Cirq 30, part 1

Cirq 30

Disclaimer: Trent, Carlos, Butch, Kim, Walker, Trivette, Sidney, Gage, Alex, baby Angela (and possibly other characters) belong to Chuck and Aaron Norris, those creative boys! Assorted other characters do, however, belong to me, though I must stress that I get NO MONEY from any of this. Long live the Norrises! I love you, Marco Sanchez!
Author’s Note: In this story, we’re choosing to ignore that Carlos quit. He’s still a part of the Dallas PD, as well as Trent’s partner.
Rated PG-13 for poorly written sexual tension and gore.

        Trent Malloy sat in his car using binoculars to spy on a man named Ira Temp, bodyguard to Congressman Matt Thompson. He was also rumored to be the leader of a Dallas mob that robbed banks. No hard evidence had ever been found to link Temp to the robberies, however, until about a month ago, when two of his “acquaintances” turned up dead during a heist. It could just be coincidence, as Congressman Thompson said, but Trent wasn’t so sure. He promised a friend that he would get to the bottom of this mystery.
        Trent looked down to a picture he was carrying of his friend. Margo Jones’ mismatched eyes looked back at him. He remembered when he had taken this picture: Margo’s twenty-first birthday six years ago. She was the youngest of their circle of friends, and they had thrown her a surprise party. Her curly brown hair was cut stylishly short then, and she spiked it. Trent shifted pictures to the one Margo’s mother had given him. His friend’s hair was longer and she looked more grown up at her graduation from the FBI training school last year. Her friends and family had thrown her a party then, too, because they were so very proud of her, and she and Trent had danced together all night. As he studied the picture, Trent recalled his conversation with Mrs. Jones.
        “We haven’t heard from her for six months now,” Mrs. Jones was saying.
        “She always used to call,” Mr. Jones added.
        “Until recently,” Mrs. Jones finished.
        Trent had leaned forward and taken Mrs. Jones’ hands in his own. “I’ll find her…”
        He soon discovered that Margo had been working undercover for the FBI during the past few months. He could get no other information out of the FBI secretary, however. Weeks of sleuthing had led the trail to Ira Temp.
Trent’s concentration was broken when his cell phone rang.
        “Malloy,” he answered.
        “Trent,” Kim Sutter’s nasal voice said, “Carlos called. He sent a potential client over to Thunder Investigations, but he can’t get off work in time to meet him.”
        “When is this client coming?” Trent asked, praying Kim wouldn’t tell him that…
        “He’s…already here,” she admitted.
        Trent sighed and started his car. “Give him some coffee. I’ll be right there.”

