ATF Universe
"Chris's RAM just got totaled." JD Dunne hung up the phone and turned to the rest of the men in the Denver ATF office. His brown eyes were wide with reaction to the phone call he had just taken from their senior agent and team leader, Chris Larabee. He glanced at the clock -- it was a little after three on this unseasonably warm, late autumn Monday, and it looked like the quiet week that Josiah had predicted over coffee that morning had just been shot to hell.The office went dead silent, as four pairs of eyes stared at their youngest teammember in shock at the news. Buck Wilmington's feet hit the floor with a thud from where they had been propped up on the corner of his desk while he half-dozed over a report he was proof-reading, and his lanky body unfolded as he shot to his feet. Ezra Standish, who had been reading over his shoulder, froze with his espresso cup at his lips, his handsome face momentarily flashing concern and dread before settling into careful control. Across the room, Josiah Sanchez's deep-set eyes closed for a moment as his lined face tightened grimly under his salt-and-pepper eyebrows.
Nathan Jackson heaved a sigh, scrubbed a large hand across his dark face, and was the one to ask, "How bad is Chris hurt?" Though a regular ATF field agent, Nathan's military medical background seemed to make him the defacto care-giver in their diverse group and their liason with common sense in personal crises. "Where did they take him?
JD seemed to realize that he had left some things out of his brief statement. "Chris wasn't in it. But boy is he pissed off --"
"What happened," Buck demanded.
This was supposed to be an easy week. Their latest case had wrapped without much trouble and no complications, everyone was in good health, their current case load was in the paperwork stage, and life seemed to be dealing everyone a fair hand for a change.
Everyone except Chris Larabee, it seemed. He was already out of sorts, with his best friend and companion, the team's sharpshooter and weapons expert away for two weeks in Buffalo, New York for a training seminar.
It would be another week before Vin came back, and Chris was already restless and a little cranky. Without Vin's usually easy-going, almost Zen-like influence, their occasionally volatile and short-fused leader had begun to get a little on the temperamental side these past few days. It was not helped by a call from Vin about how miserable he was, trapped with a bunch of hot-shot military types, CIA Spooks, FBI college boys, and an officious anal-retentive who insisted they all wear suits and ties to the conference in spite of the fact that the weather had turned on them and there was no one higher on the food chain to impress.
Chris rationalized it away as worry that Vin would uncork on somebody if he was pushed beyond his normally easy-going temperament by bureaucracy and pointless rules. The rest of the team knew it was that he missed the long-haired sharpshooter, because in the time since they had become lovers, Vin had become the missing balance in Chris's life. The two men were discreet and it was never discussed openly at the office for all their sakes. The rest of Team Seven was accepting of the relationship once they had caught on because neither of the men shoved it in anyone's face. As a matter of fact, they went out of their way to keep their business private. Sometimes, however, as much as Chris tried to conceal his emotions about Vin, his extreme indifference or indirect interest had become the red flag that told the team that something was up.
This week, it seemed that Chris had become obsessed with the Weather Channel as an early season blizzard had hit Upper New York State with below-zero temperatures that had struck the day after Vin had landed there. It looked like their own wonderful weather here in Denver was only going to last another twenty-four to thirty-six hours as well, and their winter was coming like a southbound freight train off the plains of Canada. Chris explained away his temporary fascination with the weather -- when he bothered to answer anyone's questions -- with a casual comment that he had some equipment for the ranch ordered from a company back east, and he was concerned that the weather might delay the shipping and arrival.
"Some equipment," Buck had snorted after Chris had snapped out the explanation the week before. Everyone ignored that the TV in Chris's office was kept turned to TWC from then on out, even with late-breaking trouble in the middle east and international tensions along the southern border with illegal aliens.
Then, this morning he'd had to deliver a deposition -- not one of his favorite duties anyway -- at the State Courthouse downtown. And now, his comfortable, well-used pickup truck was done for.
"Seems he was parked on that side street that tees into the park -- you know, where it curves, and that cute blonde has the hot dog cart in the summer?" JD began, illustrating with gestures the curve of a street they already knew well anyway.
"JD!" Buck snapped, looming over their youngest member.
JD grinned as if knowing he was stringing the others along. "Anyway from what Chris said, a tour bus plowed into it and totally mangled it. Steel hamburger. RAM roadkill."
"We get the picture, JD," Nathan sighed.
"Where was Chris?" Josiah's grim expression had dissolved to a toothy smile and he exchanged chuckles with Nathan, who was also envisioning the scene, his dark face wreathed in a broad grin.
