With a sigh, Tanner dug out his cell phone and hit speed dial.
On the second ring, a curt "What," had him smiling and shaking his head.
"Hi to you too, asshole," Tanner tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and leaned against the stove with his ankles crossed.
"You get Ezra home?"
Vin could hear music in the background and the drum of a diesel engine. At 1am, Chris was driving home from Inez's.
"Yeah, How'd Buck do?"
"Got his ass whipped but ya know Buck...he set up a rematch but's gonna have Ezra stand in for him." Larabee's voice seemed to smile.
"Shit...that'll cost'im a pretty penny."
"Yup."
"Speakin' of Ez," Tanner paused placing the papers back on the counter. "I think we might have a problem."
Chris reached forward and turned down the truck radio. The glow of the dashboard highlighted the soft greys of the truck's interior.
"What's up?"
"I think maybe you should keep him close to home for a bit," Tanner rubbed a hand over his eyes.
"What's going on?" Chris tightened his grip on the phone. Now what?
"Well besides the fact it looks like Mike Tyson used his face as a speed bag and this place is freezing cuz he ain't been around, and the stuff in his refrigerator has more lumps and mold than a high school Biology experiment?....." Vin paused and added, "his camping stuff is all packed and in the trunk of the Jag."
Vin listened intently to the sudden silence over the line. The drum of the diesel sounded even louder and obtrusive.
"Shit...." the soft exclamation had Larabee closing his eyes.
"Yeah, And his discharge papers from the hospital says he spent Thanksgiving under their care."
The line remained quiet. The Dodge diesel vibrated through the phone.
"Why didn't he call?" Larabee's softly spoke question was self directed.
Tanner answered, "Probably wanted too....but what if we didn't answer...and there ain't no way any of us would have made it up there anyhow..." The sharpshooter padded out of the kitchen and cracked open the door to the master bedroom.
Standish lay sprawled across the bed partially under the wool blanket, Chris and Vin had given him years ago. He still had one shoe on, the other foot remained bare.
"Chris?" Tanner's whispered voice dulled behind the re-closing of the bedroom door.
"Yeah, I'm still here," His distant tone gave clear indicator that his mind raced in another direction, "Listen I've got to meet with The Judge tomorrow morning. I'll have Buck and JD drop by with some grocery's....Maybe see what Josiah is doing...Nathan plans on traveling up to see Rain...don't see no point in bothering him with this fiasco."
"Chris, it'll blow over, ain't no ones fault," Vin found the remote and clicked on the TV, muting the sound until he could turn the volume down. "Just the shits when it's Ezra."
"I know...I know," Larabee's voice tapered off and then came back, "I'll call Pete and find out what really happened."
Tanner nodded and clicked the phone off.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chris woke Pete O'Donahue from a well deserved sleep in the early hours of the morning. The supervising agent of Team Seven spoke with all the finesse and diplomacy of a Pit bull on a short lease. Pete O'Donahue lost in the foggy haze of a sound sleep answered said questions with nothing but blunt honesty and genuine confusion. Pete had stopped by to visit Standish at the hospital but the agent had been sleeping. He had originally called Standish and asked for his help on the bust but the Denver based agent had turned him down due to a trip he had planned. O'Donahue was as surprised as anyone to get a last minute call asking if assistance was still needed and sought after.
Rubbing sleep from his eyes, the Salem based Supervisor mumbled out he would have been a fool not to accept help from Standish. The man was one of the best. And hell, if things had gone haywire it was a well known fact that Denver's Team Seven would converge on said bust with all the cunning and skill of a pack of wolves. In gaining one member of Team Seven, you in fact corralled the combine efforts of said Team. A well known fact around ATF circles.
O'Donahue confessed he was no fool. It was also known that hurt one of Team Seven and you unfortunately garnered the attention of the whole team and that could be a very real detriment to oneself and one's team.
A few hours before the late fall sun even thought about clearing the horizon, Chris Larabee lay in his bed and wondered who he could justifiably strangle. He could find no target for his anger, no face to vent his frustration, and no person to blame. That in itself had his blood pressure rising. Gritting his teeth and cursing blindly he lay awake trying to force himself to sleep.
Diablo padded quietly out of the bedroom and flopped down in front of the stone fireplace.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tanner shoved the wrinkled clothes he had just taken from Standish, into the nearly full washer. The spin cycle was next. He still had time. The lid did not shut cleanly. With a sigh of forced patience the sharpshooter placed the heavy box of detergent on the washer to keep the lid closed.
