Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the characters from the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. Thanks as always, to Mog for the AU
This was written a long time ago for a birthday challenge on the Black n Buckskin website.
WARNING: Naughty language, few disturbing deaths (some of humans).
And please forgive the bits of crappy Italian dialect!, I can say it, but I never could spell it so its written as it sounds!
Follows Break The Fast
ATF Universe
1. The Ginger Man Can
Thursday Night, March 14
Wade Newton had a talent, one which had led him to become a very dangerous man… and a very rich one. Since he was a child, he had loved to blow things up. Finding new and more interesting ways to do that had become his sole mission in life. It was art, to him. It was a creative expression of such magnitude that it often left him speechless for days after a particularly pleasing act of destruction.
To people in the know, Newton was referred to only as the 'Ginger Man', but few knew the reason why, for few had ever met him in person. It was a name that people interpreted as they would, having their own idea of why he was called such a name. Either way, it seemed an ironic label for a man that killed people for a living, serving only to heighten his deadly reputation in people's minds.
Anyone who happened to meet Newton in person instantly discovered the most obvious reason for the nickname that had in fact been given to him by the first man that had ever hired him in his chosen line of work. His orange hair was garishly bright in the sunlight, blending with the intense coverage of freckles that rode rampant on his almost translucent face. He was a man of average height with a too thin frame, leading one to wrongly assume he was a man of little consequence. If he ever wore short sleeves, even in the heat of summer, one might see that the freckles did not stop at his face, but Wade never showed more than his face and even then his pale blue eyes were covered in dark sunglasses. His thin, bony hands were always covered in gloves when he was out and he always wore skivvies or his shirt buttoned high, tucked into the extremely high waistband of his usual navy blue pants. It was an aversion to the sun, born of necessity, that had him presenting himself in such a manner, but he also had a complete lack of caring towards what was aesthetically pleasing to the human eye. There were more important things in life, he had discovered, than worrying about one's appearance.
Still, when people looked at Wade and quickly dismissed him from their thoughts, they easily missed the calculating mind that lay within. A mind which sat squarely in the category of genius, a mind that was responsible for more than twelve major bombings in the last three years throughout the country and countless smaller killings, all of which had taken out their intended targets instantly, most of which had taken out many other innocent people as well. It was that part which he loved the most, using a paid job and adding a little flair of his own to wreak death. Yes, it was a terrible fact; Wade Newton had been a busy man.
The fee for the employment of his skills was monstrous, yet there had never been a lack of clients wanting his services, earning him the status of millionaire several times over by the time he had reached just nineteen. He cared little about the targets he was hired to eliminate, the reasons and motivations for the hits were of little importance to him. As long as people were willing to pay him to blow things up, he was a happy man. If he were a businessman, he would have been on the cover of every magazine in the country for his amazing rise to the top of his field, yet it was not the money which motivated him. He was a professional explosives man, just like he'd always wanted to be, the money was just a bonus.
And why had Wade Newton decided to make his career blowing things up? Simple. As his father before him, Wade had never made an impact on anything in his life. He could not actually remember what his fathers voice had sounded like, so rarely had he heard it in the ten years he had known him before he had left - left him with a mother so domineering and cruel that she had been a major motivator in the building of his first explosive. He did it for the man that had never been able to stand up to her - had left rather than confront her, so weak was his character - and he did it for himself. For all of the long, lonely years spent being bullied and yelled at by her, Wade blew up his own mother with a lovingly designed bomb set to the timer of the kitchen microwave… and laughed for the first time that he could ever remember.
Years later, when he had moved town, he had returned and blown up the school that he had spent many a miserable year attending. The fact that the children who had callously teased him had long since moved on did not bother him, he had managed to destroy the foundations that had allowed his tormenting to take place. There was not a day in his youth that he did not face the cruel taunts of the children, about his hair, his too fair skin, and his often publicly humiliating mother. Yes, he'd smiled that day, even as he had watched from his motel room up the road the ambulances that whizzed past in a dizzying circus of light and sound.
Now laughter was something that came to him more often. As he planned, as he worked, as he dreamt and envisioned the roar and the aftermath of his creations, he found himself loving life – and the power he had to take it. He worked from his basement apartment that had never received a visitor since he had purchased the entire building and transformed the whole bottom floor into his haven of havoc. The tenants above had not a clue as to the evil that lurked beneath their floors, the dark, twisted and yet startlingly brilliant mind that sat beneath them.
