From: Kel Date: Sat, 12 Aug 2000 23:01:35 -0400 Subject: NEW: Sheep in Wolf's Clothing 1/3 Title: Sheep In Wolf's Clothing Authors: Kel & Trelawney Category: S Spoilers: Chimera, Paper Hearts Rated: R, for implied situations Archive: Enjoy! Disclaimer: Those persons who believe that Kel & Trelawney own the rights to Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Walter Skinner, or even Mark Scott Egbert, please remit payment to us forthwith. It has come to our attention that some of you have been using these characters without permission. Feedback: ckell@hotmail.com and frohicke@swbell.net You can find this story at: http://www.geocities.com/c_kelll/sheep.html Acknowledgments: David Hearne: Thanks for the advice. Maria Nicole: You're a godsend. Our firstborns are on the way. Erin: Thank you for your input. We believe your concern has been addressed. Scetti: We don't care what your governor says, that was NOT the planet Venus. Summary: Did you really believe Scully unraveled the case of the disappearing blond serial killer without leaving the warehouse? No? We didn't either. Here is the untold story . . . . = = = FBI Headquarters AD Skinner's Office April 28, 2000 9:00 AM He's gushing, Scully thought, AD Skinner is actually gushing. Mulder discovers that the "other woman" was murdered by the "jealous wife," and Skinner's ready to pin a medal on him. "We were under a lot of pressure on this one, Mulder, and you came through for us," Skinner continued. "Thank you, sir," Mulder replied. He visibly relaxed against the back of his chair. "Most remarkable of all, Mulder, you maintained the good will of the local police in a very difficult situation," Skinner concluded. He rearranged the paperwork on his desk, closing one file and opening another. "Thanks," Mulder said again, flushing slightly. With a last nod of appreciation, Skinner turned his attention to Scully, and his expression hardened fractionally. "As for you, Agent, you may resume your duties for the present." "What?" she asked, startled. "You'll be informed when I've made a final decision regarding corrective measures," he said. "I believe Agent Mulder benefited immeasurably from the Bureau's program to assist field agents with poor impulse control." Mulder gulped, and Scully remembered how subdued he'd been after his week of "retraining" at Quantico. But Mulder had screwed up big-time, letting Roche escape and putting the life of a child in danger. She had done nothing wrong. "I beg your pardon," Scully said hotly, moving forward to perch on the edge of the chair. "I was able to close an important case, a case with grave social implications, and I did it alone, under trying conditions, without relief or sleep for seventy-two hours!" Her color was high and she refused to even glance in Mulder's direction, but she could sense his look of confusion. "You disregarded an explicit directive from your superior," Skinner said, closing the file and stroking his thumbs along the edges. "Sir, there was an immediate threat--" She definitely felt it now. Mulder's curiosity was radiating from him like sonar and his entire body had tensed as though for a fight. "An explicit directive, Agent Scully. You do remember that conversation, don't you?" Without waiting for her response, he gave a nod toward the door. Mulder got to his feet but Scully was motionless. "Come on," he urged her under his breath. "Will you excuse us, Mulder?" she asked tightly. "The Assistant Director and I aren't quite finished." = = = Four Days Earlier: "Sir, I respectfully disagree. I need to learn more about the victims, to find a common thread. Why did our killer choose these particular women? I can't do that sitting up here with a telescope." Scully was cold and hungry, but more than that, she was frustrated. No way would Mulder spend day after day merely observing. He'd do something to move this case along. Mulder wouldn't have called back to check with Skinner, and Scully was beginning to see the wisdom of his ways. "Agent Scully, you are to continue surveillance. When you see the suspect you are to alert the Metro police. It's very simple, Agent," Skinner answered. Mulder would have turned off his phone at this point, Scully thought. Sorry, sir, you're breaking up. "Agent Scully, listen to me!" Skinner said in frustration. "If you charge in there acting like a cop--" "I won't act like a cop," Scully assured him. "Damn it, Scully," he exploded. "You look like a cop! You think they won't make you?" She didn't answer. "I trust I've made myself clear?" he asked. "Crystal clear," she told him. She hung up without saying good-bye. Skinner professed confidence in her abilities, Scully thought, but he treated her like a rookie. Of course she wouldn't try to infiltrate a strip club in her sensible pantsuit. She hadn't planned on going undercover and she wasn't prepared. Still, she could improvise. Mingling with the hookers would let her learn more about the women who had disappeared. Victimology. Basic to a manhunt. No one knew more about that than Mulder did. She decided to give him a call. Besides, she was ready for a little sympathy--if Mulder could tear himself away from his Beef Wellington and vichyssoise long enough to talk to her. She hit his code on the speed dial. "Mulder," he answered. "Mulder, when you find me dead, my desiccated corpse propped up staring lifelessly through the telescope at drunken frat boys peeing and vomiting into the gutter, just know that my last thoughts were of you and how I'd like to kill