Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
NOTE 2: And thanks to Pamela for her gorgeous collage in honour of this story!
Stryker "Bull" Savage paused outside of the gates of the tomb that had been his home for the last fifteen years. It was just over forty degrees and the sun greeted him anxiously. The denim pants and jacket that he wore snugly fit the body which had earned him his nickname many years ago. At five inches over six foot, most of his two hundred and fifty pound body was muscle. Peering through the sunglasses, his cobalt blue eyes spotted an older model Dodge Van parked about fifty feet away. It was the only car in the area. He waited and the driver's side door opened. He nodded once and began the journey he'd dreamed about.
"Hey, Pa!"
Bull embraced his youngest son, Arlee, just turned twenty-one. His short, almost marine cut hair, was pale blond and his eyes were hazel like his mother's. He was slim and at six foot, his body could use more weight.
"Where's your brother?" Bull asked, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Back at the cabin," he noted of rental unit in Green River. "Him and Uncle Linc are getting your present ready."
"Present?" Bull took a beer from the small cooler nestled between his feet and popped the top.
"Yeah," the young man grinned, "A real beauty. Troy and Uncle Linc been hunting for something special for you for a month now. We found her on the internet. She sure is sweet."
"You boys are mighty generous," Savage grinned, "You get that from your mother."
"Yeah?" Arlee frowned, easing on to the interstate. " ... can't remember her." He said of the woman who'd given birth to him. She died when he was three.
"She was a fine woman. She took good care of you boys ... and Uncle Linc ... " he noted of his insatible brother who never married. "Sweet, huh?" He eyed the landscape.
" ... like a peach ... young, firm, real juicy and ripe ... " Arlee laughed, recalling the lush guest, who was being well paid for her services.
"You got everything ready?" Stryker asked of plan. "I got this timed out just right."
"Yeah," the blond replied, pushing a CD into the stereo. "We lay low in Green River for awhile, then we make our first move." He noted of the banks and other 'stops' north.
"How'd Uncle Linc make out with the plane?" he asked of his younger brother by nearly six years. Although the both had dark hair and blue eyes, Linc was several inches shorter and slimmer.
"Good, it'll be ready and waiting at that private airfield your friend told you about," he said of his father's cell mate. "It cost us plenty, but Uncle Linc said it was worth it."
"Well," Bull said, draining his beer and belching, He slid his hand over and rubbed the nearly white blond bristles on his son's head. "Looks like after our vacation, next week the real fun begins." He noted of their robbery spree. "God, you like like your mother. She's was about your age when I met her." He sighed, scratching his crotch. "So what's this 'peach's name ... damn I got an itch."
"Candy," Arlee smirked, watching his father laugh. "For real! That's her name. Lots of red hair ... real sassy ... and parts that defy gravity!"
"You're making me hungry, boy," Bull growled, watching the landscape roll by.
"Pa?"
"Yeah?"
"How do you know this will work?"
"Uncle Linc and I had four more hits planned, before that trigger-happy swine killed Kevin," the felon replied of the large plans the three mapped out so many years ago. They'd buried those dreams with Kevin, their youngest brother, who'd been fatally wounded in the flight from the law. That's when they split up. Bull took Kevin with him, leading the cops away. It was decided when they were running out of luck, for Lincoln to take money and the boys out of the country and raise them. He'd invested the money they'd taken from the first two banks. Linc had a golden touch when it came to money and had done well. He'd remained hidden, the boys came on their own to visit twice a year until they finished school. Then they moved back to Montana, the family home for over one hundred and fifty years. The old cabin was still in good shape and the boys took care of themselves. He hadn't seen Linc since the night Kevin was pumped full of lead. His younger brother fled to safety, while he led the law on a two state chase. Now, after finishing the original job, 'written in Kevin's blood', they were picking up that dream. The plan was prepared and finalized through his sons, who contacted his brother. The other man was still on the F.B.I.'s most wanted list. "We're finishing it ... for Kevin."
"Hey," Troy Savage stood barefooted on the porch of the well hidden cabin. He watched the van pulling up the dirt path and grinned. His warlike whoop preceded his announcement. "Uncle Linc!" He hollered, sticking his head inside the doorway. "Pa's here!" He jumped over the railing and ran to greet his father.
Lincoln Savage finished his coffee and stood. He was a little nervous, not having seen Bull since they'd parted ways that fateful night. He'd done his best by the boys, raising them up in the wilds of Canada. Twenty-four year old Troy not only looked like Bull, he had the 'infamous' Savage wildstreak in him. The younger boy was quieter, like his mother, but loyal. He'd kept no secrets from them and they knew all about the crimes linked to their name. As far back at the 1870's the Savage clan always took what they wanted, caring not for who died in the process. He walked through the door as Bull approached.
"Good to see you, Brother," Bull eyed the short gray hair covering his brother's head. "You're getting old!"