JD snickered. "He saw it happen. He was just coming out of the courthouse and was standing on the steps."
"Whooo-eeee! I wouldn't want to be that tour bus driver!"
"And --?" Ezra was smirking over his cup, relishing the image of someone outside of their team getting one of Larabee's legendary reamings.
"Anybody hurt?" Nathan asked.
"The bus was empty, luckily. Wasn't the tour bus driver's fault -- some stupid lawyer riding on one of them scooters shot out in front of the bus and the driver swerved to avoid hitting him --"
"Best hide that scooter of yours, JD," Josiah warned.
"Did the lawyer survive?" Buck asked. "Chris, I mean, not the bus."
JD continued, trying not to laugh and failing, "So anyway, not only did it take out Chris's RAM and a police van, it ran over a fire hydrant, and took out a power pole. Knocked out the electricity for the whole courthouse block. Ain't back on yet!"
"And Chris is caught in the middle of it, right?" Ezra was chuckling as he looked up at the clock. It was a little after three. "You know, I believe that I have a dental appointment at four, and need to depart --oh, say, right now." He disappeared into his cubicle, snagged his Versace trench coach and briefcase and was on his way to the elevator before anyone could stop him.
"Coward!" Buck shouted after him, but Ezra merely tossed him a brief, cheerful wave, as the doors closed after him.
Josiah and Nathan crossed to where JD was perched on the side of his desk, dangling his feet like a kid on a playground. They were all envisioning the scene, with their habitually tight-tempered boss watching the accident play out, with his black RAM pickup meeting its terrible fate.
Then, JD's expression sobered. "Aw, man. I wish Vin was here -- if Chris was cranky before, now he's really gonna be a bear."
The remaining members of the team sobered as they realized the implications and the headaches their already edgy friend and boss was facing: the massive paperwork of being a witness as well as an indirect victim of the accident; the insurance, the loss of transportation for the interim, and the general inconvenience because Chris lived outside of the city up on Lookout Mountain. Vin Tanner's Jeep was stored out at the ranch while he was gone, but it was temperamental and unreliable, not to mention cold and drafty with its shabby soft top. Chris hated Vin's Jeep. With the weather turning, it would be a miserable ride if he had to use it.
Ezra had been smart to bail, first and the fastest to think of an excuse, which surprised no one. They all knew that this could shape up into an ugly situation, and their resident undercover expert had an uncanny survival instinct. So, for the rest of the afternoon, every time the elevator opened in the hall outside the glass doors, the rest of them froze like prairie dogs on alert until they realized -- as the clock ticked toward the "5" -- that Chris probably would not make it back in while they were still there.
It was Josiah who girded his loins, threw himself on the mercy of the Cosmos and Chris's temperament and called Chris' cell phone to see if he needed a ride. Soon as Josiah committed himself, the others discovered excuses to leave the office and were gone almost before the phone call was finished. Josiah knew they wouldn't be hard to find if he needed them -- they always went to Inez's "Amor y Honra" Cantina for a beer after work until rush hour was over.
Chris said that his insurance agent was going to pick him up, and after tomorrow he would have a loaner car. He was fine, he told Josiah, and thanked him quietly for his offer. Josiah headed for Inez's saloon, even more worried. Chris had sounded so....calm.
When Josiah met up with the others -- even Ezra had checked in for an update on what to expect at work tomorrow -- all they could do was speculate on how bad a mood Chris was going to be in and what kind of effect it would have when the Larabee Temper was let loose.
"A lot gets done, when Chris is on the warpath," Josiah allowed.
"I wish Vin was back," JD repeated and they called for another round.
"You know, all things considered, I'd rather be on a dangerous case than just sitting around like this, shufflin' papers and doin' research," Nathan said morosely.
"Ever noticed that we're all easier to get along with when we got trouble on a case?" JD observed, much to the older agents' collective surprise.
For good measure, Buck gave him a light shove. "That supposed to mean something?" but their horseplay was cut short when Inez approached their table, her dark eyes snapping a warning to them that they were acting like bad boys. With a sigh, they settled back to drinking their beers. And worrying.
+ + + + + + +
It was the next morning when the elevator doors opened just past eight-thirty and Chris Larabee stepped out. It was no surprise that he was late, thought it was strange that he had not called in. For once Ezra was already at work, judiciously not adding to the potential stress levels by sauntering in at his usual time. Buck and JD were hard at work at their computers, while Josiah had busily cleared off their desks and cabinets, and finished the filing that needed doing. Nathan was filling out the supply requisition that Chris had requested the morning before.
