Helluva way to
start a Monday.
The first that
Chris Larabee caught wind that something was up was in the elevator from the
parking garage. Apparently, he was one of the last to know whatever the hell it
was and that was the icing on the cake on an already frustrating morning.
He had been the
last of Team Seven to pull into his spot in the parking structure, if the
vehicles dripping snow and ice in their respective parking places were any
indication. Even Ezra's new baby, a classic silver '74 Mercedes 450-SL was in
place, a stark contrast beside Tanner's jeep with it's new tan hard-top
incongruously shiny against the beat-up blue body and diamond-plate reinforcing
on the sides. Usually they were the last to arrive, not him.
Chris's day had
started with discovering the power was out in the main barn and all the water
frozen in the horse stalls. It had to be ten below zero out, and just as he
finally finished tending the stock and phoned in to the power company, an
emergency call came from his neighbor Chanu TaNoose. Chanu's smaller ranch
backed up to the same lane as Chris' just off the county road a mile away, and
they shared some BLM pastureland in the high meadows on the mountain behind
Chris's place. They were cooperative neighbors, and called on each other when
they needed help – like this morning when Chanu's pickup battery was dead
and his wife Clare had an appointment to take their new baby to the doctor. So
Chris had frozen his ass off doing a good deed jumping the battery from his
Dodge Ram to Chanu's old Ford first thing --not that he minded doing it,
considering it was Clare and the baby involved, plus Chanu would go over to his
place to check the stock around noon. However, it all conspired to make him
even later, and traffic into Denver had eaten away another fifteen minutes. He
had too much paperwork on his desk with a meeting coming up about expenses this
afternoon. He didn't need anything else to bite him in the ass.
God, he hated
surprises – particularly about members of his own team. Ones that brought
the kind of attention that he hated. Not to mention it was the kind of thing
that the whole of the ATF building was going to have a field day with from the
sound of it. The gossip mill was apparently already going strong and it wasn't
even 9 AM yet, and Chris had no idea what this was all about yet.
Gloria Potter,
Orrin Travis's secretary had opened the first salvo when he held the elevator
door for her in the garage.
"Why, thank you,
Agent Larabee," she puffed, her mouth muffled by her heavy winter scarf. "Did you see the Newspaper yesterday?"
His Sunday paper
lay unread in the den, since he had spent all day shoveling snow and helping
the farrier with corrective shoes for Pony.
"Something
interesting?" he asked, dreading the answer for some reason. He pushed the 7th
floor for himself and the 14th floor for her.
Gloria's eyes
widened and she unwrapped her scarf from around her plump face. Her dark eyes
crinkled a little at the corners in surprise as she said, "You don't know about
Agent Tanner?"
The hackles went
up on his neck, alarm bells went off in his head, and it was at that moment he
knew that the Universe had picked this morning to show that No Good Deed Goes
Unpunished.
Had something happened to Vin
and no one had called him? "What
newspaper are we talking about?" It
couldn't be the Free Car and Truck Trader with an article on the World's
Ugliest Jeep, could it? he hoped, knowing better."The Denver Post,"
she said in that tone of voice that told him that she obviously thought he was
an idiot because he did not already know whatever it was she was trying to tell
him.
Chris peeled off
his black cap and ran a hand through his getting-too-shaggy-again hair.
"Gloria," he said patiently, "I didn't see the paper. Is this something that I'm
not going to be happy about?"
As Team Leader for
the six other members of his department, Chris was always prepared for trouble.
Hell, he was one of the best at dealing with the worst, toughest situations
Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives could throw at him. However, it was the kind of trouble his
team had a tendency to find between cases that inspired him to carry a bottle
of Pepcid AC –the fast acting kind – in his coat pocket at all
times.
Gloria took a
breath and was about to say something when the doors opened on the 4th
floor and Bill Simons stepped in. Simons' jowly face lit into a malicious grin.
"Heard about your boy Tanner, Chris." He winked broadly. "Real sweet. Big surprise, seein' him
in the paper yesterday. Never figured him to be into that kind of thing. Never struck me as the type. Standish,
maybe, 'cause he's –you know – kinda prissy. But Tanner?" Simons
shook his head and laughed again as he stepped off on 5th. "Helluva team you got, there, Chris.
What's next? Ballroom dancing?"
Gloria's eyes
widened as she looked up at Chris. "It's not a bad thing, Chris. So there's
going to be talk about him now – It's to be expected." He almost expected
her to pat him on the hand and say, "there, there."
Chris stuck his
hand in his pocket for the Pepcid bottle. "Please, find me a copy of yesterday's
Post, Gloria, and send it down to my office."