If anyone was ever allowed into his home, they would instantly see the wealth he had amassed over the years in the massive space that was filled with every convenience a man could want. For all of the pleasures he had been denied as a child, he now pampered himself tenfold. There were signs though, if you looked past the modern furniture which he had moved in himself, glanced past the latest gadgets and entertainment systems that sat around the large, open space. Signs of the sinister hobby, which he pursued with passion.
The first thing a person might notice would be the freezing temperature the room was always kept at. This was partly due to Wade's preference for the cold and intolerance to heat, but also because he handled and kept explosives in the room. Either way, the temperature was barely tolerable to the average person and saw even he wear thick sweaters at all times when he was home, which was most of the time.
There were no windows in the room, only closed walls and dim lighting. A giant wooden bench stretched down the centre of the room and was filled with wires and parts and intricate tools, a computer screen always flickering at one end, filled with his plans and designs. He never used the public stairs either, there was only one entrance to his carefully maintained and hidden world, through a narrow doorway down a set of steep stairs that led to a vacant alley outside. The thick metal door and intricate alarm system was enough to deter anyone overcome with curiosity, although rarely did anyone see him come and go, for he usually did so in the early morning hours.
It was a cold, rainy afternoon in Denver when the phone rang quietly in Wades apartment. He did not spare it a glance as he sat at his long, wooden workbench, pale fingers working deftly in stark contrast to the black turtleneck sweater he wore. He never answered his phone, it was permanently linked to his computer system. This was just another call to him, someone wanting his services, another job he might consider. To seven men, however, which made up the specialised force of Team Seven within the department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, it was the phone call that would link his terrifying talents to their world and begin a chain of events that would change their lives forever.
As the phone continued to ring quietly he ignored it, his mind on the small toy in his cool fingers. He studied it carefully, placing it on the bench, putting back the last screw to the electronic compartment on its small, furry back as he reached to the packet of dark candies he was never out of supply of and popped one in his mouth. His computer beeped and the screen showed a cartoon picture of a ginger bread man, dancing across the screen, a phone receiver in his hand, ready to take the message.
"I have a job for you, you'll like it, nice public place. Call me back," his speakers announced in a distorted voice and the computer beeped again as the ginger bread man laughed on the screen, a maniacal sound that brought a smile to his own face again.
He placed the toy monkey in his hands onto the bench, flicking its switch to turn it on. The little hands opened and closed, clanging the small symbols in each hand together, making a tinkling noise that had the smile spreading wide on his thin, pale lips.
2. A Walk in the Park
Tuesday March 19, 6.00am
The coolness of the tiles beneath his bare feet brought Chris Larabee further awake as he crossed his bathroom floor and reached with heavy- lidded eyes to turn on the hot water in his shower. He waited, leaning heavily against the cold glass shower door, his naked body shivering and his mind dreaming again of the still warm bed growing cold in the adjoining room.
Goosebumps rode high on his lean body, his nipples hard in protest as he held out a hand to the flowing water, feeling for the first hint of warmth to run through the pipes that would end his discomfort. Finally feeling the chill leave the water, he stepped in once he saw steam begin to rise from the floor and added a little cold as he leaned forward, letting the hot water run over the smooth skin of his muscled back as he leant his forehead against the tiled wall and closed his eyes, his mind still unwilling to accept that his body was again vertical after only three hours of sleep.
He stayed that way for several minutes before he straightened and turned around, vaguely wondering if he had just drifted off again as he tipped his face to the source of the water from above, closing his eyes against the pounding stream of water that broke over his skin and made him feel like he was still, indeed, wrapped deep in his warm quilt. He tilted his head to the left, letting the water fill his ear, hearing the muffled pounding as it continued to rain down from above. He switched to the other ear before tilting his head back up and parting his lips to receive the hot water into his sleep-dry mouth, gargling it noisily and spraying the water out playfully into the tiles. He reached around to grab his toothbrush, knocking the soap to the floor as he did so. Cursing softly he bent to pick it up and cursed again, jumping as his rear end hit the cold tiles behind him. This was already shaping up to be a shitty day.