All five men froze for a moment as through the glass office door they saw Chris. It was raining outside, and today he wore his flat-crowned cowboy hat and long, black oiled-canvas stockman's duster. Underneath, he had on jeans and boots instead of his usual office wear, and carried a steaming go-cup of coffee in one hand and a plastic sack of donuts in the other. The team exchanged looks of amazement. He was even almost smiling.
"You okay, Chris?" Buck's tone was gentle, as if talking to a dangerous animal.
"Mornin', boys," Chris drawled, tossing the sack of pastries to JD. "Hold my calls, I got to talk to the Dodge dealership about a truck I looked at last week. I took a personal day so don't let the world fall apart, okay? --"
"You talk to Vin?" JD asked. JD hoped Vin had not mentioned that he had phoned him to ask if he could get home early because of what happened.
"Yeah, he called. He's freezing his ass off in Buffalo," Chris said as he shucked his dripping coat and hat. He hung them on the rack beside the door and kicked a waste basket underneath to catch the raindrops. He ran a damp hand through his shaggy blond hair, and when he turned to the rest of them, they realized he had not bothered to shave. "Serves him right, considering I just nearly drowned in that beat-up piece of shit CJ he drives." Still, Chris was smiling as he said it. Then he disappeared into his office and closed the door. One of the phone lines lit up almost immediately.
"Did -- did I just imagine that?" Ezra asked, sticking his nose out of his cubicle. "Our illustrious leader -- dressed like he just left his horse in the garage, bringing donuts, taking a day off, and -- and smiling in spite of the lack of Mister Tanner's buffering presence and the fate of his beloved pickup truck? What -- what just happened here?"
JD lowered his voice. "Vin said he might be able to cut this seminar short since he's already qualified on almost everything they're doing this week. Maybe get in this Friday instead of next Thursday."
Buck and Nathan "high-fived" and Josiah slapped his knee. "There is a God."
+ + + + + + +
Chris disappeared the rest of Tuesday and Wednesday, taking vacation days and only coming in long enough to set up the work that needed to be done. "This mess with the truck couldn't have happened at a better time," Chris told Buck as they walked in from the garage when he stopped in on Wednesday morning to check on the office and to sign off expense reports and requisitions. He set the alarm on the loaner car, an ordinary sedan that the dealership had provided while they prepared his new vehicle.
Buck waited for Chris to explain, since it seemed to him like an accident like this never came at a good time. "Things are quiet, I can take the time."
Buck watched as he fiddled with the remote locking device. "Gotta get used to shit like this on the new one," Chris said.
"So, you when are you getting your new wheels?" Buck asked as they waited for the elevator.
"Ain't new, not really."
"You got the chance to get a new truck out of this, and you're buying a used one?"
Chris hitched his shoulders dismissively. "It's got some things on it that I want."
At Buck's skeptical look -- which Chris knew was more about his evasiveness than about the truck -- he added, "Dodge quit making the crew cab about three or four years ago, but this one only has five thousand miles on it. It's loaded --owned by a wealthy weekend rancher who never used it."
"Loaded? What's it got?" Then Buck pretended shock. "Not...comforts!" Chris smiled cryptically. "A couple. Electric windows, remote locks, leather seats -- " Then he added, sarcastically, before Buck could point out what Vin would probably say: "I know -- All the sissy shit." Buck eyed him, knowing that Chris wasn't telling him everything. However, he also realized that if Chris didn't want Buck to know, then he wouldn't find out.
"Insurance covering the whole package?" Buck asked.
"Ezra talked to them," Chris smiled. "Just a couple frills are out of pocket. Even the fifth-wheel hitch gets an upgrade."
Still, Buck wondered what it was about Chris's new truck had him happier than a kid on Christmas morning. "When do you pick it up?"
"Tomorrow," Chris said.
"When's Vin comin' in?"
Chris glanced at Buck, surprised. "Friday," he said. "How'd you know?"
"Uhh...." Buck said. "JD called Vin to ask him where...uh...his time sheet from last month was. Payroll had a question." It was a lie, Chris knew it was a lie, and Buck knew Chris knew it was a lie.
Chris merely shrugged with a low sound in his throat. "Whatever."