Gloria tried a
little humor. "It's actually a little funny, isn't it? I mean, a young man like
Vin Tanner – sharpshooter, ex-Ranger –he's so masculine and rough around the
edges – it's really –well—"
Chris held up one hand to stop her.
"Give me a heads up if this is something Orrin wants a meeting about."
The doors on 7th
opened and Chris stepped out
just as Gloria said after him, "In this day and age, there's nothing wrong with
man who chooses to –" but the doors cut her words off.
Chris stood for a
moment in front of the elevators, trying to put it together. What in the hell
had Tanner done to get himself in the newspaper, exposing some kind of secret?
He refused to
speculate until he knew more.
Chris peered ahead
through the glass doors across the corridor that lead into the bullpen, where
he could see several of his team gathered around Buck's desk. They seemed to be
looking at what had to be the offending newspaper, plus some additional photos.
Whatever Tanner
had done, it had been caught with photographic evidence. God, please don't let
it bring down IA, Chris thought as he
moved stiffly toward the doors. Internal Affairs loathed Team Seven for no other
reason than the sheer volume of paperwork their firearms use generated. Had
Tanner opened them up to something. . .?
Chris paused
another moment before he opened the door, shrugging out of his canvas
stockman's duster with the fleece lining and shaking it out. There was no snow
on it, but it seemed like something to do. The Pepcid bottle rattled so he
reached in and thumbed open the cap to shake two into his palm. Then made it
three just in case.
Vin Tanner. His
closest friend and confidante. Buck was his oldest friend, but Vin was his
closest, simpatico since the first moment they had met back when Tanner was
still a with the U.S. Marshals.
What the hell had
Vin done and not mentioned, to at least prepare him? He popped the anti-acids.
Simons' words ate
at him. "Standish. . .not Tanner." What the hell had he meant by that? Anyway,
Ezra wasn't prissy. He just dressed well and kept himself clean-cut, and liked
the finer things in life.
Didn't make him
prissy, for cryin' out loud. And Tanner was the furthest from prissy you could
get!
Chris pushed
through the glass doors into the office, and walked slowly past the empty
cubicles, not intending to sneak up on his men, but wondering what they were
gathered, staring at in such a tight group.
He could hear Buck
chuckling about something; JD perched on the corner of the desk while Ezra
looked over his shoulder at whatever photo it was that held JD's attention.
"Talk about hiding
his light under a bushel," Josiah said from behind a copy of the Post's Sunday
magazine section with Martha Stewart on the cover.
"Pretty damned
funny, if you ask me," Nathan said. "Nobody suspected at all?" He looked at the
other four men gathered around. "Not even Chris?"
"Nope," Chris said
as he got within six feet of them before they realized he was there.
A collective expression that could only be called "deer in the headlights"
crossed their faces. Chris glanced up at the clock, then around the office.
With as much restraint as he could muster, he said, "Where's Tanner?"
"He's in," JD
said. "Said he had a stop to make—" JD rolled is eyes toward the ceiling.
"Upstairs."
The phone rang on
Buck's desk. "Wilmington -- What can I do you for?" Suddenly Buck straightened up and growled, "I'll
take that bet, Simons. I know Tanner. . .." Simons must have said something else,
because Buck snapped, "Make it fifty and you're on!" Buck dropped the phone back in the cradle with a snort.
"What did Simons
want to bet on?" Chris asked, his voice even quieter now.
"If Vin really did
it, or was there a ringer? He thinks the whole thing was rigged. Asshole."
JD said, "Bill
Simons is such a jerk."
Chris Larabee
smiled. It was that smile they all hated to see, since it meant unpleasant
things were in store for anyone who was within range. Ezra took a step back,
and even Josiah straightened from where he had been leaning on the cubicle
divider while he read the article – *whatever the hell it was!*— in
the magazine section. JD laid the photos on the desk – they appeared to
be of groups of people in party and formal clothing at some kind of dinner.
"You mad at Vin
about this, Chris? I mean – I'm sure he didn't mean anything by doin' it, and
maybe he didn't even know it was going to end up in the newspapers –"
"He rarely goes
undercover, so it should not damage his efficacy in the field, " Ezra observed
with a hopeful smile. Chris was unsure if Ezra was hoping that it would not
impair Vin's ability to assist in his undercover assignments or merely to
placate in the situation. With Ezra, it was a toss up, Chris thought
uncharitably.
"Now, Chris," Buck
said, "I'm sure Vin meant to let you in on this before it hit the papers, but
maybe he got a little caught up in all the doings at the Festival, what with
them giving out the awards and all –"
The last thing
Chris heard from Vin on Friday was that he had some event at the Junior college
where he had been taking some preparatory courses for him going for a Masters'
in Law Enforcement.
