Travis' Seven

by Sammie

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Chris stepped into the large executive office and sat down in one of the plush leather chairs in front of the elderly man's desk.

"Flight all right?" Orin asked without looking up, still concentrating on the report in front of him.

"Just fine," Chris replied as he made himself comfortable, unzipping his black jacket. "Thank you for the ticket."

"My pleasure. I got a job for you, if your...other business is finished." Orin finally looked at the younger man over his reading glasses.

"Yeah, it's done." Chris folded his hands into his lap.

"I can't have any distractions on this one, Chris," Orin said softly.

Chris met Orin's steady gaze with one of his own. "It's over. Ella's dead, and I don't think she could come back, even for kicks."

Orin nodded and finally set the report down. He took off his glasses and dropped them down on top of the report before running a hand over his tired face. "Ever heard of Earl?" he finally asked.

"Sounds familiar. That a first name? Last name?"

"No, just 'Earl'. One name like Madonna or Cher."

Chris looked at Travis again, seeing a flat, emotionless expression on the older gentleman. Orin stared right back until the two broke into chuckles. "You never cease to amaze me," Chris snorted, shaking his head.

"Well, you tell me who else you know by just one name."

"True. What's this guy done?"

Orin snorted angrily. "He's a hitman, but not the kind you think. He doesn't go after single people; he gets hired to wipe out whole communities, mostly business districts or science corporation parks."

"The Witcoff district."

"Right. He also tried to burn down Four Corners."

Chris was suddenly listening. "That's the business district where M--"


Chris scrutinized the man carefully. A tiny smile of understanding crossed his face. "You want me to catch him."

"Feds are offerin' $5.6 million," Orin replied clippedly. "I don't want that money, I want the bastard and his employers caught. I'll sponsor you and anyone you choose to bring down Earl and whoever's fronting for or employing him. Money's coming outta my own pocket. As for the $5.6 million, you and your team keep it all."

Chris shifted thoughtfully in his seat. "I got a hunch who's behind Earl."

"Hunches don't get convictions in court."

"I'll find him." Chris got up.

"I've got a team, then?" Orin stood up and held out his hand.

"You've got a team," Chris replied, shaking his hand. "Good talkin' ta ya, Orin."

"Likewise." Orin stepped out from behind the desk. "Know your way out?"

"I got in."

Orin chuckled as the younger man headed to the door.

Chris turned slowly at the doorway. His eyes flickered to the older man and he paused. He finally asked softly, "They...they, uh, were okay? Weren't hurt by Earl?"

Orin smiled knowingly. "They were fine."

+ + + + + + +

Chris sat down at the bar next to a slight, long-haired man watching the barroom TV. "Whiskey," he said to the bartender. He finally greeted, "Vin."

Vin kept his eyes glued to the TV set as he picked up his mug of beer and swallowed a gulp. Chris could see the small grin on his face. "Cowboy."

Chris scowled but a second as he turned to look at his old friend. "One day, Tanner, one day."

"But not today." Vin grinned cheekily and set down his mug before finally turning to the man next to him. He looked at him appraisingly. "Lookin' better."

"What's that mean?"

"Rumor's you looked like caveman at one point. Nasty full beard and the beginnin's of my hair."

"Remind me to find yer source," Chris growled. He threw back his whiskey.

Vin paused a moment and looked back at the blond. "Good ta see ya."

"No mush."

"I meant good ta see ya shaved." Vin gave him his "Dare ya to shoot me, Larabee" grin.

Chris shook his head and changed the subject. "So, what're ya doin' now?"


"Like 'em?"

"Boss annoys me."

"Sure it ain't the other way around?" Chris snorted.

Vin grinned.


"He's trainin' cadets back at the PD."


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"No, no, no." The tall, dark-haired man shook his head, waving down the cadet firing at the FATS training video. "Sit down, Quinn. Ya can't keep shootin' like that. You'll waste all yer rounds."

The young cadet froze, his weapon still up and pointed at the screen as he turned to the teacher. "But Officer Wilmington, I--"

"Ya can't keep shootin' like that," the man repeated, slightly exasperated. "I don't even think that pistol has that many rounds, which says somethin' about how much ya're shootin'."


"Go sit down."

Quinn put down his weapon and went back to his spot..