Buck knew that Chris was deliberately not asking if there was any other news from Vin, since it was his way not to show anything toward the Texan. It was something they all respected, and Buck let it go, not offering. Not that Vin had said anything more than he was glad Chris had not been in the truck at the time of the accident. That and he had joked that he now wouldn't have to listen to Chris bitching about the differential going out, and how the head gasket needed replacing.
A couple of people joined them on the elevator, leaving no time for personal talk, which was unwise anyway, the way gossip traveled in the Federal Building. So Buck reflexively shifted to common subjects asstill more stepped into the elevator.
"What color?" Then Buck added, "Like I have to ask."
Chris shot Buck a bemused look. "You think I should try something a little more flashy? Like that metallic pink you've been droolin' over on that Chevy S-10 you saw at the shooting range?"
Buck snickered. " Ain't pink, it's dusty mauve. I like that color -- reminds me of the more romantic side of myself." For good measure, Buck smiled at two of the women riding with them.
Chris waited until the other passengers, particularly the female ones, stepped off the elevator. "You sure it ain't because the color reminds you of certain tenderer parts of anything warm-blooded that's willing?" Chris grinned and left Buck staring at him dumbfounded. Chris almost never made suggestive jokes. A whimper of frustrated bewilderment left Buck as he followed Chris into the office.
This was getting scary. They really needed to get Vin home.
+ + + + + + +
On Friday morning, the whole team was gathered around staring at the immense black four-door crew-cab, dual-rear with studded snow tires diesel pickup backed into Chris Larabee's parking place. They were whispering in reverential awe. Chris sat in the driver's seat, sipping his coffee from a black travel mug, watching as the rest of the team fondled, stroked, kicked the tires, and generally exhibited the usual ritual of checking out the newest piece of mobile hardware in their stable.
The new truck was far from immaculate outside -- the rain had turned to snow last night, and melting ice dripped onto the concrete floor of the parking garage. Splatters of salt and mud frosted the sides, and chunks of dirty packed snow dropped from the undercarriage with wet "plops." Steam curled from the hood of the new truck as moisture evaporated in the cold air of the parking garage. The other five men had just arrived. Buck and JD rode together, since it was no day for a motorcycle, even for JD. Ezra's Jaguar had wheeled in right after Josiah in his Suburban, remarkably on time for a change. Nathan was the last in his Cherokee, his snow tires squeaking on the concrete as he turned into his spot in the row. Puffing in the cold, clutching their coffee cups in gloved hands, their breaths clouded the chilly morning air as they commented playfully on Chris's new pride and joy.
Ezra opened the front side door and stroked the leather seats approvingly before he climbed in. Chris raised an eyebrow at the intrusion without comment.
"All the amenities. Finally allowing yourself to segue into the twenty-first century?" His deft fingers played over the switches on the console between the front seats. "Electric windows, GPS System, built in cell-phone, CD player, fully adjustable seats, climate control for those bitterly cold days we all despise --" His eyes lit on the two small switches with the little icons of seats and jagged arrows on them. He glanced at the leather covered bench seat stretching the width of the passenger compartment behind the front seats. "The height of decadence, Mister Larabee. I highly approve."
"Appreciate the help with the insurance company," Chris said.
"I trust you shall recall my endeavors on those bitterly cold and snowy mornings when I need assistance with transportation?"
"I owe you," Chris agreed with a slight smile. His fingers touched the console switches. "Sometimes, Ezra, I do like the way you think."
Ezra winked and grinned, sliding out with a last touch to the black leather seat as Chris stepped down from the other side. The locks snapped with a "ka-chunk" sound, then the big black truck chirped incongruously as the alarms were set.
"Damn, that thing make coffee for you while it plays Dixie?" Buck laughed.
"Wow, Chris, black leather upholstery?" JD said, peering in the tinted windows. "You could rent out that back seat by the hour!" Only to have Buck smack him on the shoulder, and Josiah nudge him in the ribs. Chris ignored them as they headed for the elevators in a group.
Behind them, they heard a "miaow" and as they waited for the elevator, the scruffy yellow garage cat named Cuervo hopped up on the still-warm hood.
"The final seal of approval," Josiah grinned.
"Maybe now he'll stay away from the Jag," Ezra muttered.
"Bet that engine's big enough to haul a camping trailer," Nathan said in an innocent, conversational tone as they continued on.
"Let me guess, you want me to haul your Airstream up to the lake come spring, right?"
"There's mighty fine fishin' in it for you and Vin," Nathan grinned. "And Rain's cornbread and beans."
Chris shook his head and chuckled. "We'll talk about it."
