Date: 11 Nov 1998 23:11:59 -0800
Subject: Baccarat Fragments -- Small Town G -- by Sean Spencer

BACCARAT FRAGMENT: SMALL TOWN

By Sean Spencer

seans13@hotmail.com

 

CATEGORY: VA

RATING: G

KEYWORDS: Mulder/Skinner Friendship

SPOILERS: None

DISCLAIMER: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully and Walter Skinner are the properties of 
Chris Carter, 1013 Productions and Fox Television. No copyright infringement 
is intended or implied in their use in this work of fiction.

SUMMARY: Mulder needs a good chewing out and his new AD lets him have it.

Thanks to Kiyoko and Sue!

Thanks, Roberta, for all the encouragement

............................

He had been here two weeks already. Two weeks of trying to figure out the 
botched investigation of the locals. Two weeks of not having Scully by his 
side. It was his bad luck that his partner was assigned to the other end of 
the country. 

Mulder couldn't stand it anymore. There was a lull in the investigation, for 
the past two days. Everything was slow and the lab geeks in DC claimed there 
was a backlog of cases so their evidence would have to wait until it was 
their turn. In the meantime, here in Nowhere, USA, Mulder was restless.

He used to have a life like this. When he was in the ISU with that slave 
driver Patterson, Mulder used to have nights like this when the only 
diversion in a small town was the Seinfeld rerun. The local bar never held 
any attraction for him. The women were too plump while the men were 
too...rednecked. And he never touched alcohol anyway, not when he could help 
it. 

He'd already read his usual dose of inane paperbacks. This town didn't have a 
bookstore. He'd even gone through all the tabloids at the check out but there 
didn't seem to be any viable X-file in any of the crazy articles. 

None of the people at the sheriff's office wanted anything to do with him, 
not after he'd been too sarcastic with the way they'd handled the evidence. 

He never realized how much different it was having Scully by his side. Once 
work was through for the day, they'd eat out , occasionally agree on a movie, 
or watch television together. They never really talked, each one too reserved 
for any soul baring. But they kept each other company. Having someone 
familiar, someone who didn't need explanations for the verbal shorthand that 
was their language, made a huge difference when one was on a case.

He'd already called her a few minutes earlier, just to bitch about the local 
law enforcement, but she wasn't in her room and her cellphone wasn't turned 
on. Reluctantly, he had to settle for voicemail.

In a sudden burst of activity, Mulder peeled off his clothes, put on a T-
shirt and running shorts, slipped on his running shoes. And ran. He already 
ran this morning. He didn't really feel like running, but it was something to 
do. 

He came back an hour later. All his muscles were tingling. It had been good 
to work up a sweat. Once he was in his room, he pounced on the ringing 
telephone. That must be his partner.

"Scully?" he answered. He was still breathing heavily from his run. "Did you 
get my voice mail?"

An awkward silence from the other end. 

"Agent Mulder?" 

Automatically, Mulder straightened his back even if the caller couldn't see 
him. The first thought that came to mind once he knew who was on the other 
end was, what had he done now?

"Yes, sir?" 

"Are you all right?" AD Skinner inquired.

"Sir?" 

"Your breathing, there's nothing wrong with you?" Skinner asked.

"Oh, sir, I just came from a run." 

"What are these complaints from Sheriff Talbot?" Skinner yelled at him 
without preliminaries. "You called one of his men a son of a bitch! There are 
other complaints faxed here this morning. You constantly criticized their 
operations, and you've ignored some of the evidence they deemed significant! 
Agent Mulder, what have you got to say for yourself?"

"Sir?" It was clear, however that Skinner wasn't ready to listen to him.

"Skills like smooth interagency relations are as important as the case, Agent 
Mulder," Skinner continued, his rage barely in check. "Frankly, you've let me 
down. You've been there, how long?"

"Two weeks, sir."

"Two weeks already," Skinner growled at his end. "Good rapport between you 
and the sheriff's office should have been established by this time. I have to 
repeat this, Mulder: you've let me down. I don't have to enumerate the 
sheriff's complaints. Think about what you did these two weeks. And think of 
what you should do to make amends. The longer you stay there without making 
progress on the case, the more difficult it will be for you to unravel it. Do 
I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Mulder said sullenly.

