I don't know how to tell you all just how crazy this life feels….
Ezra stood quietly, his back straight. His eyes seemed not to focus on Larabee. He appeared unfazed by the verbal lashing that washed over him. Standish did not give the impression of even caring.
Josiah wondered if it was insolence. The big man studied the Southerner as the man stared blankly at a fixed spot some distance through Larabee.
A tense silence hushed the area as the others watched yet another dressing down of the Southerner in the conference room.
Unlike other times, no one argued or fiddled with pens or shifted nervously hoping to convey a sense of camaraderie to the Southerner. No one offered or tried to extend some kind of support or even back up.
Larabee was well within his rights. Dereliction of duty was not something that could go unnoticed or ignored. The teams had wasted valuable time and effort as well as taxes payers' money.
The 'meet' had been a bust. A big nothing. Standish had not shown. No 'representative' had bothered to make an appearance. Evan Sullivan had not materialized to purchase the weapons for his mysterious boss. The dealer, Craig Hoster, stormed away, cursing and spitting on the name of Sullivan.
When he had left the premises, a tense urgent silence had enveloped the teams that waited in eagerness for this bust to be over.
The team had left the Greek restaurant, in the early morning twilight, worried over their missing teammate.
As soon as things were clear, Larabee and Tanner had sped off to Standish's condo fearing the worst. The others stayed behind and 'broke' down their surveillance equipment and the plethora of 'toys' needed for the intended bust.
When Chris and Vin had called to say they could not find their undercover agent the team agreed to meet back at the office and start an organized search for the missing man. Teams Four and Eight offered their assistance.
Hearts hammered in chests as anxiety rose expediently. Everyone asking, What happened to Standish? Was he alright? Was he still alive? Who'd he piss of this time?
When Team Seven strode briskly from the elevators, their usual jocularity absent, they rounded the bend in the hall that opened up into their work station. Chris had been speaking sharply to each man directing them toward a place to start their own individual searches. He organized a grid pattern of sorts, just on a paper trail.
As they rounded the corner, the words tapered off from Chris as he came to an abrupt stop with Buck and Vin mirroring his actions. JD, Nathan and Josiah marched into them from behind.
Jaws dropped and blood pressure sky rocketed in a select few.
There he sat at his desk, not a scratch or bruise on him, just staring at his computer monitor. The undercover agent never looked up. He never uttered a greeting or explanation. Instead, Ezra worked on his computer as if nothing outside the realm of his desk existed.
Larabee's anxiety had metamorphosed to fury. With a growl and a curse, he hauled the southerner to his feet and dragged him into the conference room with the others in tow.
Ezra's surprise had fallen quickly and was replaced by shock and then a softly muttered apology. He had simply forgotten.
Larabee slammed him to a wall, with faces barely inches apart, started a verbal lashing that rebounded around walls.
Chris was within his rights.
The longer Ezra stood before him without uttering a word, without offering a hint of an excuse, the more intense the anger focused, until it was honed into a fine pinpoint blaze of rage.
Chris slapped his hand off the wall next to Standish's head causing the others to jump slightly at the abrupt movement. An oily hand print marred the flat surface.
Standish stood quietly and stared, gazing intently through Larabee at some unseen speck on the far wall.
Chris's hand tingled from the contact with the wall.
If Buck was pushed, he would have guessed that Standish's mind was a thousand miles away. Uncaring….or even unconcerned, maybe even unaware.
Perhaps just plain tired. There was a slouch to the shoulders, a wounded look Buck had never seen before.
Chris was right, though, there was no excuse, not for this. Ezra did not even bother to elucidate his reasons. He just stood planted and took his medicine.
Did he even know that he had crossed the line this time?…That there was no ready excuse to see him through this mess?
In the end, when Chris had harshly spoken all he could, when he had denounced the Southerner to the best of his ability, Larabee paused, fighting the urge to hit the quiet man.
Josiah rubbed his chin scrutinizing the unusually silent agent….
Smug?…. Didn't Standish even care?
Ezra waited a moment, trying to gage, perhaps the intelligence in moving and delicately slipped from between the wall and Larabee. He skirted around Chris, dropping his gaze to the institutional grey speckled carpet and slinked out the open conference room door. He did not pause at his desk as he walked by but gathered his suit coat from the back of his leather chair without missing a stride. He drooped it over one arm and headed for the bank of elevators just out of sight. He paused at the unseen line that delineated the bullpen from the corridor and turned back over his shoulder, stared directly at Chris and quietly stated without fire or indignation, "My apologies gentlemen."
"Its not enough this time Standish." Larabee fought the urge to haul the Southerner back into the room by his shirt collar, fought the impulse to expel his anger in a physical manner.
