Part 2
The Judge, it turned out, heard
about it almost immediately. The dreaded phone call came ten minutes after the
seven had arrived back at the office.
"Larabee. Talk to me. Oh, hi, Judge."
Chris grimaced and held the phone slightly away from his ear as he kicked his
office door shut. The rest of the team promptly rushed over and pressed their
ears to various points of the door, almost falling over when Chris jerked it
open.
"Sit!" he hissed, pointing
at their desks. They sat, reluctantly. Chris slammed his door shut again, and,
after waiting a few seconds, the team approached and stopped at a relatively
safe distance. Unfortunately, they weren't quite close enough to hear
everything, so they had to content themselves with snatches of the conversation
that were said loud enough to float over to them.
"Nitwit..."
"...lame-brain..." "Mindless..." And then, very clearly,
"... father is in the government?!"
The team exchanged glances. So that
was why the idiot had been allowed to give a lecture to every local law enforcement
agency. Come one, come all, one day only kind of
thing.
"No! No way!"
Chris sounded slightly frantic. He lowered his voice abruptly, probably having
been chastised by the Judge — "Don't you raise your voice to me,
boy!" seemed possible — and consequently the rest of the conversation was
too muffled to make out, so the would-be eavesdroppers were forced to sit down
and pretend to work.
Eventually, Chris emerged from his
office, looking distressed.
"What's up there, boss?"
Buck gestured to a spare chair. "Was he really mad?"
Chris sat down heavily. "Yeah. Said if I ever pull a stunt
like that again he'll have my hide hanging on his office wall." A
smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for a second, then vanished.
"Apparently, however, Mr. Maxwell —"
Josiah held up a hand. "Who's
that?"
Chris narrowed his eyes at him. "The guy that gave the lecture. Were you already
reading that book when he introduced himself?"
Josiah grinned sheepishly. "Oh, that Mr. Maxwell. Please continue."
"Well, he thinks I was
right."
"He does?" JD's
astonishment was reflected on the faces of everyone present.
"Yes. Which
presents a problem."
"How
so?"
"He's decided he wants to gain
some... what were the exact words used... ah. 'On the spot
experience.' And he wants to get it from working with us."
"What?! Why?"
"He was impressed by the way I
handled him," Chris replied sourly. "So he got hold of our records,
and discovered that not only do we solve 98% of our cases, which is impossibly
high, we also use unorthodox methods to solve them, which he found fascinating,
and we also solve many cases that aren't even ours, hell, aren't even cases,
usually while on vacation, and — this was the clincher as far as he was
concerned — we have the highest injury rate. In fact, the Judge informed me
that even if we had twice as many people in this team than we do, the injury
rate would still be abnormally high, and it's a miracle we aren't all dead, and
please will we keep this man alive as his father would be very upset if we
don't. " Chris abruptly stopped talking and
gasped for breath, having not inhaled for the duration of his reply.
"Who is his father?"
Nathan did not look happy at the prospect of working with Maxwell. Then again,
neither did anyone else.
Chris held up a hand until he'd finished
gulping for air before answering. "He's a sort've
semi-high ranking government official that pampers his son disgustingly. Judge
wouldn't tell me exactly who."
"I hate nepotism," Ezra
reflected.
"Yeah, well. We're stuck with
this guy on the bust on Thursday."
The team was speechless. But not for long.
"But, Chris! We've worked on
that for three months! We can't afford to have some no-brained idiot with an
indulgent father screw that up!"
"I told the Judge that. He said
it's my fault for losing my temper, and our fault for being so good at our jobs
and being shot so much. And he agreed with us, but there's nothing he could
do."
"That's not fair!"
"Life isn't fair, kid."
Buck ruffled the kid's hair and sighed. "I guess we'll just have to keep
him out of the way as much as possible."
"What's his first name?"
"Keith."
"Keith Maxwell?" Nathan
shook his head with a sigh. "My father always told me not to trust people
with two first names."
"I always thought your father
was a very smart man."
"Agent Larabee, this is Keith
Maxwell."