As he brushed his teeth, eyes closed, leaning his back against the tiles, he heard his alarm clock sound to signal the start of another day and took some measure of satisfaction that he had beaten it up. He had been staying at his apartment in the city for several weeks now, needing to be close to operations as an old case they had worked on had come back to them with new information.
Three months ago, they had been forced to put the case they had been building against crime boss Armando Giorgi aside, as the man had all but disappeared when they had gotten too close to him. Chris had always known that one day Giorgi and his men would get what was coming to them. He had not forgotten what Giorgi's hired man had done to Vin, shooting him in the leg at point blank range. The bastard had gotten off too, had been extradited back to Italy through a team of top-notch lawyers with plenty of powerful people in their pockets.
The more they had discovered about Giorgi, the further his web of underground schemes had developed until it had been a case not destined for the ATF. The family had moved shop, it seemed, or dropped right off the face of the planet, even as Vin had lay recovering out at his ranch with a hole in his leg.
Then from nowhere, a new informant had contacted them and given them everything they had needed to know about Giorgi and his operations. He had tipped them off about a shipment of illegal weapons that had given them their angle back to the case. The old man had refused to move into their protection, however, so they were forced to meet him at his discretion. Now he just had to meet the man one last time before the raid on the shipment he had told them about was to take place tomorrow.
Last night had been a long, drawn out night of debates and thrashing it out with the other teams and departments involved until they were all happy that the bust was going to go down to their satisfaction. He had gotten to bed late only to replay the plan in his mind, over and over until he was sure it was ingrained in his skull.
Still half asleep, perhaps worse off than before he had stepped in the shower, the blonde ATF captain of Team Seven reached around the shower door for his towel, ignoring the water that dripped from his blonde hair, in need of a haircut as it fell across his face and into his eyes. He quickly rubbed himself down, bending forward and rubbing at his hair vigorously. Moisture still clung to his red, hot skin as he wrapped the olive green material around his waist and stepped out of the shower to face the day.
He rubbed a hole in the steamed mirror and looked at his face a moment, his hair now a tousled mess sticking up at odd angles from his scalp. He took in the shadows beneath his red tinged eyes. He had been running in the park most mornings whilst staying in the city, so he was not put out by having to get up early to meet there, but he could really do with a little more sleep this morning. He hoped the short run to the meeting point would help clear his mind for the day ahead as running usually did for him.
As he passed his bed again on the way to his closet, he contemplated the warm covers one last time before his cell phone rang on his bedside table and he grabbed it, digging out clothes as he answered the call.
"Larabee," he said with the small phone held in the crook of his neck awkwardly.
"All ready, Stud?"
"Could go another hour or two's sleep."
"I hear that," Buck said, shivering inside the surveillance van across from the park near Chris's apartment.
"You an' JD set?" Chris asked.
"We got doughnuts, we got coffee, we got –"
"Buck, you in position?"
"Not a metre off," Buck answered, recognising the shortness in Chris's voice and not offended by it. He would be glad when tomorrow was over as well, Chris was getting a little run down, they all needed the break.
"And Vin?"
Buck looked through his side window where Vin had been standing outside a moment before. "He's… umm…"
JD too, craned his neck to see where Vin had gone after he had left the van. He rubbed a hole in the frost on his own side window and jumped back, "Ahhh! Jesus Christ!"
Buck turned and saw Vin's mouth opened up against the outside of JD's window, bigger than a blowfish five minutes out of the water. He chuckled as JD continued to mutter his complaint.
"Junior's just heading into the park now, soon as he unfreeze's his lips from the window."
Chris frowned a little but didn't comment as he pulled a black t- shirt over his head and rummaged for his sweat pants.
"You got the mike working?" Buck asked him as Vin jogged off lightly away from the van.
Chris tugged on his pants, the material clinging to his still moist skin as he pulled them up around his lean waist.
"Yeah, fixed it last night, I don't need the replacement." He bent into his closet and dug out his sneakers. "I'm coming down now."
"See you in a bit."
Chris hung up, pulled on his socks and dialled Vin's number as he shoved his feet into his shoes without bothering to undo the laces. Vin was the third and final member of his team that would be at the meeting that morning. He frowned a little when Vin took a while to answer.