Standish nodded once, as if in resignation, before slipping from the area without a sound.
Buck noticed the fear in JD's dark hazel eyes. Vin watched Larabee wondering if he should intervene or not.
Nathan slouched in his chair and played with his pencil not meeting anyone's gaze. How could Ezra have possibly forgotten? They had all worked too hard to reach this point, to get Craig Hoster to even come out of the shadows into the public light. What had happened?
Josiah closed his eyes in resignation feeling disappointment in everyone around him. Disappointed in Ezra for pulling such a stupid stunt, in Chris for being so hot headed and in himself for not attempting to diffuse the situation before it erupted.
Buck pushed himself off the edge of the conference table. He nodded to Chris, who still stood staring down the others, daring them to challenge him and his authority.
No one did. No one even considered it.
Ezra after all really screwed up, JD could figure no other way to explain it.
Buck patted Larabee's shoulder in understanding before sliding from the room.
The bullpen felt deserted. The foolish trinkets that adorned their individual desks seemed loud and inappropriate. There was an air of tragedy, Buck felt it in his chest. He wondered what had happened today to drive Ezra to act so irresponsibly, that it affected everyone around him? Standish's briefcase still sat next to his desk. The screen saver rolled over itself, traveling lazily from corner to corner criss-crossing the screen.
Buck headed for the elevator and watched as the rounded lights highlighted the numbers heading for the garage.
Wilmington took the stairs.
~~~~~~~~~'
You know I don't even know what I'm hoping to find...
Buck stood at the front bumper waiting. Standish continued to look through him just as he had done Larabee upstairs. Keeping one hand on the black hood Buck swung around to the passenger side door of the Jaguar. He feared the Southerner would speed away the minute his way was no longer blocked.
Wilmington slid into the car and shut the door.
"Where we goin' pard'?"
Ezra slowly pivoted his head and looked at Wilmington as if making a decision.
Without a word, he simply put the car and gear and drove out of the Federal building parking garage.
Buck blinked squinting at the sharp brightness of a sunny early morning
~~~~~~~~'
Running on Empty
Running blind
Running into the sun
I'm running behind.
They had been driving for 15 hours. For three hours Buck had tried to make conversation. He tried to defend Chris's position, attempted to explain why Ezra had made such a serious mistake. Inexcusable.
In the end, with more than a few hundred miles under their tires Buck gave up.
Standish simply drove.
For the second time, they had stopped for gas. Buck had ventured another question about stopping to eat. His inquiry was only met with stony silence. He again asked where they were headed and again silence filled the void.
Standish exited the car and merely pumped the gas. He had not looked to his passenger once since the garage in Denver.
The undercover agent headed into the giant rode side station/market to pay. Buck took the time to make a call.
"Tanner."
"Vin its me," Buck stood next to the passenger side of the car with the door open. He was afraid to even go to the restroom fearing that if he took too long Standish would essentially abandon him. Instead, Wilmington had had to make due with "checking the tires' a few hours back when they had stopped for the first time for gas.
"Where the hell are you?"
"With Ezra." Buck answered leaning his elbow on the roof of the car and resting his head in his hand.
"Where?"
"I ain't sure somewhere south of I- 70 I think Missouri, but I wouldn't bet to heavily on it."
"Shit," there was a pause and then Vin's voice was back, " where the Hell are you headin'?"
"How the Hell should I know? He hasn't said two words to me at all." Buck paused and turned his attention to the Undercover agent who stood second in line from the cashier counter. "What's going on back there?"
"They're thinkin' of suspendin'im without pay…indefinitely," Vin answered, "Buck ya better git his ass back here, it ain't lookin' too good and with'im skippin' out of town like this…Chris 'n the Judge are goin' ten rounds with each other and both 're lookin' to lynch Ez and they're fightin' anyone who tries to do it for 'em." Tanner paused and then added, "Haul his ass back here, Buck, we can't help'im if he's runnin' away again. Some are even say'n he's in cahoots with Hoster…."
"Bull shit!" Buck hissed out hunching angrily over the small phone.
"No shit…don't worry Josiah put a quick stop to that…damn he's scary when he's pissed." Vin paused, "Josiah smashin' heads ain't gonna be enough to stop that kind of shit from bein' thought…. Buck, ya gutta git 'im home. Ez ain't gonna survive another Atlanta if it starts here." Tanner warned quietly.
"No shit," Buck whispered out scraping his toe against the cracked pavement of the Travel Plaza. "How'm I suppose to do that?"
"I don't know, but ya better think of away….the head hunters are out after scalps and they're fixin' their gazes on Ez."