With a short pleased nod, he disappeared into the guest bedroom.
Morning was only a few short hours away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tanner woke to the sounds of the shower. Seven in the morning and the sun was just barely lighting the sky. In a few weeks it would still be dark at Seven.
The bounty hunter furrowed his brow and tried to decide whether or not to phone Sanchez. Ezra awake before the sun cleared the building tops surely classified itself as a miracle. Then again, the pain medication would have worn off by now. Another miracle dashed by the cold calculations of medicine and science.
Oh well.
Tanner slid from the bed pulled on his jeans, rifled through the bureau draw and found one of Buck's sweatshirts that had been left behind. A loose fit but useable, the blue, red and silver colors of the New England Patriots labeled the sweat shirt a gift from JD but explained why it had been left behind at Ezra's place.
The sharpshooter padded down the hall, paused at the washer and drier. He shoved the wet clothes into the dryer picking out the clumps of un-dissolved soap and tossing them back into the detergent box. Recycling. With a shove and kick the dryer door closed and with the dial turned to Permanent press Vin was on his way to the kitchen.
Who needs dry cleaners anyway?
"Didn't think you'd ever git your slow ass out of there," Tanner leaned against the counter drumming his fingers and shifting his feet. Short of watching The Waltons on satellite not much was on. The coffee on the counter came in beans instead of grounds. Besides it was a known fact that Ezra did not have a normal Coffee pot. He had one that needed directions and degree. Hell, Vin just wanted a cup of black coffee not some third world bean fertilized with dung from primates. Ezra was a weird duck....a freak of nature if one listened to Buck...
Standish gazed up at Tanner as if he had some how spoken in a foreign tongue. "Mr. Tanner please stop moving."
"Come on Ez, lets git some breakfast," Vin headed for the door with the Jag key already in his hand.
"It is much too early to eat Mr. Tanner," Ezra spoke delicately as if afraid any sudden noise would shatter his skull into a thousand tiny pieces. Perhaps that would not be such a bad thing.
"I'll buy ya coffee," Vin held the door open not expecting or tolerating any kind of resistance. "Course, I could just slug ya and haul your dumb ass out the door with me."
"I see no reason for further violence," Standish shuffled delicately toward the door gently taking his coat from the back of the chair where he had draped it last night. "My belongings?" He did not even remember coming home or going to bed much less what he did with his bags.
"I took care of it, got it cleaned and everything."
"Thank you Mr. Tanner," Ezra shuffled out the door wondering if Vin had already gone to the dry cleaners why hadn't he just brought home breakfast?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Peggy's Fine Dining did not hold the four and five star ratings of some of Denver's more affluent restaurants. It was, however, an uncut gem.
The once brightly yellow colored cinderblock painted building held the dirt and grime of years of city life. Its corner location made it a hot spot for quick coffees while people sat at red lights.
The silver and tan sparkle decorated formica tables paled to the cut and creased red faux leather benches that made up the booths. The old linoleum floor had worn and grooved under heavy foot traffic. The register keys rested like an old Royal type writer keys. No lock safe guarded the cash drawer. The .357 under the counter did. Customers had their choice of booths or counter top service. The stools were newly furnished in their own hue of turquoise. One couldn't help think such a color should be outlawed or left at the old Five and Dime food counters. The counter top itself matched the tables. The same sparkle pattern intermingled with flecks of silver and possible gold. Old thick ceramic mugs and plain white heavy plates spoke a life time of dedicated service. Flat wear could be easily bent back into shape and soup spoons doubled for coffee spoons.
The menu and chef set this little eatery apart from the rest of the world. Peggy and her husband Chet had been running this particular hole in the wall since Denver found its way onto the map. Or so hear Chet say it. Chet certainly wasn't that old, but with arms as thick as most men's legs, and chest as round as a barrel he told his tales without hecklers. A life time on ocean dwelling oil rigs makes a man out of a boy real quick and Chet had been no exception.
Peggy, of course, was cut from a finer cloth but no less delicately. Her lip stick matched the red seats of the booths. Her wig never quite sat right and her panty hose seemed to bag at the knees. She did force herself to leave her cigarette at the counter when serving people their food. Other than that, a Virginia Slims bobbed and waggled attached to her bottom lip defying gravity whenever she spoke.
When the two ATF agents entered the establishment she met them with her usual exuberance, "My God honey someone beat the pavement with your face?"