"Yeah, well I earned them," Linc tossed back, "raising little 'savages' is hard on the body." He paused, "It's good to see you, Bull."
"Same here, Linc," he paused, finally stepping away from the informal embrace. "Thanks, for everything. How's the old man?" He asked of his father, who was in a nursing home near Wolf Lake. He would be eighty now and bedridden by a stroke.
"'bout the same, I guess. Arlee visits him alot. I saw him a couple days ago, first time in years. He didn't know I was in the room. Damn shame."
"Yeah, he kicked them fuckin' cops asses all over the state." He noted with pride. "I reckon there's still a few they never found," he grinned, thinking on the bloody bodies his father's stories aluded to. "Well, now, who do we have here?" He oozed, watching the beauty appear in the doorway.
"Oh, you must be Papa Bear," she cooed, untying the sash that held the short emerald green satin robe on. "I've been awful naughty ... " She hushed as the large man gripped her waist under the satin. His hands slid lower, cupping her firm backside.
"She's been sleeping in too many beds ... " Troy teased, elbowing his brother and giggling.
"She needs to be punished," Arlee agreed, recalling the wild night the three shared.
"I always believed in using the rod," he pulled her close, grinding against her, sliding his right hand up to fondle the ample chest.
"Oh ... you're a big one!" Her voice was husky as she felt the muscles rippling under his shirt. "But I don't like a crowd. Go play in traffic, boys. Your father and I are busy ... " she winked, as he heaved her over one shoulder, smacking her bare bottom.
"You heard the lady, beat it!" Bull ordered, "Be back for supper ... and be careful. Don't fuck up!"
"No, we'll leave that to you, Pa!" Troy wagged his eyebrows and watched his father shut the door with one boot. "Come on Arlee, let's put that raft in the water. Uncle Linc?"
"No thanks, I've got business in town," he noted, heading for the well appointed SUV.
It wasn't your typical Friday in spring in the offices of Denver's highly decorated ATF team. Usually, the last day of the week brought a busy morning, finalizing reports and a lazier afternoon, catching up on interviews, going over lab work and preparing for the new week. This week, however, the team was split up. Josiah, Nathan and J.D. were doing follow-ups on a dangerous group who were targeting African-American churches in the southwest. Two strikes in nearby towns had them away on travel most of the week. Buck and Ezra were investigating a case against two importers of illegal forms of pyrotechnics. Chris was asked by a Senate Commitee in Washington to become part of an eight man team, a National Strategic Initiative. The best and brightest of the ATF divisions cross county, were called upon to form this unique group. They would meet every ten weeks to discuss ways to make improvements within the Bureau. Such changes in policy, techniques, investigations, forensics and all other arms of the Justice Department, would build a better federation for the twenty-first century. He asked Vin to help him prepare for the first meeting, a three day seminar in San Francisco on Monday. Although they'd been separated all week, this morning they were reunited. They were in the conference room, discussing their individual investigations and catching up. They were waiting for Chris, who wanted a fast unit meeting, before leaving for his own briefing with Orrin Travis.
The leader paused in the doorway, eyeing the five men sitting around the large table. J.D. was guzzling a quart of chocolate milk and wolfing down a large cinnamon bun drenched in vanilla icing. With his Ozzy Osbourne t-shirt, black jeans and clean-cut good looks, the dark haired youth could pass for a high school student. Buck and Ezra were discussing their double date later that night, at a posh French restaurant. The rogue was relaxed in faded blue jeans, a pale green Ralph Lauren shirt and chugging a large coffee. The top buttons were undone, revealing a strong, tan chest and housing a small, gold Celtic cross. The gambler was dressed down, too, Standish style. In lieu of an expensive Italian suit, he was wearing Kenneth Cole, dusty gray slacks and jacket with a matching shirt. Josiah and Nathan, both in jeans and polo shirts, were going over the photo evidence from the Baptist church that had been bombed the week before. It felt good to hear them all talking and joking.
"J.D. sit up, you're gonna slide right out of that chair!" Nathan elbowed his slumping neighbor.
"I think better this way, got used to it in college," the youth replied, chomping on his pastry while reading the sports section.
"It's a wonder you and Vin have any teeth left," Erza frowned, eyeing the sugar-laden meal.
"Jealous?" Dunne replied, grinning under his chocolate mustache and belching
"Nice, Kid!" Buck chuckled, eyeing his young friend. "You learn to burp on cue in that fancy college too?"
"If I guzzle enough coke without taking a breath, I can belch out the vowels in the alphabet," the Bostonian boasted. "Vin taught me."
"Another charming trait our illustrious sharpshooter has passed along," Standish noted wryly. "How did we ever get along without him?"
"Speaking of which, where is that weasel?" Nathan inquired.
"Morning Boss!" Josiah boomed, before finishing his bagel.
"What a motley bunch," Chris grinned, entering the room.
"You missed us!" J.D.'s eyes lit up.
