TITLE: Fearsome Engine (2/?) AUTHOR: Elanor G EMAIL: ElanorG@yahoo.com URL: http://www.yahoo.com/ElanorG RATING: R for violence, gore, language, and maybe a dab of sex CATEGORY/SPOILERS: Case file. Mytharc. Set seventh season, after X-Cops. DISCLAIMER: The X-Files belongs to Chris Carter and Fox. The title is "inspired" by the title of a novel by Iain Banks. Think of it as an homage. XxXxXXxXxXXxXxX "This is big, Mulder. This could be a massive break in this investigation," Skinner said. Like Mulder, he was in short sleeves, abandoning coat and tie in the thick Florida heat. They were in the Hialeah PD headquarters, waiting in the observation room. "Your job is to get Rafael Izquierdo to talk. That's all. Are we clear on this?" "Oh, abundantly clear," Mulder said. He really tried to keep his voice even, but something in his tone gave his mood away. Scully gave him a sidelong look and Skinner glared. "I can do without your attitude, Agent Mulder." "I can do without *his* attitude." Mulder nodded towards Voorhees. The DEA agent stood on the other side of the room talking with several Hialeah cops. "Scully and I can contribute to this investigation, but we're being cut out and I don't like it. Exactly how do I get him to talk? How am I supposed to deal with this guy if I go in with my hands tied?" He lowered his voice. "You can do something about this." Skinner also looked over at Voorhees, then back at Mulder. His face as always revealed little, but Mulder could see the careful judging process happening behind his eyes. "All right," Skinner said at last. "I'll do what I can." His expression changed: I'm coming across for you, his look said, and I expect results in return. "Do whatever it takes to get Izquierdo to deal." A noise from the interrogation room interrupted them. Everyone turned toward the window. The door opened and an officer brought in a jumpsuited prisoner. It was Rafael Izquierdo but he was no longer the tough hood from the photo. He seemed both younger and smaller. He had been stripped of his jewelry and his pierced ears were bare. He shuffled as if in shackles, but his feet were not bound. His red, bruised-looking eyes spoke of little sleep. Izquierdo docilely allowed himself to be led to a chair and the guard left. Voorhees gave Mulder a humorless grin. "Showtime, Agent Mulder," he said. Scully went with Mulder as far as the door to the interrogation room. She looked up at him wryly. "Maybe he just wants your autograph, Mulder," she said. "Maybe he just wants your phone number." Scully rolled her eyes. "I'd rather you didn't give it to him." "Don't worry." Mulder gave her a faint smile. "Showtime," he said, making air quotes with his fingers. Then he went into the interrogation room alone. Izquierdo sat slumped over, eyes empty and staring. He didn't look up when Mulder entered. "Rafael. Do you know who I am?" The young man slowly raised his head and blinked at Mulder. "You're the one on Cops." Mulder nodded. "You wanted to talk to me." Izquierdo looked him over and his expression turned sullen and defiant, like his old mug shots. He folded his arms and copped an attitude, or tried to. "The redhead in there?" He nodded toward the mirrored window. Mulder sat down across from Izquierdo and said nothing. "Man, she's a pretty woman. I like the ones with the red hair, you know?" Izquierdo said with a forced leer. He flexed his biceps, and his copious tattoos rippled. "Like to hit me some of that shit, know what I'm sayin'?" Mulder smiled pleasantly. "Rafael, I came a long way because you said you wanted to talk to me. You have two choices. You can stop wasting time trying to impress me with your bullshit, and we can have a nice conversation, and I can try to help you. Or I can leave right now, and they can take you back to your cell where you can be alone with your nightmares while you wait to go on trial for your brother's murder." His smile vanished "It's up to you." Izquierdo visibly crumpled again. "You know about the nightmares?" he whispered. The shallow tough guy facade was gone. Mulder sighed to himself. "I can see it in your eyes," he said more gently. "I didn't kill Roberto," said Izquierdo. His eyes grew wet. "I loved him, man." "That's why you wanted to talk to me, isn't it?" asked Mulder. "I didn't think anyone else'd believe me but you. That's my favorite Cops show, the one with you on it. I watched it like 20 times." Izquierdo rubbed his face, smearing his cheeks with tears. "It's so fucking crazy but I swear, I swear to God it's true." "Tell me what happened, Rafael." "Okay." He drew a hitching breath. "Okay. We were home watching TV that night. Watching Scarface." He smiled a little. "That's our favorite. Love that movie, man. Tony Montana is so fucking cold. We wanted to be him so bad when we were kids." Izquierdo's brief smile vanished. "About midnight I looked up and it...it was sitting on top of the TV. Just all of a sudden. Looking at us." "Wait a minute. 