you." That had a nice dramatic flair, Scully thought. No point in getting mushy on him, after all. "I'm sorry. Who is this?" So much for sympathy. "It's a freak show, Mulder. It's a nonstop parade of every single lowlife imaginable," she whined. "Well, the view may not be too different here. It's dressed up a little nicer but underneath the surface, it's the same seamy underbelly," Mulder answered. "It's not the same, trust me," she said. No doubt Mulder had been able to wash and change his clothes. "You know, Scully, this case has turned out to be a little more interesting than I thought and I could use your help," Mulder said. "Are you talking about a reprieve for me?" She forgot about going "undercover," as her mind was flooded with delicious thoughts of going "under covers," under clean covers and sheets. "Well, there's a murder victim that I'd like you to autopsy for me. What do you think? Scully? You still there? Hello?" Scully's attention snapped back to her surveillance as the blue van, the one covered in religious graffiti, pulled up and parked near the strip club. Many stakeouts ago, Scully had asked Mulder about killers returning to the scene of the crime. "It happens more than you'd think," he had told her. "Sometimes just because they want to admire the effects of their work, or sometimes they come back to try to retrieve or destroy evidence." "That van is back," she said into the phone. The killer would be someone who was comfortable in this locale, she thought. Someone with regular access who knew the place well. "What? What did you say?" Mulder asked. "Nothing, Mulder. I'll talk to you later, okay?" She hung up the phone and refocused the telescope, suddenly very sure that the killer was out there. And there she was. Scully's orders were clear: Alert the Metro police. But Scully was sure that would only result in another disappearing act and another dead hooker. She had to get out there. Scully wished it were Mulder making this rash decision, but as soon as the thought appeared she banished it. She grabbed her keys. The abandoned warehouse that they had chosen for their stakeout had been vacated by its paying tenants, who had left behind only broken equipment and trash. Then the vagrants had moved in, and Scully imagined their unseen eyes watching her warily as she hurried down the stairs. Scully made her way down to the side street and hit the alarm to open the trunk of the rental car. She shoved aside Mulder's carry-all to get to her old, worn gym bag. She'd tossed it in two days before, back when she thought she'd have Mulder to share the surveillance assignment. He would have said something snide about people who needed machines to get their exercise, but he would have covered for her while she worked out some of her frustration and--best of all--had a real, hot shower. Back in her lair, Scully pushed aside photos and takeout boxes and dumped her bag on the table. Again she trained the telescope at the strip club across the street. The suspect was still down there, standing in the late afternoon sun, the tallest of a group of scantily clad women. Scully moved back to the table and discarded her jacket, ready to begin her transformation, if she could find something suitable. Searching through the unzipped gym bag, she sighed in consternation until her hand brushed against a pair of black spandex biker shorts, and she yanked them from the bag triumphantly. Scully kept one eye on the woman while she unfastened the buttons of her blouse and the belt and the zipper of her pants. She slid the fine wool slacks down her legs. Alternating one foot out of a pump and then back in, she avoided letting her feet touch the grimy chipped tile floor. The spandex shorts slid up her legs quickly, aided by the nylon of her pantyhose. She double-checked her holster and gun, quickly knotting the tail of her unbuttoned shirt around her waist so that it bagged in the back to conceal her SIG and her handcuffs. She had a black scooped-neck silk camisole on beneath the blouse and after bending at the waist to fluff up her hair and rubbing on extra layers of lipstick, she felt slutty and not at all attractive. She tucked money away in her bra and her cellphone and badge in the pocket of her shirt. After reconfirming the suspect's position, she left the building. It wasn't until she caught her reflection in the glass pane of the building next door that she realized how ineffective her costume was, but she did not look like a cop, and that was the point, wasn't it? She turned away from her image and as she looked to cross the street, she decided that her disguise would not be effective at all if not for her shoes. They gave her the look she needed to pull off this ridiculous stunt. But was it ridiculous? She paused to reconsider. Lives were at stake. Mulder wouldn't have waited by the telescope with a killer on the loose. The shoes were her best pair and rarely worn. She had put them on in hopes of taking Mulder to dinner. She had not expected to be shanghaied off to the slums of southeast DC to spy on hookers and drug dealers. The early evening crowd in front of the strip club was just as sordid as the denizens of the night. Or perhaps even the fading light of late afternoon was too stark and revealing for this crew. The Killer was in sight. Scully kept watch from the edge of the mob as the tall blonde circulated around in the center. "Hey, Red!" Scully ignored the call. She was not the only redhead in this group, and she was far from the most