Without further ado, Skinner abruptly hung up. Mulder looked at his handset 
then crashed it into the cradle. 

"Shit, shit, shit," Mulder angrily tore off his clothes and took a much-
needed shower. Skinner's call was the perfect way to cap a depressing day. 
This was one more reason why he needed his partner. It was another thing he'd 
been relying on Scully for, the way she could handle the locals without 
ruffling any feathers. He, on the other hand, was like a bull in a china shop 
the moment he was faced with incompetence on a case. Scully could make her 
orders seem like cheerful suggestions, and they would bend over backwards to 
carry it out. And if they chose not to follow her suggestions, she showed 
them the steel underneath. 

After Skinner's reprimand and his run, Mulder was too overwrought to settle 
down. He spent the next few hours consolidating his notes. He needed to be on 
his toes in the next few days. Without a doubt, Skinner would be breathing 
down his neck. He eventually fell asleep with the television turned on the 
infomercial channel.

The insistent rapping on his door woke up the agent at six the next morning. 
The never-ending infomercial still blared from the television.

Who could it be this time of the morning? Maybe it was one of the deputies 
with a solid lead on the case.

Mulder's eyes widened once he opened the door. It was AD Skinner.

"S-sir!" 

"I'll meet you at the coffeeshop in fifteen minutes, Agent Mulder," Skinner 
said tersely. "Fifteen minutes. I want you to fill me in on what's happened."

"Yes, sir."

Skinner strode off down the hall then down the stairs. 

Shit. He was in deep, deeper shit. Mulder didn't waste time contemplating the 
implications of his boss' actions. An AD appearing at your motel door at six 
in the morning because of complaints by the locals was Not A Good Thing. 

The motel coffeeshop was almost deserted at this early hour except for 
Skinner in a booth and two other men, factory workers from the looks of their 
uniforms. 

Mulder ran a hand through his still wet hair. He nodded to his boss and sat 
across from him. The waitress approached and he asked for the usual.

Two weeks here and he already had a usual. 

Skinner had an open manila folder in front of him and was perusing through 
it. Mulder kept silent. Skinner continued to ignore him as his eyes scanned 
paper after paper.

Eventually after some long minutes, Skinner snapped the folder shut.

"I am frankly disappointed in all this."

Mulder found himself unable to meet Skinner's eyes. Skinner had been his boss 
for less than a month. True, Mulder always rubbed him the wrong way but 
didn't he do that with everybody? But the AD's words stung, more than Mulder 
thought it would.

"It's inevitable you'll find cases with an impasse, Agent Mulder. But if it 
happens, you have to take a deep breath, step away for a while, then look 
through all the data again when your head clears. Frustration over a case is 
never a justification to call the senior deputy a son of a bitch."

"Yes, sir." Small voice.

"Frustration over a case should not be your defense in attacking their 
investigative methods."

"Yes, sir." An even smaller voice.

"If you encounter an impasse, you call someone for help. Calling for help is 
not a sign of incompetence, Agent Mulder. It is good sense. You're not here 
to prove yourself. You're here to solve a case, a case of triple homicide in 
a small town. What, Agent Mulder? I can't hear you."

"Yes, sir." A whisper.

Mercifully, the waitress came back with their food. Mulder found himself too 
stunned and was unable to eat. Usually, anger was his main defense mechanism 
when he was reprimanded. Heck, anger had always been his main defense 
mechanism. But Skinner's overwhelming presence and looming disappointment 
disoriented him. He felt like all the wind went out of his sails and he was 
cast adrift in the ocean. Part of the reason he wasn't angry was every word 
Skinner had said was true. 

He hadn't been paying meticulous attention to this case. He was going through 
the motions, bitching and moaning about not having Scully by his side, 
allowing his concentration to get shot by focusing on being stuck in this one 
horse town. 

