C019D9C090E03@comcast.net> d66e4455   
   Title - Decoding the Enigma   
   Authors - Amy Jonas and MagsRose   
   E-mail - adjonas2000@yahoo.com or magsrose@comcast.net   
   Rating - FRT-13 (PG - 13)   
   Category - AU/Gen/Het   
   Archive - Just let us know.   
   Feedback - Yes, please. Any kind is always welcome. We just like to know   
   someone is reading this stuff.   
   Disclaimer - Without Prejudice. The names of all characters contained here in   
   are the property of Chris Carter, et. al. No infringements of these copyrights   
   are intended, and are used here without permission. All original characters   
   are the sole property    
   of Mags or Amy and may not be used without the author's permission.   
   Summary - In 1940, Private Investigator, Melvin Frohike thought he was working   
   on a simple missing person case but he soon found himself embroiled in   
   something far more sinister.   
   Authors' notes - After seeing the Maltese Falcon, Amy presented Mags with an   
   idea for The X-Files characters in an Alternate Universe.  Intrigued by the   
   possibilities, Mags suggested a co-authoring effort.  The result is the story   
   you see here.  Thanks    
   to Erynn and Alison for betaing this for us.   
      
      
   Chapter 18   
      
   Frohike sat at Maggie’s desk, sifting through the papers scattered across its   
   surface.  Maggie was meticulously organized and this mess made Frohike even   
   more aware that she would never grace his office again.   
      
   Yves stood with her hand on the doorknob of his inner office, watching him,   
   waiting.   
      
   I should do it, Frohike thought.  It was his office but he just couldn’t face   
   seeing Maggie's drying blood on the floor. In his mind's eye, he could   
   envision her lying there alone and defenseless. At some point, he was going to   
   have to go back into that    
   room.   
      
   But not now.   
      
   He averted his gaze, his mouth suddenly parched. He thought of the bottle of   
   amber liquid hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk.  It was a powerful   
   craving but the reality of the crime scene in the other room held him rooted   
   to his spot at Maggie's    
   desk.   
      
   He heard his office door open and then Yves heels click softly on the floor as   
   she entered. He could tell she made a full circuit of the room, checking it   
   out.   
      
   After only a few moments, Yves stepped back into the room, firmly but softly   
   closing the door behind her.   
      
   She didn't say anything to Frohike about what she'd found in there and he   
   didn't ask. If there was something he needed to know, he figured she'd tell   
   him.   
      
   They settled into an uncomfortable silence. Yves leaned against the wall in a   
   corner of the room where she could easily see the door, the desk where Frohike   
   waited and the window to the street below. She occasionally flexed her injured   
   shoulder, raising    
   her elbow and moving it back and forth, testing her range of motion. She would   
   also clench and unclench her fingers to assess their strength and reliability.   
   She needed to know her limitations for what lay ahead.   
      
   Frohike had offered her the only decent seat in the room but she refused it.   
   He needed it more than she did. She could have sat on the bench by the door   
   but she felt more alert, more in control of the situation from this position.   
      
   Sitting back in Maggie's chair, Frohike pulled his hat down over his eyes,   
   crossing his arms over his chest. The picture of calm he presented in no way   
   reflected his true state of mind but he had learned after years of long stake   
   outs and uncertain    
   outcomes to these jobs that it was a good idea to conserve his energy whenever   
   possible.   
      
   They remained this way for some time, silently waiting.  Yves cast occasional   
   glances the clock on the wall marking the minutes as they slowly passed.   
      
   Twelve o'clock came and went with now phone call. The minutes continued to   
   tick by.   
      
   Frohike scowled at his watch then back at the phone on the desk in front of   
   him, which stubbornly refused to ring. He checked his watch again. "He said   
   noon, right?" Frohike wanted nothing more than to end this whole nightmare.   
      
   "Yes," Yves said succinctly.   
      
   "It's ten minutes past," the detective said in disgust. "He's late."   
      
   "He's holding all the cards at this point," Yves noted. "I don't believe he   
   cares if he's a bit late."   
      
   "If you're holding someone for ransom you should damn well care!" Frohike   
   stated emphatically.   
      
   "I have no control over this man," Yves said bristling at his unwarranted   
   outburst.   
      
   "But you're the only one who's really had any dealings with him and the only   
   one who knows anything about him."   
      
   "You had your chance when he came in here," Yves shot back. "You could have   
   done a more thorough investigation of him but you just gave up when it became   
   too difficult."   
      
   "It's not like I had the time when I was spending the bulk of it protecting   
   your sister and searching for your sorry ass."   
      
   "Monica was perfectly safe until you got involved. I made sure she knew   
   nothing."   
      
   "And knowing nothing only made her worry," Frohike said, raising his voice.   
   "Did you think after all the money and time she spent to find you in the first   
   place that she would simply forget you existed? And besides, if it wasn't for   
   her asking me to find    
   you again, you and the professor would both be dead."   
      
   "I had the situation under control. We were perfectly safe until you showed up   
   with Fletcher and his crony tailing you."   
      
   Frohike shook his head. "No…" he insisted. "No, we were not there long enough   
   for him to set that bomb. It was there when we arrived. He found you earlier,   
   using the same information we had.  If the boy reporter and I hadn't shown up   
   when we did, by now    
   you would be nothing but bits of charcoal scattered all up and down that   
   beach."   
      
   "You think too highly of yourself, Melvin. You should have just left us alone."   
      
   "You're right about that. I should have left you to fend for yourself and told   
   Monica to forget about you." He retorted angrily. "If I had," he continued his   
   voice heavy with grief, "Maggie wouldn't have died a senseless death. She   
   would have been safe    
   at home, with the rest of her life ahead of her and not lying in cold locker   
   in the morgue."   
      
   The ringing phone interrupted his tirade.  They looked at each other; both   
   knowing instinctively it was Fletcher.  Mel snatched up the instrument.    
   “Frohike,” he barked.   
      
   “No wonder your business is doing so poorly,” Fletcher mocked.  “Perhaps you   
   should hire someone with proper etiquette to answer your phone.”  The man   
   chuckled, his words pricking Frohike like rusted needles under his skin.  “Oh,   
   wait.  You did.  Such a    
   lovely lady.  There was a true southern hospitality about her….”   
      
   Frohike gritted his teeth against the profanity that threatened to spill from   
   him.  He would not give this bastard the satisfaction of knowing how much he   
   was getting to him.   
      
   “…but I understand she recently left your employ.”   
      
   “Goddamn you Fletcher,” Frohike shouted jumping up from his seat, the injury   
   to his leg completely forgotten,  “when I get my hands on you…” Yves ripped   
   the phone from his hand, leaving Fletcher’s laughter echoing in his ear.    
   “…I’m going to tear your    
   head from your shoulders!”   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)