Max--a Vignette

All righty--another one-shot. This one in the spirit of "Independence Day."
Insert standard disclaimer, of course. I can only dream...

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Art McGregor--better known to some as Max Keenan--yawned as he opened his Sunday paper. Since he had arrived in Oregon, he had allowed himself to acquire a bit of routine; some small habits. Nothing too hard to break. He had always enjoyed the Sunday paper, read with fresh coffee and pastry at his elbow. Sports, comics, business, world, national sections. He usually skimmed past the book reviews, though--they never seemed to review anything he was interested in. But then a very familiar name caught his eye.

Bred in the Bone--Dr. Temperance Brennan.

“Tempe?” he said out loud in shock.

“A new and most promising author in the genre of suspense and mystery is Dr. Temperance Brennan. A forensic anthropologist by trade, she has turned her professional eye to the realm of fiction. Her initial offering, Bred in the Bone, introduces us to a fascinating cast of characters, headed by Kathy Reichs, who, like her creator, is a forensic anthropologist in the fictional Smithsonian Institute. Kathy is ably assisted by an interesting cast of lab workers, and is sometimes paired with an FBI Agent as cocky and attractive as he is annoying…The characters overall are quite realistically drawn and remarkably individual, if slightly one dimensional--a tendency that will undoubtedly fade as Dr. Brennan grows more familiar with the world she has created. The murder and investigation is equally realistic and is described in enough detail that this is not for the squeamish…The villain’s motivation is not explained as fully as some readers might prefer, but again, that is something that should fade with time and practice…”

Max read it three times over, then grinned. “That’s my girl.”

He headed for the bookstore that very afternoon. His hands shook as he held a copy of her book and looked at her picture. His little girl--even in black and white, he could see Ruth’s eyes and easy poise.

He wondered if she still liked snickerdoodles or remembered how they would sing his favorite song together. Or even the science projects he had helped her with--not that she had gained any advantage from her old man being a science teacher. Was she married--no, that he would have heard about. Boyfriend, then.

In the past, he had always been able to push these thoughts away, stay focused on survival--his and theirs. But face to face with her picture, he found he couldn’t.

His brilliant daughter. He thought about her as he carried the book to the register. He had followed her career through a very discreet clipping service. His pride knew no bounds when she graduated summa cum laude at Northwestern, then gained her advanced degrees in what seemed like no time at all. Being hired at the foremost lab in the country, if not the world. He knew about some of her trips to identify bodies, too, though some of them were only mentioned in foreign papers. What would his neighbors here in Coos Bay think if they knew that he had headed down to El Salvador to wreak a little vengeance on the bastards who had so hurt her? Or if they knew about the man in that skuzzy bar outside Chicago? Poor fellow had cracked his head against a pool table during a vicious bar fight and died a few days later. Or the car the cops had found on a remote snowy road a week earlier, the driver dead from the impact? The official report had said DUI had caused the crash and he had died of his injuries and the cold. The snowfall later that night had been providential, really--at least from Max's point of view.

Russ’s villains were harder to get to, he thought as he drove home. The boy just didn’t seem to have drive like his sister, and Max couldn’t break into prison to get him out. Couldn’t show up in the chop shop and tell him to stop; that would only get all of them killed. Short of revealing himself, there was no way for him to help Russ. That hurt. And, to be honest, Russ’s lifestyle was the kind that didn’t get written up very often--or when it did, it was too late.

Neither of them would recognize him, though. Not anymore. It was simply amazing, the underground network--clipping services, plastic surgeons, the works. And not too many people even knew it existed. A few conspiracy nuts who no one ever believed; a handful of law enforcement who suspected it; and the most close-lipped criminals and fugitives in the country. Darwinism in action, he thought. The strongest and most suited survive. The rest were eliminated or simply didn’t make it.


Between the network and his own contacts, he managed to stay current. And it was through his most reliable source some months after buying Tempe’s book that he heard the FBI was expressing some interest in “Matt and Christine Brennan.” One agent is starting to ask questions. Nothing like an open or official case. But she felt he should know…

Max looked into it. Special Agent Seeley Booth, DC MCU. Recently partnered with one Dr. Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian. A close rate that had rocketed over the last year. Commendations all around.

He was torn between pride and concern. Pride for his daughter’s accomplishments and ability. Concern that they might be stirring up more trouble than they expected. Was this Agent Booth asking questions because Tempe wanted him to? Or was he going behind her back? Either way meant trouble.

And what about Russ? Where did he fit into all this?

