NOTE: This is a short little story I started a while back while watching some NCIS reruns on USA but never quite got around to finishing. It was that episode where Tony goes down to the garage to pick Palmer's brain about a case. This just kinda popped into my mind, I got about halfway through, and then forgot about it. I know I haven't updated by story Six Inches in a while, but of course, as soon as I start writing regularly again, I get assigned a black hole of a paper which sucks out my soul...whatcha gonna do. I hope this one shot kinda makes up for it. Read and review peeps.
The interrogation room was cool and quiet. What else would one expect this time of night?
Harsh fluorescent lights flickered above while stainless steel gleamed below, it was a place devoid of life. Well, almost.
Leaning against the far wall was none other than James Palmer; who was currently staring intently at the chair before him.
"Well, well, well." He began. "I bet you're pretty happy with yourself. You're untouchable, right? A tough guy like you, you shouldn't be afraid of anyone." He leaned in a little closer "But I'm getting the feeling that right now, you're a little afraid of me. If you aren't...you will be."
He eyed his criminal mastermind carefully. He needed to crack this guy soon, or else bad things would start happening, and he couldn't have that. He massaged the bridge of his nose. Six hours of interrogation and this hard ass hadn't said a word, that's why they had called him in. The best of the best, Special Agent JImmy Palmer. Time to show the probies behind the glass how it was done.
He strode to table casually, his tone becoming more conversational.
"Listen, I know you're guilty, you know you're guilty. You are going to prison whether you tell me what I need or not. But if you tell me where the explosives are, maybe, just maybe, the District Attorney will let you out before the end of the century.
Palmer thought he saw the man sneer, or maybe it was just his imagination.
He slammed his fist on the table.
"You think this is funny? Make no mistake, I will bury you. Prison might not be scary for you, but I know what is. The people you work for are not known for their...leniency. If they should happen to learn that their top enforcer struck a deal with, just hypothetically, an armed federal agency, I don't think they would handle it very well. They probably wouldn't stop are killing you either. If I know about your family in Virginia, your mistresses in New York and Los Angeles, they do too. I'd hate for them to take out their anger on you poor parents in Florida, that would just be terrible."
Palmer sat down, arms crossed.
"Now," he slid over a nearby pad of paper "The address where your bombs are. Just one sentence and I don't have to make a short anonymous call."
There was a pause before Palmer grinned in triumph. "That wasn't so hard now was it?"
He adjusted his hat and turned to leave.
"That's Agent Jimmmy Palmer to you." He murmured quietly to himself.
*****
Behind the mirror of the interrogation room, Tony, Ziva and McGee watched as the autopsy gremlin strutted out of the empty room.
Tony tossed a few kernels of popcorn into his mouth from the bowl balanced on his lap.
"Told you," He grinned smugly, "Better than any opera," he glanced at Ziva, "And much better than a gaming convention." Tim shrugged and took a long slurp of his soda.
Ziva laughed.
"Are we ever going to tell him we know about his little performances?"
"Not a chance." Tony said, "This is almost better than cable, and I hear tomorrow night's performance is supposed to bring down the house. Why would I ruin that?"
"And it would be cruel to take away something he obviously enjoys?" McGee added.
"That too McConscious. But tomorrow, Ziva is bringing the snacks."
Ziva smiled seductively as she daintily nibbled a bon-bon off the tip of her knife.
Tony shivered.
"On second thought, it's your turn McGee."