"Anythin' you guys can do back there?" Buck sighed trying to buy them time, hoping to figure out just what was going on with Standish.
"Well, Nathan is checking into some stuff and JD 's hackin' into Ez's computer checkin' his email and shit.…." Vin let his voice fade.
Buck hung his head. It didn't really matter the cause, Ezra should have shown at the restaurant, should have called if he couldn't come to the meet, but to just forget? "Damn Vin here he comes I gotta run."
"Git 'im back here Buck….or ya just might find yourself suspended indefinitely too…"
"Somethin's wrong Vin, there's no way Ezra would just forget about the Job….no way."
"I know pard', I know…jist git'im home 'fore Chris and the Judge convince themselves to hang 'im out to dry."
Buck slapped his phone closed and turned to Standish, "You ready to head back to Denver?" Buck's smile faded as the Southerner slid behind the wheel without so much as looking at him.
~~~~~~~~~~'
The brisk autumn breeze had slowly turned humid. The fall colors that melded from tree to tree slowly gave way to sharp greens. Fall had yet to reach the south.
Buck leaned back against the head rest and closed his eyes. He had tried, numerous times into talking Ezra into turning around, into going back to Denver. Each time silence met him. Not even a glance was shed his way.
Light had faded long ago and blackness gradually overtook the sky. Headlights automatically clicked on, dash board lights offered a small amount of illumination. Windows remained down and the wind competed with the soft drone of the radio.
Buck watched the white lines flash by, just as they had for the last 800 miles.
For the third time, the Jaguar pulled off the highway and into a Travel Plaza. Without a word, Standish pumped gas.
Buck stood and stretched his arms over head and cracked his back. He watched the Southerner and once again tried to start conversation. His efforts failed miserably.
Standish pre-paid at the pumps but headed into the station anyhow.
"Hey Ez, git me a coffee too, will ya?"
Standish never indicated that he heard and continued walking away.
Buck pulled out his phone.
"Tanner."
"Vin, what's goin' on?"
"Where the Hell are ya Buck?"
"Just west of Alabama."
"Shit,"
"What's goin' on Junior?"
"Judge wants blood. Ez seriously fucked up this time. I told Chris that your headin' back in with 'im." There was a pause and again a frustrated, "shit." Tanner's aggravation traveled clearly across the small digital phone.
"Where the Hell is he goin'?" The rhetorical question from Vin mirrored Buck's thoughts.
"Nathan find out anything?"
"Not yet, Josiah has jumped in and 'is helpin' JD, jist ain't like Ez to screw up this bad." There was another pause, "How 'bout you? You gainin' anythin'?"
"Nuthin'," Buck paused and then added, "I'm thinkin' that he don't even care right now that he's in a world of trouble." Buck paused and then added, "I gotta tell ya though, he's got somethin' in mind. He just isn't drivin' blind. He knows where he's going."
"No shit," Vin's frustrated voice came back.
"Shut-up and listen, I'm sayin' is, we shoulda been hung up in some road construction a few miles back but Ez scooted around it takin' some back roads through some Podunk towns…never looked at a map or anythin', he's headin' somewhere that's real familiar to'im."
"Yeah? Well see iffen ya can't get'im to turn around and git his ass back here…the fats gunna hit the fire and if he ain't here to defend 'imself he's gonna be outta here."
Buck paused and slowly added, "I don't think he really gives a shit." There was a short pause and then a very quiet, " Ya know?"
There was a brief hesitation and then a "Ya I know…..but why the Hell did he do it?….Dumbest damn thing he coulda done….jist plain stupid…and this runnin' off ain't helpin' 'im none. He's gotta know he's diggin' 'is own grave."
"Maybe that's just it. He knows he screwed up so bad he just doesn't give a damn," Buck watched the Southerner as he once again stood in line, this time with two cups of coffee. Buck let a small smile lift his mustache, least he knows I'm here, "maybe he really did just forget?"
"Maybe, but it don't make sense."
Buck nodded in agreement. "Listen he's comin' back, I gotta go."
Ezra walked up to the car just as Buck pocketed his phone. Wilmington smiled as he took the proffered coffee, "Vin say's Hi."
Ezra stared pointedly at the Ladies' Man for a moment and disappeared inside the car.
~~~~~~~~~~'
I don't know where I'm running now,
I'm just running on…
Buck yawned as Standish wove the black Jaguar down rural back streets. Trees hung over the road, their entwining canopies neatly covered the avenue giving them a sense of traveling through a tunnel.
No yellow lines dotted the rural routes they traveled down. Rundown farms sat next to weed choked fields. Empty homes stood gutted and abandoned next to overgrown dirt driveways.