The Judge had insisted on meeting
them at a neutral location to hand Maxwell over to them.
"We've met." Chris ignored
the hand that Maxwell was holding out, merely staring at it until the poor
disliked chap pretended he'd only been trying to swat a fly.
"Indeed," the Judge agreed
dryly. "But this time, I don't want any violence. Understood?"
"What, not even a little?"
"Understood?"
"Yes,
sir."
"And he's promised to obey
every order given to him, without exception. Now introduce him to Team 7."
Chris turned to his team. "Everyone, Keith Maxwell. Keith,
everyone."
"Chris!"
With a sigh and a put-upon
look, Chris introduced everyone by name, except Ezra, who was getting ready to
slip into his usual undercover role.
"Good. Now, I'm going to go,
and you're going to be nice to Mr. Maxwell, or his father will hang your head
above his fireplace."
Chris raised an eyebrow. Judge
Travis sighed.
"Okay, but you're not to kill
him, or injure him very much, and you have to include him. Show him your
procedures. That sort of thing. And I'm holding you
responsible if anyone on your team causes him harm."
The Judge eyed Chris critically for
a moment, making sure he'd obey his orders, before leaving.
Chris glared at Maxwell in silence
for a full five minutes, until Ezra arrived, looking spiffy, at which point he
shifted his gaze to Standish.
"Ready?"
"As
I'll ever be. Almost,
anyway."
"Good. Get going."
Ezra nodded and left, followed by
the rest of his team and Maxwell.
The team was scattered around the
first floor of a warehouse, very effectively hiding behind all sorts of crates
and things (except for Ezra, for obvious reasons, and Vin, who had managed to
find an excellent sniper's position on the second level of the warehouse), and
were listening to the conversation between Ezra and the arms seller by way of
those tiny headphone things they use. They were all considerably stiff, as they
had been holding their positions for three and a half hours, since they had
arrived very early to check the lay of the land, and had been delighted to find
absolutely no-one on guard. Their target was a very trusting — or naïve —
person, it seemed. The other teams had arrived later and had had to content
themselves with taking up positions outside.
"What do you think?" the
seller, Ian Maugham, asked anxiously.
"It's quite delightful,"
Ezra replied reassuringly. "The décor is so original. Quite
unique."
"Really? Only I've always thought warehouses were so...
cliché."
"Not
at all. I've seen my fair share of
warehouses, and this one is singularly, er,
remarkable. The crates are arranged so well."
Satisfied with the praise of his
building, Ian got down to business. "100 assault rifles, 50 surface-to-air
missile launchers, and 300 hand guns."
"Only the best, I assume."
"Of
course. You saw the sample. You have the
money?"
"Naturally."
Chris listened apprehensively. He
didn't like Ezra going in alone, but Maugham had insisted that he only bring in
his men to help transport the weapons, after they were paid for, so he'd had to
content himself with being as close as possible.
Maxwell had strict instructions to
stay put, on pain of death, which is why Chris was astonished and horrified
when he heard Keith's voice in his ear (via the earphone-thingy) saying,
"I want to get a closer look."
"Maxwell, stay put," Chris
hissed furiously.
"I'll be quiet! I can't see
from here!"
Chris mentally cursed himself for
not cuffing the man to the nearest large, heavy object instead of sticking him
near the back of the upper level of the warehouse. And what had possessed him
to not put Josiah next to him to knock him out at the first sign of trouble?
"Damn you, Maxwell, you'll
screw everything up! Get back to your position!"
But it was too late. Maxwell had
stealthily crept out from behind his crate, tiptoed behind another, tripped
over a crowbar lying carelessly on the floor, and fallen noisily down some
stairs.
Chris licked his lips, wondering
whether to move in, or let Ezra handle it. He glanced up and across to where Vin was hidden, and the sharpshooter's voice spoke into his
ear. "Don't worry, I've got him covered for now."
"Okay." Chris crouched
alertly and waited.
One of Ian's henchman
dragged Maxwell over and dropped him in front of his boss. "Caught
him spying."