"Chris," came the muffled response.
"What the hell are you doing?" He said as he pinned the small microphone to the inside of his t-shirt collar.
"I'm jogging, the meeting spot wasn't as close as I thought. You might wanna go slow ol' man."
Chris scowled, "I'll give you 'old man' Tanner, I been jogging in that park every Goddamn morning for weeks."
Vin was smiling, Chris could hear it in his voice. "Sheesh, a mite grumpy first up ain't ya?"
Chris smiled, although Vin couldn't see that. The Texan was baiting him, as usual, knowing he was still tired from the long night of meetings before.
"I'll just be glad when tomorrow's over and we're sitting on the haul of the year back at headquarters," he sighed.
"Well, first beers on you, Larabee, I'll be up for it."
Chris grabbed his keys, catching his reflection in the mirror by his door and running his fingers through his still damp hair. "All clear down there?"
Vin reached the meeting spot and eyed the huge population of ducks, which surrounded the entire area where he was to take his position. It was not far from the bench Chris would be meeting their informant at shortly. He was going to run through a sequence of Tai Chi as his cover to watch Chris's back.
"Just me an' the boys here… and I don't reckon these furry critters take too kindly to strangers… In fact…" Vin shifted back slightly from an overly large duck who had its head down as it was moving towards him with hackles raised, "I think one of 'em might be rabid or somethin'!"
Chris frowned, "What the hell are you going on about?"
Vin took another step back, hand reaching towards his gun holster at his ankle. "There's a duck chasin' me, Chris… fuck'n hell…"
Chris laughed, he couldn't help it as he stuck the small earpiece in his ear and fiddled with it a moment, getting it comfortable... "You can take him, Cowboy."
Vin cocked his head at the stealthing puffed up ball of feathers, "I think it's a she…" He lowered his voice, "I think it has teeth."
Still laughing, Chris ignored him. "I'm comin' out now, any sign of him?"
Vin eyed the empty bench across the park lawn again. "Not yet…" He saw an old man approaching down a narrow path of short grass. "Wait, he's comin' in now."
"Alright, hold position, I'll be down in five… and Vin?"
"Yeah?"
"Watch your back."
"I'm watchin' yours today, remember?"
"Just keep an eye out."
"Always… You jog slow, don't wanna do no CPR today."
Chris hung up, muttering "Fuckin' smartass Texan…"
He pocketed his keys as he headed towards the door and left for the park as Vin continued to eye the approaching duck warily, reluctant to turn his back on it.
"So much fer cute an' friendly…"
3. Please Do Not Feed the Wildlife
Five minutes later, dressed in his sweats and a black t-shirt that stretched over his muscular chest, Chris left his apartment. He nodded to the surveillance van parked across the street where he knew Buck and JD's eyes would be following him as he crossed over to the park. They would record everything that was relayed to them through his microphone.
"Testing testing," he said softly in a lilting tone when he was in range, his mood lightening a little now that he was up and out in the morning light. Once tomorrow went down, they could all relax for a few days, they deserved it, they'd been working hard to coordinate this investigation. A booming voice came back at him.
"Howdy and good morning! This is Radio Buckville coming to you live in the heart of what's happening here in the roving Buck-mobile and this morning we have… not much happening… We got a lotta frost… its damn cold… some more frost…. ducks, frost and more freakin' ducks." Buck was bored, had been since the donuts had run out five minutes earlier.
"You could have stopped at howdy," Chris said, stopping at the verge of the large parkland and holding his ankle up and behind his knee to stretch out his thigh.
"Can't believe yer complainin'," Vin piped in, receiving Bucks voice loud and clear in his own earpiece. "I'm out here freezin' my fuckin' ass off and yer all cozy, prob'ly finished that whole box a' doughnuts by now…"
Buck looked at JD guiltily.
"… and you wanna see ducks? I got one tryin' ta bite m'frozen balls off with a beak like a Japanese sword."
"Duck beaks aren't sharp," JD put in and Buck appeared to consider this.
"Not sharp my ass!" Vin immediately argued, even as he saw the feathered fiend make another approach, "This one's like a folded 3000 times Japanese Highlander sword fuckin' sharp."