"Yeah, that must be it," Chris grimaced, "all that peace and quiet." He punched the intercom button on the wall. "Vin, where's my coffee?" he paused, " ... while I'm still young, okay?"
"Shut the hell up, Larabee!" the Texan replied with hot sauce.
They all grinned when the cranky voice came through the speaker. There was nothing like Vin in the morning, before he got his caffeine-sugar fix. The others smiled and listened as the voice came up the hallway and into the room, still full of vinegar.
"Mornin' Slick, nice face!" Buck laughed, eyeing the disgrunted young man's features, which were trained on the team leader's stern features.
"If ya weren't s'busy makin' time with that hot number in the lobby, ya couldda toted yer own. Like ya had a prayer with her, she could'nda been more than twenty-one. Probably she was bein' nice; thought ya were some friend of her fathers." He paused, lost his scowl as he put a large brown bag down and drank in the warm laughter. He smiled and greeted his friends warmly.
"Hey y'all!" Then the scowl returned as he approached his best friend, "Here, I ain't yer fuckin' servant." Vin ducked Buck's hand, which was trying to poke him in the gut. He sat the large container of black coffee in front of the smirking team leader. "Don't choke on it. Ya owe me four dollars."
"Four dollars!" Chris eyed the other with a conspirital gaze. "Last time I checked the large was a dollar seventy five!" He watched as Vin's slim hand descended in the large brown bag and pulled out a large hot chocolate, a large sandwich wrapped in foil and a bag of fresh chocolate chip cookies.
"Hey, there the new ones, with cinnamon and macadamia nuts." J.D. reached over.
"Damn, they smell good," Buck added, trying to grab the bag.
"I love them," Nate joined in, only to have his hand slapped.
"Get the hell, 'way,' all o'ya!" Vin used his body to cover his food, "Yer like a pack o'rabid dogs. These is mine ... get yer own. Ya haul yer cheap asses past that shop every day!"
"What do mean 'these is yours'?" Chris inquired, palm out. "I asked for coffee, I can't afford your sugar fix." He did some mental math, "Besides, that doesn't add up. I gave you a five, where's my change?"
"It come t'nine somethin', with the Reese's cups and totin' fees and such." Vin decided, sitting down and shoving his cookies in his lap, between his thighs.
"I dare ya!" he grinned at the lingering hands still yearning for a cookie. He glanced briefly at his best friend, "Ya can gimme a five and we'll call it even,"
"Like hell we will," Larabee bellowed, reaching for the breakfast, only to have his hand slapped.
"Paws off, ya didn't say nuthin' 'bout a sandwich. I'm half-starved. Had to eat them peanut butter cups on the elevator t'keep me goin'," Vin complained, " damn near passed out ... " while opening his sausage, egg and cheese on a toasted roll and taking a bite.
"You're always half-starved," Nate laughed, "Don't make a damn bit of sense. You eat enough for three men and you still need some meat on them bones."
"That's cause I'm from the upper end o'the gene pool," Vin boasted, jutting his chin out, complete with dripping cheese and ketchup. "Ain't that right, Ez?"
"Did you say cesspool?" The southerner smiled, charmed by Tanner.
"Hell no, we're talkin' 'bout m'bloodline, not Bucklin's."
"You best hush up boy or you'll be wearing that hot chocolate." Wilmington teased.
Vin swallowed, wiped his mouth and saw Chris's hand still out. "No need t'worry 'bout that five now, Cowboy, ya can hit the ATM machine later. I know yer good fer it."
They all laughed then, not as much at Vin's line, but at Chris Larabee trying desparately not to laugh. Three times the laughter almost made it past his bitten lips, only to be denied. Until Vin looked up with choirboy-like innocence.
"'s'wrong with yer face? Ya got gas'r somethin'?"
That did it, Chris ducked his head and laughed briefly, before scrubbing a hand over his features to restore some sanity.
"Alright, enough!" He ordered of the hysterical laughter. That is what he missed all week, that natural camaraderie that this group shared. "Let get to business." He interviewed each team, taking their reports on their respective cases. He went over the agenda for the following week, placing Nathan in charge in his absence until Thursday. He added some adminstrative notes, the blood donor drive and the last sign-up date for the softball teams. "I guess that's it, I gotta meet Orrin at nine. I don't know if I'll be back today, I've got a seminar in Golden, but you all know to be at the ranch on Sunday at noon." He paused, "Touch football and a cookout, Larabee style!"
"Hey, Kid, you got the remote?" Buck asked, eyeing the television suspended from the ceiling in the conference room. "Turn up the volume." He, like the others, watched silently as the CNN reporter spoke.