Ezra noticed with well-concealed
relief that Maxwell's headphones had fallen off in his fall.
"Keith, Keith, Keith."
Ezra stepped in smoothly, voice gently chiding, with no hint of surprise.
"I told you to stop following me."
Maxwell made like a guppie, opening and shutting his mouth a few times.
"I did inform you that Mr.
Maugham wished to meet in private." He shook his head sadly, turning to
Ian. "My chief of security. He takes his job too
seriously."
Ian frowned. "Would it
inconvenience you terribly if I killed him?"
Ezra furrowed his brow, allowing a
concerned expression to settle on his face. "Yes, rather," he said
mildly. "He's not all that bright, if you get my meaning, but he can be
somewhat useful on occasion."
Maxwell finally caught on, but not
enough. "Sorry, Ezra."
Ian narrowed his eyes. "Ezra? I thought your name was Eddie?"
Ezra gave Ian a convincingly
embarrassed laugh, and Keith a death glare. "Yes, well. Eddie is the name
I use when dealing with less than perfectly honest people."
Ian nodded, but his henchman looking
thoughtful. "Eddie Sanders... not Ezra Standish?"
"Er..."
For once Ezra had no snappy comeback.
The henchman scowled.
"Standish! I've heard of you!" He turned to his boss.
"He's a member of that really famous ATF team that's in the papers all the
time!"
Ezra gave a sickly smile. "It's
so hard to find incompetent help these days... Perhaps I could lend you
Keith."
Chris hurriedly gave the order to
move in.
"ATF! Everybody freeze!" Nobody did, of course, and for the
millionth time, as he looked around for a handy crate to duck behind to shelter
himself from the bullets that were suddenly flying
around the warehouse, Chris wondered why he even bothered to say it.
Ian was looking terribly hurt.
"You're ATF? But I trusted you! I befriended you! We played video games
together! I... I let you use my sauna!"
Ezra shrugged, whipped out his gun.
"All's fair in love and law," he said.
"That's not how it —"
"I'm going to have to place you
under arrest."
The irritatingly competent henchman
aimed his weapon at Ezra, and was promptly shot by Vin.
"Okay, that's... four..."
murmured Vin, taking a moment to pull out a knife and make a notch on his gun,
before taking down a goon that had Chris cornered. "Five," he
corrected himself in a satisfied tone, and made another notch. This, he
reflected, was really an excellent sniper's position. And no-one had even found
him yet—
"Sniper!" yelled one of
the goons, pointing in Vin's direction before dying
painfully.
"Thank you, Chris," Vin said into his headphones.
"Seven," said Chris
smugly.
"Six, actually, the one on your
left is still breathing."
"Oh... damn..."
Buck cheerfully clobbered a crook on
the noggin with his empty gun. "Extra clip, please, JD?"
JD threw his friend a clip.
"Buck, I told you to pack spares! When are you going to learn to
listen to me?"
"I did! I've used them all!
Anyway, I don't need to carry spares — I have you!" Buck fired over his
shoulder, taking down another bad guy and narrowly missing an agent from one of
the other teams.
"Brother Nate," said
Josiah, thoughtfully, bear-hugging the last standing criminal into
unconsciousness, "Have you noticed that lately we seem to be awfully...
cavalier about all this sort of thing?"
"I suppose it's because we have
better things to worry about — You got that guy, Ez?
Okay — like what the Judge will say when he finds out we killed 70% of the
felons that we were supposed to arrest. Everyone okay?"
"No!"
Nathan looked around. "Vin? What's wrong?"
Vin appeared in front of him, holding up his index finger.
"I cut my finger... got a Band-Aid?"
Nathan sighed heavily, produced a
plaster. "That's what you get for making notches on your weapon like that.
It's sick, I tell you," he lectured, wrapping the dressing around Vin's finger.
Vin shrugged. "Thanks. You're right,
I should keep a written record, like you."
Josiah shook his head. "I'm in
the company of savages."
"I couldn't agree more, Mr.