Buck turned back to the class, pacing in front of the cadets seated on the floor. "What's the first rule in using yer firearm?"

"Only go for your target," one cadet replied enthusiastically.

"No, shoot to stop the threat," another cut in.

"That's right. Not put enough lead into the greenery to have the EPA swoopin' down on us." Buck glared at Quinn.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Y'know Buck," Vin replied. "Big heart. Loves ta pass on what he knows." He shrugged. "And...some of what he don't know."

Chris chuckled.

"So tell me what's goin' on." Vin settled in for the story, looking at his friend expectantly.

"It's tricky. It's gonna need planning and a large crew."


"Right. A lotta security. But the take--"

"What's the target?"

"Slime off the streets and 6 figures each."

"What's the target?" Vin repeated, a little more strongly this time.

Chris took a long look at his friend, a small grin spreading on his face. "When's the last time you were in Vegas?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Buck headed down the halls of the PD office, where temporary holding cells were filled with hollering suspects. "What's goin' on?" he yelled over the din.

"Buncha protesters were blockin' the entranceway to the post office!"

"The what?"

"The post office!"

"What're they protestin', hike in the stamp price?!"

"Naw. Not sure what it was this time!"

"The post office!" Buck shook his head in disbelief.

The officer shrugged and grinned before tossing him a water bottle. "How's it going down at the class?"

"Longest hour of my life!"

"What?" his colleague hollered over the shouting.

"I'm running away with your wife!"


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Vin stared at him in disbelief. "You wanna knock over a casino?!"

"Not exactly. Earl, the hitman? Feds offering $5.6 million for him."

"Earl?" Vin nodded. "Good. And Vegas?"

"Rumor's he's bein' protected by a casino owner."


"Okay, it's more than a rumor."

"Ya workin' for the Feds now?"

"No. Private job."

"It's gonna cost a bundle," Vin said doubtfully.

"Orin Travis's willing to sponsor us privately if we can catch him."

"Travis? Why?"

"Earl tried to burn down Four Corners business district. Got the Witcoff district not too far away a few years 'fore that."

"Huh." Vin paused a moment, thinking. "I remember that."

"I got a hunch who's behind Earl."

"James and Royal."


"Head of that Eagle Bend law firm?"

"Yeah. Among other things. He's up to be some big shot Attorney General soon. Nice little front for 'im."

"You sure he's involved?"

"Tip while I was...workin' last year. Gets a payoff for helpin' keep Earl's butt out of the slammer."

"You gonna go after Lightfoot or Earl?"

"Earl. Lightfoot, James, and Royal'll fall in the process."

Vin contemplated the proposal for a minute, fiddling with his napkin. He finally looked at his old friend, carefully. "Need a reason. Why do this? Why Earl?"

"Why not?"

Vin gave a small shake of his head and continued to watch Chris.

"Because I'm done with my business, and I'm ready to move on. 'Cause you're wanderin' with the Marshals and a boss ya don't like, and Buck is playin' babysitter for the PD." Chris paused and looked at his old friend.

Vin's steady gaze never wavered, his expression unconvinced.

"'Cause double-crossin', lyin' slime like Lightfoot...and James and Royale...always win. Play long enough, you never change the stakes. You're taken. Unless...when that perfect hand comes along, you bet big, then you take them."

Vin thoughtfully looked down at his napkin and then back up at his old friend for a moment. "Ya know Ezra Standish?" he deadpanned.

Chris furrowed his brow. "Who?"

"You really write that all yerself?" Vin's eyes twinkled. "I'm real proud 'a ya, cowboy."

"I am gonna shoot ya, Tanner," came the growl.

"Who woulda thought Cowboy could'a written that all by--"


"Buck'll think the babysittin' thing's a bit harsh, though."

+ + + + + + +

"Keep yer eye on the suspect! Focus.... Shoot to diffuse the situation, stop the threat," Buck hollered as he walked behind the training cadets. "MacCleaven, Courson, your turn."

Chris watched from the doorway as the two cadets fired their weapons at the training video, shooting after the running suspect.

"Not bad, Courson," Buck called as he leaned over a computer, watching the results that popped up. "MacCleaven, ya winged the perp in the head! And he got away. That's a no-no."

Chris snorted.

