The Incomprehensible Corruption of Innocence
folder
1 through F › CSI: Miami
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
7,450
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › CSI: Miami
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
14
Views:
7,450
Reviews:
19
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own CSI: Miami, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 9 -- And Sort of Lost
“Paccillo Vasquez,” Valera said, as she typed the name into the computer, and they all waited while his information came up. “Says here he’s a port inspector . . .”
“He must be some sort of middle man,” Eric frowned. “He probably buys the . . . the,” he swallowed, and tried to take refuge in professionalism, and didn’t quite make it. “the slaves . . .” he licked his lips, and shook his head. “And then sells them out of the country,” his eyes widened, and fear made his eyes wide. “H . . . we may have already lost him.”
“We’re not going to count him out just yet, Eric. Hold on,” H gripped his lover’s shoulder reassuringly. “The sale was only made three days ago. I’m fairly certain he hasn’t had time to move Ryan just yet,” he released the younger man, and frowned, deeply. “And he’s not going to get it. Let’s go get this Mr. Vasquez.”
With that, he, Calleigh, and Eric headed out of the crime lab, with a brief stop at the morgue. With Alexx determinedly on their heels, they once more climbed into their Hummers, and headed for the port.
They screeched up to the Inspection building, and with warrant in hand, started turning the place over with every fine toothed comb they had at their disposal, up to and including doing an on-the-spot fuming for fingerprints.
“Horatio!” Calleigh exclaimed. “We’ve got Ryan’s prints, along with a number of prints we can’t identify!”
“You have one chance and one chance only,” Horatio pressed the smaller, heavyset man against the wall, with his gun pressing into the man’s fleshy forehead, and the policemen in attendance all found something else to look at.
While a lot of them were angry with Ryan for what he’d done, none of them had wanted anything really bad to happen to him, and certainly nothing like what a number of them had witnessed on what little of the DVD’s they’d seen.
“You have no friends here,” H said, and his gun pressed a little deeper into the man’s head. “And if you don’t tell me where Ryan Wolfe is now, then I’m going to put a bullet directly into your brain. Am I understood?”
The man nodded, swallowed, and pointed out the window to a large container that sat on the dock, waiting to be put onto the ship.
“Good choice,” Eric said, and H flung the fleshy man into the arms of a policeman, grabbed a pair of bolt cutters from the office, and as a group, they went out to the container. H cut though the heavy lock, and slowly opened the container.
There were about a dozen people, male and female of all ages in the container, and all in various modes of dress or undress. Some cringed, some cried, but no one came forward.
“My name is Lieutenant Caine, and I’m with the Miami-Dade Crime Lab . . .”
“You . . . you mean,” a female voice that trembled with fear and fatigue spoke from the back. “We’re . . . we’re rescued?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Horatio took off his glasses, and hunched forward as he attempted to look less intimidating. “You are.”
Fervently, the woman praised her maker, and then slowly, one by one, the people were helped out of the container. “Come on, honey, let’s go out.” she said softly to someone still hidden in the back, and in the dark, and H frowned.
“Ma’am, what’s wrong?”
“Well, there’s this guy, and he’s like, really not been treated all that great. I mean, none of us have, really, but this guy’s seriously messed up. And from what I can see of him, well, I can’t say as I would have been any better. We’re coming out,” she said, and a petite woman, who looked to be in her late 30’s, with short, bobbed blonde hair, and pale, grey-blue eyes, and somewhat beaten up herself, as evidenced by her torn and dirty t-shirt and filthy white shorts, stepped into the light, and led another man out.
He was pale, gaunt, bloody and black and blue from his face to his feet, and wore only a dark pair of tight bicycle shorts. His dark hair was plastered to his head with blood and dirt, and Calleigh was the first to react.
“Oh, Ryan,” she gasped, and couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. She wanted desperately to reach out to him, but knew she’d contaminate any evidence if she did, and then her eyes gazed into his, as did Eric’s.
“He must be some sort of middle man,” Eric frowned. “He probably buys the . . . the,” he swallowed, and tried to take refuge in professionalism, and didn’t quite make it. “the slaves . . .” he licked his lips, and shook his head. “And then sells them out of the country,” his eyes widened, and fear made his eyes wide. “H . . . we may have already lost him.”
“We’re not going to count him out just yet, Eric. Hold on,” H gripped his lover’s shoulder reassuringly. “The sale was only made three days ago. I’m fairly certain he hasn’t had time to move Ryan just yet,” he released the younger man, and frowned, deeply. “And he’s not going to get it. Let’s go get this Mr. Vasquez.”
With that, he, Calleigh, and Eric headed out of the crime lab, with a brief stop at the morgue. With Alexx determinedly on their heels, they once more climbed into their Hummers, and headed for the port.
They screeched up to the Inspection building, and with warrant in hand, started turning the place over with every fine toothed comb they had at their disposal, up to and including doing an on-the-spot fuming for fingerprints.
“Horatio!” Calleigh exclaimed. “We’ve got Ryan’s prints, along with a number of prints we can’t identify!”
“You have one chance and one chance only,” Horatio pressed the smaller, heavyset man against the wall, with his gun pressing into the man’s fleshy forehead, and the policemen in attendance all found something else to look at.
While a lot of them were angry with Ryan for what he’d done, none of them had wanted anything really bad to happen to him, and certainly nothing like what a number of them had witnessed on what little of the DVD’s they’d seen.
“You have no friends here,” H said, and his gun pressed a little deeper into the man’s head. “And if you don’t tell me where Ryan Wolfe is now, then I’m going to put a bullet directly into your brain. Am I understood?”
The man nodded, swallowed, and pointed out the window to a large container that sat on the dock, waiting to be put onto the ship.
“Good choice,” Eric said, and H flung the fleshy man into the arms of a policeman, grabbed a pair of bolt cutters from the office, and as a group, they went out to the container. H cut though the heavy lock, and slowly opened the container.
There were about a dozen people, male and female of all ages in the container, and all in various modes of dress or undress. Some cringed, some cried, but no one came forward.
“My name is Lieutenant Caine, and I’m with the Miami-Dade Crime Lab . . .”
“You . . . you mean,” a female voice that trembled with fear and fatigue spoke from the back. “We’re . . . we’re rescued?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Horatio took off his glasses, and hunched forward as he attempted to look less intimidating. “You are.”
Fervently, the woman praised her maker, and then slowly, one by one, the people were helped out of the container. “Come on, honey, let’s go out.” she said softly to someone still hidden in the back, and in the dark, and H frowned.
“Ma’am, what’s wrong?”
“Well, there’s this guy, and he’s like, really not been treated all that great. I mean, none of us have, really, but this guy’s seriously messed up. And from what I can see of him, well, I can’t say as I would have been any better. We’re coming out,” she said, and a petite woman, who looked to be in her late 30’s, with short, bobbed blonde hair, and pale, grey-blue eyes, and somewhat beaten up herself, as evidenced by her torn and dirty t-shirt and filthy white shorts, stepped into the light, and led another man out.
He was pale, gaunt, bloody and black and blue from his face to his feet, and wore only a dark pair of tight bicycle shorts. His dark hair was plastered to his head with blood and dirt, and Calleigh was the first to react.
“Oh, Ryan,” she gasped, and couldn’t stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. She wanted desperately to reach out to him, but knew she’d contaminate any evidence if she did, and then her eyes gazed into his, as did Eric’s.