Peggy immediately flipped up the side counter top and crossed the distance to the two agents, "Chet git your ass out here an' take a look at this poor boy." Peggy, cigarette still adhering to her lip sidled up next to the undercover agent, "damn sugar, you're suppose to block punches with your hands or arms....not your face....didn't that fancy ATF teach ya anything....don't ya worry ole Chet knows a few moves that might help ya out next time." The owner part waitress shuffled the Southerner toward the middle booth, the one that sat over the heating vent. She didn't like seein' her favorite 'son of Lee' catchin' a chill...as she would say.
Tanner chuckled ducking his head. The Texan followed sitting across from Standish.
"I'll be back with yer coffees in no time." She bumped into Chet, swatted him in the chest with the order book she never used and disappeared behind the counter.
"Son ain't no one teach you not to use your face for defensive moves?" The owner of Peggy's Fine Diner stood well over six four and had hands that could palm most people's heads. He never needed a cheater bar to loosen bolts, never truly needed a vice if he had a free hand. Intimidating as he appeared, he had the heart of new born bear cub.
Everyone suspected he had a temper to match Larabee but no one dared look for it.
Ezra chuckled and ducked his head. He would kill Tanner later.
Vin winked at Chet and ordered breakfast for both he and Ezra. Standish started to rebuke the idea of eating when Peggy shouted from the other side of the counter, "Boy, it ain't never to early to eat biscuits and gravy." Standish groaned.
"If ya want son, I'll show ya a move or too to keep that handsome face of yours from getting all puffed up like it is."
Before Ezra could decline the kind offer, Vin answered, "He'd like that...won't ya Ez?"
"Well actually Mr...."
"See that Chet...how 'bout tomorrow at Johnston's Gym?"
"See ya there," Chet slapped Standish on the shoulder and headed back to his kingdom behind the order counter. He missed the sudden paling of Ezra's features. Vin pushed away from the table a bit afraid the undercover agent just might get sick.
"You will pay for this Mr. Tanner," Ezra leaned back in his booth and groaned when the glass front door was pulled open chiming the cow bell that rested above it.
"Good Lord can nothing go right?"
Tanner swiveled in his seat to see who had Ezra cringing.
"'Ey Buck, Ey JD," Vin swung back around and faced Standish. Maybe this wasn't a bad idea after all.
"Well looky here, how'd ya do it Vin?....I mean drag that southern' high sassin'...." Buck paused as he started to sit down forcing Ezra to slid further into the booth. JD stopped mid stride as he climbed over the back of Vin's booth. No way anyone was going to make Vin sit on the inside.
Peggy knew that too and so kept her mouth shut when the young pup, JD sprang over her booth like a wired Jack Russel.
"Dang Ezra....can ya even see out of those eyes?" Buck raised a finger and poked at the swollen closed right eye.
"Ow, desist in touching me," Standish grudgingly gave space as he slapped Wilmington's hand away.
"So...arhhh Ez?...." JD stuttered for the right words. Chris had called him and Buck at six thirty this morning and explained everything that had happened. Getting groceries and stopping by Standish's seemed like the least they could do. Buck cancelled his date with the twins for tonight right after he hung up from Chris. JD called Casey and told her they would have to go to the movies on another night and he apologized for missing her soccer game this afternoon. JD explained everything and Casey even told him she would cut out of her soccer game if they needed help shopping or anything. JD thanked her but thought maybe it be best if it were a team thing. She understood and wished him luck. JD really thought Casey was pretty cool.
"What Mr. Dunne?" Ezra sighed. How was it possible he had missed this kind of verbal abuse? Actually craved it when away from Denver?
"You did hit the other guy back? I mean ya just didn't get hit...you got'im a time or two.....right?" Dunne leaned forward in the booth reaching out a hand to push on the puffy blood dried lip.
"Do not even try it Mr. Dunne," Ezra hissed back. His bottom lip began to seep serum.
"Here sugar," Peggy leaned over the table handing the Southerner some extra rectangular textured napkins. "This here coffee ain't that gourmet foo foo stuff....it's the real McCoy, put hair on your chest."
"Hell Peggy, ya best serve up a cup to JD then," Buck leaned back out of the waitress's way. Chet watched his wife with a jealous eye.
"Breakfast for you boys?"
Buck and JD immediately rattled off their choices, never bothering with menus, not that Peggy ever offered them. When the two finished, and Peggy hadn't taken a single note, she turned and hollered, "Chet ya git all that?"
"Got it hon."
She turned back smiled sweetly, never losing her cigarette, "anything else boys?"