Buck turned to see his old friend in the doorway. "Get goin' on the next set of shootin' rounds," he called before turning back to his old friend. "Chris!"

"Afternoon, Buck. Interrupt somethin'?"

"Chris, ya ole war dog," Buck chuckled. "Good ta see ya! How you doing?" He gave the man a bear hug.

"Easy, big fella. Folks will talk." Chris grinned lazily.

Buck laughed.

"Got a job. Ya interested?"

"Yeah? What's it pay? I hope more'n that last deal ya and Vin had me jumpin' outta bed and out the window for."

".8 million, if it goes down right."

Buck whistled and nodded approvingly. "Your delivery's improvin'."

"Officer Wilmington," a student called.

Buck's grin fell and he rolled his eyes at Chris. He ran a frustrated hand over his face. "Yeah Hobbs?" he replied in an exasperated tone without turning around.

"I can do the FATS video better than either Courson or MacCleaven," the kid announced.

"Cocky little punk," Buck muttered to Chris. "Gonna get himself kilt one of these days if he don't start listenin'." He turned to look at the kid. "After the break, Hobbs."

"Need some help?" Chris grinned as they watched the kid trot off.

"Sure." Buck grinned smugly.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Vin sat at his desk, tapping his pencil to his lips, thinking. He popped another potato chip into his mouth. "Enemies," he mumbled.

He looked down at his list, which had the names of Royale, Earl, James, and Lightfoot on the left, and a growing list of names under "enemies" on the right.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Okay, Hobbs. Right there." Buck pointed at a spot. "Chris, over here." He turned to the others.

As Buck began to explain the scenario, the kid turned and smirked at Chris. "See if you can keep up, old-timer."

Chris just grinned.

The kid's smirk fell off his face.

The video began to roll and there was a rapid succession of shots. The perp lay flat on the ground.

Hobbs grinned triumphantly.

Buck looked at the tech, who nodded and read the stats. "Mr. Chris put six bullets into the guy, first one in the gun hand, second one in the upper shoulder, two in the chest and two in the...head."

Buck glared at Chris, who just grinned.

"Cadet Hobbs fired four shots: one hit the dumpster, one winged the perp's non-gun shoulder, one hit the wall, and one hit...Mr. Chris in the foot. All this after he took two shots to the gut."

Hobbs looked both indignant and horrified. He glared at the tech.

"That's what it says!" she exclaimed.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Vin rifled through the papers in his bag and finally snatched up a piece of paper. He scribbled down the number and jumped for the phone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Thanks, pard, after I told them all not ta go for the head," Buck lamented as he and Chris walked out to the parking lot.

"Keeps from going to appeals," Chris replied with the slightest grin.

"Yeah, but I think I just lost my job."

"No problem, Buck."

Chris's cell phone rang. "Hello? ... Okay. Sure he's gonna be there? ... Okay. See you there."

"Who was that?"

"Vin," Chris replied as he snapped his phone shut.

Buck grinned and unlocked the car doors. "Ain't heard from Junior for a bit. He with us?"

"Yeah. He thinks he's got a fourth, too."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Vin popped the lollipop into his mouth as he shut the door to his apartment and headed out to his car. He slipped on his sunglasses and jumped into this Jeep. Firing up the engine, he slid out of his parking spot and onto the road.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Surveillance," Buck commented to Chris as his red truck rumbled along a side street.

"Daniel Bonds?" Chris asked, looking over at his friend in the driver's seat.

Buck shook his head as he braked at a stop sign. "Sorry Chris, the guy's dead."

"Really? On the job? He was a good guy."

"Liver cancer. Stress was too much." Buck turned to the right.

"Send flowers?"

"'Course. And comforted his wife." Buck looked over at Chris, grinning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"I can't believe he's still drivin' that piece of junk," Chris muttered when they pulled up in front of the medics training facility.

The slight sniper was leaning against his ratty ole Jeep, showing off one of his characteristic, mischievous grins, a lollipop stick poking out between his lips.

"Chris thinks ya need a new car," Buck announced as they got out.

"Hey Bucklin." Vin popped his lollipop out and smirked at Chris. "Least I don't gotta have m'Pa drive me places."

Chris glared.

"Nate, huh?" Buck looked up at the medic station.