"Agent Mulder, I strongly suggest you eat. I only have a day to straighten 
things out here. You're in for a long day." Skinner pointed to the agent's 
untouched plate. Mulder ate in uncomfortable silence while Skinner read the 
morning papers. Wordlessly, the AD handed Mulder the sports pages while he 
hid behind the headlines. No more words were said as they both finished 
breakfast.

Most of the morning was spent going over the evidence step by step and piece 
by piece. It was humiliating. Skinner first met with the sheriff who was 
gratified the Bureau found their town important enough to merit an AD's 
attention. Skinner left no doubt as to who was in charge and earned the 
respect of the locals. Mulder felt like shouting "I am not worthy!" as he 
tagged along, sullenly silent most of the time.

He found Skinner to be a plodder but no stone was left unturned. The AD was 
very thorough, verifying facts not once but usually two or three times.

"Are we boring you, Agent Mulder?" 

Mulder hastily shook his head and covered his mouth when Skinner caught him 
in midyawn at the meeting with the sheriff and his deputies. The agent sat up 
in his chair and straightened his papers. He reddened when someone tittered. 
But the offending chuckler was silenced by Skinner's abrupt stare. 

After the meeting with the sheriff, Skinner asked to be driven to the three 
crime sites. At first, Mulder hoped that the sheriff would field one of his 
men to go with them. The idea of spending the next few hours with Mr. Grouch 
in the close confines of the car did not sit well with him. But then, 
Mulder's string of bad luck was holding. Fast. 

"Sheriff, Agent Mulder and I don't want to trouble you for the rest of the 
day," Skinner smiled as he shook the sheriff's hand. Mulder's heart sank. 
"I'm sure we can take care of things from here. After two weeks, I bet Agent 
Mulder knows the crime scenes like the back of his hand."

The two men laughed heartily and Skinner even clapped the sheriff good-
naturedly on his back. Behind them, Mulder grimaced with distaste. He 
followed the AD to their rental. But the moment they were out of earshot, he 
heard Skinner mutter something.

"What, sir?" 

"Moron," Skinner repeated. "That sheriff couldn't find his way out of a paper 
bag."

Mulder stopped in his tracks in surprise. As Skinner slipped into the 
passenger seat, Mulder could see Skinner's irritated face. The smiling 
"hearty" look on the AD was gone. The one hour drive between crimes sites 
didn't look as bleak now.

"I thought you liked the sheriff," Mulder said as he started the car. 

"I didn't like him, Agent Mulder," Skinner explained. "I appeared to like 
him. Small town sheriffs lead small lives. The most that they handle in their 
lifetimes are petty crimes. Drop a triple homicide in their laps and they run 
around like headless chickens. 

 "That's where you went wrong, Agent Mulder," he continued. "You don't tell 
them, ever, that they're headless chickens. Make them feel like they're 
roosters, king of the henhouse and next time you ask them for help, they do 
so willingly and to the best of their abilities. To the best of their 
abilities, Agent Mulder. Remember that. 

"Now, I'll get some shuteye. I've been up since three."

"Yes, sir," Mulder nodded. This Skinner guy wasn't so bad after all. He 
seemed to know how people worked. He handled the hostile sheriff with aplomb 
and by the time he left, he had them eating out of his hand.

Even if their investigation was in a small town, the victims were dumped in 
three disparate areas at least one hour from each other. Mulder did not turn 
on the car radio with Skinner sleeping on the passenger seat. Mulder easily 
became bored with the unchanging landscape and the silence in the vehicle. 
After a few minutes, the silence was mixed with the sound of Skinner lightly 
snoring as his slumber deepened. The AD snorted once and Mulder glanced at 
him, but Skinner quieted down. 

Mulder had a glimpse of the AD without his glasses. He looked younger and 
more vulnerable without the glasses framing his face. He wasn't bad looking 
either. From the brief painful encounters Mulder had with him since he became 
their boss, Mulder was only aware of him as being a grumpy bald, bureaucratic 
man. Maybe there was more to the AD than he thought.

The agent parked the car on the shoulder of the narrow country road. The only 
sign of this being a place where the body was dumped was the remnants of 
bright yellow police tape on the old oak three. 