" ... that makes the fourth robberty inside of two weeks. The bloody rampage started in Duchesne, Utah, a bank robbery that left three dead and netted over twenty thousand dollars. Verna was next, two more dead and twelve thousand five hundred. The murderous gang moved into Wyoming several days ago, hitting the payroll office of a large restaurant chain in Pinedale. This morning's bold robbery of a jewelry store in Gillette only confirms the police's suspicions that the blood thirtsy clan is headed north, through their land on the Candian border, en route to Canada. The viscious leader of the family is forty-eight year old Stryker 'Bull' Savage, only recently parolled from prison in Utah."
"That's one case where the name suits the man to tee ... " Nathan shook his head as J.D. turned the sound down.
"I can't believe they can't catch those animals," Buck scratched his head. "Hell, they've been leaving bodies all over the place."
"From what I've read," Josiah noted, "that family's name's been covered in blood since before the civil war. They take what they want, where they want and how much they want."
" ... nasty passel o'varmits," Vin agreed, " ... got more tatoos than teeth ... "
"A vile and disgusting lineage," Standish commented. "Still it's curious that they so easily escape."
"Their number's up," Chris predicted, "They'll never make it into Montana alive. Anyway, back to our business. Everybody all set?" He asked of the team division of food, beer and the like. A nodding of heads and murmurs sealed the meeting. "Okay, that's it then."
"Vin," Buck hissed, rolling his eyes as the shaggy head continued to eat, seemingly oblivious. "Vin!" he hissed louder.
"What?" Vin snapped, dunking his cookie into his hot chocolate. He saw Buck, Nate and J.D. all motioning to Chris. "Huh?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Good Lord!" Ezra exasperated.
"Oh," Vin said slowly, holding the wet cookie, "Want some?" He offered it over, only to see Chris screw his face up.
"Thanks Vin, but I like my food uneaten and not dripping in Tanner spit."
"Oh My God!" J.D. thumped his head on the desk, while Josiah just laughed and patted his back.
"Don't you have something to share with Chris, Vin?" Ezra invited, then groaned at the furrowed face that met his eyes. If the chocolate mustache weren't bad enough, the peach cotton shirt had crumbs and bit of egg on it.
"Oh!" Vin's eyes lit up, as mental bells finally rang. "Hold on Chris," he stood, held the cookie in his teeth and fished through his pockets. Receipts came out, a paper with a phone number on it, two half done rolls of life savers and his keys.
"Hey, whose phone number? Do I know her?" Buck reached over, only to have a spitted-up cookie land on his hand.
"No ya don't know her!" Vin bellowed, grabbing his disappearing mess. Then he patted his back pocket and pulled out a slightly dented envelope. He made his way over to his smirking boss and handed it to him. "Ya done good, Cowboy!"
"I daresay the President needs your speechmaking skills in Washington," Ezra sighed. "Perhaps we should expand on that?"
"The Senate picks eight men from all the thousands across the country," Josiah toasted with his mug, " ... says a whole lot about what makes them special."
"Integrity," Nathan added, raising his coffee.
"Honor," Ezra nodded.
"Courage and leadership," J.D. noted with a wide smile, then waited, "Buck ... "
"Animal Magnetism," the rogue added with a wink to his oldest friend and a man he admired more than any other.
That brought a round of cheers. That left one more and Chris knew the devilish light in the blue eyes meant something less than sterling was about to be issued. He raised a single sandy brow and tapped the envelope against his palm.
"What?" Vin said innocently, "I ain't got any platitudes t'spout. Could be them other fellers got picked for heroism and such."
"Could be," Chris took the bait, a smile forming.
"Reckon there was a woman on that commitee that's partial t'boys in blue. That's why yer ass got took."
He said it with a straight face and kept it. Chris dropped his head and laughed, covering his mouth with is hand. Buck and Josiah followed suit, the former spitting out a mouth of coffee.
"What?" J.D. frowned, turning to Nathan. "I don't get it ... "
"I'll explain it later," the chuckling agent explained of Vin's reference to the team leader's tight pants and constricted groin.
"All kiddin' aside," Vin's somber tone cut through the brevity and brought the blond's head back up. He extended his right hand and took the other's, while gripping his shoulder with the left. "We're all real proud o'ya, Chris. Kinda feel sorry fer all them poor bastards that gotta work fer second best."
"Thanks," the leader replied, his throat tight. He eyed each of these men, all who offered his own unique talents to the team. This band of brothers had come to mean so much to him. He opened the envelope and frowned, pulling the card out. "With deepest sympathy in your time of need?"
"Aw, hell!" Vin stood again, having taken his seat. Hands slapped the table and laughter shot forth around him. "Sorry 'bout that, I musta got the cards mixed up. I'll get the right one, it's at m'desk ... "
The smile left the Larabee's face, when three twenty dollar bills and a ten fell out. "Vin?" his head rose.
"Uh ... it's fer Manny," he said quietly. "Ya know, that old fella who dumps the trash and vacuums every night. I'm usually the only one left when he gets here. I got t'know him a little bit, jes' passin' time and such. His wife died, she's real sick fer a long time. He's got a bunch o'medical bills ... he said he's gonna have t'get another job. Chris, he's old, he can't handle two jobs. It ain't much, it's all I had, but I figured it might help him a little."