        Trent pulled off his sunglasses as he entered Uppercuts, a bar in downtown Dallas whose upper story served as headquarters for Thunder Investigations.
        “Trent! Customer for ya,” Butch, the bartender, yelled. Trent veered toward the bar, and Butch pointed to a man seated at the far end and then went back to drying a shot glass. Trent couldn’t help but notice the amused smile on Butch’s lips, and he warily approached the nervous-looking man at the end of the bar. He had mousy brown hair and his dull brown eyes were sunk deep in his thin face and rimmed by dark circles. His five o’clock shadow only accented his shady appearance.
        Stealing one last glance at Butch, Trent addressed the man. “Can I help you?”
        The man stopped shaking his leg nervously and squinted up at Trent. “I want to hire you,” he said. His thin, whiney voice suited his appearance perfectly.
        Putting his hands in his jeans pockets as though to brace himself, Trent asked, “What’s the case?”
        The man began to fidget again as he explained. “Does that girl over there like me? She acts like she does. She gives me smiles, little waves, but you know women. It could be a ploy to get my money.”
        Trent was silent a moment. “What’s your name again?”
        “Benny.”
        “Benny, why don’t you just ask her?” he suggested in a controlled voice.
        Benny started. “I can’t do that!” he said condescendingly. “I need your help!”
        “I don’t think I can help you,” Trent said as he backed away. He ran upstairs before Benny could protest further. To his surprise, Congressman Matt Thompson was awaiting him in Thunder Investigations.
        “Congressman?” Trent asked. Thompson stood and offered his hand.
        “I’ve heard Thunder Investigations has what I’m looking for,” Thompson said with a smile.
        “An outstanding record at a fair price?” Kim supplied from across the room.
        “Not quite,” he admitted as his smile twisted. “Anonymity.”
        “Excuse me?” Kim had come into the room.
        “Well…you detectives aren’t too well known in the public eye, so my case won’t create a scandal in the news…if you take my case. Detective Sandoval assured me privacy,” he finished diplomatically.
        “Of course,” Trent said. “Let’s talk in my office,” he offered, indicating his door with a sweep of his hand.
        Once they were comfortably seated, Trent asked Thompson about his case.
        “Please, Trent, call me Matt,” Thompson requested with a pained look on his face. “My case is a simple one, I think. I’m concerned that my wife is having an affair.”
        “Have you asked her?” Trent wondered, noting with irony that this was the second time today that he had suggested that solution.
        “Once, almost a year ago. She denied it. At the time, it seemed like an absurd proposal,” Thompson remembered. “But now, I’m not so sure.”
        “What makes you think she is?” Trent asked.
        Thompson sighed and looked at his hands. “She and I used to be inseparable. We were so in love with each other. The past year or so, we’ve grown apart. I’ve been so busy with work, and she has, too. She disappears for days at a time. She’s changed, and I just want to know why.”
        “What did Carlos-Detective Sandoval-say? Did you tell him any of this?” Trent asked.
        “He doesn’t know any of the specifics,” he replied. He had such sad blue eyes.
        “I’ll take the case,” Trent said, “but I cannot guarantee I’ll find the answers you want to hear.”
        “I know,” came the soft reply.

[         “He wants to know what?” Detective Carlos Sandoval asked Trent over the phone. “Sure…yeah ok. I’m on it.” Carlos hung up his phone and looked down at the mountain of paperwork that covered his desk. Wearily, he shoved it aside with a vow to finish it later and ran his hands through his short black hair. It was going to be another long night.
          After taking a sip of his stale coffee, he swiveled his chair to face his computer screen. Accessing the criminal database, he typed in “Thompson, Beatrice.” The congressman’s wife had no record, but another search found several newspaper articles concerned with her. He scanned through them, stopping briefly for one headline. THOMPSONS VOTED CUTEST COUPLE         There was a black and white photo next to it that showed Beatrice and Matt holding hands and smiling at the last year’s Valentine’s ball. Trent’s right, Carlos thought, They do seem like the perfect couple. In the background of the photo, a somber man in a tuxedo regarded the couple with a watchful eye: their bodyguard.
        Acting on a hunch, Carlos checked his background, too. Unlike Beatrice, Ira Temp did have a record. At least a dozen different complaints had been issued against him, but all of them had been dropped. However, this was not incriminating because most bodyguards had similar rap sheets, especially when they protected powerful people like Matt Thompson.
        Ira’s name only appeared in one newspaper article from a few weeks ago. Associates of his, Jim McHines and Robert Paulson, were killed in a bank heist. Police had received an anonymous tip that the Cirq 30 would hit the bank, and they interrupted the robbers. The other five members got away with the money.
        The Cirq had been around for many years, placing its origin in the great migration west. After the group’s peak in the 1930’s, the gang had all but disappeared until recently, when it suddenly resurfaced, coming back from its seventy-year hiatus with alarming efficiency.
        Carlos jotted down this interesting connection, intending to research it further, and returned to his paperwork.

