Lessons 21B
Date: Sun, 26 Apr 1998
From: lisby@earthlink.net

The corrugated steel facade of DT Enterprises was barren. Scully was tired
of looking at it and the plate glass doors of its small detached office.
Sick of pacing the perimeter in the cold, listening to her heels click the
asphalt and the water slap against the docks. The harbor's stench was
sickening. Fish and spilt oil. She wiped her gloved hand across her nose,
wanting to rub out the smell. "How much longer can it take for someone to
get down here?"

Hill walked almost silently beside her. Her reply birthed a vapor cloud. "I
told you that the security company dispatcher said she lives up near
Williamsburg and it would take her awhile." Sly smile. "Of course, if you
can't wait any longer, I'm still game for that No Knock."

"Shit, I wish we could get away with it." Scully stuffed her hands into her
coat pockets. The stink was still thick in her nose. "I can hardly feel my
toes. Let's sit in the car for awhile."

She sped her steps as they walked around the back of the building, past a
steel door covered by a padlocked grate and a few barred windows. They'd
already shone their flashlights through the dirty glass panes, but it would
have been too kind of fate to offer up Mulder. Nothing was ever that easy.

Scully kicked a pebble, heard it skitter away and clack into the side of
the structure. Rounded the corner and walked down a narrow alley leading
along the western facade. She looked up at the tall, blank walls of the
warehouse, then at the identical building on the alley's opposite side.
Tired eyes played tricks: the warehouses seemed to slide closer together.
It gave her the oogies. Too much like Moses's mother trapped between the
slabs of Pharaoh's temple in 'The Ten Commandments.'

Unease ended with a shiver when she reached the sidewalk by the office--not
a trailer, but certainly no bigger than one. The Escort was parked in
front. Tina came up along side, stood fishing for the keys in her pants
pocket. Scully watched her look upward. "No stars. There's too many
clouds."

"Good." She turned her own gaze to the pavement. Wouldn't acknowledge them
up there. "I hate stars--"

"'I didn't used to, but I hate them now....' Right?" Tina finished for her.
Scully heard the click of the electronic lock release and the ungreased
squeak of the driver's side door. "Listen, after we find Mulder--after you
and Snuggles the Mummy are done lovin' on him--you're gonna to explain to
me what's behind all these cryptic comments. Got it, Bunny?"

Scully scuffed the heel of her shoe on rough black. Looked up from under
her hair. "Just hurry and turn the car on. I'm freezing."

Hill slid in and started the ignition. Scully was right there, her ass
bouncing on the bucket seat, slamming her door at the same time Hill
slammed hers. The vents spewed hot air and she held up her hands to catch
the current. Blessed, blessed stuff. Looked over as Hill pulled a Kleenex
from the travel pack with a little swoosh. Tina tilted the rearview mirror
and gave her reflection a sharp eye. Sneered as she wiped under her eyes
and blotted her cheeks and nose. "I swear I have the oiliest skin on planet
Earth."

"Yeah, but you'll never wrinkle."

"Maybe." Hill wadded up the tissue and pitched it over her shoulder. "My
grandmothers are that way. They both look like they're made of soft old
leather."

Scully's eyes had drifted to the digital clock's blinking colon. One second
passed, then another, another....blink. Blink. Blink. Caught a flash of
movement and turned to glance down Dockside Road, but it was just a fucking
sheet of newsprint windborne along the empty street.

Scully shifted her weight, asked Tina distractedly, "What are your
grandmothers' names? I can't remember."

"Running Fast Benning and Pleasant Moon Hill."

A long pause while Scully watched the clock again, while her muscles slowly
tensed. Then Hill's hand blocked the glowing numbers as she reached out to
tune the radio, sliced through static bands to find twenty-four-hour talk,
then twenty-four-hour news, then a lilting preacher praising Jesus. Air
huffed through Hill's nose as she switched the hallelujahs off.

The silence grew unbearable in ten green flashing seconds. Scully fidgeted.
"So, how did you end up as Christina?"

"Beats the hell out of me." The big woman settled back in the driver's seat.

"Oh." Scully threw her gaze down the road again. No movement but the
writhing of bare tree limbs in the winter wind. "No really," she asked a
little desperately. "How did you?" The need to do something clawed at her
insides. She was worth nothing if she didn't do something.

"I dunno." Tina's voice thickened as she replied. "I think my mom picked
Christina out of a name-your-baby book." A yawn, hand over mouth. "How'd
you get stuck with Dana Katherine?"