"Still mad about how Lightfoot trashed his dad's trial," Chris confirmed.

"Without even bein' there," Buck finished. "That's the idea." He silently held out a napkin to Vin.

Vin grinned in thanks, wrapped his lollipop in the napkin, and slid it into his pocket, away from anywhere Nathan might see it.

Chris pursed his lips and headed up the steps.

"Wonder what Nate'll say about all this," Vin muttered as they went in the door.

+ + + + + + +

"You're out of yer friggin' minds," Nathan Jackson exclaimed. "You listenin' to me? You--the three of you--NUTS." He turned back to restocking his shelves. "I know more about James Lightfoot than any man alive. He can't be beaten."

"It's never been tried."

"Never been tried," Nathan scoffed. "Oh, it's been tried. Those guys who tried? Down and out. The latest PI who had even an inkling about Lightfoot and considered going after him? He got drummed out of the force on a trumped up charge and his brother-in-law's horse ranch got put out of business. That PI suspects but he can't even be sure that Lightfoot did it. Most people don't believe 'im, either. 'Cept maybe me."

Vin winced.

"Lightfoot? No way. Lightfoot takes you out, and then your family, and then yer friends, and then the kid who shined yer shoes when ya were visiting Timbuktu. That man screwed my father over in that trial. I don't want him touchin' nothin' else, which he will, mind you, if you push him."

"Rain," Vin whispered to Chris quietly. "His girl."

Nate rattled on. "This sorta thing used to be civilized." He paused for a moment, his forehead crinkling the slightest as he looked a little puzzled at his own statement. He shook it off and continued. "You hit a guy, he'd whack ya, done. But with the end of this, he better not know you're involved or know your names or he better think you're dead. Because otherwise he'll kill ya. And then he'll go to work on ya."

Buck sighed.

"The guy doesn't even have a rep for all the awful things he's done," Nathan continued indignantly. Then he threw up his hands. "But what am I sayin'? You guys are pros. The best. You won't listen ta me...never have, anyway. You'll go after him and I'm sure you'll do great. Of course, lest we forget, once Lightfoot is down, he's still got a whole list of associates we don't know about!"

"Nate, you're right," Chris declared.

"He's right," Buck said at the the same time to Vin, who nodded.

Nathan rolled his eyes.

"Bit off mor'n we could chew," Chris commented seriously to Vin.

"That's exactly what it is. Pure ego," Buck agreed somberly as the three men got up from their chairs. "Thank you for your time, Nate. And it was good seein' ya."

"Sorry we bothered ya," Vin added.

"Look," Nathan sighed as he shook hands with the three men. "We all go way back, and uh, I still owe ya from the thing with the guy in the place, and I'll never forget it."

"That was our pleasure."

"Your pa was a good guy."

"Just a repayment for all the stitchin' up ya did for us."

The three got to the doorway of the clinic when Nathan finally called after them, "Just out of curiosity. Why're you three geniuses so hell-bent on endin' up in the morgue?"

"Travis wanted a team to bring Earl down."

"Earl." Nathan furrowed his brow.

"Is that right?" Vin asked innocently.

"That's right," Chris replied to Vin.

"And Travis?" Nathan asked, suddenly interested. He walked over to join them.

"Yeah, Travis," Chris replied. "Why?"

"What you got against him?" Nathan asked warily.

"Nothin'. What do you?"

"I ain't got nothing against Mr. Travis. I don't know 'im that well, but I like the guy from what I've seen. Now I know his daughter-in-law--former--Ms. Mary Travis and her son Billy, pretty. Real great pair. Sorry 'bout what happened to 'em." Nathan crossed his arms. "And what's this about Earl?"

Chris turned back to Nathan, suppressing a smirk of success. "Earl tried ta burn out Four Corners business district not too long ago. Got off because of a lawyer he hired, out of the Eagle Bend firm. Tip seems to link Lightfoot ta Earl; payoffs for gettin' his butt outta a sling. Fibbies're offering $5.6 mil for Earl."

The medic looked down at the floor, thinking. "Four Corners. That's where Ms. Travis works." Nathan looked back up at them. "Lightfoot's tied to all this?"

"'Fraid so."

Nathan shook his head doubtfully. "Don't think I don't see what you're doing."