"Sir?" Mulder tentatively tried to wake the AD. Skinner didn't stir one bit. 
"Sir?" This time, Mulder shook his forearm. 

Skinner abruptly drew awake. His eyes flew open, he looked around once then 
put on his glasses. 

"This the first one?" 

They got out of the car and Skinner walked around the oak tree. Mulder 
brought up significant points he'd discovered here that the locals had 
missed. He was the one who found the trophy the killer was collecting. The 
deputy had at first dismissed the broken branches of the wild rose bush as a 
consequence of the body being dragged from the car as it was dumped. But 
Mulder had noted the clean scars on the rose bushes, as though it were cut 
off with a pocketknife. 

"Good work, Agent Mulder," Skinner said absently, looking at his notes. 
Mulder found himself consoled at least since the start of this investigation. 
Again, Skinner chose to nit-pick over each and every fact on the police 
reports. His attention to detail was starting to wear thin on Mulder. 

"Sir, we've been niggling over this particular bit of evidence since we were 
at the station," Mulder ground his teeth in frustration as Skinner once again 
pointed out the shallow grave for the nth time.

"Agent Mulder, I'm sorry if I'm not as brilliant as you," Skinner fixed a 
glare at his errant agent. Mulder looked away, too aware that he'd been here 
for two weeks already and had been far from brilliant on this case. "The only 
thing on my mind is to provide another set of eyes, ears and brains so we can 
make heads or tails of all this. To provide the victims' relatives with a 
sense of closure. Is that too much to ask?"

"No, sir," Mulder muttered, thoroughly chastened, and kicked a pebble out of 
his way. He watched the pebble go over the small rise. Then his eye caught 
something sticking out from the ground.

He walked up to the shiny thing glinting under the noonday light. 

"Bingo, " he whispered to himself. They'd gone over this patch of ground inch 
by inch since the day the body was discovered. But the heavy rains two days 
ago apparently washed away some of the soil in this part of the field.

"Sir, I think I have something here," Mulder said over his shoulder. He 
squatted down and used his handkerchief to clear away some of the debris. 
Skinner walked over to him and looked.

"What is it?"

"It's some kind of awl, sir," Mulder said. "The murder weapon."

Skinner got on his cellphone and called the sheriff. 

"They'll be here within the hour," Skinner said. Mulder used his handkerchief 
to cover the awl handle sticking out from the ground. He placed rocks over 
the cloth to mark the area. Then they went over the rest of the area, both 
their eyes combing the ground for more evidence. 

The deputies arrived less than an hour later. Skinner cautioned them to do 
things correctly.

"Come on, Mulder," Skinner said. "Let's go to the second one."

The second site was only half an hour away. Just as Mulder was about to park 
on the shoulder again, his stomach gave a huge growl, totally embarrassing 
him. Skinner heard it, too and chuckled.

"Don't worry, Agent Mulder," the AD said with irony as he stepped out of the 
car. "We'll get a bite to eat after this."

Skinner reached into his suit coat pocket and tossed something blue and white 
in Mulder's direction. The agent caught it easily and grinned when he found 
it was a Nestle's Crunch.

"I never thought you had a sweet tooth, sir," Mulder commented as he 
unwrapped the bar. 

"Lots of things you don't know about me," Skinner muttered as he approached 
the shallow grave twenty feet away. This time, Mulder already knew what 
Skinner wanted. He went point by point over the area, showing Skinner where 
things were found and explaining how it added up to his profile of the 
killer. Again, branches of a large wild rosebush were missing, evidence of 
trophy procurement by the killer. The AD agreed with Mulder's assessment of 
the site.

They left after an hour. It was past two o'clock. This time Skinner insisted 
on driving and they headed for the next town for lunch. They sat at the 
counter of the diner instead of taking a booth. While Mulder joked with the 
waitress, Skinner called the sheriff. 

"There were a good set of prints on the awl." Skinner snapped his cellphone 
shut before digging into his meal. "Only two hardware stores in the area sell 
that particular awl. One of the sheriff's men is already on his way to both 
stores to find out who purchased one recently."