"Same, I guess." Scully jiggled her leg, her stare drawn by a force majeure
back to the flashing clock.

"You know," Hill's told her quietly, "they really do call me Mankiller."

The minute number changed from 4 to 5. Scully wanted to hit it. Wanted to
kick its clock ass. Her question kinked. "Not Big Nose?"

Cloth rustled as Hill shifted. "Nope. Not Big Nose or Heap-Big-Injun' or
Sac-o-Doritos, or Prick Hunter or She-Who-Makes-His-Bag-Grow-Small." Scully
felt her eyebrows pull up high and widened eyes snapped toward Hill. Was
surprised when an honest laugh flexed her throat and shook her gut--cleared
the frustration from her mind. She saw the white of Tina's smile. "Took
your eyes off that fucking clock, didn't I?"

"Yes. You did. Thank you." Scully brushed her hair back from her face,
wiped the wet from her lashes. "Mankiller, huh? Is this a nickname or a
serious name?"

Tina snickered. "It's my 'Dances With Wolves' name." The giggle felt like
bubbles as Hill suddenly twisted around to peer out the rear window. "Oops,
hang on....Dana, I think this is her."

Scully'd seen the flash of headlights, too, and the giddy carbonation
perished--pop, pop, pop. She craned her neck to watch a white car park
beside the Escort. Scully pushed her door open, burst the bubble of warmth,
winced when the cold punched fast through her coat. Gloved fingers drew
bulky Bureau credentials from her pocket.

A tall woman emerged from the small car, unfolding one limb at time. "I'm
Special Agent Dana Scully, FBI." Perfect, professional tone as she flipped
the wallet open, held up her ID. "This is Special Agent Christina Hill. Are
you the manager?"

"Yeah." The woman's cheekbones were sharp and her skin looked jaundiced.
Short, permed hair was ice pink in the street lamp's light.

"We need some information and to see the inside of this property," Scully
explained as Hill reached her side, radiating body warmth and exhaling
puffs of white.

The woman cringed in the wind, held her coat together at her bosom. "We
aren't doing anything here that's against the law. We've been raided by the
Feds before." She had a Tidewater accent--at once weirdly twangy and
slurred. "Doesn't the government never give up trying to prove it knows
what's best for people?"

"You've been raided before?" Scully blinked. "For what?"

"You mean you haven't read the file, or whatever the heck the government
keeps on us? Well, the hell if I know what you people are after." The woman
frowned. "There's nothing in there that's contraband."

"That's great." She sounded snide. Didn't care. "So, there's nothing to be
ashamed of and we'd all like to go home as soon as we can. Just let us in
and we'll get this over with. By the way," Scully cocked her head toward
the warehouse. "What CAN we expect to find in there?"

Now the manager's lips curved, sinking dimples into pallid cheeks. "You
mean you've come all the way down from Washington and you don't even know
what we do? This is a mail order business, Agent...Scully, you said you
name was?"

"Yes. What kind of mail order?"

Sardonic with a twist of wry. "Mail order. Just like you'd find in a dozen
magazines' backpages."

"Yeah? Like what?" Hill asked, pleasant enough. Scully glanced over her
shoulder, saw Tina turning up the collar of her long black coat. "You sell
Peter pumps, French ticklers, 'Greatest Fucks of Long Dong Silver'--stuff
like that?"

Scully felt her face heat as somewhere inside her, a ten-year-old's eyes
bugged out and 'what would Sister Mary Alphonso think?' repeated from a
deep-laid groove. Blushed as she looked back to the wan woman who answered
Hill hesitantly. "Yeah...we just sell normal whitebread sex stuff."

"No bondage gear, no fetish supplies?"

"God damn." There was a snap in the dull eyes. "You two dragged me all the
way down here tonight over shit we don't even carry? Even if we did--it
isn't illegal and doesn't the government have better things to--"

"Skip the diatribe about citizens' tax dollars." Scully cut her off, miffed
at the warm crimson in her cheeks, at guilt from a Sacred Heart. "We aren't
here about your stock."

"No? So what's this all about?"

"We're here as part of an investigation of the abduction of a federal
agent. Do you realize how serious a matter that is, Miss-Miss...?" Scully
didn't get a reply. Wanted to roll her eyes. "If Agent Hill and I have to
wake up a judge, a bailiff, and a court reporter tonight, nobody's going to
be very happy about it. Now, can we go inside?"

"No." The woman tipped her chin up stubbornly. "Not without a warrant."

