Out Think, Out Smart, Out Gas
Welcome to Part 2 everyone! I really appreciate all your efforts and iron will to keep on reading. Hopefully, the chapters should be more succinct or at least less convoluted from here on! Happy reading and do leave a review if you like so I can improve in future fan-fics! Thanks!
Part 2
A Get Smart Fan Fiction
By Resurgent-class
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANY GET SMART ORIGINAL SERIES CHARACTERS
CHAPTER 1
"Okay fellas!" Max said raising his left hand while his right still held the Colt Official Police at waist level against Wyatt's Walther P38 and Flat-Nose's Colt Python. "No harm done!—" he gestured with his left at Flat-Nose. "—he's not the KAOS man we're looking for, which is great! I mean, why go through all the trouble of shooting and killing each other over the wrong revolution and unrest fomenting agent?"
Wyatt's teeth showed as his thin lips parted in a humorless smile while his P38 remained unwavering, muzzle in line with Max's big nose.
"I zon't tink zo!"
"What if we throw in a six-pack of beer and a pressure check on our tires?" Max offered.
"Huns up!" Wyatt ordered as the auto-mechanic with the name tag stating Grant, stood up behind the CONTROL agents, Zastava M57 levelled steadily at the back of 99's head.
Max sighed raising his hands, letting the Colt Official Police dangle from his index finger by its trigger guard as he remarked with a lop-sided smirk.
"Your accent just takes away the friendly home-grown feel of Harvey's Gas Station you know."
"Nepravil'no!" Wyatt spat, his gray eyes narrowing. "Vevore, I speak we ACZENT! Now—I um speaking PLO-PERLY."
"Where's Němec?" 99 asked tilting her sharp chin up over Max's left shoulder at Wyatt and Flat-Nose as Grant places a boot on the creeper he had been laying on and with a backwards sweep, sent the wheeled platform rolling away to bump against the eastern wall with a metallic rattling of worn out wheels.
"Komrad Němec is var arway by now." Wyatt scoffed as Grant moves to stand right behind 99 at arm's length, M57 levelled at the back of her head. "Vut he told uz to expect you both and mak zure you stop vollowing him."
Max rolled his eyes up at the dirt-streaked ceiling as he exclaimed.
"The old, lead-the-CONTROL-agents-to-the-gas-station-by-pretending-to-drop-a-lighter-from-said-gas station-then-have-the-gas station-mechanics-ambush-the-CONTROL-agents-with-lookalike-KAOS-agent, trick! FIFTH TIME—I fell for it this month!"
"Ve vasted enuv time." Flat-Nose said waving the Colt Python at them. "Schnell! Vee take zhem to deezpozal site now und shoot zhem!"
As 99 gasped at Max's shoulder, her hand still helplessly jammed inside her purse at her armpit, 86 spread the fingers of his raised left hand to halt the gunmen before him.
"JUST a minute now! Since you're in such a hurry, I have ONE final, QUICK request."
"Vhat ees it?!" Flat-Nose demanded impatiently flicking the full-lugged, ventilated ribbed barrel of the Colt Python.
"A farewell phone call to each of my five hundred friends."
"Arrrgghh!" Flat-Nose growled, his eyes flashing with rage as he jabbed the Colt Python's large muzzle in the direction of Max's face. "—how shtupik zu you zink vee are?! You vill use ONE of zhose phone calls to call your Chief!"
While 99 squinted slightly at Flat-Nose's assessment, Max's eyes widened as he scoffed.
"But the Chief IS one of my friends!"
Flat-Nose squinted in thought, tilting his fedoraed head.
"Oh…vell, I zuppoze zhat iz rezonable."
Wyatt rolled his eyes to the grimy ceiling of the garage, shaking his head as he exclaimed.
"And you wondar WHY you peeple loz TWO werl wars!"
As Flat-Nose growled through his teeth at his comrade in arms, Wyatt glared back at the CONTROL agents before jutting his round chin towards Grant while gesturing at Flat-Nose and pointing at Max with his left hand.