        Early the next morning, Carlos awoke to his ringing phone.
        “I’m up!” he slurred to no one in particular and grabbed the receiver. “Sandoval,” he said as he tried to tame his wild hair.
        “Carlos?” Kim’s voice said, “You need to come to Dallas Memorial Hospital immediately. It’s Trent.”
        “Are you there already?” he asked, completely revived upon hearing the news. “I’m on my way,” he said after she answered. He hung up and grabbed his jacket. He ran down the hall and made the proper excuses to his boss. A few seconds later, Carlos jumped into his car and sped away.

[         Texas Ranger Jimmy Trivette was working on his computer when two men in black suits entered the room. Uh-oh, he thought as he glanced up, Feds.
        “Cordell Walker?” one of them asked loudly.
        “I’m he,” Trivette’s partner replied calmly from his desk.
        The black-suited man approached his desk. “Can we go somewhere private to talk?”
        Walker looked at Trivette. “Yep,” he said, and the four men walked out onto the roof of the Ranger headquarters. Once outside, one of the Feds pulled out a package of cigarettes and proceeded to smoke. The other stranger pulled out a badge.
        “I’m Agent Tyler and this is Agent Porter of the FBI. We need your help in the capture of the Cirq 30,” Tyler said.
        “What can we do?” Trivette asked skeptically.
        “We fear one of our agents is dead,” Tyler said.
        “Or worse, that she’s turned,” Porter added grimly as he spewed smoke.
        “We need another agent undercover,” Tyler finished, “but it can’t be FBI, or we risk exposure.”
        “Do you have any leads?” Walker asked, deciding nothing at the moment. He could sense that these men were holding back information.
        Trivette’s cell phone rang, and he moved away from the conversation to answer it. Porter gave a generic answer before Trivette interrupted.
        “Walker, that was Carlos. Trent is in the hospital.”
        “Let’s go,” Walker said. “We’ll continue later,” he left the agents to themselves. [         When Carlos arrived at Dallas Memorial, he found Kim and Trent’s family-mother Katie, sister Tandy, and brothers Taylor and Tommy-in the waiting area of the intensive care unit. Kim looked up as Carlos walked over.
        “They haven’t told us anything yet,” she said, the fear showing in her damp eyes.
        “I’ll ask,” he said confidently. Instead of heading for the nurse’s station, though, Carlos managed to slip into the ICU.
        It was busy inside, but he navigated his way to Trent’s room. He tentatively opened the door, expecting an alarm to go off, and went inside. Trent lay in a hospital gown with assorted bruises coloring his face and hands. He had an oxygen line and an IV in one arm, and various machines monitored his blood pressure, oxygen levels, and heart rate.
        A young woman with medium-length straight brown hair walked into the room and stopped in surprise.
        “Family only, sir,” she said to Carlos, who jumped away from Trent guiltily. He hadn’t seen or heard her come in.
        “But we’re brothers,” he protested.
        The woman studied the monitors and took some notes on the clipboard at the foot of Trent’s bed. “Uh-huh,” she said skeptically.
        Carlos sighed. “I might as well be a brother. I’m his best friend. Can’t you at least tell me how he is? What happened?”
        She looked up from the clipboard. “Are you Carlos Sandoval?” she asked.
        “How did you-”
        “You were listed as the person to call in an emergency. Have any ID?” she cut him off with irksome authority.
        Carlos showed her his badge.
        “Detective, huh?” she asked, then turned her attention to a suddenly beeping monitor.
        Carlos expected her to go on when she had fixed the problem, but she continued to study the notes on the clipboard.
        “Could I talk to a doctor?” he asked at last.
        She looked up in surprise; clearly she had forgotten he was there. “I am the doctor,” she said as she closed the door. “Dr. Chase.” They shook hands.
        Dr. Chase pulled down the front of Trent’s hospital gown to reveal bruising on Trent’s chest. “We almost had to operate, but his spleen didn’t rupture.”
        “What happened?” Carlos asked.
        “Blunt force trauma, all of it,” she said. Pulling off the bed sheet, she revealed more blue-purple marks on Trent’s legs. “My theory is that he was in a fight of some kind,” she continued. “Whoever he was fighting knew what he was doing, too, judging from the precision of the injuries. We usually don’t see this kind of professional trauma. He has more bruising on his ribs and back, and he broke his pinky.” She covered Trent up again carefully and turned to face Carlos. “The weird thing is that nothing seems to be missing from his personal effects.”
        “May I see?” Carlos asked.
        Dr. Chase pulled a small plastic box from under the bed and handed it to Carlos. He rummaged through it, noting that Trent’s walled, cell phone, and money was all there.
        Dr. Chase scribbled a last note on the clipboard. “I’m recommending that he be moved to another unit and listed as stable,” she said.
        “He’ll be alright, then?” Carlos asked with obvious relief.
        “Definitely. He should be awake in a few hours,” she paused to pull a card out of one of her lab coat pockets.
        “Vivian Chase,” Carlos took the card and read her name aloud.
        “If you have any questions-“
        “Call you? I figured that’s what the phone number was for,” he finished with a smile.
        Vivian cocked her head to the side. “Aren’t you the smart one?” she teased with a laugh. She turned to go, and he caught her arm.
        “Thanks,” he said. “For telling me all this,” he added to her puzzled look.
        She shrugged. “Hey, you’re family,” she smiled. Carlos decided that he liked that smile.