"Hey, Chris, you think Vin's gonna like your new truck?" JD asked as they crowded into the elevator a moment later.
"I don't know, JD," Josiah said somberly. "You know what a minimalist he is. Chris's slipping into excess like this might be too much of a shock to him."
"How old was the RAM?" Nathan asked.
"Five years," Chris said. "Only had a hundred and thirty-two thousand on it."
The others struggled to stay neutral. "What a tragic waste," Buck snickered.
"When's Vin gettin' in?" JD asked. "Want company going out to the airport? Gets pretty boring if the plane's late ---" Buck nudged him again and JD winced as he caught the unspoken reprimand.
"No thanks, JD, but I got some errands to do on the way." Chris glanced at the wall clock. "He's due in about nine," he said, hardly concealing the smile and a hungry look in his eyes. "If the weather's all right."
The others exchanged glances, knowing what channel would be on the TV monitors today.
+ + + + + + +
It was nearly nine that night. It was snowing, though not badly enough to curtail airline arrivals. Though Vin's had taken off late, Chris had come out to the airport to wait anyway. If the roads got worse, he did not want to chance not meeting the plane. He would rather be stuck at the airport with Vin than alone someplace else was his take on it.
Chris was just turning onto the airport exit from the Interstate, when Vin called his cell phone from the airplane, letting him know he had gotten off the ground on the last flight out of Buffalo, where it was snowing again. Right after take off, the pilot had announced that they had been lucky -- Buffalo had shut down behind them as they had taken off. Vin also had explained that it was a miserable flight, full to capacity.
"More legroom, my sorry aching ass," Vin muttered. "Not to mention that I've got the biggest guy on the plane next to me and I think he ate Mexican for dinner. He just got up to go to the head, so I can breathe again."
"Other than that, how's your trip?" Chris asked sarcastically.
"Heard you got yourself a new truck," Vin said. "JD told me."
"So much for surprises."
"No secrets on this team." Vin paused for a moment, then coughed and apologized.
"You okay?" Chris asked.
"Yeah," Vin growled. "I ain't contagious or nothin', if that' what you're worried about. I even went to a doctor and got meds. Over with." Between the words, Chris knew he was being told to stay off his case about it.
Chris was silent for a second at Vin's annoyed tone. "Long as it ain't serious," Chris said after a moment, his good mood fading as he realized that Vin was not coming home in a particularly good frame of mind. It had obviously been a pointless trip, and Chris's thoughts deepened as he wished he had gotten Vin out of it as the sharpshooter had first requested.
"Just another gem in a week of 'em," Vin said. "Be glad to get back. Our boys might be crazy, but they make sense. I'd rather spend a week with a herd o' wild jackasses than a bunch like these bureaucratic ..." he stopped as if choosing his words carefully, probably because of the other passengers around him. Then he said, "...them yahoos.."
"No fun?"
"I've had better times in a Mexican jail," Vin snapped back.
"How much you check through?"
"Just the Mare's Leg and the Stutz," Vin said. "Didn't want to ship them, but I didn't feel like messin' with the paperwork to carry 'em on. The way things been going, they're likely someplace in Timbuktu by now."
They were Vin's favorite weapons, specially licensed now that the gun laws had changed. He had been asked to bring them for the "show and tell" part of the seminar because they were legendary amongst the weapons aficionados in the various enforcement agencies. The Mare's Leg was a sawed off Winchester level action repeating rifle, .44 caliber, and the Stutz was a brass and steel collapsible skeleton-frame assassin's rifle dating from the 1870's, as pretty and it was deadly, in an old-fashioned way. Vin had found them both at small-town gun shows years before, and they were his favorite private weapons just because of their Old West provenance, let alone their intrinsic value.
They traveled in a special rifle case of steel and Kevlar. Vin might ride around in a beat up old jeep, wear his jeans until they were illegal, have a neighbor trim his hair, but his weapons traveled First Class.
That case was why Chris had made sure there was a special rack in the cab of the new RAM.
"When you get in, I'll get the truck while you wait for baggage to come up," Chris said.
"Hope that new one has a better heater than the old one ," Vin said. "I ain't been warm since I left Denver, and that's sayin' somethin'."
"Meet you at the gate," Chris said and signed off without waiting for an acknowledgment.
Chris had watched the snow fall from the windows in the American Airlines Admiral's Club for two and a half more hours, sipping coffee and not bothering to read the newspaper he had bought. All he could do was wait, like most of the other people in Denver International Airport.
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