'Bystro! Get zher devushka's bug and gun! Go—get Smart's weapun!"
"You international agents of evil!" Max grimaced, shaking his head as Flat-Nose stepped forward, reaching for his Colt Official Police while Grant, M57's muzzle brushing 99's dark brown hair, reached for her purse. "Always in such a RUSH! Fine, I'll help. Here, catch!"
Max's right hand lunged forward tossing his Smith and Wesson revolver off his index finger right at the approaching gunman. As Flat-Nose's eyes popped, reacting instantly grabbing at the flying revolver with both hands, Max's raised left hand shoved the raised hood of the Jaguar, slamming it down onto Wyatt's right arm. As Wyatt yelled out, P38 flying from his hand, Max lunged forward, left cross smashing through Flat-Nose's blunt chinned, square jaw, twisting the man's head and body about, sending both revolvers clattering to the greasy floor and knocking the fedora off his head.
Grant's pale green eyes flashed as he reassessed the threat and grabbed at 99's shoulder.
"Shtop! Or I kill zer…"
His sentence was interrupted by a muffled roar of a gunshot and a small hole exploded outwards in the rear facing edge of 99's white purse under her left arm. Grant reeled back towards the quarter panel of the Mark X, head jerking forward, whitish-blond hair jumping free of their slit back state as the .38 S&W Special round nosed bullet drilled into his chest past his sternum, perforating his heart and exploding out his back next to his spine in a welter of blood. The light faded from his pale green eyes as he collapsed into a puddle of oil on the floor next to the car's right quarter panel, his M57 flying from his hands to skitter across the dirty floor.
Wyatt growled charging at Max, fist flying. 86 ducked and the momentum of the over-extended missed punch and charge sends Wyatt leaning forward over the CONTROL agent. Max quickly wraps his arms around Wyatt's right leg and stands up swiftly, lifting his opponent up and over his shoulder. As Wyatt crashes to the floor on his back behind Max, Flat-Nose charged at the CONTROL agent.
Max dodged the left fist from Flat-Nose before ducking the follow-up right cross and hooking a right into the man's stomach. As air gushed out of his opponent's mouth in an 'oof', straightened and smashed a right into the man's jaw sending him reeling backwards.
"Max look out!" 99 warned, right gloved hand coming out of her purse with her smoking over-under barrelled derringer.
She levelled it at Wyatt who was renewing his assault only to see a powerful hand close around her right wrist and yank her weapon off to the side. Max spun to meet Wyatt's charge and they slammed against each other, wrestling against each other, twirling across the floor in a weird aberration of a box step until both struck the eastern wall.
99 just managed to catch in her peripheral vision, the word 'BROCK' on the name tag of her attacker, his pudgy cheeked face and cold glittering eyes beneath his cap, just before his left arm wrapped around her throat from behind. Biceps the texture of iron bulged and squeezed into the side of her neck cutting off her breath and lifting her boots off the dirty floor. She kicked helplessly, her yellow beret falling off her head as her opponent backed away towards the east wall, his right hand squeezing her wrist viciously and all she could do was look helplessly sideways as her right gloved hand opened up against her will and the Derringer dropped to the floor.
Wyatt with his big fists closed around Max's dim gray suit's lapels, lifted his shoes a few inches off the oily floor as he slammed him against the wall again. As spanners, hammers, socket-ranches and pliers fell off a tool board, Max brought both his fists down onto Wyatt's forearms, breaking his grip on his jacket. Wyatt immediately hurled a right and Max ducked past him. The fist struck the partially empty tool board where Max's big eared head had been just a second ago, causing more tools to fall off and tearing a roar from Wyatt as he staggered clutching his hand. Max turned just as Wyatt did and delivered a left cross that slammed him back against the tool board and falling sideways to crash into and knock over a barrel sending the blue and silver streaked black oil inside spilling out merging with the little puddles of it's kin into a wave that washed over the floor along the eastern wall, sloshing over Brock's shoes and coverall legs as well as 99's white boots while fanning out underneath the Jaguar. Out of his peripheral vision, Max saw Flat-Nose, crouched on the ground, grabbing his Colt Python.