flamboyant. "New girl! You!" Reluctantly Scully turned. The woman who addressed her had sapphire-blue eyes, two Technicolor beacons in her pale face. Contacts, Scully realized. "You know what you're getting into, honey?" the woman asked her. "I been around," Scully said, making her voice harsh. "Yeah, and I'm Bill Gates," the blue-eyed woman chuckled. "First time?" "Third," Scully improvised. "Listen to me, Red. This ain't your ordinary clientele here, if you know what I mean. Just so you understand." "Afraid of the competition?" Scully retorted. "You think you're tough? Wait till you've been around as long as I have, Red. Guy last night, he wanted it Greek style, and he paid me for the whole night. You ready for that, Red?" Scully wondered about the hooker's age and how long she'd been on the street. Makeup didn't hide the fine lines that had not yet turned to wrinkles. "What's your name?" Scully asked impulsively. "Charlotte. And don't try to steal it," the hooker said. "I'm the only Charlotte here. The frat boys love it--they know the song." The Killer was approaching the edge of the crowd where Scully stood talking to Charlotte. Scully edged away, intent on keeping her vigil as unobserved as possible. Charlotte called out to the Killer. "Magdalene! You still at it?" she asked cheerfully. "There is refuge and peace, Charlotte, you have only to open your heart to Him," the Killer said. She wore faux-snakeskin boots high enough to reach mid-knee and she carried an oversized shoulder bag. "Sure, honey. And I'm Bill Gates," Charlotte snickered. Scully had a hideous thought. If poor Charlotte, aging and worn, had to, uh, take it Greek style to make a living, what service would men expect from a hooker as homely as Magdalene? It almost made her feel sorry for the Killer. The Killer uttered a soft, "Jesus loves you" before backing away into the crowd. As Scully watched, she strutted to the door of the strip club and pulled a bill from within her blouse that she handed to the bouncer on her way in. Scully began to follow. "Red! Wait out here!" Charlotte called to her. "Get your trick to pay the cover for you!" end 1/3 Sheep in Wolf's Clothing 2/3 Disclaimer, etc. with part 1 The first thing Scully noticed as she passed through the doorway was the heat. After the cold outside and the clammy chill of her warehouse hideout, the air within was as warm as the gin-mill breath of the bouncer who took her twenty dollars and ushered her in with a sharp pinch to her butt. She whirled and glared at him, and he grinned back at her. "Welcome to Dirty Dames," he said. After the warmth came the odors. Smoke, mostly. Pungent cigars and stale ashes, crackling pot and glowing hash, even opium seemed to be part of the mix. Then there was the aroma of tortured hair, hair singed into curls or ironed straight or stripped and burned with chemicals. And perfume. Odd, unnatural combinations. Roses and vanilla. Cinnamon and lilac. And the human odors. Sweat, urine, and worse. Scully paused in the entryway, searching for her target among the dozens of awful wigs. Instinctively she reached for her flashlight, but it wasn't there. It had taken all her ingenuity to conceal her weapon under her scant attire. She squinted through the swirls of smoke illuminated by the shifting kaleidoscope of colored lights. She moved aside to let a burly man get past, but he didn't pass her. Flinging his arms around her he clutched her in a bear hug, trapping her legs between his knees and holding her close as he rubbed himself against her. "Stop that!" Scully ordered, grimacing with disgust. "I don't want to have to hurt you." He was big but clumsy, and Scully was reasonably certain she could fend him off without the use of her firearm, but she wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible. "Perhaps a taste of the bit and the spur will teach you some manners!" the burly lout muttered drunkenly. His mouth was touching her ear; indeed, she would not have heard him over the pounding repetition of the electronic music if he hadn't been that close. Well, thought Scully, I'm sure this isn't the first time one of these men earned himself a bloody nose. A kick to the instep would have been more subtle, but he wasn't giving her enough room. A punch to the nose would have to do. "Bret! You cut the crap and you march your fat ass out of here!" The burly lout released Scully instantly, and Scully turned to see who had issued the command. "Pei, honey, you're still my number one pony!" the lout whined. Pei was Asian and she looked like a teenager, although Scully hoped she was older. Her shiny black hair seemed to be real, although her long black eyelashes surely were not. She wore a skimpy red dress adorned with black Chinese letters. "No more pony for you, Bret! You spent your money and you had your fun. Now get on home!" "Good night, Pei," he said, looking appropriately sheepish. "See you next payday, honey." "Cheap bastard," said Pei, watching as he slunk out the door. "Are you okay?" "Thanks. I'm fine," said Scully. "If you were fine you wouldn't be here," Pei observed. "You want a little reefer, help you chill out?" "Thanks, no," Scully said. "Whatever," said Pei. "Gets me through the night." She took a roach from her beaded purse and lit it. After a few drags it was too small for her to hold, and she dropped it to the floor before strutting back toward the interior of the club. Scully straightened her shoulders, held her head high, and walked in after her. Scully wanted to find a hidden