His latest subtle request for information had brought him the information that their old car was being reexamined and that this Agent Booth had brought Russ to see Tempe over a mysterious case. Followed by news that made his blood boil. That bastard McVicker was still alive and well under Witness Protection. That needed to be rectified. No matter where they put him, Max was going to see to it that ol’ Vinnie didn’t contaminate the earth with his presence anymore. For Ruth. For Tempe, for Russ. Rabid dogs get put down before they cause more trouble. And Vince was as rabid as they came.

And then he found out what the case was.

Ruth.

Tempe had identified her own mother’s bones. Her partner was investigating the circumstances of her death. That was how they stumbled over McVicker, why Russ had been brought in, the car looked at. He should have known.

He remembered burying her: new shoes, Russ’s marble, that dolphin buckle she and Tempe loved so much. A quiet corner of a cemetery--it would be green in spring and summer, near a flowering hedge. And once he had finished that grim task, he had leaned on the “borrowed” shovel and cried and cursed. They had been such fools. The minute she had gotten pregnant with Russ, they should have quit. It might have been accepted for that reason and they could have lived quietly far, far away from the gang. They should have taken the kids with them this time; he shouldn’t have let Ruth override him. So many mistakes. All he knew at that moment was that the phone in the Chicago house had been disconnected and he hadn’t the faintest idea where his children were. That his wife lay in her grave, unmarked and unacknowledged. And the hell of it was that he hadn’t dared get drunk even for one night, to numb the pain. He had to be gone before he was made.

His eyes swam in the here and now as he remembered. It still hurt; he could force it back into some niche in his mind for the most part and function on an everyday basis, but there were times--like now--where he simply couldn’t.

Even as he mourned all over again, some detached part of his mind wondered how Ruth had been found.

When he came back to himself, he realized that they wouldn’t leave it alone. Oh no, Tempe had always been a determined child, and her partner sounded like a good match for her in that regard. They would carry Russell along with them like a leaf in a current. He had to stop them.

With a hand that only shook a little, he dialed (best not to ask how he got her unlisted number), first initiating the privacy block. He got her machine--he wasn’t sure if he should be happy about that or not. It would have been nice to hear her voice, but simpler just to leave a message.

“Temperance? You have to stop looking. Y-You have to stop looking for me right now. This is bigger and worse than you know. Please stop now."

He fingered the dolphin in his pocket once he hung up--the sole physical reminder of his Ruth that he had left. He was going to have to go to DC. That phone call wasn’t going to be enough.

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I got the idea for the dead men in Chicago from ch 37 of blc's [Only admins are allowed to see this link]; the El Salvador part comes from S3 when Max tells Brennan that he’s been in worse places than prison--El Salvador, a box…Disneyworld. I always forget which epi that is. I’ve always wondered about that box.

Dawn, this is soo thought provoking. Really great to see him find that book review. I laughed at "the fictional Smithsonian Institute". It made me remember back to all the squints talking about themselves in her book that time when they were on the platform.

Now I want to go back and watch those episodes again. Thanks!

I loved this story, then again like Booth I'm a fan of the standup criminal and Max is nothing if not a standup con. The episode in question is, I believe, is The Knight on the Grid. Max was arrested in Soccer Mom in the Mini-Van but he doesn't make those comments until Brennan visits him in Jail and talks to him about Russ.

RM

I had fun with the book review. I was thinking about what was said during the Pilot and Superhero/Alley (hence the one-dimensional crack). Sherry, you're the 1st to comment on the Smithsonian part! But when Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian writes about Kathy Reichs, where else should I locate them?
Rob, I figured it was Knight or Santa, since she was so stiff with Max while visiting him in Soccer Mom (even calling him by his 1st name), but as often as I rewatch, some of the details run together. Or maybe that's why!

Thank you both!

dawnsfire wrote:I had fun with the book review. I was thinking about what was said during the Pilot and Superhero/Alley (hence the one-dimensional crack). Sherry, you're the 1st to comment on the Smithsonian part! But when Temperance Brennan of the Jeffersonian writes about Kathy Reichs, where else should I locate them?

You know you would think someone else would have taken the "fictional Smithsonian" approach in some other fic but I don't recall anyone doing it before. I do know I've thought about putting it in one of mine but I never have so kudos for getting there first my Queen!

Rob, I figured it was Knight or Santa, since she was so stiff with Max while visiting him in Soccer Mom (even calling him by his 1st name), but as often as I rewatch, some of the details run together. Or maybe that's why!

Heh, I know what you mean! I rewatch the first two seasons so much I should have them completely memorized but since I do them out of order I tend to mix up which episode came when! lol

RM