        Carlos slept in a waiting area near Trent’s new hospital room. He had sent Tommy home with his family after Trent had been removed from the ICU. Nearby, Walker and Trivette talked quietly about the situation with the Cirq 30. They were all waiting for Trent to wake up before they went home, but Trent was sleeping later than the doctors had anticipated.
        Dr. Chase was making rounds when she noticed Carlos asleep on a couch. She walked over to pick up the remote on the table in front of him and turned off the 10 o’clock news he’d been watching prior to slumber. Keeling beside him, she shook him gently.
        “Mr. Sandoval?” she said quietly, trying to wake him.
        “Detective Sandoval,” he corrected with groggy indignity. He opened his sleep-heavy lids to find eyes as brown as his own staring back at him. She had a concerned look in her face, a huge contrast to the professionalism she had shown in Trent’s room.
        “Go home and get some rest,” she advised.
        Carlos blinked and groaned as he sat up. He rubbed his eyes and stretched as Dr. Chase sat down beside him.
        “He’ll be fine,” she assured him before he could argue.
        “But he’s not awake yet,” he insisted.
        “The medication he’s on makes him drowsy. I can’t say when exactly he’ll wake up, but you should go home, eat something, and sleep for a while.”
        Carlos checked his watch with a grimace and glanced over at Trivette, who nodded his agreement. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” the detective agreed. He stood and stretched.
        Dr. Chase stood also and walked with Carlos down the hall in silence. She paused at the door of another patient to say goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.”
        “What makes you think I won’t be back before then?” he asked, vowing to be back at the hospital after a quick nap and a light meal.
        Vivian flashed him a knowing smile-she could see he was exhausted-and opened the door to check on her patient.