Standish continued to drive staring out the window as they moved. He chose his route without much thought. Buck watched as the undercover agent made Lefts and Rights leaving one unnamed road for another. They passed through a small town. A wooden sign welcomed them to Eimida, home of the Wild Cats and 1991 girls state Volleyball champions. Eimida's population of 200 had grown recently to 201. The one had been hand painted over the zero.
Buck gazed out the window at the Ace Hardware store and feed store that stood just next to the grain elevators and across the street from Al's automotive.
Ezra guided the Jaguar through the town, past the tiny Post Office and small High School and Elementary school that shared the same property, housing four double wide trailers and a small gravel track.
Buck couldn't help but wonder how these kids ever escaped from here…or if they even had a notion that something large waited for them outside their little town.
His thoughts came back as Standish turned off yet another unnamed street and down a dirt lane. He slowed the Jaguar rolling it to a stop, its tires crunching on the oiled dirt road.
Standish unsnapped his seat belt and opened his door. He turned and stared at Buck, "You're not welcomed to come along."
The only words he had spoken since leaving Denver.
The man looked like Hell.
Buck watched as Standish slipped into his suit coat and trudged up a small tree lined hill.
Once he disappeared over the top Buck got out and followed.
The late morning sun had yet to fight its way through the canopy of trees.
~~~~~~~~~~~~'
Ezra did not turn when Buck stood beside him. He did not bother acknowledging the man standing beside him. Instead, the Southerner kept his attention on the large knot of people a half acre away standing around a grave site. Standish kept within the morning shadows, his sun glasses on and his attention riveted to the gathering crowd.
The Reverend's words whispered on the breeze. The words of comfort seemed lost on the two men that stood so far apart from the gathered crowd. The breeze gently lifted strands of hair and laid them out of place. The words offered condolences and hope to the family and friends gathered around the coffin and the open hole.
Buck scrutinized the crowd trying to learn something from the mourners.
When the words were finished and the final goodbyes said people began to drift away.
As someone drifted back to their car, supporting the thin frail shoulders of an aged woman, they looked back over their shoulder. Not to spy the grave one last time but to spot the distant pair of mourners obscured in the shadows of a large Sycamore.
The man turned forward and continued to guide his elderly charge to the waiting cars.
After a few minutes, the people were gone and the small crew that had stood invisible in the background came forward to finally lay the dead to rest.
Standish seemed to catch his breath and then move. He headed down toward the grave. Buck followed a step behind giving the man his space but offering his support.
The grave had no marker yet. The crew stopped their work to watch the two new comers. One looked intently at Standish, openly scrutinizing the agent. The old man finally nodded as if coming to a decision. He stared squarely at the southerner and quietly spoke, "Ya shouldn'ta come back here son, Ole John is gone and ain't no one left here to welcome ya back."
Buck studied the old man that spoke the soft words. There was no anger in the assertion, only disappointment. Sorrow shone in the tired eyes of the worn man.
Ezra simply nodded. He squatted down next to the fresh pile of dirt and gathered up a handful. He stood and tossed the dirt into the grave on top of the shiny wooden coffin.
"Nice to see you too Mr. Cunningham," Ezra turned and headed up the hill, back toward his Jaguar.
"It's Sam, son, always been Sam," The old codger corrected, for what Buck figured to be a life time, "….ya shoulda stayed…never shoulda left…broke their hearts boy, 'n not jist theirs…" Sam spoke quietly to himself shaking his head in grief.
Wilmington listened to the aged grave digger watching the retreating back of his friend. Buck turned to Sam Cunningham and nodded his 'Hello' and 'Goodbye' in one motion. He followed the undercover agent back to the car.
~~~~~~~~`
"Who was it?" Buck asked knowing that he would gain no answers. The silence no longer gnawed him. Least now the reason for leaving Denver was excusable. He had something to defend Ezra with when it came time to face Chris, the Judge and those that sought to hang Standish.
Ezra drove back through the small town and stopped at the only motel in the area.
"We stayin' here?" Buck leaned forward and peered up at the neon sign with the blinking arrow and the small Vacancy sign that for some reason refused to light up the C's.
Standish again remained silent and exited the car dragging a small over night bag from the floor of the back seat.
Eimida apparently had enough visitors to warrant a motel. A baby blue Motel that offered cable, Air 'onditioning and long distan e service. The 'C' remained stubborn and unlit.
Wilmington sighed and exited the car, "Eh Ez, I don't have any stuff with me."
Standish did not acknowledge him and continued to walk toward the 'offi e'. The 'C' absent.
Buck followed.