"Better get the gun out, Junior, `there can be only one'," Buck laughed, hearing the normally calm Texan getting upset about an overly friendly duck getting too close for comfort. "You got somethin' against ducks, Vin?"
Vin went silent and Buck looked at JD, grinning. "JD, you think Vin's got a problem with ducks?" Buck would take hold of any opportunity to find a weakness he could exploit.
"Ain't got no problem with – DUCKS! Dammit!" came a half yelp. "Jist the feral kind."
Buck laughed, Vin had obviously been rushed by one of the animals. "Mmm... barbecue duck would be nice about now," he thought out loud.
"Those ducks have diseases, Buck," JD said with disgust.
Vin considered the knife around his ankle, looking at the duck a moment as if deciding the best way to carve it up before dismissing the idea and trying another approach. "Whadaya want from me?" he almost pleaded with it, "I ain't got no food, I got nothin' ya want, back off a little will ya? Wait fer Chris, he's got that old, tough skin ya can sharpen that beak on."
"Tanner, shut the fuck up." Chris said, shaking his head as he began a light jog, hearing Buck and JD both laughing and telling Vin to remember that man was the superior creature as he reached the freshly cut grass, which was still well covered in frosty morning dew and enjoying the cool air on his skin, knowing that by the time he got back he would have built up a good light sweat.
"OK, lets do this, I'm heading in, lets stop the chatter… and for the record, I'm the one with the raw deal here, freezing outside AND having to run for my supper."
"Least you'll get warm jogging," Buck pointed out.
"Buck?"
"Uhuh?"
"I get the last word."
"I was just –"
"Buck."
Buck went quiet, grinning but quiet all the same. He waited as Chris headed through the outer park and into the inner, denser spread of grass and trees, towards the small natural lake that resided within.
Chris let his mind clear. There were few people around this time of morning, just a few keen to exercise before another gruelling day in the office. It was normally a peaceful time for him, it allowed him to just focus on the strength of his body and its movement and grace. Today was different though, today he had an agenda. He was confident that this informant was on the level, everything he had told them so far was right on the nose. If everything went to plan, tomorrow's haul would be a great day in the seizure of illegal weapons from trading on US soil.
He was just reaching the meeting point when suddenly a blur came at him from nowhere and knocked him into the ground. He went down in a breathless heap of tangled arms and purple tracksuit.
"What the hell -?"
Chris Larabee was one of the most composed men in the department of the ATF, his control over his emotions was legendary, giving him a reputation as a man who could be cold to those who did not know him well. Yet right now, as he lay with a furry mass of purple material covering his view of the brightening sky, he felt his composure slipping.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to… Oh dammit all!"
For an inexplicable reason Chris felt the corner of his mouth tilt as he finally managed to push up on the body on top of him enough to make out the woman's face trying to look anywhere but at him.
"Don't I know you?" he asked the woman who was blushing so profusely it was hard to tell where her tracksuit ended and her skin began.
"Yes.. No.. Definitely no…" she said miserably.
Chris's smile grew. "You work in the mail room."
Pascale's blush grew. He recognised her. She should have been ecstatic, but instead she was mortified that her well thought out plan to "accidentally" meet Chris Larabee out jogging in the park she knew he went to every morning, had turned out so incredibly wrong. Her body was pressed into the hard, long line of the man she had been dreaming about for months now and all she could think about was that she had nearly fractured his spine!
"No, that's someone who just looks a lot like me.."
Chris laughed then and finally she met his eyes.
"Are you ok?" She asked seriously.
Chris noticed Vin walk subtly by in his peripheral vision and indicated with a small gesture of his hand that he was alright as he held the woman's gaze. He flicked his eyes quickly and saw Vin tap his watch as he walked, knowing he was telling him their contact was there.
"Everything's cool," came Vin's voice back to the van and JD and Buck relaxed. "Chris's jist flirtin' with th' girl from the mail room."
"Go stud!" Buck said.
"Buck." Chris said again, despite knowing it would confuse the woman before him.
"Oops."
"What was that?" she asked him.
Chris smiled up at her. "I'm late to meet with a friend - Buck."
"Oh." Reluctantly she pushed up to her feet, standing and admiring the man flat on his back beneath her for a moment before offering him down a hand. Their gazes held, it was a charged moment as Chris finally took the grip of the cool, slight fingers and pushed himself up rather than burden her with his weight. He stood looking at her a moment.
