine. He doesn’t look the least damaged.” She paused to listen, twirling the phone cord in her fingers. “Yes, the kids are here too. They got here right at nine, just like usual, looking a bit short of sleep, just like usual.”

MacGyver cleared his throat, and Veronica glanced over her shoulder and waved at him, still talking. “Well, I think Stephanie’s pretty bummed out – you know Pete told them they’d have to stay away from the clubs till this is all cleaned up. You’d think they’d taken away her favourite puppy, the way she moped about it. Addie insists they can find music somewhere else for a while. Hang on.”

She pressed the phone against her shoulder and asked Mac, “Have you been up to see Pete yet? Does he need to talk to Laura?”

“Yeah, I had to see both Pete and Willis already. He didn’t say anything about Laura. Is she okay?”

Veronica turned back to the phone. “Are you on your way in? Good. Sure, I’ll have the Van Dyck out for you to finish up. The photographer will be here mid-afternoon, I think.”

She rang off and turned to find Mac still standing in the doorway, his fingers fiddling with a palette-knife that had been lying on top of a filing cabinet by the door. “Is Laura afraid I’m gonna let her interns get hurt?”

Veronica gave him a long look and shook her head slightly. “Well, yes. Of course she’s worried about them.”

MacGyver wondered why she seemed suddenly irritated. He was about to press further when Addie called to him. “ ‘Ey, MacGyver, there’s a flash geezer ‘ere lookin’ for you.”

Mac turned to see Gregory hastening towards him, his usually impassive face creased with concern. “Mr. MacGyver – I do apologise for interrupting you, but Mr. Collins would be most grateful for a few minutes of your time.”

No-one at Phoenix had ever been able to discover any details of Gregory’s history, or even his last name; speculation ran the gamut from the Foreign Legion to the Mob. What everyone knew for certain was that his loyalty to the Collinses was unshakable. It was rare to see him alone.

“Gregory, what are you doin’ here? Is Ruth okay?” He could see in Gregory’s eyes that the answer was going to be no. “What’s happened?”

“There’s been – an incident. She’s in hospital now – ”

“What happened?”

“Please, sir. Moderate your voice. We’re drawing attention. Will you come?”

MacGyver had already grabbed his jacket and was moving towards the door. “You know you don’t need to ask. Where are we goin’?”




Ooooooh, Dexter! Love it!

With just a few words you described him so well, even if we would have not known him from TV before:

I also liked the scene where Mac had to supress his instincts of fighting back. That was written very powerful!

Plus I learnt a new English word - swastika. Not that I would ever need it...

Excellent chapter, 'Beth!
As Astra said, you portrayed Dexter perfectly!
We are enjoying this story very much, and cant wait for the next chapter.
Thank you so much for all the hard work and time that you spend writing for us all! Luv ya!

Whoo hoo!! Dexter! Excellent! You bring him to vivid life!

But.... Ruth?! *wibble and wrings hands*



Gripping story!! *grips story, shakes it for more*

I certainly hope not! And I had a lovely time playing with Dexter, although I actually found him harder to work with than I had expected. I'm really glad it seems to have worked so well! Thank you!

Thanks in return to you and Astra and Lothi and all! Luv ya back!

Um, Lothi, don't shake the story too hard -- bits might fall off. *slaps duct tape onto the story*