"Is this why you've been eating peanut butter sandwiches all week?" the blond asked and saw the long-haired agent dip his head once. " ... and why you didn't go with us to the concert last weekend?" Again the head dipped, very slightly. "Vin, why didn't you say something?"
"Weren't nothin' t'say," he shifted uncomfortably, knowing they were all looking at him. "I'm the only one here at night. I couldn't ask any of ya t' put out money." He licked his lips and eyed the door, "I'll get yer card."
Chris's eyes followed him and lingered on the empty doorway after he passed through it. There were so many intangible qualities inside the proud Texan that it shamed him. If the world had more Vin Tanners, it would be a much richer place. By the time he looked back, a pile of money was on the table. He smiled then, picked up the collection of fives, tens and twentys, swallowed hard and nodded to each of them. "Thanks, guys ... "
"There must be somethin' in the water down there in Texas," Buck said with a soft smile, "there sure do grow 'em right."
"Amen!" Josiah agreed.
"Here, ya go," Vin handed the envelop and took the other, frowning at the thickness. He flipped it open and his face flushed. He was at a loss for words, but then his eyes spoke volumes. He met each pair of eyes around the table and nodded again. "I'll..uh ... tell ... him ... I know he can ... use ... " he paused again, taking a breath. "Thanks ... "
"Seriously, Vin, you ought to take up speechwriting," J.D. teased, gaining the laugh he intended.
"Here," Chris handed fifty dollars back to the sharpshooter. "That's too much ... you take some back, okay? We got it covered." He waited, then added , "Besides, If I have to look at another peanut butter sandwich ... " he grinned as the other man smiled and tucked his card away. Just then, the phone rang. Vin was near the door and picked up the extension. He frowned, scowled and shook his head.
"No, I don't need m'ducks cleaned," he snapped, "I don't need m'cows cleaned neither." He hung the phone up, shaking his head. "..the hell kinda crank call is that?"
Not realizing his mistake, he grinned proudly as the other men exploded in laughter. Taking it the hardest, was the leader. He sat down, dropped his head and tried to contain it. But it wouldn't stop. Sometimes, something strikes you funny for no reason and this was one of those times. No matter what he did, he couldn't stop. He looked up briefly as the phone rang again and Josiah answered.
"Ya like that, huh?" Vin beamed, clapping the now coughing blond's back. Tears were running down his face. "Hell, Cowboy, it ain't that funny!" He was laughing too now, overcome by the contagious blond's very unusual hysteria.
"No ... " Chris choked, having no breath left. " ... it's not that ... you ... don't understand ... "
"Chris," Josiah interruppted, covering the phone, "Orrin's waiting, he's says you're ten minutes late."
"On my way," the recovered man managed, wiping his eyes with napkins. He took a moment to read the card, and drank in every complimentary word his team wrote inside. "Damn," he said thickly, "you guys didn't leave much for my funeral." More laughter and they stood, each shaking his hand and wishing him well. Then they departed, Chris snagged Vin and gripped both shoulders. "Sometimes, Tanner, you put me to shame," he offered, watching the young man blush again.
"Get yer ass upstairs, yer gettin' t'be a sentimental old fool," Vin grinned, cuffing Chris's neck.
While Chris went over his presentation with Orrin Travis, the rest of the team was scattered around town save Vin. He was at the office, updating the graphics on the final version of Chris's presentation. It was quiet and he was able to get a lot done. His rumbling stomach reminded him that lunch was approaching. He eyed the empty desks, trying to figure out which of his friends to call. Buck and Ezra were doing legwork for their case; the others were at a meeting with the local police department. Just as he was about to dial Ezra, the phone rang.
"ATF, Tanner."
"Hey, Vin!"
"Hey, Kid, what's up?"
"Buck just called me. We're gonna meet at the Lotus Petal for lunch. You in?"
"Yeah, sounds good. They got a buffet at lunch, don't they?" He inquired of the Chinese restaurant nearby.
"Yeah, it's six dollars I think," Dunne paused, "Anyhow, we're meeting there at noon."
"See you there, J.D. Thanks!" Vin hung the phone up and hit the print key. His stomach was already preparing for won ton soup, fried rice, shrimp lo mien and egg rolls. Minutes rolled by and the printer was acting up. By the time Vin finally finished, it was already twelve. He caught the elevator and stopped in the lobby to hit the men's room. He was almost done when a sneer rose behind him.
"Well, well," the other man chuckled, "If it isn't Huckleberry Vin. Would you look at that? Shoes and everything. Next thing you'll be wearing underwear and talking like a person of normal intelligence."
Eric McClendon was an arrogant F.B.I agent with whom the team butted horns recently. Vin wanted to put the arrogant bastard into the local intensive care unit, but he'd promised Chris that he'd keep his cool. He felt his face color as the anger rose up and nearly choked him.