Had he gotten
involved with something on campus, something that landed his ass in the
newspapers? The possibilities were endless in a college setting--
"What 'festival'?" Chris was getting no
answers and knew nothing more than he had when he had left the elevator. He
could still taste the Pepcid in his mouth and needed more already. "What
awards?"
"Chris, here comes
Travis –" Nathan said, nodding toward the glass doors as AD Orrin Travis
stepped off the elevator and waited for another person. Several women in the
elevator were smiling and chattering amongst themselves as they moved aside to
allow Vin Tanner to step out. Apparently Travis was waiting for him. Vin nodded
and smiled politely at the women who kept talking cheerfully to him even as the
doors closed. While Travis waited, the team's sharpshooter and weapons expert
seemed to take a deep breath before coming toward the doors, like he did to
center himself before doing something dangerous.
His long hair was
pulled back in a neat pony tail, and he wore a denim sport jacket, over his
usual pullover and dark pants. He called it his On The Carpet-Asschewing
outfit. In his hand he carried an oversize manila envelope, the kind that usual
held personnel files.
Oh, shit. Chris' gut tightened at
the thought that he had not even known Tanner was in trouble, let alone that it
had all gone down before nine in the morning on a Monday.
Dammit, if he'd
known, maybe he could have helped Vin somehow--
Chris waited,
gritting his teeth in anticipation of Trouble, as Orrin and Vin entered.
"Mornin' fellas,"
Vin said. Already he was red-faced with embarrassment. "Look, I'm sorry if I
kept this a secret from y'all," he said quietly, his stress bringing out his drawl.
"It just kept goin' along and suddenly here it was, and I didn't know it was
gonna end up like this. . ." he gestured toward the photos and the newspaper's
color section laying on Buck's desk.
Chris stayed
silent, watching the reactions for clues. He felt more than a little pissed off
about still not knowing the full extent of what was happening. He just had to be prepared for the
consequences to Vin now that AD Travis was involved and it was all over the
building. Whatever the hell it was.
"Orrin," Chris
said. "Now what?"
Travis looked at
Chris oddly for a moment, then said, "Well, I suppose it's going in the
inter-agency newsletter. And Mary wants to do an interview, considering the
situation is so unusual, what with Tanner's specialty and his record."
What happened to
'innocent until proven guilty'? Chris wondered. When did it become.
. .toss the poor bastard to the wolves in front of God, the Bad Guys and
everybody else?
Chris swallowed
hard and stared. "You okay with all this, Vin?" He asked softly, expecting to
see Vin bolt like a mustang.
Vin shrugged.
"Never expected all this fuss."
"You set a hell of
an example, Vin." Nathan said, "Can't wait to try out your new 'specialty'."
Chris was not sure
he heard right and took a step back.
"Shoot, Vin, we
all want to give it a try!" Josiah added.
"Hey, Vin," JD
said. "You are so cool."
Buck unlimbered
himself and clapped Vin on the back. "The ladies love this kinda thing."
Orrin indicated the envelope. "We'll want
a copy of the award certificate, and Gloria's copy machine doesn't make 11 X
17's. JD, would you mind?"
JD grinned. "Are
you hanging one in the trophy case next to the sharpshooting trophy?"
Vin was looking at Chris as he said,
"You fellas aren't –you know – embarrassed?"
Buck said, "Aw,
Bill Simons from Four is makin' all kinds of noise – don't believe you actually
did it, but I got a bet on that it was all you!"
Vin nodded.
"Couldn't have done it without Jean-Claude, but yeah – it was all me."
"Who's
Jean-Claude?" Chris asked quietly.
Ezra smiled.
"Monsieur Jean-Claude Chagalle. Pastry Chef at La Petit Trianon."
Vin nodded. "He's
my professor. Damned nice fella for bein' mostly French. Used to be SAS in the
UK. You know all that
super-survival shit they do? Reckon he got tired of eatin' bugs and worms and
wallerin' in the dirt. So he became a Cordon Bleu Pastry Chef."
Chris leaned
against the edge of the desk. "Pastry chef?" It was then that he actually saw
that the photos of brightly-attired people partying around a central table of
food included Vin standing beside a fancy cake. It was elaborate and complex, chocolate-frosted and
decorated with white curly-cues and lattice, shaped in a smooth dome.
Vin edged closer
to Chris. "Mid-term was a competition. I won."
"For. . ..?" Chris
asked.
"Chocolat bombé
avec cr¸me cacao," Ezra said with the emotion usually displayed by Buck
regarding women. "Is it true, as the food critic said, that you added a soup¨on
of cointreau to the filling?"
Vin nodded. "Just a
'tetch'. I tried Jack Daniels, but it messed with the texture."
Orrin chuckled.