spot from which she could survey the foul premises, but in this venue, the obscure corners were the most prized. The flickering colored lights did not penetrate to the edges of the room, and from the darkness she heard labored breathing punctuated with grunts and groans. She could perceive, here and there, the outline of flesh against clothing, or flesh against flesh. Moving away from the walls, Scully inched her way past the tables, hoping to find refuge by the bar. Hands groped and bodies bumped her and she realized how unprotected she felt working here alone. She wondered how this would have played out if Mulder had been there. It would have been him rushing after the killer as she tried to dissuade him. But he would have insisted, and maybe she would have insisted on going in with him. And maybe she would still be here in this snake pit, dressed in this outlandish get-up, but Mulder would have been here too. She leaned against the bar, then jerked away when she realized it was wet, stinking of spilled beer. But it still seemed safer to stand with her back to the bar than to venture where she could be accosted from all sides. The abysmal lighting in the strip joint was no accident, for it hid a multitude of flaws, from the cracks and graffiti on the stucco walls to the pimples and track marks of the customers. Drug use was plentiful and public. No one felt the need for the privacy of a restroom stall. At the end of the bar, a stick of a woman was doing a line of coke. "Are you melancholy? Cause I'm sure melancholy." A face with a bulbous nose pushed itself into her line of vision. The face belonged to a short man whose protuberant gut spilled over his belt and strained against his knit shirt. Scully tried to ignore him. "I'm feeling so melancholy tonight. Isn't that a melancholy word? Melancholy." "Buzz off," Scully told him, still scanning the crowd. There, by the pinball machine--was that Magdalene? "I'm a periodontist," he said. "In Silver Spring. I'm very well known in periodontal circles." He looked like a periodontist on the verge of a heart attack and he was invading her personal space, and Scully swore she'd never complain to herself about Mulder again. "Girl in your line of work needs to take care of her gums," said the melancholy man. "I'm gonna give you my card." Magdalene was talking to someone, another hooker. An Asian girl in a red dress. Shit. Pei. "No gums, no teeth. That's the way it works," he continued. Magdalene took hold of Pei's hand, leading her somewhere, pushing a path through the crowd for the two of them. The target was on the move and Scully had to move too. "S'okay, doll. I'll just have another drink and wait for you right here," Melancholy called after her. Scully navigated through the crowd, steadily gaining ground on Magdalene and Pei. They walked into a larger room where the heaviest action was centered. A T-shaped stage displayed the club's best assets. Rail-thin girls, devoid of agility or grace, shimmied out of ridiculous sweat-stained costumes. Stuperous with drugs, they were oblivious even to the overwhelming beat of the music, and their movements were empty and random. "How long does this song go on?" Scully wondered. She stepped away from a man whose track-marked arms showed off his IV drug abuse. It seemed the denizens of this sleazy establishment were determined to fill their lives with disease and danger. She could imagine any one of them in her autopsy bay. Scully followed Pei and the suspect. As she passed the stage, she tried to avoid looking at the girls, although she had to pass within feet of their bared breasts and sweat-slicked bodies. The floor of the club was littered with cigarette butts and crumpled papers, but where it was bare it was tacky with filth. When her foot came down on some thing small and hard--a crack vial, most likely--she narrowly avoided slipping on it. She caught herself, and when she looked up she could see the back of Pei's red dress disappearing though a beaded doorway at the back of the room. Scully followed, and when she parted the garish beads, they revealed a narrow chamber with a stack of folding chairs on the floor and a pay phone mounted on the wall. Notices taped or tacked near the phone offered cars and furniture for sale, plus guaranteed techniques to earn money or lose weight. Otherwise, the room was empty. Scully drew her weapon before she opened the door at the other end of the long room, but the hallway she found was deserted and dark. She was painfully aware of the potential for danger, but she proceeded. The first door she tried was locked, but a man inside heard her efforts and opened it. "No, no, no!" he fumed at her. "I said a branding iron, not a gun!" He slammed the door and after a pause, Scully continued her search. She opened door after door, witnessing enough themes and variations that she was sure she could sit through Mulder's entire video collection without a trace of embarrassment or surprise. "Join the party!" said one man who seemed pleased by the interruption. "And what are you supposed to be?" But finally she came to the end of the line, a fire door that undoubtedly led to the outside. The Killer had done it again, escaped without a trace. Scully sighed in defeat as she reached for the heavy doorknob. Damn thing was locked. A violation of public safety ordinances that Scully was definitely going to report. The thought of tunneling her way back through the hallway and back through the nauseating strip club was softened by the