"Damn," The rude F.B.I. man mocked, staring openly. "I heard about you boys from Texas. You must be some sort of a reject. Shouldn't you be next store?" he referred to the woman's room. "You and Dunne sure make a cute couple. That does surprise me though. Cute little faggots like him usually aren't the man in the relationship."
"If I didn't give Larabee m'word, ye'd be ridin' a gurney t' the ER," Vin snapped as he zipped up. He turned and directed his steely gaze to the laughing agent. "Once the trial's done next week, all bets is off!"
"Ohhhh," the tall agent jumped and waved his hands in mock-hysteria. "I'm shakin' in my boots."
He blocked the smaller man, not letting him pass. He could see the steam building, Tanner's face was red and the fists were balled up. Just a little more and he'd have him up on charges. "What's the rush, pretty boy? Late for Sesame Street? Pretty soon you'll be able to print your own name."
"Shut up and get the fuck away from me, McClendon," Vin snarled, shoving hard to pass by, but the large man shoved back, sending him into the edge of the stall door. He felt the metal hit him hard on his left cheekbone under his eye.
"Go on, Tanner. Wouldn't want you late for Bert and Ernie. I know you mentally-challenged kids have a hard time keeping up."
Vin felt his face flush as the other agents with McClendon laughed from the doorway. The cruel taunts, lip smacking sounds and wicked laughter stayed with the slim agent as he walked quickly to the restaurant. There was a large party in the entryway waiting to be seated. Frowning, he craned his neck, spotting his friends far across the room. He eyed the side passage that went past the rooms used for private parties. He ducked around, padding quickly through the passageway. This unseen entry would bring him out behind the large partition behind the table where his friends sat. He heard them laughing and smiled, needing that camaraderie right now desperately. He was surprised to hear Rain Jackson's voice. The pretty medical resident usually didn't get time off in the middle of the day.
" ... so Vin says, 'No, I don't need my ducks cleaned; don't need my cows cleaned neither!" J.D. repeated, shoveling fried noodles dripping with duck sauce in his mouth. Vin smiled just as Rain spoke.
"Oh, that's funny!" She shook her head. "So he thought they were talking about ducks with feathers."
"Yeah," Nate grinned, pouring Josiah and Ezra tea from the large stainless steel pot on the table. "You should have seen Chris. He couldn't stop laughing."
The smile disappeared from the sharpshooter's face. He felt the heat rise up again. Still out of sight, he quickly backtracked, ending up by the now deserted entryway. He thought on the words.
" ... ducks with feathers ... " He mumbled, his insides stinging a little bit " ... other kind is there?" He paused inside the empty catering room and felt his stomach jump. The loud laughter from the incident earlier this morning returned. Suddenly, he wondered what his friends had been laughing at when he issued the line. He heard McClendon's sneers and cruel taunts about his speech patterns. Every once and awhile, his informal education bit him in the ass. His appetite was gone now and he eyed the reflection in the mirror. Sometimes, he felt that their command of the English language and other merits gained in college, master's programs and the like, separated them from him. He waited several minutes until the high color left his face. Taking a deep breath, he made his way to the table.
"Hey, Vin!" Buck patted the empty seat next to him. "Where the hell were you? J.D. just called you ... sit down. They got Chinese pizza as an appetizer on the buffet today. You ever had that?"
"Vin, you okay?" Nate frowned, gazing at Vin's troubled blue eyes.
"I'm fine, Nate," he reassured. "My stomach's actin' up a bit. I just come by ... I just came by," he corrected. "T'tell ya ... you ... that I'm gonna ... going to," He stammered. This was going badly. They were staring at him like he had sprouted another head. "I need some air. I'm gonna ... going to take a walk in the park." There it was out. He turned away, feeling the heat rise on his face. He needed that fresh air now and almost got outside. Then a hand clamped on his shoulder.
"What's wrong?" Buck asked quietly. He knew this man well enough to see right off that the problem had nothing to do with his stomach. "Talk to me, Vin."
"I ... uh ... " he paused, taking a deep breath and eyeing a group of bikers riding by. He felt a knot reappear. It was a Bucklin knot; one that came from how much this man worried over all of them. "I'm okay, Buck," he said quietly. "I really do need some air. Been cooped up in the office all day. Go on back and eat."
Buck saw the defensive shields come up then. Vin didn't know it, but his eyes changed whenever he was hiding something. Whatever it was, he wasn't ready to share it. Buck respected that as long Vin remained healthy.
"You sure?" He asked, peeking at the troubled sky eyes. Then he frowned, spotting a rising bruise that was starting to swell. He moved his head, but Vin turned away. He caught the sniper's right shoulder with one hand and used the other to turn his face. "What the hell happened? Is this connected to why you're upset?"
"It's nothin', Buck," he managed, but couldn't prevent the flush of anger returning.
"It don't look like nothin' to me!" Wilmington snapped. "How'd you get that bruise?"