"Well, Mister Tanner, your skills never cease to amaze." Then their staid and
serious boss said, "Does this mean we should transfer you . . . to the bombé
squad?"
Everyone groaned and Orrin flashed a rare grin.
Chris was still
unsure if he processing what was happening around him. First Tanner as a pastry
cook, and now AD Travis making bad puns.
Monday. It was
Monday. That was it.
"Coffee on?" he asked, his voice
sounding desperate to his own ears.
Nathan said, "You okay, Chris? You're
looking a little peaked."
The phone rang and
Buck grabbed answered, then replied to the caller, "No, this ain't the Larabee
Catering Squad, Henderson!" Buck rolled his eyes, listening. "Hell, yes, our
boy can take yours! Dessert at the Spring BBQ? Oh, no you don't! No setting the
menu in advance." He looked at Ezra. "Standish will handle 'our' negotiations!"
Vin winced and
Travis chuckled. "The price of being the champion, Vin."
JD handed him the
copies of the certificate that had Vin's name in big calligraphic letters in
the middle, surrounded by gold swirls. "I'll get one of these framed and in the
lobby trophy case today." At Chris's skeptical expression, he said, "PR isn't as bad as IA, no matter what
you think, Chris."
A moment later,
Orrin took the extra copies of Vin's winner's certificate and left, carrying it
as if it was a Doctoral Graduate Diploma instead of a prize for a fancy cake.
Something about Vin had aways made Travis act like a proud uncle whenever Vin
passed written tests or exams, and this was no different. They all felt that
way, since Vin did not find hitting the books easy, considering his minor
dyslexia and a slow start on education in general. Now, a few courses at a time,
he was working toward his Masters in Law Enforcement. For that matter, a knot of pride was forming in his own
chest, one that was a seemed to grow a little every time Vin passed another
course then chose to go on toward his degree.
Chris kept silent
and leaned on the wall, arms crossed. A satisfied chuckle started in his gut
and threatened to break out in a smile but he managed to stop it as Vin cast
another sheepish smile his way. Tanner wasn't getting off that easy, after the
worry he'd laid on this morning –even if it was unintentional.
Vin sidled up to
Chris and said, "Sorry I didn't tell you, pard. Didn't think it was important
when the semester began."
"This some part of
the Law Enforcement curriculum that they didn't tell me?"
"Had to take a
couple humanities courses. and this one looked more useful than most. Spent a
some time before I went in the Army workin' as a short order cook and baker for
a while. Kinda took to it, I reckon. Just never got to do it much since what
with this bounty-huntin', then the Marshals and now this."
Josiah said, "We
thought you lived on junk, Vin. Didn't expect gourmet pastry from you."
Vin shrugged, embarrassed. "Well, I reckon I wanted to try my hand
at makin' my own Twinkies and Ho-ho's and it just kinda got outa hand."
The rest of them
burst out laughing, to which Vin threw up his hands in disbelief. "But I'm not
kiddin'."
Buck held up the
color spread in the magazine that showed Vin in a white apron and baker's hat,
his hair tied back in a net, with his steely-eyed sniper's expression firmly in
place as he sighted in to put the finishing flourish on a white frosting
lattice over the chocolate shell covering of his prize-winning masterpiece.
"Who'd 'a thunk ol'
Vin Tanner would win the city-wide pastry bake-off and get his ass plastered all
over the Home and Hearth Section of the Sunday Post?"
JD called from the
break room door, "Coffee's done. Buck brought donuts. Not as good as Bom-Bay
Tanner, but they're Krispy Kremes!"
Nathan and Josiah
headed for the break room. "Ezra didn't make some of that sissy hazelnut coffee
again, did he?" Nathan grumbled.
"Givalia Cr¸me
Bruleé flavor in honor of Mister Tanner's emergence as a stellar member of the
culinary community!"
"Amen, Ezra. Fine
choice!" However, Ezra groaned as Josiah deliberately added, "Where's the
Coffeemate?"
Vin called after,
them, "All I done was make a damned cake to get a decent grade. Don't be callin'
me no names, Ezra." Vin
glanced at Chris. "You okay, Cowboy?"
The smile that
finally escaped along with Chris's deflated bad mood was one of relief,
considering what the morning's revelations had first sounded like and he nudged
Vin with his shoulder. "Yeah. You makin' this bombé thing for the Game next
Sunday?"
Vin shook his head
vigorously. "Uh-uh. Apple torte, maybe. That fuckin' bombé took me nigh on twelve hours or
more!" Vin headed for the break room with the others. "Hey, JD, save me one of
them jelly-filled ones!"
Chris
followed, happily listening to the
rowdy banter echoing across the empty main office.
Buck was right.
Who'd'a'thunk it?