"That should do it." Buck leaned back against the booth and stretched his hands over his head. He turned to Ezra, " So Ez, did Vin here tell ya about the beast he brought camping?" Wilmington caste a wicked stare at Tanner, "and I ain't talking about that mule headed horse of his either....hell we had to put bells on the mules to make sure we packed them an not her..."
"Buck...." Vin's warning went unheeded.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Josiah and Nathan sat at the corner red light. Jackson stared out the passenger side window, "Whoa wait Josiah there's Buck's truck and the Jag."
Sanchez leaned forward over the steering wheel and gazed to the right. He hardly even noticed the crack in the windshield anymore.
"So it is...perhaps our brothers are getting breakfast."
"Can't believe Ezra would be awake at this hour." Jackson checked his watch it was just after eight am. Chris had called Josiah over two hours ago. Nathan had just happened to be there because his Jeep Cherokee was making a rattling noise. Though he was loathe to have Josiah take a look at it, Nathan could not really afford a full fledge mechanic bill. With the intent of driving up to visit Rain, he did not want to take the chance of it breaking down. After the phone call, Nathan cancelled his plans with Rain. She understood and offered to come down if it would make things easier somehow. Jackson declined, not sure as to why. Josiah and Nathan hopped into The Tank and headed toward the grocery store. Sending Buck and JD for food...well Chris must have had his mind somewhere else.
Josiah put on his blinker, made the Right on Red turn even though he sat in the middle lane and parked somewhat diagonally next to Buck's beat up blue pickup.
He waved graciously to all those that had negative opinions about his driving.
Nathan opened his eyes and unpeeled his fingers from the arm rest. Next time he'd drive.
Jackson escaped the truck and headed into the restaurant.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Jeezus Ezra, ain't anyone taught you to put your hands up to protect your face?" Nathan tapped Vin expectantly on the shoulder. The tracker sighed and eased from the bench allowing Jackson to slide in next to JD.
Josiah waved to Peggy, "Sorry Ma'am," and climbed over the back of the booth and squished Ezra between himself and Buck.
"Son I think you've taken 'turning the other cheek' a step too far," Sanchez slid the untouched biscuits and gravy from in front of the undercover agent to himself. "You mind?"
"By all means help yourself," Ezra sighed and closed his eyes. He felt dizzy and dry mouthed.
"'Ey Ez, how can ya tell if ya eyes are open or closed?" JD shoveled a forkful of French Toast into his mouth.
"Mr. Dunne...."
"They do a CT?" Jackson cut off the retort. "Films?...they come back clean?"
"Yes, yes and yes..."
"Figures, got a hard head..." Nathan nodded his head in the direction of Peggy when she asked her silent question with raised eyebrows. Her way of asking if he wanted his 'usual'.
"Bet the other guy busted his hand." JD offered.
"I would wager they did."
The table paused at the 'they'. If Standish noticed it he gave no indication.
Josiah managed between mouthfuls of gravy and buckshot biscuits, "Buck tell ya about his date on the camping trip?"
Seeing a chance to take the attention away from himself, Standish sat up with a slight grimace, "He failed to mention her...he did however expound on Mr. Tanner's fair maiden."
"That's one way of puttin' it," Jackson grumbled under his breath. Charlotte had Rain contemplating murder.
JD giggled, "She was a WCW contender, but got the boot for being a bit too aggressive..." Dunne ducked with a piece of scrambled egg flew in his general direction.
A wash cloth slapped Wilmington off the side of the head, "Don't mind you boys raising mischief...jist clean up after yerselves..I ain't no ones maid." Peggy rolled the cigarette to the other side of her mouth during her admonishment.
"Good goin' JD," Buck mumbled.
"Mr. Wilmington I would have wagered you would rather enjoy an aggressive paramour?"
"Hell Ezra, she took The Nut Cracker to a whole new meaning," Buck placed the wet rag on the edge of the table ignoring the others when they cringed and cinched their legs in closer to their bodies. "You don't even know the half of it...she had hair where woman ain't suppose to..."
Peggy waited on Chet to fill the breakfast orders and listened with an amused smile at the laughter that bubbled and sometimes exploded from the booth crowded with six grown men.
The waitress spotted another truck pulling into their small diner, "Chet Mr. Larabee's gonna be wantin' his regular breakfast too."
"Already on it Hon."
Peggy lit her third cigarette. They were low tar so it was ok.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chris stepped into the small diner as laughter and guffaws erupted from the middle booth. He recognized the sounds and voices immediately. He had delayed his meeting with the Judge, there were more important things he had to deal with at the moment.