'It?' What's 'it?'" "You're gonna laugh." Mulder spread out his hands. "Rafael, believe me. I won't laugh." Izquierdo slowly kicked at the table, his face working. At last he whispered, "El chupacabra." Mulder sat very still. His expression did not change. "The goatsucker." "Yeah." "Well." Mulder resisted the temptation to look at the mirrored window. Scully was in the observation room now - it would be interesting to see the expression on her face as she reacted to this little twist. Then again, maybe it was a *good* thing that he couldn't see her. "How do you know it was the chupacabra?" Mulder asked. "I just knew. So did Roberto." "Had you seen it before? The chupacabra story was in the news a lot a few years ago." Izquierdo shook his head. "Roberto and me knew about the chupacabra way back when we were little kids. Back then we just called it the Monster. Our abuela, our grandmother, grew up in the mountains. Those people from the country are full of weird stories and shit. When my brother and me were bad, abuela would tell us that the Monster would come get us at night and cut our throats to get our blood. Scared us to fucking death." "She sounds like a terrific lady." "Always hated her," muttered Izquierdo. "So when the chupacabra was in the news..." "Roberto and me figured that was the Monster. That abuela's stories were real." "Okay. Let's get back to that night," said Mulder. "So you had the chupacabra sitting on top of your TV. What did it look like?" "It was gray and bald. Big black eyes." Izquierdo's face turned paler and his fists clenched. "It had claws like razors and all these teeth. It wasn't big but it was strong. It was just like abuela's stories. It...it laughed at us." "It *laughed*? Did it say anything?" "No. But you know the weird thing?" The weird thing? wondered Mulder. "It sounded just like Tony Montana." Mulder blinked. "The chupacabra laughed like Al Pacino?" "No man, fuck Al Pacino, it sounded like Tony Montana! Just like in the last scene when he's all coked up in the mansion!" "Okay. Tony Montana." Mulder sighed. "What happened next?" "It jumped at us. I was screaming like a woman but I didn't care. We tried to fight it and get out but it wouldn't let us go." The young man was shaking now. "We, um, ran to the bedroom. Tried to lock the door but it followed us in. It was so strong. Roberto shot it but nothing happened. It grabbed Roberto and put a claw on his neck. That's the last I saw." He wiped impatiently at his eyes. "I hid in the closet. I hid in the closet like a fucking coward, like a fucking pussy, and listened to my brother scream. Shit." Mulder waited patiently until Izquierdo brought himself under control. "And that's the last you remember before the police came." "Yeah." Izquierdo slumped in the hard-backed chair. "I see it every time I close my eyes. I can't sleep. I think...I think it knows me and it wants to come back for my blood." "That's why you want to stay in jail." Izquierdo shrugged. "Feels safer." Mulder shook his head. "Not for much longer. The chupacabra may be the least of your worries. You've done business with some dangerous people. You may not be safe from them even in jail. We can protect you from them." "I don't care about them, man," said Izquierdo with a humorless laugh. "I'm not afraid of anyone any more. Not after I saw that thing. I could give a shit." "Then *talk*, Rafael. Testify against them." "Only if you find it." Izquierdo raised his dark eyes to Mulder's. "You can't protect me. I don't want a reduced sentence or plea bargain or any shit like that. I want you to find the chupacabra and stop it. You have to prove I didn't kill Roberto. The chupacabra did." He rubbed his face again. "Then I'll testify. I'll do whatever the fuck you want." Mulder studied the young man. Izquierdo's dark brown eyes were red- rimmed, showing real fear and exhaustion. Clearly he believed what he said. His story was absurd. But weren't they all? What mattered in the end was the force of the belief *behind* the story, no matter how absurd. Mulder learned a long time ago that this belief was the only way to the truth "I got your promise on that?" Mulder asked Izquierdo. "On my brother's soul. I swear." Voorhees wasn't going to like this. Skinner wasn't going to like this. Scully wasn't going to like this. "All right," Mulder said. "You've got a deal." XxXxXxXxXx "No deal. No way," said Voorhees. He squinted at Mulder. "This isn't one of your little monster chases. Who the hell do you think you are? " Mulder leaned against a table, his arms folded. "Who do I think I am? Well, I *think* I'm the one you asked to talk to Rafael Izquierdo." They were gathered in a conference room - Skinner, Voorhees, Mulder, Scully, Fernandez, and O'Brien - along with an assortment of local cops, federal agents, and lawyers. "He's won't cooperate without a deal." "No. Not this kind of deal. Not with this little asshole." Mulder stood up straighter and looked directly at Voorhees. "I don't think he killed his brother," he said. "Jesus Christ," said Voorhees, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Welcome to the fucking twilight zone. Who else could it be?" "There's no motive. There's no murder weapon. Call me crazy, but I don't think he sliced open Roberto's neck with his fingernails." "No one else got in or out of that house. There's no other answer." "There