knowledge that she could gather up the surveillance equipment and clear out of the warehouse forever. Then she would call Skinner, and he would castigate her by telephone and tell her when to report to his office so he could blast her in person. Then she would go home and take a long shower, followed by another long shower. Then she would call Mulder, who was probably being treated to Lobster Newburgh and a manicure at this very moment, and they could discuss her failure. And what about Pei? The girl assumed an air of brittle indifference, but her behavior had revealed a deep vein of empathy. Scully wished she had been able to save her. "Damn it!" Scully cried, giving the metal door a kick, and voices responded to the noise. "Company, Mag. You almost done?" It was Pei. She was alive and sounded quite unafraid. "Put this behind you, Pei. This life is over." Magdalene's voice was deep and harsh, but not at all angry. "FBI! Open the door!" Scully shouted. She was not too late--not yet. No response, not even when she repeated the command and punctuated it with another hard kick. She stared in consternation at the scarred metal surface of the locked door. Scully backed up and looked down the dark hallway, making sure it was still empty. Then she aimed her SIG at the lock on the door and fired. The noise was deafening, echoing off the concrete walls and metal door, and without waiting, she lunged and kicked the door open. With her weapon drawn, she moved quickly inside, then stopped and gaped in surprise. Magdalene was- a man. His long, blond wig was tucked under his arm and the hotpants and leopard-spotted blouse were in a heap on the floor by his feet. He still wore his high-heeled boots, and above them she could see fishnet pantyhose that ended just below the waistband of his Fruit-of-the-Looms. And his bra. He'd found something to fill out those conical cups--something with nipples. Scully reminded herself that she was here to catch a killer. "FEDERAL AGENT! Hands above your head!" she shouted louder than necessary. Scully canvassed the room quickly and saw Pei leaning against the table that constituted the only piece of furniture. Pei was smoking another joint, her expression gradually changing from bored to amused as she looked back at Scully. This time Scully advanced without hesitating, annoyed that she had been momentarily shocked by the near-naked crossdresser. She gestured with her gun, but Magdalene-the-man didn't seem to understand. "Now!" Scully shouted. "Up against the freakin' wall!" The man finally moved forward to face the opposite wall, stepping carefully over his discarded clothing. His hands were raised above his head and pressed against the "My Mother Molested Me!" graffiti on the wall. Scully took note of the "Jesus Saves" tattoo on his right bicep. She moved her SIG so that the muzzle pushed against the base of his neck. "Get out of those boots!" Scully ordered, and Magdalene struggled to take them off. When he finished he placed his palms against the wall again, and Scully gingerly checked the boots for weapons. Keeping the gun trained on Magdalene's neck, she used her free hand to pat him down for a weapon. His lack of clothing should have made the job easier, but it made her flesh crawl. As she determined that he was unarmed, she called out, "Are you okay, Pei?" No answer. As she kept the gun aimed at his head she stepped back and risked a glance over her shoulder. Pei was gone, the only reminder of her presence the faint odor of marijuana. Magdalene decided to talk: "What have I done? I didn't offer you any sex." "Good thing you didn't," Scully replied as she removed her cuffs from her belt. "What's your name?" "Why?" he asked bitchily. She thought he might resist, for he was glaring at the handcuffs, but the sight of her gun seemed to keep him under control. "Shit," he said in a mixture of fear and resignation. "M-Mark. Mark Egbert." "Okay, Mark, you are under arrest." Scully slapped the cuffs around his thick wrists and stepped back. "You have the right to remain silent-." "Wait!" he cried as he turned away from the wall. "Tell me what I've done." "You have the right to an attorney. Iif you can't afford an attorney--" "Please!" He backed into the wall and Scully was struck by his earnest look of confusion. "Mr. Egbert, you are being charged with the disappearance of six women who have gone missing from this club," she said. "I can explain," Egbert said urgently. "I did it." "Barbara Adams, Leticia...What?" Scully hadn't expected him to crack so easily. "I did it. I made them disappear," he said. Scully didn't even try to hide her surprise. "You're confessing to murder?" she asked. Egbert's face blanched beneath the garish makeup. "Murder? It wasn't murder," he said. Mulder had taught her that the best way to get a confession was to give the killer a graceful way out, to convince him that his action was understandable and forgivable. Scully was annoyed with herself for forgetting that lesson. She was sure that a more sympathetic response would have encouraged Egbert to tell her all about his crime. Either way, it was imperative to get him Mirandized. "If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you," she continued. "I didn't KILL them!" Egbert insisted. Scully sighed. No doubt this religious fanatic felt that executing prostitutes was an exercise in righteousness, but two days without soap and water or proper nutrition left her too short-tempered to play along. "Then what did you do?" she asked. "I showed