        The next day was Saturday, and thankfully Carlos did not have to work. He woke late in the morning to a phone call. Rolling over in the bed, he cast an arm haphazardly across his nightstand, nearly knocking over the lamp. Finally, he found the receiver.
        “Yeah,” he answered sleepily, too tired to be polite.
        “Detective Sandoval?” Vivian asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.
        Carlos smiled in spite of himself. “Yes, Dr. Chase,” he matched her formal tone.
        “There’s someone here in room 162 who wants to talk to you,” she said primly. There was indistinguishable talking in the background. “I believe the message,” she continued, losing her composure, “is ‘Get your ass down here.’”
        Carlos laughed. “Tell Trent I’m on my way,” he said, and he hung up the phone.
        On the way to the hospital, Carlos grew tired of the silence and turned on his police radio to catch up on the latest news. Two officers were chatting about the latest robbery by the Cirq just last night. If estimates were correct, the gang had now stolen upwards of a million dollars.
        “Where is the money going?” Carlos asked aloud. Usually robberies were connected with buying something-drugs maybe-and the money almost always left a trail. But the Cirq wisely and efficiently erased any trail officials might follow. They were hoarding their bounty, or investing it somehow, but for what? What was their plan?
        Carlos pondered this question until he reached the hospital. Putting darker thoughts aside, he bounded up the stairs to Trent’s room. It was full of people when he opened the door. Kim had brought Tommy, Walker had brought his wife, Alex, and Trivette, Rangers Francis Gage and Sidney Cook, and Dr. Chase made up the rest of the party. Trent’s mother and younger siblings had already come and gone, leaving flowers, cards, and a teddy bear by the bed.
        “I don’t remember anything,” Trent was saying, “Where I was, why I was there, what happened…”
        “All typical of head trauma,” Vivian put in with the snobbish authority she had displayed when she told Carlos her theory on Trent’s condition. He hated her “smarter-than-everyone” side of her.
        “Will his memory return?” Alex asked.
        “Probably not. Most people only get flashes of memory. If they’re lucky,” the doctor answered.
        “Bummer,” Tommy said.
        Vivian’s pager beeped. “Op. Break time is over,” she said as she examined it. She headed for the door, and Carlos followed her.
        Just outside the door, he stopped her. “Is there a time when you’re not on call?” he asked, only half-joking.
        “Yes,” she answered mysteriously. The pomposity had left her eyes and voice. This was the Vivian Chase Carlos enjoyed talking to.
        “Like when?” he moved a little closer to her and took her hand, hoping he wasn’t being too forward. Some girls didn’t like it.
        “Tonight. At 4.” Her voice was soft and uncertain.
        “Which means you’re free for dinner at 6,” he said.
        “At Fred’s,” she agreed, naming a diner in downtown Dallas.
        “Absolutely,” he said, and he raised her hand to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers.
        “But now I really have to go,” she said with regret in her voice. Gingerly, she pulled her hand away from his. “Duty calls. Bye.”
        Carlos watched as she ran down the hallway and turned a corner, headed for the ER. He hoped that she stopped shaking by the time she got there, and he smiled. When she wasn’t being a know-it-all, Vivian was a really shy girl.
        “Why are you hitting on my nurse?” Trent asked when Carlos returned.
“She’s your doctor, and you’ll thank me when you get special treatment,” he retorted. “Plus, have you ever checked her out?” he added impishly.
        Everyone laughed at Carlos’ cheesy grin, and Tommy put his arm around him. “I hear you, man,” he agreed. “Trent’s just mad that he didn’t get to put the moves on her first.”
        “I was asleep half the time!” Trent protested. “He had a head start.”
        “I think it’s time you went home,” Kim said with disapproval as she detached Tommy from Carlos. She liked to think that Tommy was still a little boy, rather than the mature teen he was. “Maybe take a cold shower,” she suggested.
        Addressing his brother, Tommy said, “Maybe if I hit you in the head, you’ll remember everything again. It works in the movies.” He faked a punch at Trent.
        “You’d have to be able to hit me first,” Trent joked as he blocked his brother’s slow swing. “You’d better go, before Kim tries to make you into a monk or something.” Kim shot him a dirty look as she headed for the door.
        “Get well,” she said. Her voice was pleasant despite her angry visage.
        “I will,” he replied with a smile.
        “On that note,” Alex said as Kim and Tommy waved a last farewell, “I think I’ll be going, too.” She gave Trent a hug and Walker a kiss.
        “She’s incredibly smart, you know,” Carlos continued as Alex found her purse and left. “She told me lots of things about what happened.”
        “Such as?” Trent prodded.
        Carlos looked Trent square in the eye. “You were in some sort of massive fight with someone who knew what he was doing.”
        “And I lost?” Trent tried to joke. “I never lose.”
        “You’re sure you don’t remember anything? What you were doing even?”
        “No,” Trent said slowly. Yesterday was a fog to him. “I might have written it down, though.”
        “I didn’t find anything,” Carlos replied. He continued to explain that Trent’s car was found, unlocked and with the keys in the ignition, at the abandoned train station on South Street. Nothing had been stolen.
        “Weird,” Trent murmured. He tried to think, but it only made his head pound.
        “Kim says that you’ve been working on some sort of secret, off the record project. She wasn’t even supposed to tell me,” Carlos said.
        Trent shook his head, trying to clear the fog and shake the pain at the same time. “I don’t remember. Maybe. I don’t know.” The last sentence sounded more like a question. He yawned sleepily and settled back in his bed. “Keep me in the loop if you find anything out,” he said as he closed his eyes.
        Everyone made their excuses to leave, Carlos heading home to sleep more and the Rangers heading back to work.

