Please by Lopaka Tanu

Martin was still brooding over the change in circumstances when the door to their room opened. He didn't look to it right away, therefore was surprised when a bag was dropped in his lap. He tried to jump out of his chair, but found his arms still strapped down.

"Oh, I do apologize." The owner of the hand that had so rudely dropped the shopping bag in his lap came in to view. Green eyes twinkling, the man pushed his dull red hair out of his face. "I see that you have deigned to grace us mere mortals with your divine presence."

"Get bent." Martin took an instant dislike to the stranger. The man's hair color was so washed out that one would think it brown. It reminded him uncomfortably of someone he used to know. That man was also an asshole.

"Yes, this is much better." Reaching up, he brushed a finger over Martin's cheeks. Checking the pads, he whistled. "Flawless. Had I not known better, Madam, I would think we actually have a dying man here."

"Funny." Coming around Martin's chair, Charlotte had her wig off and her normal black hair up in a bun. She wiped her hands off on another towel before tossing it over Martin's head.

Martin felt the disruption in the air as it flew over his bald scalp. Shivering, he tried to hunch over.

"Oh, absolutely wonderful." Tucker was chuckling, mesmerized with watching Martin. "There is a sickly sense of beauty about him, almost fragile in his condition."

"He looks like a shaved rat." With a final look to Martin, she pulled the tank top out of her pants and over her head. Not caring about the other two men in the room, she crossed the room to a bag on her bed. Taking out a dress shirt, she slid it on.

While Charlotte buttoned her shirt, Tucker walked up to Martin. Picking up the bag, he dangled it in front of Martin. "Come along, Mr. Tanner, your new attire awaits."

"Cut the shit, Ezra, he's tied to the damned chair. Unstrap him before you decide to torture him." Pulling the holster on over her dress shirt, Charlotte buckled it in to place. After slipping the gun in to the leather harness, she grabbed her business jacket off the back of a second chair.

"Do not pay her any heed, Mr. Tanner." Tucker cast a glance over his shoulder at Charlotte. "Envy makes the most delightful of debutantes bitter hags."

Confused Martin glanced from one marshall to the other. "What's going on?"

"Orders from on high." Slipping her jacket on, Charlotte grabbed her bag from the bed. She draped the strap over her shoulder. Finally ready, she stopped to look around the room until her gaze landed upon Martin. "This is the end of the line for me, Mr. Tanner. Tucker here will take care of you. He'll make sure you settle in to your new life."

Reaching out with his free hand, Tucker tapped Martin on the chin. When he had the other man's attention, he smiled. "Do not fret. This here is common practice among the service. No potentially compromised field marshall will know the exact location of a witness."

Standing at the door, she wavered long enough to hear the last. "He's right. We should have made the switch a week ago." With a final exhalation, Charlotte turned and walked out.

As the door closed behind her, another part of Martin died.

Tucker snapped his fingers to draw Martin's attention. "Let us get you ready, Mr. Tanner, your new life awaits."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Worn out by the three hour drive, Martin barely watched the town pass by through the windows. One moment they had been driving through open pastures, the next a town had sprung up. It was something he had heard of, but being a child of the urban jungle pretty much made it a myth.

A day after Charlotte had left and he was already back to sitting in a daze. Which was okay, Tucker talked enough for all three of them. The man was saying something about them being there, but since the car was still moving, it didn't really matter. It wasn't until the car drew to a crawl that he realized it was true.

Eventually, they came to a stop in front of a large property on the outskirts.

The house was a three story brownstone. To Martin, it wouldn't have looked out of place in an old west movie. With a Victorian style porch flanked by Greek revival columns, it was garish and highly illogical given the location. Looking past the house, he found that a large corn field grew out from the backyard.

He could hear Danny now, "they would pick the house that squealed queer."

Snorting, Martin tried to shake himself from the funk. For once, he was glad for the senior citizen sunglasses that covered half his face. They hid the tired expression he knew was on his face. Withdrawals was a bitch.

Tucker didn't bother wasting time looking around. Climbing from the car, he closed the door and crossed around to Martin's side. He opened Martin's door and offered him a hand out. "Your hand, my dear."

Ignoring the man's hand, Martin checked his turban in the mirror. Tucker had called it something else, but to him, it was something straight out of Aladdin. There was even a red jewel in the center that he knew hid a GPS chip. Seeing that there was nothing else to distract him, Martin tugged his shawl closer over his shoulder and put out a hand.

Taking Martin's hand, Tucker heaved a great sigh. "You try the patience, Mr. Tanner." With a tug stronger than necessary, he pulled Martin from the car.

It didn't matter, Martin came out to his feet. Glancing about him, he found there were indeed houses around him. Entire blocks of them lined the street in both directions. This one was only special because it had a much larger yard with a cast iron fence. "Who built this place, Rockefeller?"

"Someone equally as mad, I'm afraid." Ensuring that Martin would remain standing, Tucker closed the passenger door. He moved to the back seat and opened the door. Pulling out Martin's bag, he closed the door. With that done, he offered up his elbow. "Shall we adjourn, my lady?"

"If I wasn't supposed to be recovering from cancer, I would deck you." Still, Martin took Tucker's arm, allowing him to lead him up the walk. The flagstones lead directly to the porch, which had ten steps. "Jesus Christ, there aren't this many stairs in the federal building."

"If all you are going to do is complain about you get there, I can toss you across the threshold." Tucker spoke with a grand smile. The only sign he was annoyed was the tightening around his eyes. "This is the best we could do on short notice, your case is far from normal."