them a way out," Egbert said staunchly. Arguing with a crossdressing murderer in his underwear was NOT a situation that played to Scully's strengths. She had to look him in the eye to avoid staring at his fake breasts. "Mark, you're under arrest and I'm going to take you downtown for questioning. I just want to make sure you understand your rights," she said in a flat, toneless voice. She had caught him, but Metro could take it from here. Someone else could get his statement and try to locate the bodies. "They're alive," Egbert continued, shifting from one size 13 to the other. "They've been saved, I swear." "What do you mean by saved?" Scully glanced back quickly. The door was closed, and she was concerned that someone had heard the shot and would come to investigate. She waved at Egbert to direct him to move, and together they circled so that his back was to the door. "We talked to them, told them they didn't have to sell their bodies. Showed them they could get real jobs, get cleaned up, get their lives back," he said. "All six?" she asked, and at his nod, "Adams, Ramos, Smeltzer, Moorehouse, Jackson, and Rosen?" Again he nodded. "Where are they?" she asked. "We have a halfway house in Manassas. We give them a place to stay, food--" "Then what?" Scully kicked lightly at the bag on the floor causing the rest of its contents to spill out, but she saw no weapon. There was a Bible. "We find them jobs. Get them clean, reunite them with their kids. Depends on what they need." He watched her as she half-watched him, keeping the weapon trained on him as she sifted through his change of clothes: pants, shirt, lightweight jacket, and sneakers. Scully finally gave Egbert a long, hard look. "Okay, Mr. Egbert, I'm going to have you take a ride downtown. You can wait there while I check this story of yours out." "But--" he began. "If I find out that you're lying or sending me on some goose chase, then the charges, the charges of murder," she enunciated the words with the muzzle of her SIG, "will stick. Do you understand?" Egbert swallowed. "Yes." Scully took her cell phone from her shirt pocket. After a short wait, she was put through to the dispatcher. "Yes, I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, yes, badge number JTT0331613. Yes, I need someone to pick up a suspect at Dirty Dames, yes southeast side, uh huh." She watched as Egbert squatted down to look at his things on the floor. "No, I have him in custody now, thank you." She clicked the phone off. "They're on their way," she said, adding suddenly, "Get your clothes on." "You'll let me?" he asked, standing. "Yes. Turn around and don't make any sudden moves." She released the cuffs and stepped back, training her gun on him in case he tried to run. He wasn't interested in escape. In seconds, Egbert had stripped off his hose and began pulling on his pants. Scully noticed with morbid fascination that he waited until the last minute to remove the bra and false breasts. After he slipped on his beat-up sneakers and stuffed his wig and clothes into the nylon bag, Scully recuffed him, this time in front, allowing the jacket to fall over the cuffs. The squad car was there, waiting as they emerged from the club. It was fully dark, and Scully looked at her watch, surprised to notice that it was already 8:15. She put Egbert in the car and instructed the officer to hold him as a witness only. She did not want him charged until she knew that a crime had occurred. Egbert gave her directions and the address of the house in Manassas. The crowd had dissipated with the arrival of the patrol car, so Scully was essentially alone as she crossed the street. She climbed the stairs of the warehouse to change her clothes and get her flashlight. Then a long drive that she hoped would lead to a happy ending. end 2/3 Sheep in Wolf's Clothing 3/3 Disclaimer, etc. with part 1 The house on Stonewall Street in Manassas was shrouded in darkness, but she could see the flickering light of a television. She wondered idly what ex-hookers watched. Medical shows left Scully more irked than entertained, with their glaring inaccuracies. Mulder never watched anything less than two decades old, except for sports and movies. And these women had done it all, seen it all. Were there Unsolved Mysteries left for them? Could they still love Raymond? Hadn't they had enough of The Practice? The drive through Virginia had taken a little over two hours, and she'd gotten lost. Scully hated trying to find street signs at night. That's why she had Mulder around. She started up the walk. The house was old and sprawling, in need of some repairs, but not without charm. The ribbon of flagstone cut through the dormant winter grass to the front door. The porch had boards that were loose and squeaky, so by the time Scully reached the door, it was already opening. A rough female voice called out, "What do you want?" Scully peered at the screen door, but as the interior was unlit, she could not make out the woman's features. "Ma'am, I'm Special Agent Dana Scully, with the FBI." She flashed her badge and could instantly sense the woman's nervousness. It took some time, but the woman finally let Scully in the house. Scully perched on the edge of a worn plaid sofa and declined the offer of a soft drink. Once inside she recognized Irene Jackson from her photograph in the file. "You are Irene Jackson?" she asked. "Yes," Irene admitted. She watched Scully with a mixture of fear and defiance. Irene didn't have the used-up-and-thrown-away look Scully had