"That's okay. We can get the warrant," Hill informed in placid undertone.
"The judge may be in his jimjams, but he'll give it to us. We've got
probable cause out the waz. We'll send in a team to trash the place and
confiscate all your stock as evidence. It'll take you six months to get it
back. And for right now, we'll drag you down to the local FBI and let you
sit in a big empty room while we pose the same questions we'd rather ask in
the comfort of your office."

The manager's eyes turned slitty. A new wind whistled through the alley to
buffet Scully from behind, to blow back the woman's loose curls. Her hand
moved to plumb pockets and produce a ring of keys. She pushed between
Scully and Hill to reach the office's glass door. One key for the security
system and another for the lock, then the woman jerked the door open and
let them pass. "Screw you, G-girls."

Hill ambled by, her hips swinging wide. "Hey, don't take it personally,
hon'--this is how we make our living." Scully followed. Strangled a smile.

It was dark for a moment, then overhead lights snapped on. Scully's eyes
wandered the room: a plain, utilitarian desk, IBM clone, framed O'Keeffe
flower print hung against faux-wood grain paneling. The woman gestured to
two folding seats and slipped into the desk chair like a sheet of falling
paper.

"Thank you." Scully sat down as lightly, straight spine. Stripped off her
gloves as the manager lit a cigarette. "We'd like to show you a
photograph." She unbuttoned her coat to withdraw a 3"X5" color glossy from
her blazer's inner pocket. It was Mulder's personnel photo. Laid it
carefully on the desktop, her stomach tightening at the sight of his face.
No smile and eyes black with impatience.

"Nope. He hasn't been here." The woman blew smoke upward and rocked
slightly in her seat.

"You're sure? Maybe actually looking at the photo would help." Tina leaned
forward, pushed his image further way, toward the gaunt woman.

The manager glanced down at the print for a moment. "Nope."

"You're certain?"

"Come on, he's a hunk of burning love and I'd remember him if he'd come around."

"Who owns this business, Miss-?" Scully reached for Mulder--dragged his
picture back to shield with her hand.

"My name is Shelly Henderson, if it's any of your damned business."

"Thank you." She nodded once. "I'd have hated to charge you with impeding a
federal investigation. Now who owns this place?"

Henderson scowled, but her eyes were nervous. "The owner is Linganore,
Limited, 'a wholly-owned subsidiary Ophelia Diversified.' Not me. I just
run the shop with some part-timers down here." The cigarette's ember
flashed as she drew in. "If you want to talk to somebody higher up, you're
going to have to call Linganore. I don't know anything and I don't see
anyone from there except maybe three times a year."

Scratching sounds to her right. Scully glanced at Tina, saw her scribbling
on a small yellow pad on her knee. Tina's black eyes flickered up, caught
Scully's. Nodded. "Where is Linganore based out of?" Hill asked Henderson.

Curt. "Annapolis."

"Okay. And what does DT stand for?"

"'Dirty Things,'" Henderson snapped. "Hell, I don't know--you tell me!
Nothin', as far as I know. How many more questions are you going to ask?"

"As many as it takes," Hill replied evenly, pen poised on paper. "Do you
have a CompuServe account for customer orders?"

Henderson shook her head. "No."

"CompuServe says you do."

"I've got this PC that I do the books on." The manager waived her cigarette
at the machine on the desk. "B-but I don't get no e-mail here, n-no...."
Her voice collapsed into a rich smoker's hack. She thumped her chest with a
bony fist while the cigarette hung in limbo. Waiting.

"Are you all right?" Tina asked. She sounded kind, but Scully knew she was
just waiting to dig in again.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine...."

"So, why do you have an e-mail address with CompuServe?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Thready air through decaying lungs.

"You don't receive any e-mail here--orders don't come to you
electronically?" Scully clarified. The emulsion under her palm was warm.
Hoped Mulder was warm, too.

Henderson cleared her throat. "Oh. No--that goes to Linganore. They get it
all and fax hard copies of the orders to me. I don't see any of it."

Hill tapped her knee with her pen, mouth slightly pursed. "What kind of
company is Linganore?"

Henderson lifted and dropped a shoulder. "I don't know too much about them."

"Well, why don't you tell us what you do know?"

"They own a whole group of antique malls in Virginia and Maryland. Maybe
some in North Carolina, too. That's it. I don't know anything else."

Scully locked eyes with Hill again. Tina's brow was furrowed. Looked back
at the manager. "Could we take a look at your books, Miss Henderson?"