are too many loose ends," said Scully. She had been silent until now, and the men in the room turned towards her clear voice. "What little physical evidence you have is full of inconsistencies." Her arms were folded and her eyes were lowered - to Mulder, a clear sign of reluctant agreement. "All you have so far is circumstantial evidence. Ultimately a murder case against Izquierdo will fall apart. You can't use it as leverage against him." "She's right," said one of the attorneys. "Halfway decent lawyer can punch this full of holes. Crazy as it sounds, we may have to deal." Fernandez coughed politely. "It wouldn't hurt to double-check his story anyway. It was pretty weird after all." Voorhees turned on the young cop. "I don't remember asking you." He looked from Fernandez to his partner O'Brien, finding a fresh target for his anger. "This is your damn fault, you and your crooked damn department. You should both be put on parking ticket duty." This set off a wave of angry murmurs from the police in the room. O'Brien frowned. "Last I checked, you weren't the boss around here." "All right." Skinner's commanding voice wasn't particularly loud, but it silenced the room. "It sounds like we have to deal with Izquierdo. But we have to move quickly. We need to put a time limit on any investigation. Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, will 48 hours be enough?" There wasn't much choice. Mulder looked quickly at Scully for confirmation, then nodded. "Yes, sir." "You got it then. Get to work." "Yes, sir." "And Agent Voorhees..." Skinner turned toward the lanky DEA agent. Voorhees looked as if he was swallowing sour milk. "This operation was seriously fucked up long before this incident. That's why the Bureau's here. That's why *I'm* here. Before you start assigning blame, I suggest you keep that in mind." XxXxXxXxXx The drive to the Izquierdo house was very quiet. Scully faced away from Mulder, watching the passing scenery on Okeechobee Road. On the left was an endless procession of auto repair shops, Cuban coffee stands, cheap motels, furniture stores, and small stucco homes. A canal ran along the right side of the road, overhung with palms and pine trees. The setting sun bathed the city in soft evening light. From time to time, Mulder took his eyes off the road to look at her. At last he cleared his throat. "So, how about that chupacabra, huh." Scully turned toward him slowly. "We have 48 hours to prove that the chupacabra committed a murder." "Yep," said Mulder cheerfully. "The Caribbean is a veritable chupacabra hotbed, you know. There are the well-known incidents in Puerto Rico, and there's even been documented chupacabra activity in Florida. In 1995, 69 chickens, goats, and ducks were found on a lawn with their blood drained." "A bit of a leap from ducks to people," said Scully. "I said something earlier about chasing monsters, didn't I? Is it too late to take that back?" "Scully," said Mulder more seriously, "I think Izquierdo is telling the truth." "I think he thinks he's telling the truth," Scully said. "That doesn't mean the chupacabra killed his brother." "I await your theory." "Well...a normal human murderer broke into the house that night and attacked the brothers. Rafael is a young guy, not much more than a teenager, with an overactive imagination. His mind can't accept this traumatic reality so his imagination fills in the gaps." Mulder made a face, and she couldn't blame him - it sounded strained even to her own ears. "There's still no evidence that a third person came in or out," Mulder reminded her. "No weapon." "Not yet," Scully corrected. "All right, then maybe Rafael actually did kill his brother. Maybe he suffered from a psychotic episode. Or maybe he was under the influence of a drug, maybe some kind of hallucinogen." "I thought Rafael was pretty lucid. They screened his blood and urine and found nothing." "There are a lot more tests to perform." Scully sighed. "I'm just saying that we shouldn't leap to the most extreme explanation before we've exhausted the mundane." "I'm hurt, Scully. When have I ever done that?" Scully opened her mouth but Mulder cut her off. "Don't answer that. Look, for the record, I don't really think it was the chupacabra." His tone turned pedantic again. "The chupacabra phenomenon after all is pretty much a convenient scapegoat for a wide range of unexplained phenomenon: exsanguination, other livestock mutilation..." "Your 'Fortean event' in California, in the migrant worker camp," murmured Scully. "The fungus among us?" Mulder made a face. "Don't remind me. You know my feelings about mushrooms. Anyway, a lot of so-called chupacabra sightings have a kernel of truth, but most of them can be attributed to hoaxes or simple mob hysteria." Scully looked out the window again to hide her smile, but Mulder caught her. "What?" he asked. "I never thought I'd see the day." "Come on, what??" "You just said you didn't believe in something." "Well, I...not in so many words." 48 hours to find a monster that neither of us believes in, thought Scully. This is going to be interesting. XxXxXxXxXx End Thanks to Judy for speedy and encouraging beta reading!