seen on so many of the women at the club. She was quite lovely, with dark, unblemished skin and high cheekbones. Scully remembered from her file that she had two young children, placed in foster care by family court two years ago. "I'm also looking for-" she began, when another woman hesitated on her way into the room, watching them from the doorway. Scully couldn't make out her features, but she was black and decidedly overweight. "Who's that, 'Rene?" the heavy woman called out. "Mind your own business," Irene retorted, but it only made the other woman move further into the room. Scully made the connection when the woman moved into the light. Barbara Adams. In the photograph she'd been wearing something pink and feathered, but now she had on a white bathrobe and fuzzy mules. Before Scully could confirm her identity, a skinny white girl pushed into the room through a swinging door at the far end. She stalked over to the coffee table and grabbed the remote control before flopping onto the opposite end of the sofa. Scully bounced with the movement. Scully decided to start at the beginning. "I'm here to investigate the disappearance of six women who were reported missing over the past few weeks," she said. "Irene Jackson- and you are Barbara Adams?" The heavy woman nodded. Scully glanced over at the teenager. "Laurie Smeltzer," she concluded. "We didn't think anyone would come looking for us," Irene said, gazing down at her bony hands clenched in her lap. Her nails were short and ragged with chipped frosted polish. "Hell, didn't think nobody would notice we was gone," Barbara snorted. "Well, someone did, and we were afraid that something very bad had happened to you." Scully was just now beginning to feel the relief. Egbert had been telling the truth, and the case was over. When Barbara leaned forward, Scully saw that she was wearing a thick gold necklace. She wondered if she slept with it. "You came all the way out here to see if a bunch of old hookers was okay? That's crazy," Barbara said emphatically. "You want some coffee?" Scully politely refused. "No thank you. And I need you to verify that Ruth Ann Moorehouse, Leticia Ramos, and Darla Rosen are also residing here." "Darla and Ruth Ann have night jobs. Leticia is on a date--a real date. She found herself a nice guy," Irene explained. "He doesn't know she was hooking," Laurie added, speaking for the first time. Irene continued, "He's good to her, wants her to go to night school." Scully nodded. "Thank you. I'll make sure that the Metro police understand what Egbert is doing, so that this kind of misunderstanding doesn't happen again." Barbara laughed suddenly. "You arrested him in drag? Hoo, he's gonna be pissed-off when he gets home." She stood when Scully rose from the sofa. "I was the one who gave him all my old clothes. You should have seen him before he had my fine-looking rags. He was a joke, all boobs and bad makeup, REAL bad." She walked off chuckling and a moment later the stairs creaked as she ascended. Scully thanked the still-nervous Irene and disinterested Laurie, then let herself out. She called the desk sergeant at the Metro police department, instructing him to continue to hold Egbert for her. To her relief, they had not processed him. Scully arrived at the precinct after stopping for gas and coffee, decidedly dead on her feet. The officer on watch, Sergeant Thoms, took a long time examining her badge before finally informing her that he'd have Egbert brought to an interview room. "He wasn't put in general lock-up, was he?" she asked, concerned about the makeup that had remained on his face. "No, he was in his own cell," Thoms stated as he picked up the phone. Egbert arrived, his face flushed from sleep and his eyes watering against the harsh glare of the fluorescent lighting. "The girls okay?" he questioned once they were alone. "Yes, Mr. Egbert. I apologize that you had to go through this, but the Bureau had to make sure." "Yeah, well I was almost down here a couple of weeks ago when they raided the club," he said. Scully refrained from telling him that he had been the target of the raid. "You're free to go. You have quite a drive ahead of you. I know, I just made it." She smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, well, I gotta stay in town through the weekend." He stood as Scully did, then placed his large hand on her elbow. "Agent Scully?" "Yes?" When she turned to face Egbert, he looked thoughtful. "One of the saddest things about this work I do was thinking no one would even care those girls were gone." His face brightened slightly. "But you did care, and I appreciate that. I bet they do too." Scully smiled faintly and dipped her head. "I hope so, Mr. Egbert." = = = The morning sun was beginning to warm the chilly air when Scully arrived back at the warehouse. She took note of several uniformed policemen hovering around the entrance of Dirty Dames. Once again the druggies and hookers were being rounded up and brought to the station. Scully's exhaustion hit her like a wave when she was midway up the flight of stairs. She gathered up the photos and paperwork, neatly arranging them the way she and Mulder liked them. She glanced out the window, clean from the Windex Mulder had sprayed days before. The police were arresting most of the prostitutes, Scully noted, but only a fraction of their customers. Two paddy wagons had been brought around and they were loading them up. Half an hour after her arrival, she clicked on her cell phone and hit Mulder's speed