"I ... uh ... jes' slipped is all ... in the men's room."
"Bullshit!" the concerned agent replied, hands on his hips. "Who marked you like that?"
"Buck, look. It's done. Leave it ... " he tried to turn, but the hand clamped down again and spun him around.
"Seems that shot to your face affected your memory. We're a team; one of us is hurt, we all hurt. If somebody's hasslin' you, Tanner, you damn well better speak up."
That's when he saw the eyes slip. The voice came first, a snide echo in his mind. It was followed by an arrogant set of brown eyes and cruel words. Initially, the bad mouthing had been mild. Mostly while they were forced to work with an F.B.I team on an interstate gun-running investigation. J.D. and Vin had been working undercover doing a helluva job. But the F.B.I. charged in early, eager to get the collar and nearly got both young men killed. Furious words were exchanged in the parking lot outside the private home that had been raided. Later, outside the ER, a camera crew caught Vin dressing down the head of the F.B.I. team. It was a mistake that he'd been paying for since. The fury died down for a few months since the F.B.I. team was from another state. But now, they were in town for the trial and he'd been baiting Vin for weeks, taking advantage of the sharpshooter's short fuse.
"McClendon?" Wilmington clenched his teeth and balled his fists, watching the shaggy head dip once. " ... that son-of-a-bitch bad mouthin' you again?" He paused, narrowing his hot eyes, his voice rising rapidly. "Did he hit you?"
"Listen t'me, Buck ... " Vin tried, but the older man was irate and wouldn't be denied.
"Goddammit!" Wilmington snapped. "I know where that fuckin' asshole is staying. I'm gonna have a little talk with him."
"Ya ain't ... you weren't at the prosecutor's office last week."
Orrin Travis, Chris, Vin and J.D. attended, along with the involved F.B.I. team. McClendon gave both J.D. and Vin a hard time, cutting their work to shreds with his sharp comments. He made their undercover effort seem like amateur hour. His sly innuendoes sent Vin off the edge and he hauled off and popped McClendon. That got him in deep shit with Orrin Travis, the prosecution team and the F.B.I representative. He had to be forcibly restrained and led from the large office. Chris had a heated argument with Eric, dressing him down soundly. Still angry, he bawled Vin out too, citing his weak point, that damnable short temper. He made Vin promise not to retaliate, no matter what, until the trial was over. Since then, the irate F.B.I. agent tormented both himself and Dunne any time he cornered them alone.
"Hell, Buck, ya know me," he said softly, turning and letting the breeze lift his hair. "I don't give a flyin' rat's ass what he says about me. But I won't let him talk nasty 'bout the kid ... " he stopped then, already having said too much.
"Well," Buck warmed, placing both hands on the downcast agent's shoulders. "I don't like that scuzzball or anyone else badmouthin' either of my kids," he smiled, watching a Tanner grin born slowly. " ... or layin' a hand on 'em. You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, he knows the score," Vin touted, " ... trials done in a week ... then that slug'll drag his slimy ass back across the state line and outta m'hair."
" ... and that's a lotta hair to mess up!" Buck teased, ruffling it lightly. He knew Vin hated that and sure enough, the other man pulled away.
"Cut that out! Don't be touchin' m'hair." Vin chided, " ... don't tell, Chris, okay?"
"Why? He won't blame you," Wilmington wondered aloud but saw the worry lines appear. "Okay, we'll keep it here," he promised with a good shake. "But, if you read in the Federal Digest that a certain F.B.I agent was forced to retire and is singing soprano ... " He gave a broad wink, gripped the shoulder and let it linger, watching the ex-bounty hunter's smile broaden.
Vin turned to leave then, wearing a warm smile. Buck was the kind of big brother every kid needed. Somebody who kicked ass in the schoolyard when the smaller kids got bullied.
"I'm fine. Go on and eat ... make me proud!" He teased, knowing that Buck always tried to out eat him at any given buffet ... and usually lost.
"Okay, Vin," Buck turned back inside, "I'll call you later."
"Hey," the Texan called back from the street, waiting until the tall agent turned. "Thanks, Bucklin." He was rewarded with a broad grin, the kind that Buck unleashed that went right through your chest. He carried that the rest of the day.
The tension went from the base of his spine and all the way up his back. Its razor-like talons gripped the back of his head and dug in deep. The headache from hell had been building for a few hours, ever since he arrived in Golden. The hot conference room, droning speeches and overdose of caffeine didn't help. He eyed the clock, holding a cold soda to the back of his neck.
"Ten minutes, gentlemen. We still have much territory to cover," Grant Hoffman spoke from the head of the table.
"Wonderful," Chris Larabee grumbled, placing the can on the table and leaving the hot room. After washing his face with ice water, he went to the lobby, stepped outside and gulped in fresh air. He thought on the upcoming trip and how much time and work the efforts of the slim Texan saved him. He pulled his phone out and dialed Vin's number.