"Guess I'll see you at work," he said with a slight smile. It was a smile that to her seemed like he was holding in all of the secrets of the world.
"I'll try not to trample you in the hallways."
His smiled grew, but became almost contemplative. He turned to leave and stopped, turning back. "I'm Chris," he said, holding his hand out.
"I know," she said, then mentally kicked herself – hard. So much for hard to get! She was planning on aloof, mysterious, now she had not only run him down in broad daylight, she had told him she knew exactly who he was! She offered him her hand and felt the strong grip of his firm fingers around her own. "Pascale."
"That's a beautiful name," he told her.. and she did not miss the seductive note of his voice.
Something possessed her then, the voices of a thousand yearnings in her head perhaps, but she could no longer deny the basic urge that was driving her. She literally threw herself before him, grabbed the back of his neck and gave him an almighty kiss that nearly sent him back to the ground.
"What's that noise?" JD said, listening intently in the van beside Buck.
The next voice heard was Buck's amused yet proud chuckling as he understood completely what that familiar sound was.
Vin, too, was grinning as he resumed his position by the lake, overlooking the old man now seated at the bench.
"That's Chris gettin' the last word," The Texan laughed.
Feeling like the eyes of his team were right beside him Chris pulled back, reluctant as he was to stop the encounter. "That was... a surprise," he said, smiling down at her.
"I would explain... but I have no idea how to," she said, torn between complete bliss and total embarrassment.
"Maybe you can explain to me over dinner."
She smiled then, "I'd like that."
Chris held her gaze another moment, "I really have to go... see you soon," he told her, as he turned and resumed his jog, heading towards the direction Vin had gone.
Pascale watched him go, heart still racing. See you at work… Oh boy would she see him at work, not exactly the way she had imagined it, but just wait until the girls heard about this! She actually laughed out loud, stopping just short of clapping her hands and then quickly looking around to see if anyone had seen her.
..
Old Man Carlos smiled as he tore another piece of bread from the large loaf in his lap and threw it to the ducks gathered around him in a noisy pack. The bench he was seated at overlooked the somewhat murky lake, right beneath a large sign that read "Please Do NOT Feed The Wildlife."
He was happy, as always, that he was giving the park's residents a good feed. To hell with the bastards that thought they could stop something he had been doing since before they were even born. It wasn't that soft, crappy sliced bread, either. This was the good, Italian stuff that could break your teeth with its outer crust, not that Carlos could eat the crust any more since he'd lost most of his teeth over the years. He was now reduced to cutting the thick crust off with a knife and eating the softer bread inside but still, he would not compromise on his bread, even if he had to eat it like the ducks did, soaking it first in the water before they wolfed it down.
Every day Carlos came to the same bench in the same park, had done for many a year. It wasn't a particularly smart thing to do in his line of business, especially if you wanted to avoid a potential assassin from knowing your routine, but he did it anyway. He had always dreamt that one day he would have his own big property and his own small lake of ducks to feed, but that had never happened… And as he approached eighty, he now knew it was a dream not to be had.
He had worked for the Giorgi family for most of his life. Pedro Giorgi had taken him on as a package boy when he was only thirteen and it had seemed that his career was going to be a big one… Yet as Pedro had gotten older, so had Carlos, and in time he had found himself working for Pedro's son, Michael… then Armando… Where had his life gone? He had come to realise, after too many years of hoping, that either you were in the family, or you were not.. and with Italians, blood was everything.. and his might as well have been green.
Still, he had been loyal… until he had discovered that a man only brought into the family a year ago was about to step up the ranks ahead of him, then he had decided enough was enough and had finally lost it. He'd been passed over for years, always patiently waiting, trying to please, finally resigned to his place in the world. Well there would be no more of that. He was going to burn the bastards. He'd show them his smarts, not to take him for granted, that was for sure!
Throwing out another scrap of bread to the eager creatures his eye caught sight of a young man performing graceful movements a good distance away on the grass. He didn't understand all of that yuppie oriental stuff people got into. Still, if that's what that boy was doing to keep in shape, he had to give him credit, he looked like a fit bastard. Suddenly he frowned as the long-haired man stopped his smooth movements abruptly and kicked out at something on the ground. A duck squawked in protest and Carlos got to his feet in outrage. No respect for nature these kids! He was about to shout out across the distance when there was another disturbance of ducks on his right and he turned to see the ATF Captain he had met several times before approaching him casually, gesturing for him to retake his seat on the bench.