dial. "Mulder." She could tell by his voice he'd been awake for awhile. "Mulder? I am free." "You're free?" he asked. "Mm-hmm. I'm going to go home, take a shower for, I don't know eight or nine hours, burn the clothes that I'm wearing and then... sleep until late spring." She leaned back in the chair to stretch. "Oh, you solved the X-File." Well, duh, she thought. "Yes, except it's not an X-File, Mulder." "What are you saying? You didn't catch our blond mystery serial killer?" he asked. She could tell he was walking around, in action, doing something, She wondered how his case in Vermont was going. "Oh, no, we caught her." Scully leaned forward to peer into the telescope. To her surprise she saw that Egbert had returned. "But she isn't a serial killer nor is she a blonde, and she isn't even a she." "What are you talking about?" "What I'm talking about is the six missing prostitutes aren't dead, Mulder. They are alive and well in a halfway house that was set up by this mystery blonde who happens to go by the name of Mark Scott Egbert. And Mr. Egbert wishes to acquaint lost souls with the teachings of Christ, and that's his hook, I guess, he dresses up like a fellow prostitute to make the girls feel at ease. But this vanishing act is no more paranormal than a change of wardrobe, Mulder." She watched the commotion across the street. Egbert looked pissed. The cops were hassling him, and one of them had taken his wig. Scully continued, "He goes into a place like a, like a woman and he comes out as a man, right under. . ." ". . .our noses," Mulder completed her thought. "Exactly. A wolf in sheep's clothing or I guess, in this case, a sheep in wolf's clothing." She watched as Egbert snatched his wig back from the cop. "Well, good work, Scully. I'll call you back later." Mulder hung up, beating her to the punch. She quickly disassembled the telescope and packed it in its case, then gathered up the rest of the surveillance gear. She said a thankful good-bye to the room and went down to her car. After shutting the trunklid, she walked across the street, back to Dirty Dames. Scully held up her badge as she approached one of the officers. "Do you have a moment?" The officer, his nose red from the early morning cold, nodded. "You took a male crossdresser into custody?" she asked. "Yeah," he nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I need you to do me a favor," she said, turning and walking away, allowing him to follow beside her. "This crossdresser is helping me out on a case. It's not a good idea for him to go downtown." The officer, R. Meeks, she read on his nametag, nodded vigorously. "Yep, I'll get him out." He paused. "He's not one of yours?" Scully shook her head. "I'm just using his assistance, between you and me. It's not a problem, is it?" "No, no." Meeks turned back toward the club. "I'll take care of it. No problem." "Thanks. I appreciate it." She watched as he walked away. She crossed the street and when she reached her car, she turned to see Egbert stepping out of the police transport. His eyes met hers and he gave her a small salute before melting away into the crowd. Scully turned away. First she'd go take a shower, and then she'd call Skinner with a preliminary report. = = FBI Headquarters AD Skinner's Office April 28, 2000 9:05 AM Mulder peered into Scully's face, begging her to communicate, but she kept her arms folded across her chest and her gaze fixed on Skinner. Mulder gave up and retreated, closing the door behind him. The tension in the room seemed to drop a few degrees, as if Mulder's role as spectator had somehow fueled the conflict. "Are you accusing me of insubordination?" Scully asked quietly. "My official review will commend you for your perseverance and ingenuity," he answered stiffly. "But off the record? Hell, yes, Scully. I told you not to go in there." Scully leaned forward, gripping the edge of Skinner's desk. "I'd like you to ask yourself if this conversation would be taking place if it was Mulder who had disregarded your instructions," she said pointedly. "I know you think I cut him a lot of slack, Scully, and I do. I do it for both of you. But this wasn't an X-File, this wasn't national security or even a threat to the public safety," Skinner said. "This wasn't worth risking your life, not yours or Mulder's." "Because it was only a bunch of hookers," Scully said. "That's not what I meant," he said. "I'm sure it isn't," Scully said sourly. "At least not for the record." She released the desk and leaned back in her chair. "I suppose you've given me something to think about," Skinner said wearily. Scully gave a small sigh of satisfaction. This time when Skinner nodded at the door, she rose to leave. Mulder was leaning against the far wall, waiting for her as she stepped into the hallway. Despite his casual pose, Scully knew he was still smoldering with curiosity. "Can't talk now," she explained. "Autopsy." "Later?" Mulder asked, falling into step beside her. "My place? With everything?" "Later," she agreed. "MY place. No anchovies. You know, Mulder, it used to be you always getting your ass chewed by Skinner." "I've learned how to get along with people," Mulder said. "All these years of working with you... something had to rub off." "Really? I managed to teach you something?" Scully asked in amusement. "And it only took me seven years." END Feedback: ckell@hotmail.com and frohicke@swbell.net Websites: Kel: http://www.geocities.com/area51/realm/9375 Tre: http://www.geocities.com/tre-lawney/index.html