"Oh hell, how long is that going to take?" The woman groaned, raising eyes
to the ceiling. "You know, I have to have this place open at eight and I
live an hour-and-a-half away--"

"I'll browse the books while Agent Scully asks you a few more questions,"
Hill rose from her chair. "That way we can all be out of here just as soon
as possible."

Scully watched Henderson squint up at the tall, broad woman with tired
annoyance. "Can't I sue you guys for harassment or something?"

"Might could." Tina motioned for her to abandon her seat with a flapping
motion of her hand. "I'd check it out. I'll be glad to testify if you do.
Have your lawyer call my lawyer."

Henderson's mouth worked, then she sighed and got up, leaving an unspoken
"fuck you" hanging in the air. Scully watched Hill plop down into the desk
chair, heard the start-up gong, the whir and click of the internal hard
disk, and the tap of Hill's fingers on the key board. Henderson had
resettled herself with a squeak in Tina's vacated folding chair.
Resignation was as loud as annoyance now in the bottle-blonde's voice. "So?
What else you want to know?"

Scully breathed deep and looked at Henderson. The woman dragged slow on her
cigarette. "We have reason to believe a little more goes on at DT
Enterprises than just telephone order fulfillment. Do you have staffers who
accept 'dates' arranged by outside vendors?"

The woman laughed out smoke. "Agent Scully, I've got me and three part-time
boys. We box it and ship it."

"Are you familiar with Hellfire Mating Service of San Francisco?"

The manager's eyes glinted as she leaned back, then tension in her face
relaxed. "Sure, but they don't pimp for anybody here."

"You're positive?" Scully asked, glancing over to Hill. The mouse clicked
under Tina's hand as she scrolled down, searched.

"Agent Scully, all my part-timers are country boys. Lilly white and
practicing the missionary position like God told 'em."

Looked back, one brow lifting slightly. "And what about you?"

Shelly smirked, cocked her head to the side with insouciance. "I don't need
Hellfire to help me."

"How about you helping them out for cash? Do you take on clients?"

Henderson's grin faded, "What are you thinking--that I'm some sort of
prostitute? That Special Agent Honey Buns is down here with me?"

"Yes, that's exactly what we're wondering," Scully snapped. Screw this
bitch. Screw everything. Goddamnitall, Mulder might be cold. "We need to
search your property. Now."

"You'll be wasting my time and yours." The manager stubbed out her
cigarette on a desktop ashtray. "Nothing goes on here except filling the
paid orders of consenting adults."

"Filling what kind of orders?" Tina asked. The mouse clicked and clicked.

"Listen, no one has sex here," Henderson slumped back in the folding chair.
"And no one does anything against their will."

"I've heard that before." Scully blurted. Regretted the curious side glance
that Hill gave her.

"Well, wherever you heard it, Agent Scully, you should've listened."
Henderson was glaring at her, then the pale, skinny woman shook her head
back and forth in frustration. "Hell, I just want to go home and get some
sleep. Go look around the warehouse if you want. I've got nothing to hide.
No one is tied to a cross in the back room with a vibrator up their ass,
especially not Pretty Boy. Here, take the key. Go look around all you
want." Henderson tossed her key ring on the desk. "The big copper one opens
the warehouse. Follow me to my house, too, if you want to, too, and check
it out. Your man isn't there either. I've never seen him before."

With the clatter of the keys on the desktop, Scully knew that they wouldn't
bring him home that night. Her breath caught on jagged little spikes of
disappointment. She let the air out slowly, a little puff at a time. Hill
looked at her from across the desk. The full, crimson lips were flat.
Scully read the agreement in her eyes.

"Go look around the warehouse." Tina nodded. "I'll finish up in here."

Scully's fingers felt stiff as she replaced Mulder's photo in her pocket,
felt its paper-stiffness trying to mold around her breast. "One more thing,
Miss Henderson." She flexed her fingers as she moved her hand--pulled the
folded, Xeroxed composite sketches out of her coat pocket and handed them
to the manager. "Do you know either of these two men?"

The woman spread the images out on the desk, smoothed them down with her
hand, and eventually shook her head. "No."

Shut her eyes against devastation. "Thank you. I'll be back in a few
moments." Blindly found the keys through inner darkness and turned toward
the glass door and the empty warehouse.

--lisby@earthlink.net
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"Why did the robot cross the road....? Because it was carbon-bonded to the
chicken! HA HA HA HA!"
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