"Tanner, ATF," Vin yawned, eyeing the approaching hour of 3 p.m.
"Sleeping on the job again?" He teased but got no reply. "Vin?"
"Huh?" the sharpshooter blinked. "Sorry ... I'm beat. We're all done. I upgraded the graphics and spreadsheets. Printed out ten copies, color coded and indexed. I took one up t'Jane," he noted of Orrin Travis's secretary. " ... rest o'em ... the rest of them is on yer desk."
"You kicked ass, Cowboy."
"Ya seen 'em?" Vin sat up. " ... uh ... saw them ... "
"Yeah, they came by courier. Orrin showed them just before we broke away," Chris paused. "You busted your ass on this all week, Vin. It didn't go unnoticed. I felt a little guilty taking the bows; I made sure everyone knew it was your fine hand that scripted that report." He chuckled then, feeling Vin blush through the phone. "You sure do blush pretty, Tanner!"
"Cut that out!" Vin laughed. "It wasn't nuthin' ... nothing special, Chris."
"Yeah, it was, Vin, and I'm grateful." He sighed, eyeing his watch. "Hell, my time's up."
"Ya headin' back today?"
"Uh ... yeah," Chris projected ahead. "With any luck, five-thirty or so."
"I'll wait fer ya ... I need t'talk ... to talk to ya ... " he corrected.
"About what?" Chris punched the elevator button and wondered about Vin's strange speech. "Is something wrong?"
"Nothin' important. It'll keep. See ya later." Vin hung the phone up and stretched. He opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a CD envelope. Flipping through it, he picked out something soothing. Something that always lifted him. He slid the Eagles Greatest Hits into the CD player and relaxed for a few moments. As the tension eased off his back, he picked up the file on the corner of his desk and flipped it open.
Three more exits and he would be home. The afternoon ran later than expected and his head was about to explode. Emergency vehicles tied up most of the highway. They were racing to the scene of an accident ahead. Several vehicles had collided only adding to his unending day. Traffic was backed up and not moving at all; he punched the numbers in his cell phone to pick up his messages. He bypassed the first three and then heard a familiar voice.
"It's me, Chris. It's almost seven. I guess ya got tied up. I'm headin' home. Call me," then a pause. "S'okay, I know yer tired. I'll uh ... never mind."
"Shit!" the blond cursed, moving to the right lane and heading for the next exit. He punched Vin's number, glad when the Texan answered right away.
"Hello."
"I'm sorry, Vin. My whole afternoon got fucked up. You eat yet?" He made a right turn at the first traffic light. "I'll pick you up, my treat."
"S'okay, Chris," Vin laughed. "I'm really tired. I was jes' ... just gonna cook here and watch the game. I got plenty ... "
"I'll pick up some beer," Chris offered. " ... thanks, Vin ... "
"I got beer," Vin tossed back, pulling a frying pan out. "Get somethin' chocolate and gooey fer after."
Twenty minutes later, he walked through Tanner's door. He put the triple chocolate cheesecake in the refrigerator just at the chef entered the room.
"I'm really sorry, Vin."
"We done that ... did that already, remember?" he paused, seeing pain radiating from the other man. "Larabee special?" he asked of the killer headache.
"Yeah ... started at lunch and it's into Godzilla zone now."
Vin physically turned the other man, pushing him towards the spare room. "Rest yer eyes ... I'll call ya ... "
Chris tugged his shoes and socks off, hung the suit coat up and took his tie off. Vin returned with a clean pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. He also handed him a coke and two pills.
"Extra-strength Excedrin and coke ... works wonders ... "
"Thanks," Chris tossed them down, changed and fell across the bed.
"Hell, Son, you sure can pick 'em," Bull touted, clapping Troy on the back. He eyed the very remote cabin hidden in the dense terrain and grinned. "Yeah, this'll do just fine. You and your brother unload. We'll lie low until next weekend, then we'll head for the airstrip. Them dumb fuck's are chasing their tails up near the border," he chuckled, carrying a large bag of food into the cabin.
"Troy, you think this is gonna work?" Arlee asked his brother, each carrying a box of supplies.
"Sure it is!" The older one was annoyed. "Pa and Uncle Linc know what they're doing!"
They left a trail from Utah through Wyoming and a small skirmish on the Montana border. Then they pulled out, heading south and keeping quiet. Bull and his brother had shaved their heads bare the night before. The two younger boys followed suit that morning. The likenesses on the news didn't look much like them now, and the F.B.I had set up a net near the Montana/Canadian border. The state police in Montana were combing the hills near the large, rural Savage property. They had no idea how far off they were.
Troy eyed the horizon and the New Mexico border in the distance. Ten days, that's what his Pa said. Ten more days and they'd be heading for that plane and a new life, the high life, in Mexico.
Page 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29
Return to Deirdre's Fic Archive | Return to Lady Angel's Library