"Larabee. You are late," he said in his usual gruff voice.
Chris tore his gaze from the site of Vin kicking out at a duck and rested a foot on the bench casually, leaning on his knee as he spoke to Carlos, knowing he wasn't late but apologising anyway.
"Carlos, my apologies, I was unavoidably detained."
When he flicked his eyes to Vin again he was apparently again in control and engrossed in his movements, but Chris knew better. Vin's keen eye knew every move that he made and he knew that his hand would not stray far from the gun that he had concealed.
"Tell me everything's still good," Chris continued as he met the calculating eyes looking up at him.
Casually, Carlos tossed another piece of bread. "Si, everything good."
"And you know which dock it will be?" Chris wanted to confirm.
"Si," he said again. "The shipment come same'a time. Dock number four."
Chris nodded, that is what they had needed to know. "You're sure its number four?"
Again Carlos nodded. "I am sure. He bring nearly fifteen men."
Chris frowned. "Why so many?"
"There are more weapons now... and he do not trust the supplier."
"Because he's new?"
"Because he's Abrusezzi."
Chris raised an eyebrow in question.
"He no like the Abrusezzi people."
Chris had no idea what an `Abrusezzi' person was, he assumed it meant a different part of Italy. "Then why is he dealing with him?" he asked.
"He have no choice. He need the guns quickly, this was the only way."
"And Giorgi will be there himself? You're sure?"
Carlos nodded, his eyes going hard. "The sonofabitch – he no miss this."
"Good." Chris was quiet a moment, again studying Vin's relaxed and slow movements. He had only seen him going through his moves once before and it was a peaceful sight. Vin seemed completely absorbed and in sync with the movements of his body. Not for the first time, he thought about getting him to teach him. God knows he needed a little chill time to himself. He bent to retie an errant shoelace, ready to go.
Carlos was watching a duck heading towards them, something stuck in its beak. He frowned as it got closer, trying to make out what it was, noting how painfully thin the animal was.
"Somebody feed him food that no good," he told Chris's bent head, nodding at the duck.
Chris turned his head to look at the skinny, approaching creature and squinted at the black fur in its mouth, trying to make out what it was.
"Heard the ducks are a bit nasty round these parts," Chris said, smiling as he took his foot down and turned to leave, glancing once more in Vin's direction as he did so.
Vin looked up as he saw Chris taking his leave and could not describe the sense of alarm that ran through him. As Larabee looked at him across the distance, something was terribly wrong.
Chris paused as he turned, his eyes still facing Vin's. He could not read his expression across the distance, but there was… something... in his stance, a tension that was not there a moment ago. He looked again at Carlos who was still studying the duck, trying to cajole him closer to see what was in his beak.
"I'll be in touch," Chris said, feeling the need to get out of there quickly. He began to walk off slowly.
Carlos flicked the retreating man a brief look then reached forward to the duck.
"Venicca bella, venicca…" He beckoned, patiently allowing it to come closer, his heart tightening at the sight of the half starved animal. Finally within his arms reach, he leant forward and snatched the object from its beak, having to yank it hard to get it free for it had been well stuck. He broke it off some bread in compensation and looked at the small toy in his hands and laughed, calling out to Chris who was already a good ten feet away.
"Look, you were right, I think she steel this thing!"
Chris turned back around and saw Carlos holding up a small fury object in his hands. Squinting, he made out the form of a monkey and watched as Carlos turned it on and its hands began to open and close, clanging little symbols together. He gave the older man a small smile to humour him before he turned to walk off once more.
Carlos continued to smile at the toy, delighted that it worked and placed it on the bench Larabee had just vacated, watching as the little symbols opened and closed in the little hands.
Chris had gotten only three steps further when the explosion rocked the earth. The force of it centred around the bench, but reached him easily in its heated grasp. Instantly, splintered wood from the bench sprayed out and collected him with the burning spray of flame that knocked him to the ground and sent him hammering helplessly into the trunk of a thick tree.