Martin waited until they were to the door to snap. "Well excuse me for being kidnapped by my own government!" Reaching out, he grabbed the knob and turned it. When it didn't give, he reared back to kick it open. A throat clearing stopped him.

"If you would allow me." Producing a key from some where, Tucker slid it in the lock and turned it. The door came open with a quick twist of the knob.

Not waiting any more, Martin shoved off the other man's arm. His first several steps were in a stagger, but he eventually got enough of his balance under him to stay afloat. Certain he would fall over, Martin craned his neck to check out the place.

It smelled of recent disinfectant and bug spray. The walls were done in a rose colored paper with gold filigree probably older than his father. Ahead of the main entrance, a grand staircase led up to the second floor. Off to the right, the main parlor, to the left was a sitting room and a hallway. With fixtures done in brass, it screamed nouveau rich to Martin.

"I should never have taken that decorating course," he muttered to himself. "Mid twenties opulence, probably a mineral merchant. Made his fortune off the backs of the miners."

"Exactly." Setting Martin's bag down in one of the high backed chairs in the sitting room, Tucker appeared completely at ease in the room.

It took Martin only seconds to realize why this house. "This is your place, isn't it?"

Looking extremely pleased, Tucker fluffed out his jacket and sat down in another chair. Checking the material, he flicked off a piece of lent. "However did you know?"

"Wild guess."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ticking of the clock at the end of the hall kept Martin informed of the time. In truth, that wasn't keeping him up, though. Staring out from his third floor bedroom window, the moon's light shown down upon him. His skin seemed even paler, making him feel ethereal.

If only.

It was took weeks. Two weeks since the crash exactly. The first full night he had been awake since it happened, and he couldn't sleep. The slackness to his muscles attested to how exhausted his body was. Martin just couldn't bring himself to close his eyes.

So, he sat there in the old rocking chair, watching the wind blow across the corn stalks below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day brought with it the infernally cheerful sound of birds. If Martin could he would gladly kill them all. There was no reason for such little beasts to be so happy while he tried to get some sleep. Eventually, though, he had to admit defeat.

Coming down the stairs still smelling of some fancy soap that probably was French, Martin took in the rest of the joint. There were many old fixtures and furnishings. Probably all original and very expensive. It was only the thought that he couldn't run fast enough that kept him from screwing with them.

But once he could, he was definitely scuffing it up.

The second flight of stairs brought him out to the main floor and the sound of voices. He couldn't see who it was, but could follow them. Mindful of the fact he wasn't wearing anything to protect his image, he almost stayed back. Then he thought better of it. He was through trying to accommodate these people.

His footsteps were light, but their slap echoed in the short hall as he passed through the sitting room. Laughter came back as whoever had been speaking chuckled. At the end of the dark hall, Martin found a dinning room complete with table and chairs. In three of these chairs was Tucker and two people Martin had never met before.

Upon catching sight of Martin, the younger of the two paled and sobered quickly. The smile now gone from his face, he rose from the table. "Um."

"Um?" Raising his head, Tucker stared at the young man. "Mr. Dunne, where are your manners?"

Dunne pointed towards Martin, still unable to speak. Swallowing, he gave a short wave.

"What...Oh." Rising from the table, Tucker seemed to lose his genial attitude. "Mr. Tanner, what are you doing out of bed?"

"Looking for something to bludgeon you with." Martin felt a little winded from the trek to the dinning room, so he leaned against the doorway. "You've got a real nice sense of manners. Sticking the sick man in the farthest corner of the highest level of the house. You'd fit right in at Manhattan General."

Not bothering to cover his laugh, the third man slapped the table. As he wound down, he stroked his fingers over his mustache. "That's sounds like you, Ezra."

"It does not." Tucker regarded the man as if he smelled. "If you do not care for your lodgings, Mr. Tanner, I can arrange for something more to your liking. Perhaps a park bench with a urinal view?"

Dunne had the decency to cover his mouth even has he gave whoopy snort. Pinking around his ears, he could no longer look at Martin.

"At least there I might actually get some thing to eat!" Martin hadn't been meaning to get angry, but found himself screaming at the marshall. Hands shaking, he crossed them over his chest. While he tugged at his collar, he looked away from their stunned expressions. "I'm sorry. These..." He suddenly felt so tired.

Turning, he walked quickly back the way he came. Instead of heading for the stairs, he went for the door. By the time he had it open, he could hear the sounds of shoes on the hardwood floors. For some reason, this made him panic. He didn't care where he went, Martin just wanted out of there.

He was running the second his feet left the 'too many' steps. The car they had come in was still at the end of the front walk. As he drew closer, he could see the keys were in the ignition. Thanking forgetful people, he dashed through the gate and around the car. His side was aching, but he didn't care!

By the time he had the door open, Tucker and his companions were off the porch and running towards him. They weren't going to stop him. If they tried blocking the car with their bodies, he'd run them over. Jumping in the car, he barely had the door shut before he was turning the key.

With a cry of triumph, he started the engine. Flooring the accelerator, he kicked up gravel and dirt as he pulled in to the road from the driveway. In the mirrors, he saw Tucker and Dunne coming in to the street, taking long strides to stop their momentum.

Spinning the wheel, Martin took him back out the way he vaguely remembered they had come. If he followed it back to the highway, he could take a different course and go wherever his tank of gas could get him. From there, who knew, all he cared was that he was the one making the decision.