Larabee's work boots clicked quietly against the old torn tile. Road sand had worked its way into the cracks of linoleum and short of a power vac, nothing would get it out. It would eventually erode the floor. Chet and Peg had withstood worse and more caustic wear than most people knew.
Chet leaned out his 'service counter window and nodded a quiet hello. The restaurant owner had called fifteen minutes ago. Larabee's boys congregating in one spot so early in the morning meant something was either wrong or they were trying to fix a mishap.
Larabee needed to be there.
Besides so far all the meals had been put on Chris's tab.
"Ya shoulda seen Mrs. Travis houndin' Chris....bayin' at him like a riled up Blue Tick," Buck's laughter was drown by the others.
Larabee watched as Sanchez wiped tears from his eyes. His inside arm hung lazily across the back of the bench over and around Standish. Protective. Ezra held an arm across bruised ribs and kept his tongue over his bottom lip, his mirth easily discernable.
Buck flanked him pounding his hand on the table with enough force to make silverware rattle on plates.
Vin, Nathan, and JD sat with their backs to Larabee but their foolery was no less obvious.
"'Ey Cowboy," Vin spoke between chuckles without turning around, "jist tellin' Ez here how close ya came to marryin' Mrs. Travis."
JD hunched further down in the bench, tears streaming from his eyes. At this point anything would have struck the kid as funny, perhaps even a Dunne joke.
Chris drug a chair over and sat at the head of the table. Empty plates and half full coffee mugs littered the area. His men ate like pigs.
Larabee leaned out of the way when Peggy slid his 'Trail Boss Special' in front of him.
Nathan cringed and shut his eyes. They had no respect for their bodies.
Chris took a quick look at his men and stared at Standish, "Next time Ezra try ducking once or twice...." Larabee finally understood what O'Donahue had explained earlier this morning. Back up on the bust had been late in responding. There had been no malicious intent on it...a set of bad circumstances that led to an unfortunate delay. His men had rectified the undue abuse that had befallen the undercover agent with Josiah like vengence, if Chris was to understand correctly. Larabee had known Pete O'Donahue for over ten years. An honest man working for justice. There would be no need for Chris and a few of the others to travel to Salem.
Chris pushed a buckshot biscuit buried in white gravy to the side making room for some sausage. He spilled some and Buck dropped a wet rag beside his plate, "Peggy ain't no ones maid."
Larabee simply nodded and pushed the grey over used wash cloth under the rim of the plate. He gazed up at Standish then back to his plate, "They tell ya about Billy Travis walking in on Rain and Nathan?" He hid his growing smile behind a forkful of food.
Eyes widened around the table as Nathan tried to slide from sight.
Ezra leaned back in the booth feeling the effects of the pain medication kicking in, he wished it did not make him so tired. In fact, he wished he had not taken any on the way over to the restaurant. Being with the others, laughing, picking on and being picked on felt like the best medicine. With these hyperactive, over protective but basically steadfast friends...who needed to dull the pain...who would want to ever fall asleep and miss something.
Thanksgiving alone in the hospital had probably been for the better. He missed them, as much as it seemed, as they missed him. He had never cared one way or another how he spent a holiday and this year he did....this year he had cared and it had made him morose. Now, he suddenly understood the longing to be with his friends and the hollowness faded away. Somehow that was comforting. Having not been apart of the camping trip...well blessing do come in disguises....
With his private world folding and fluctuating in the malaise brought on by narcotics, Ezra Standish realized that Thanksgiving does not always have to fall on the last Thursday of November. Sometimes it came on Saturday mornings when it was just too damn early to even think about eating.
"Son ya gonna eat that second plate Peggy brought you?" Josiah eyed the replacement plate that had been brought over when Josiah had commandeered Ezra's original breakfast.
Without opening his eyes, in fact, not sure he could convince his eyes to open, Standish pushed the plate with a heavy lazy hand to the Profiler beside him.
Chris watched his undercover agent trying to gage if the man would simply fall to the side or slip under the table.
Buck and Vin seemed to have read his mind and wagers were made, money passed and bets jotted down.
Ezra ignored them, suddenly not caring if money was being lost or won....somehow that felt wrong but he couldn't quite put his finger on as to why.
Larabee smiled around a mouthful of sausage and gravy and nodded to himself. Damn team worked its best magic amongst themselves.
Christmas would definitely be as a group....
The End.