[         At headquarters, Trivette and Walker pulled Gage and Sidney into an office. They had looked at the FBI’s information and reached a decision.
        “Yesterday the Feds came by,” Trivette told them as he laid a file on the desk. “They’ve lost contact with their undercover agent, and they want the Rangers to send somebody in.”
        “In where?” Sidney asked. Her brown eyes were measuring, reflecting her curious nature.
        “The Cirq 30,” Walker said gravely.
        “We know they’ll be hiring since they lost a couple of guys recently,” Gage said. He crossed his arms.
        “What we didn’t know,” Trivette continued, “is that they attempted to break Marla Gregor out of jail about a week ago.”
        “The thief?” Sidney asked with surprise.
        “She’s so good almost nobody’s seen her, right?” Gage asked. Now he was really intrigued.
        “None other. The court trial was very secretive, and the case was downplayed so much that there wasn’t a great public interest in the case, and she just disappeared from the press. She’s become a legend to the burglary world,” Walker added.
        “Legend has it she’s about yay high,” Trivette measured an imaginary girl who came up to his jaw line, “with dark hair and eyes. She’s supposed to be a real beauty.”
        Sidney smiled. “I get the job?” she asked Walker happily. She could see where this conversation was leading.
        “Is that a good idea?” Gage frowned. He and Sidney always worked as a unit. “She’s not going to have much backup.”
        “I’m a big girl,” Sidney said defensively. “I can take care of myself.”
        “No one’s saying you can’t, Sid,” Gage began, put off by her hostility, “but it’s not a good idea.”
        Sidney put her hands on her hips, brown eyes blazing at Gage. “Why? Because I’m female?” she challenged.
        “No,” he retorted, anger creeping into his voice, too. “Because you’re you.”
        The two stared at each other, seething, until Walker broke the silence. “Actually, Gage, she won’t have ANY backup at all. Regardless, it’s my decision, and you’re our best shot at getting the Cirq.”
        “No arguments there,” Gage agreed, breaking the angry trance with Sidney to acknowledge Walker. Walker picked up the black file on the desk and handed it to Gage.
        “Agents Tyler and Porter would like to brief you in person ASAP. Their office is here,” Trivette laid a business card on top of the file.

        Gage and Sidney rode in angry silence on the way back from their meeting with the federal officers. The situation they painted was bleak: whatever the Cirq was planning, it would occur soon. Sidney mulled the information over, wishing she could bring herself to talk to Gage. Instead, she stared vacantly out the window. As Gage turned a corner, he spoke.
        “I didn’t mean to insult you earlier, Sid.”
        She sighed and looked at him. “I know you didn’t mean to, but you did. I can take care of myself, Gage.”
        “I know you can.” A dazzling grin crossed his handsome face. “You’ve kicked my ass enough for me to know that well. But it doesn’t stop me from worrying about you.” He pulled into the Rangers parking lot, the grin disappearing. “I care about you, Sid,” he said as he shifted the car into park. He took off his seatbelt and turned to face her. “And it’s tearing me up. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t fight with you like this.” He got out of the car and walked into headquarters, leaving Sidney alone trying desperately not to cry.

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