Sanchez." Ezra walked up, pushing a handcuffed Ian along in front of him.
Buck slapped a female agent from
Team 5 on the shoulder, said, "See you Friday then," and joined his
friends, JD tagging along.
"Hey
all. These other teams have everything
under control. We can go now."
"Shouldn't we stay?" JD
felt a bit guilty leaving straight after the fun part.
Buck smirked. "Naw, it's our prerogative, being the best around and
all."
Chris staggered up, looking
flustered, shaking his hand. "Ouch... dammit..."
Nathan pounced. "Whassamatter?!"
Chris took a fearful step back.
"I just bashed my hand on a crate! It's fine!"
"You should get it X-rayed. It
could be broken, or fractured, or bruised, or—"
"It's fine."
Nathan subsided. He knew better than
to argue with that tone.
"Now... where is our friend Mr.
Maxwell...?" Chris scanned the room with narrowed eyes. "Ah-ha!"
"Now, Chris, you promised the
Judge..." Team 7 anxiously followed their leader as he stalked across to
where Maxwell was hiding behind one of those crate-like objects that so often
crop up in stories like this.
"You... you... you little
weed!" Chris leapt on the hapless human, punched him very hard, picked him
up and started strangling him. "I'm gonna kill you! Right now! Say your
prayers..."
All Maxwell said, however, was,
"Graaaaargh," because that was all he could
get out.
"Chris!" Vin and Buck joined forces to pull him off. "What will
Mary say!"
Larabee struggled furiously against
their restraining hands. "I'm gonna kill 'im — lemme go!! He deserves to die! I... am...
so... mad!"
Think Cartman,
from South Park.
Josiah gave Keith an encouraging
push. "Get out of here, man! Go, while you still can! I don't know how
long we can hold him!"
Keith gave them a terrified look, then fled. The team immediately fell about laughing.
Even Chris managed a smile — that
frightened expression had made up for a great deal. "Let's blow this
joint," he sighed, making a mental note to get his hand X-rayed after all—
hitting Maxwell had hurt quite a lot.
Chris emerged from the Judge's
office with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.
"Well?" demanded his team,
chewing on doughnuts paid for by Travis.
"Maxwell has resigned from law
enforcement and taken up a position as a baker. According to the Judge, that's
what he always wanted to do anyway. The Judge had a grand old time saying
"I told you so" to everyone that would listen, I had a grand old time
saying the same thing to the Judge, and now everyone seems to be happy. Oh, and
Maxwell wants a restraining order against all of us, just in case."
Buck shook his head. "And what
makes him think we'd touch him with a ten foot pole?"
Josiah grinned broadly, draping his
arms over the shoulders of JD and Vin.
"Everything seems to have worked out for the best."
"How
about a celebratory drink?"
This suggestion from JD was met with enthusiastic agreement.
As the team wandered off to the
saloon, Nathan suddenly remembered something. "Vin, have you changed that
Band-Aid? That cut could get infected —"
He was cut off by a friendly bagel
launched very accurately at his head.
"And then that idiot screwed
everything up, and you cut your finger and I hurt my hand, and..." Chris
sighed and took another sip of his whiskey. "That was a terrible
bust."
JD arrived from the bar, carrying a
beer, and flopped into the seat next to Chris. "That sure was a great
bust!" The kid sighed contentedly.
His boss stared at him. "What?
Why?"
"Well, hell! We caught all the
bad guys — and only killed half of them! — confiscated a large shipment of
guns, discovered the location of a huge weapons shipment, confiscated
that, and none of us got hurt! Well, beyond a cut finger and a bruised hand.
And we didn't even have to help clean up. And that Maxwell guy now has a
nice safe job in which he can't hurt anyone."
Chris glared at the team's youngest
member. "Damn it, JD, do you have any idea how hard it is to avoid being
optimistic around you?" He shook his head in disgust — if he wasn't
careful he'd start being happy all the time, and then where would his reputation
be? He was then forced to get extremely drunk in an attempt to keep from
smiling, only to fail miserably. But then, that's life.
The End
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