"That's good news," Mulder said as he hungrily consumed his fries and club 
sandwich. Good news indeed. It meant he'd be here only a few more days at the 
most. They would have a suspect once the fingerprints came up with a name. If 
the fingerprints came up with a name. However, statistics were on their side. 
A person who commits triple murder was most likely someone with a past 
record. 

Skinner ate his own meal in silence. Mulder surreptitiously watched his 
superior. The boss man's turkey sandwich was consumed in a few bites. 

"Want my fries?" Skinner turned and pushed his plate towards the agent. 

"Yes, sir, I was just about to ask." 

They didn't get anything new from the site where the third body was dumped. 
The AD was driving on this last leg of the trip. 

"So, Agent Mulder, how long have you worked for the Bureau?" Skinner steered 
the car through the deserted country road. It was during a lull in their 
conversation when Mulder was contemplating on turning the car radio to a rock 
station instead of this country music number Skinner was listening to.

"Sir?"

"I haven't been able to go through all the personnel files yet," Skinner 
explained. 

"Four years." 

"HQ straight from Quantico?"

Mulder nodded. Only those on top of the heap from Quantico went directly to 
the Hoover. But at the moment, Mulder didn't feel like he was on top of the 
heap. From the way things were taking so long here, he was no better than the 
sheriff and the deputies. 

He answered more of Skinner's polite questions, but at the same time, he was 
thinking of the crime scenes, his brain riffling through all the data about 
the case, going over each detail rapidly, the way it happened sometimes when 
he knew he was close. 

How could he have missed the awl? He wished the Bureau databanks took faster 
than they normally would. Fingerprint match-ups took a long number of hours, 
24 hours if you were lucky. It all depended on the load the central computers 
had to handle. More than likely, it would be two to three days before the 
fingerprints had a name. And only if the UNSUB had a previous record. 

"Agent Mulder?" The agent snapped out of his reverie. He missed Skinner's 
question.

"Sir?"

"Never mind," Skinner sighed. They pulled out of the dirt road and onto the 
road leading back to town. Just at the outskirts, something caught Mulder's 
eye.

"Stop here!" Mulder urged the AD. "Sir, right here, we need to see this!"

Skinner stepped on the brakes and stopped the car onto the shoulder. They 
were at a plant nursery with a sign declaring "Delphiniums at $1.99!" 

"The trophies," Mulder was out of the car even before Skinner turned off the 
engine. The younger man was already striding towards the set of greenhouses 
yards away. "Roses!" 

"Agent Mulder!" Skinner roared. "Come back here! Now!"

"Sir!" Mulder paused. "He's here. The UNSUB!"

The agent refused to stop and Skinner had to run over and grab the man's arm 
before anyone saw them.

"Procedures, Mulder!" Skinner hissed into his ear. Mulder winced at the tight 
grip. No matter how much he tried to pull away, he couldn't. He was dragged 
back to where the car was parked.

"What do you see?" Skinner yelled at him as he pointed to the nursery. "This 
place is unsecured. Look how many cars are in the parking lot! Do you want 
the customers to get caught in the crossfire if things turn ugly? What if the 
UNSUB has accomplices or manages to escape? Who is he? Where does he live?

"Mulder, you just can't go barging in there and arresting everybody in sight, 
especially with the place crawling with innocent people! Procedures, Mulder! 
The Bureau has them for a reason."

"Sir, it hurts," Mulder winced again at the unrelenting iron grip on his arm. 

"Sorry," Skinner was apologetic as he dropped his hand from the agent. 

"We could look around, sir," Mulder said as he rubbed the sore spot on his 
arm. "Fish around, we don't need backup to fish around."

"Two men in suits, Mulder? On a weekday surrounded by housewives and 
children? Sore thumbs, Mulder. We'll stick out like sore thumbs in this 
place. Besides, no telling if everyone knows you by now."

"Sir, they don't know you, the town hasn't seen you yet. You've been here, 
what? Eight--ten hours?"

