"I can't believe it!"
Josiah Sanchez looked up at a distraught Nathan
Jackson from underneath craggy eyebrows, his concentration broken for the moment. Sighing,
he pushed away the stack of reports and steepled his hands before him, a reservoir of
patience and understanding. A bulwark of comfort, if you will.
"You can't believe what, Nathan?" The
words were calming, inquisitive but not overtly prying. The tone that of a priest at
confession - coaxing yet gentle and unjudgmental.
Nathan was having none of it. He tossed a small,
stapled sheaf of papers on Josiah's desk. The
ex-anthropologist picked it up and studied it consideringly. He raised one of said craggy
eyebrows in mild surprise.
"You can't believe Mr. Tanner's latest medical
workup?"
"Yes!" shouted the usually unflappable
Jackson. "Look at this! LOOK AT THIS!" He snatched the papers out of Josiah's
hands and started to pace back and forth, occasionally jabbing with emphatic disbelief at
something on the paper. "Cholesterol . . . well within acceptable boundaries. Blood
pressure, heart rate, respiration . . . normal. Chest x-ray . . . normal. He gained weight
but the doctor did a fat percentage test, and that weight is all muscle - he's lost half a
percentage point of body fat! Half a percentage point, Josiah. Half a goddamn percentage
point."
Josiah remained silent as Nathan continued to pace
and shake his head in disbelief.
"I just can't believe it," Nathan
repeated.
"Well," Josiah began, "I would have
figured that you, of all people, would be falling over in raptures at expert confirmation
of Mr. Tanner's good health."
"Have you seen the way he eats, Josiah?"
Nathan stopped pacing and fixed his fellow agent with a glare.
Sanchez had to admit Nathan had a point. If it
could be chewed, Vin would eat it, although his tastes ran towards fare that could only be
loosely classified as food- something that had had the vending-machine stockers in
raptures ever since Tanner hooked up with Team Seven. Although normally calm and almost
inert at times, Vin usually came close to exploding with impatient energy while waiting
for a bust to go down, and Chris had finally forbidden Vin from eating anything with so
much as a gram of sugar within twelve hours of an operation. It had taken a near disaster
involving Buck's foot, a sugar-tripping Vin, and a loaded Glock for Larabee to finally
pass sentence and any protests of Vin's got drowned by the much more vocal majority. So
the vending machine was locked up for the designated twelve hours- something other agents
on the twelfth floor bitterly resented- and Vin, while still excitable, at least became
manageable.
"I called the dentist's office, too,"
Nathan continued. "He just left there twenty minutes ago. He doesn't even have a
cavity, much less anything falling out or rotting. Not one cavity, Josiah."
"Who don't have a cavity?" Buck Wilmington
and JD exploded through the office doors, the latter trailing on the heels of the former.
"Dammit, JD! I told ya to quit tryin' to put french fries down my shirt!" Buck
spun around and seized the younger agent's head in a headlock, then proceeded to soundly
noogie him.
"Ow! Ow! Quit it, Buck!" JD struggled
against the considerable force of Buck's arm. "Damn, Buck! When's the last time you
put deodorant on? Last week?"
"That gets another noogie, kiddo!" Buck
dragged JD past Nathan and Josiah, looking over his shoulder and asking once more after
the person who didn't have a cavity.
"Vin!" shouted Nathan over the ruckus.
"Well, good for him." Buck dropped JD in
his chair. "That'll learn ya, kid."
JD scowled at his tormentor from underneath tousled
black hair before turning to Nathan. "Hey, maybe Vin's really like some weird
government project to, y'know, construct a biologically enhanced human being, so he
doesn't get cavities like normal people."
"Riiight, kid." Buck rolled his eyes and
flopped down in his own chair.
"No! I'm serious." JD forged on
enthusiastically. "See, the government would want to build like this
genetically-enhanced human, right? So he'd be bullet-proof and really strong, right? The
government figures that they've got this super-strong, super-fast guy just hanging around
waiting for something to do, so they invent a past for him and have him work for the
ATF."
"Riiight, kid. So you're sayin' he's another
Six Million Dollar Man."
"Well, given inflation, I'd say it's more like
the Three Billion Dollar Man."
Nathan looked thoughtful. "Maybe the kid's on
to something," he said after a moment. "There's no other possible way to explain
this lack of cavities."
"I don't suppose brushing and flossing three
times a day could possibly help explain this apparently mind-boggling enigma?" Ezra
Standish's laconic southern drawl sounded from the doorway as the undercover agent swept
towards his desk. "What, may I inquire, is the fascination with Mr. Tanner's
teeth?"