"What are we doing, Nate?"

"Just remember what I told ya."

"We gotta be careful," Chris replied. "Precise."

"And when we ain't, well-stitched up." Buck grinned.

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and nuts. And you're gonna need a crew as nuts as you are."

The three looked at each other somberly and then back at Nathan.

Nathan looked at them thoughtfully and then tugged off his latex gloves. "So...who ya got in mind?"

+ + + + + + +

"So who's in?"

"Me, you, Buck, and Nate. Nate thinks he can track down Josiah."

"Okay. And we'll definitely need someone for surveillance."

"Got it."

+ + + + + + +

The dark-haired, lightly freckle-faced young surveillance officer sat at the small desk in the surveillance van, scribbling away in his notebook. Two others sat nearby, watching the monitors.

"Let's move inta that one," the one officer mumbled to the other. The other moved his hand toward the screen.

"Please. Don't. Touch. That." He looked up from his note-taking and shook his head at the other two officers.

"Kid, we ain't gonna do nothing." The first one again attemped to zoom the camera in on the suspect they were watching.

"Do you see me playing with the sights on your sniper's rifle?" The surveillance officer replied, slightly exasperated.

The second officer turned away from the TV monitors to look at the younger man. "Radio Shack. Relax."

"Reckon you oughta let JD do his stuff," a voice commented over the intercom.

The three stopped short. "Captain Malone," the one man said. "What the--"

"Kid, when ya're done," the captain interrupted, "there's someone back here at the station who wants ta see ya."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"He didn't last on the job at the Kansas PD a year. Came back out here and is workin' in the church youth center," Nathan updated Buck.

Buck opened the door and stepped inside, followed by Nathan.

Josiah was watching the basketball game as he peeled an orange. When the two men came up behind him, he suddenly said, "I saw you at the door. I saw you before you even got up this morning." He turned around, a big grin on his face.

"What's with the orange, Josiah?" Buck chuckled.

"My doctor says I need vitamins." Josiah grinned at Nathan.

"Why don'tcha just take vitamins?"

"You come here to give me a physical?"

"Nah. That's Nate's job." Buck grinned.

"Brother Nate." Josiah's chest rumbled with laughter. "Playin' hooky from work?"

"Josiah." Nathan grinned. "How ya doin' today, Josiah, okay?"

"Never better, 'cept for the orange stuff." Josiah sighed. "And you." Sanchez turned back to Buck, a grin back on his face. "How ya been, Brother Buck? Ain't seen ya in a bit. Heard you were around, but just never met up again."

"I'm doin' okay." Buck looked around. "Nice place."

The three men watched the referee blow the whistle on a foul.

"So, are ya gonna treat me like a grown up and tell me what the deal is, or should I just say no and get it over with?" Josiah finally turned to the two others.

"Takin' down Earl," Nate replied.

"On the FBI lists?"

"Uh huh."

"Not interested," Josiah said shortly.

Buck turned to look at him.

"I'm a changed man, brother. I ain't doing that stuff anymore. This" Josiah waved at the youth center "is my penance."

"Guys like us don't change, Josiah," Buck replied. "We stay sharp or we get sloppy. We don't change."

"Don't gimme that. Ev'ryone hasta retire sometime."

"You there yet?"

"Earl's taken out lots of people, Josiah," Nathan cut in. "Ain't saving physical lives a part of savin' souls?"

"Seems to me a man ought to put his own house in order first."

"Ain't gonna be a house fer ya to put in order if Earl goes on," Buck warned.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

JD stepped into the station and took off his cover. He looked around the busy office, a little puzzled. Everyone was hurrying around busily, ignorning him.

Then he saw a lean, blond-haired man by the side wall. He was clad all in black and just sat there, watching him with intense green eyes and a little smirk on his face.

JD shivered just the slightest bit, swallowed hard, and headed over.

"Hello JD," the man said nonchalantly, as if he'd known the kid his whole life.

JD looked at him warily. "Who're you?"

The man just grinned.

+ + + + + + +

Chris sat at the bar, nursing a whiskey. "Dunne makes six. Six oughta do it, huh? Vin?"

Vin had burrowed his head in his arms on the bar counter as he watched the TV. He didn't answer.

"Need one more?"


"You think we need one more."