Skinner scanned the place, his eyes narrowing as he took in the four 
greenhouses, one on each side of the square parking lot. He could see the 
figures of people going through the greenhouses as they went about their 
business of shopping for plants. Then Skinner shed his jacket and tie, 
tossing them into the car as Mulder gaped at him. And the AD continued to 
unbutton his shirt at the throat, revealing a mat of chest hairs sticking out 
from the white T-shirt underneath. No wonder his grip hurt, Mulder mused as 
he took in the size of the bare forearms as Skinner rolled up his sleeves. 
Then as a final touch, the AD pulled up his shirt a little from his pants to 
blouse up his shirt a bit, just enough to give a crumpled look.

"I'm a salesman off for the rest of the day, Mulder, looking for a something 
to bring home to the plant-loving wife." The AD waggled his left hand at 
Mulder where the sun caught the glint of his wedding band before tossing the 
car keys to the agent. "Don't go in there, Mulder. I'll tan your hide if you 
so much as show your face inside. Stay here. I mean it. Roses...rosebushes, 
right, Mulder?"

Mulder found it very hard to wait in the car. He was essentially holding his 
breath. He knew they were on the right track. He could feel the familiar 
tingle at the back of his neck, the one he always used to have when he was in 
the ISU, when he was very close to solving a case. Just when he couldn't 
stand it anymore, when he was about to step out of the car, Skinner's last 
order be damned, he caught sight of the AD's tall frame. 

Skinner looked grim as he entered the vehicle. 

"Fresh pots of grafted wild roses right in his office. Not for sale. Claims 
he wants to win prizes in the next state fair." Skinner flipped open his 
cellphone and talked to the sheriff in clipped tones. "We're staying here, 
Mulder, until the sheriff's men get here. We're not letting him out of our 
sight until the place closes this evening. He's our man and we better do this 
right."

Within a few minutes, Sheriff Talbot came over with two of his men. He 
discussed the procedures for the stakeout with the AD, while Mulder stared 
daggers at the senior deputy, the one he'd called a son of a bitch two days 
ago.

"We wouldn't have had a suspect if not for Agent Mulder's awl and his roses," 
Skinner nodded to his agent in acknowledgement. 

"Sheriff Talbot, we received a call!" The junior deputy ran to them. "The 
prints are from a certain Mark Lange, white male in his thirties, brown hair 
and eyes, wanted in three states for misdemeanors. His photo ID matches up 
with our guy here."

Everyone smiled in triumph. There was no need for a stake out. They had 
enough evidence for an arrest right now. Within a few minutes, Mulder and the 
sheriff's men brought the suspect into custody. Predictably, the suspect 
didn't resist arrest, like most serial killers when finally caught. 

As the suspect was hauled into the police car, Mulder could hear Skinner and 
the sheriff discussing the relative merits of the country music station 
Skinner had been listening to on the way here. The AD was back to his good 
ol' boy act. It finally dawned on Mulder that Skinner listened to the country 
music station for this opportunity to get to the sheriff's good side once 
again.

"I guess all your boy needed here was a little kick in the pants!" 

Mulder felt a snarl coming on, but he forced himself to smile stiffly as the 
sheriff clapped him on the back. 

"Come on, Mulder, I have a flight at six." Skinner waved good-bye to the 
sheriff. Even in the car, Skinner waved again to the sheriff while continuing 
to mutter "moron" under his breath. "By the way, good job."

..............................

It was rare for Mulder to be in a good mood after emerging from AD Skinner's 
office. Even when Skinner pointed out a few typos, Mulder didn't resent it. 
Even if Scully wasn't with him because she didn't have anything to do with 
the case, it was okay with him. A successful conclusion to a case never 
failed to give him a high and it was even better that the boss man wasn't 
yelling at him.

Mulder took the long route through the East Corridor to get back to the 
basement. He paused by a vending machine. Took out his money, made his 
choice, punched a button then reached for the Nestle's Crunch bar from the 
slot.

 

END OF BACCARAT FRAGMENT: SMALL TOWN

Feedback highly appreciated! seans13@hotmail.com

 

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"A beacon in the night."

Mulder in reference to Skinner

Nisei

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