"He don't got no cavities, Ezra," answered
JD, seeing a deadly calm expression spread across Nathan's face.
"I ascertained that on my own, thank you Mr.
Dunne." Ezra picked up some paperwork and began to leaf through it. "I suppose
this means that tonight's little soiree is still on, in that case?"
JD gulped and shifted uncomfortably, shooting a look
at Nathan who still stared fixedly at the papers he held. "You'll have to ask Vin
about it."
"Ask me what?" Vin Tanner meandered
through the doorway, tossing donut holes up in the air and catching them with his mouth.
"If tonight's soir-thingy is on."
"If'n you're not chickenin' out on me,
JD." Tanner pulled another donut hole out of the bag and studied it consideringly
before eating it normally. "Mmmm," he said through a mouthful of donut.
"Devil's food . . ."
"Hell, no," JD returned after a second.
"What little soiree?" Chris Larabee this
time, coming in on Vin's heels.
"Vin'll tell ya," JD said hurriedly and
buried himself in his paperwork.
Tanner looked over his shoulder at his superior
officer before grinning challengingly at JD, who returned the look defiantly. "It's
time to settle this thing once and for all," Vin said as ominously as he could
manage.
"What thing?" asked Chris suspiciously.
Vin's blue eyes had that glint of secret humor in them- the glint that meant something was
going to happen and that Chris would need to race to figure it out in order to divert
chaos.
"Who can eat the most in a single sitting- me
or JD."
A silence came over the room and, empathic as
always, the members of Team Seven swung their gazes over to Nathan Jackson, who had been
smoldering quietly and now had reached the end of his fuse.
"No."
The single syllable rang out in the silence that
permeated the office.
"Why not Nathan?" asked JD.
Jackson spluttered incomprehensibly in reply, the
papers in his hand crumpling. Tanner merely gazed calmly at the EMT, thoughtfully tossing
donut holes in his mouth.
"Hey, Nathan, I had my physical today,"
Vin said finally. "You know I lost half a percentage point of body fat? I asked the
doc if that was good and he said well, it would be good except my body fat is a little low
anyway . . ." Tanner's commentary trailed off musingly as he made his way over to his
own desk and plunked down, unconcerned with the dangerous expressions worn by his boss and
the team's resident chemist.
Nathan finally collapsed at his desk, body quivering
helplessly. "Fine . . . fine . . . if one of you wants to rupture your stomach, go
ahead . . . see if I care . . ." Something suspiciously like a frustrated sob erupted
from the depths of Jackson's chest.
"God, he doesn't have any
cavities, either . . ." Nathan's hopeless mumble came out more as a whimper and then
he was silent.
+ + + + + + +
That evening saw the seven gathered in Vin's
apartment for the showdown. Buck stood in JD's corner, and Ezra took Vin's; Josiah
admitted to some interest in the results, but Chris and Nathan stood to the side and
scowled disapprovingly. Their expressions did little to deter the enthusiasm of the two
younger agents or their de facto trainers.
"Gentlemen, I believe the time has come to
place wagers on the results of this little duel," Ezra said, moving to stand between
the twin mountains of food on Vin's kitchen table. "However, before any money is
placed, I would like to go over the rules one more time, in case of any misunderstandings.
"All foods on this table have been selected by
the joint committee of Messrs. Dunne, Tanner, Standish, and Wilmington. Foods not on this
table are not approved for consumption, and any attempt by either party to introduce
non-approved foods to the table will result in disqualification of the contestant. Because
this is an attempt to measure the capacity for food only, water will remain the sole
beverage. For the record, I will inventory the list of foods, lest there be any
discrepancy between what was agreed upon and what is eaten." Ezra pulled out a
considerably long, neatly typed list and began to read, turning faintly green as the list
went on:
"Bagel Bites- Supreme, Ben & Jerry's Chubby
Hubby- 1 pint, burritos, Cheetohs, Doritos, Duncan Heinz chocolate fudge frosting,
enchiladas, generic pork rinds, Hostess Angel Food Cake, Hot Pockets Pepperoni Pizza, Lays
Potato Chips- Regular, Lays Potato Chips- Barbecue, one pan each of Nettie's brownies, one
stack each of six pancakes prepared jointly by Mr. Standish and Mr. Wilmington,
Planter's Almonds- Unsalted, pre-ordered lo mein noodles, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Ring
Dings, Skittles- Regular, Snickers, Snoballs, and Twizzlers."
Tanner looked up at the ceiling and murmured
something that sounded like 'thank you.'