"All right, one more."

"Not just one more." Vin finally spoke, breaking the silence as he sat up. "You need this guy, Chris. There might be a problem with availability, though."

+ + + + + + +

The officer led the cuffed man out of the warehouse and into the chill night. He shoved him towards the police car.

"I assure you, officer." The man turned around and tried to address the police man. "I am who I say I am. Now if you will--"

"FBI didn't say nothin'."

"Well, I assure you that if you give me the opportunity, I will prove myself to be--"

"Officer? Ah, ya got 'im."

"Excuse me?" The handcuffed man and the officer turned to see the newcomer.

Vin flashed his badge. "U.S. Marshals office. Let me guess, claimin' to be with the fibbies?"

The officer looked at the cuffed man and nodded.

"Who's he today?" Vin asked very seriously. "Eric Sims? Elliot Samuels? Emil Scotts?"

"Emerson Slythe."

"And, let me found a pack of cards in his inner coat pocket? He uses 'em to open doors sometimes, although he'll tell ya he don't."

"Oh," the officer muttered. "No, I didn't look...."

"I'll take care of this." Vin grabbed the cuffed man from the officer and shoved him against a patrol car. "Go get Dirks," he said to the officer. Seeing his pause, Vin insisted, "Now!"

Once out of earshot, Vin pulled Ezra up.

"Mr. Tanner, your timing is, as usual, impeccable. I owe you my thanks. Next time, however, a little more gently on the shoving, if you please."

"C'mon." Vin pulled him along. "Wanna tell me what's goin' on, Ez?"

"I was on assignment."

"I figgered that much. With who?"

"'With whom, Mr. Tanner, and it was with the FBI."

"You still workin' for those peanut-brains?"

"I would have chosen a smaller object for comparison, but yes. I actually had a contact who was excellent, but it appears that his superiors 'forgot' to tell law enforcement I was undercover."

Vin snorted. "Shouldn'ta gone in. Who asked ya?"

"Victor Fitzgerald, deputy director. Seems they lost two men undercover with this group already and needed someone good. Fitzgerald suggested I do it, but they objected. There wasn't much choice, though, because I was most qualified."

"Modest," Vin snickered.

"That's the truth." Ezra's smile showed off his Hollywood white, straight teeth.

"Fitzgerald likes ya, huh?"

"He seems to believe in my innocence, and is perhaps the only one in the FBI to do so now that my original contact has been settled elsewhere. Oddly enough, Mr. Tanner, his son bears a quaint resemblance to you."

"Ta me?" Vin unlocked the car door.

"Yes, Mr. Martin Fitzgerald. I have little idea about the cause of that, but it is interesting to know."

Behind them, a shout. "Get down!"

There was a small explosion behind them.

"I sincerely hope that was not your doing, Mr. Tanner."

"Jus' a little firecracker. Won't hurt nothin'."

Vin ducked Ezra's head into the car, settling him in the passenger's seat.

"Mr. Tanner, are you not going to unlock my handcuffs?"

"Ya ain't undone 'em yet?" Vin asked as he slid into the driver's seat.

"I am far too predictable." Ezra produced the unlocked cuffs and put them into the glove compartment.

"Oh, and I want my wallet back," Vin commented as he started up the engine and pulled out.

Ezra sighed, pulled Vin's wallet out of his coat pocket, and handed it to his friend. "Merely attempting to maintain my dexterity."

Vin chuckled as he kept one hand on the wheel and slid his wallet back into his pocket with the other. "Right."

"Now why, pray tell, have you come for me?"

"I can't save yer sorry butt without a reason?" Vin asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Unless you had been looking very carefully for me, you would not know that I--my apologies, how did you put it? 'my sorry butt'--was in need of saving from that cretin of an officer."

"Got a job. Ya interested?"

"It would be wonderful to work with proper agents again. How much?"

".8 million."

"Mr. Tanner, I certainly hope you have not decided to take your 'Robin Hood' nature so literally as to rob the rich. However noble, it is still illegal."

"Hardy har."

+ + + + + + +

Orin Travis heard the doorbell and set down his book. He took a look around the spacious ranch house before opening up the door to see seven men on his doorstep, a grinning Chris at the front.

"Y'all get a group rate or somethin'?"


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