~~~~~~~~~~~`
Standish dumped his bag on the bed and handed Wilmington a key. With that, Ezra left the room heading out onto the second story wooden porch and toward the stairs.
Buck watched him go.
The sun hung low in the sky. Night would be coming fast.
~~~~~~~~~~~'
I look around for the friends that I used to turn
to pull me through
Buck heard the fight long before he walked through the front door of "Bobbie's Bar". The Budweiser sign lit up just fine but the Coors read 'oors'. The 'C' seemed defiant.
Wilmington entered the small one room bar into a brawl.
Except it wasn't much of a fight. More like an 'education'. Four against one if Buck was willing to count the young man standing behind the two alternating punches on the solitary figure before them. The fourth held up their opponent to keep the target from melting to the floor.
Wilmington found his ire rising. He tried ignored the uproar, wanted to gauge the situation before rushing madly into a frey. It was a technique he had been trying to teach JD…perhaps he would test it out. Buck just wanted to find Standish before the man found any more trouble.
Wilmington's hunch about the bar proved accurate. He recognized the lone 'one' supported and trapped by the others. Buck quickly eyed the room searching for anything that might sway the odds into his favor.
Shit.
"Ya shouldna come back, ya got some nerve walkin' into this town…." A punch to the midsection punctuated the loathing and disgust in the attacker's voice.
Standish responded by doubling up and groaning. Fat droplets of blood hit the dusty floor with a soft splat. He spit a little trying to free his mouth of the congealing coppery taste that pooled readily in his mouth. Ezra slowly straightened and smiled. Rusty bloody saliva strung across his front teeth and dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Dimples breached his cheeks, as blood ran down his jaw from his mouth and nose.
Dumb bastard, Buck thought as he walked his way around the crowd trying to size up the situation and get Ezra out of here with both their skins still intact.
The second man stepped forward and struck Standish's cheek snapping the undercover agent's head back and toward the right. The dimpled smile faded as the head lolled toward his chest. Blood streamed onto his wrinkled disheveled white shirt. Like a punch drunk boxer he lifted his chin and smiled again.
Stupid, stupid bastard….
Buck lowered his hand and unsnapped the safety clip on his service piece. He looked to the front door vainly hoping to see Chris and the others storm in and save the day.
The door remained closed. Wilmington sighed, where were they others when he needed them? They're always around when he seemed to make a fool of himself but never there when he really needed them. Figures….Perhaps he would try the Chris Larabee technique of few words and a lot of bad attitude.
A third punch lashed out catching Standish at the corner of his eye. His knees sagged slightly as his head whipped around and then fell to his chest. It rested there for a bit lolling back and forth like a pendulum on a short chain. Blood dripped onto the floor and his once white shirt. After a moment, he raised his head, chuckling in his best satiric manner and met his assailants head on.
The rolling sound of his gurgling humor grated on already tight nerves. The man knew how to provoke and irritate people without uttering a word.
Dumb, stupid, bastard……
"Federal Agent," Buck spoke up flashing his badge. Heads turned and stared at him, "Let'im go." Wilmington kept his hand on the holstered Sig and stared at whom he thought to be the ring leader.
"Ain't none of yer concern Mister….this here is our brother."
Buck raised his eye brow in some disbelief.
" 'Isn't his concern', William….'isn't his concern'…" Ezra mumbled out correcting the speech of the one who had just hit him.
A chorus of "Shut up Ezra," rang from a series of different sources.
"Ya'll a friend of his?" Three different people took menacing steps toward Wilmington. Buck started pulling his gun.
"You boys don't want to inspire the ire of one Mr. Larabee." Ezra lisped softly. What was Mr. Wilmington doing here? Doesn't the man know how to stay out of trouble?
Six men turned from Wilmington to look to Ezra and then back to Wilmington.
"Yer name Larabee?"
"No, he's Wilmington," Ezra breathed out again, "Larabee is the unholy bastard who'll kill you if you lay a hand on Mr. Wilmington there."
"You're fucked up Standish. Ya know that?" One of the men uttered and backhanded the undercover agent into silence.
"Back away from him," Buck hissed out. He took a step forward reaching out instinctively to protect one of his teammates.
Standish's knees sagged again and the person holding him let him crumble to the floor.
"You boys just back away from him and we'll call it even," Buck forced a warning smile, as he stepped forward and reached down for Standish.
"I'm thinkin' a friend of his is likely to be scum too," a blonde spoke up and placed himself between Wilmington and the downed agent.
Buck started reaching for his gun as a, 'damn it all' flashed through his brain. Six men suddenly turned to eight and bodies flew at him from all over. Wilmington went down swinging, all the while cussing Standish and his ability to find trouble.