"Secondly, in the interests of both the budget
of the contestants and the incipient need for sleep said contestants will require, this
contest will terminate as of ten o'clock Mountain Time, leaving us with a three-hour time
limit. If a contestant completes his . . . uh . . . his meal before then, and before the
other contestant completes his, he will be declared the winner by default. Are we
understood, gentlemen?"
A chorus of 'yes, Ezra's' responded.
"Excellent." Ezra almost rubbed his hands
together in anticipation. "Now, if I may inquire as to the level of interest in
wagering?"
Buck chipped in a fifty for JD and Ezra upped it
with an even hundred in favor of Vin; somewhat guiltily, Josiah threw in a twenty for Vin
as well, but Larabee and Jackson remained frozen in the background.
"You're bettin' on Vin?" JD asked, eyes
wide with hurt surprise.
"I'm goin' with years of experience, JD,"
Josiah said by way of reason. "Vin here's a veteran."
"That's right, JD," affirmed Vin.
"Go t'hell," mumbled the rookie.
"I'll show you."
"Well!" broke in Ezra. "It appears we
have all of the wagers we are likely to get. Shall we have the timekeeper start the
stopwatch, please?" Buck nodded and set the stopwatch for 10:00.
"Excellent . . . on the count of three, gentlemen. One, two . . . three!"
The battle that followed was violent indeed; never
before and perhaps never again have two men fought so stubbornly, so valiantly, and so
righteously for any cause. Before long, the battleground was strewn with the corpses of
plastic bags and cellophane wrapping, and rivers of crumbs ran down to the floor below.
Many a good potato chip gave its life that day, but in the name of a higher calling- one
so noble and one so pure that even the loss of so many was counted as a glorious sacrifice
by its companions. Far from that field of war the microwaves hummed and beeped their
warnings to the unwary, preparing still more food for the journey to its fate. And neither
party- not the fierce, hard-bitten warrior nor the determined young fighter- would give
way before the opposing onslaught or give quarter to the other. Long into the night the
battle raged, even as reserves fell low and bodies dragged from exhaustion. On and on they
pressed, each striving for the goal that only one could obtain.
Victory.
"We have a winner!" announced Ezra
exultantly, just as Buck's stopwatch beeped to signal the coming of ten o'clock.
"Congratulations, Mr. Tanner, on our- I mean,
your- victory." Ezra made to shake Vin's hand, but looked at the thin layer of grease
coating it and changed his mind. "Truly, a spectacular contest. Whatever will you do
with the whopping $170 you've just earned?"
"Donate it to the Purgatorio Food Drive,"
Vin said slowly. "Reckon they could use it more'n I could."
"How charitable," mumbled Ezra.
Meanwhile, Buck directed a fierce scowl at his
protégé. "Thought you said you had the biggest appetite this side of the
Mississippi!"
"Well, I did," began JD, "but . . .
but . . ." No answer, apparently, was forthcoming. Instead, Dunne turned toward the
victor, eyeing the disemboweled bags and wrappers with pop-eyed disbelief. "How the
hell'd you eat all'a that, Vin? In three hours?"
"Well, it's somethin' I learned when I was
little," Vin said ruminatively, brushing some crumbs off his face. "It's 'slow
and steady wins the race.'"
"You've gotta be kiddin' me," groaned JD,
sinking back in his chair and clasping his hands over his stomach.
"Nope." Vin's slow, lazy grin held triumph
this time. "Y'know, I wasn't kiddin' about doin' this before. I took on a couple guys
in the Army- big, huge guys who could swallow a tank. They didn't believe I could out-eat
'em. Had pretty much the same kind of contest and I won that one, too." He sighed.
"Good ol' days."
"Good lord." Nathan this time, speaking up
for the first time that evening. "I can't wait until you die from peritonitis."
"Perito-what?"
"Never mind," Jackson sighed, passing a
hand across his eyes wearily. "Just don't come crying to me when your stomach
explodes."
"Okay," agreed Vin affably as he stood up
and stretched. "If'n y'all will excuse me, it's been a long day . . ." He
wandered down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him decorously. A
few moments later, an unmistakable retching sound issued from behind the door, which was
followed by the toilet flushing and water running. Tanner eventually emerged from the
bathroom, meandering back down into the kitchen and making for the Mr. Coffee, face drawn
and slightly gray.
JD's face had paled at hearing Vin throwing up, and
seeing his friend's ghostly countenance turned his own a startling shade of green.
"Oh, GAWD," JD managed to choke before
flinging himself to his feet and staggering for the bathroom.
Vin poked his head out of the kitchen just in time
to hear the thud of JD's body making contact with the wall and then the floor, then a wild
banging as JD resumed his frantic, stumbling course toward the toilet.
"Hey, JD! What the hell'd I tell you about
'slow and steady'?"
The End