86 bent, grabbing a fallen box-end wrench from the floor and just as the Colt Python's ventilated rib barrel lined up with his head, he threw the tool sending it flying end over end. Flat-Nose growled as the tool smashed into his knuckles knocking the revolver from his hand as the CONTROL agent charged at him. Max blocked a right cross and delivering a right hook to Flat-Nose's jaw that twisted his head about.
99's left gloved hand pulled hopelessly against Brock's flexing forearm. Her booted feet were still kicking, inches above the floor, her shoulder blades pressed against the heaving big chest of her attacker while his bulging belly mashed the base of her spine forcing it into a painful 'C' shape. Spots began swimming in her vision and she knew unconsciousness would soon follow. Brock apparently was not going to wait that long as he released her right hand, having disarmed her and neutralized the primary threat. Instinctively, 99's right hand whipped after his departing right hand as Brock brought it to her head, she knew to finish her. As his hand landed on her head to deliver the fatal neck snapping wrench, her gloved hand grabbed desperately and managed to close around his middle and fourth finger, catching some of her own hair as she did and with every ounce of strength, she wrenched on them, twisting his fingers backwards towards the back of his hand.
She could feel Brock's chest vibrating as he roared in agony and rage. 99 continued pulling down on his two fingers inside her gloved fist, and she could hear his knuckles popping. And Brock could not use his other hand to dislodge her grip as he had to maintain his hold around her neck. 99 squeezed her eyes shut with effort as she kept his fingers wrenched back and she could hear cracks and thumps of fists hitting jaws and ribs as Max fought on. Just then, 99 felt her boots touched the oil slicked floor relieving the pressure slightly from Brock's belly against her lower back and his arm around her throat loosened. With this much needed leverage, 99, keeping Brock's fingers pulled backwards, yanked his hand away from her head, causing a sharp pain on her head as she ended up tearing out a few strands of her hair caught in her grip. Ignoring the sting on her scalp, she pushed Brock's hand by his twisted fingers, off to the side, and pulled on them like they were a pair of oversized triggers.
Brock roared as his fingers dislocated at the knuckles with a grungy crunch and his left arm loosed even further around 99's neck. Snatching this split second of opportunity, 99's left hand pulled on Brock's left forearm, inching it away from her chin just enough for her to nod her head forward before hurling it backwards. The back of her head slammed into Brock's nose, cutting off his roar and her stomach twisted as she felt the sickening crunch of his nose against her skull and the warmth of his blood splattering over her hair seeping down to her scalp.
Max's left drove into Flat-Nose's solar plexus. As he doubled over, Max grabbed him by his collar and brought his knee up into his face. As Flat-Nose's upper body snapped back up with a force that threw him off his feet to the oily floor on his back, Max whirled at the sound of sharp oily footfalls and turned around just as Wyatt came at him swinging an x-shaped lug wrench barely giving him time to duck his big-eared head.
Brock staggered back against the eastern wall, his head bent backwards, eyes shut, his left hand now clutching his nose, streams of blood seeping flowing over his fingers. 99, still holding onto the dislocated fingers of his right hand, turned her body clockwise away from him to stand on his right and adding her left hand now to grip his right wrist and keep his arm stretched, swung her right leg up in a round kick, hitting Brock in the ribs. The man staggered forward, leaning over with the blow and 99 lifted her right knee to drive her boot down into the back of Brock's knee. The man's leg buckled and her boot followed the back of his knee as he dropped down onto his right kneecap with a loud grunt, still clutching his broken nose, 99 still holding onto his fingers and wrist.
Wyatt swung the x-shaped lug wrench in a back hand. Max stepped in, intercepting the sweeping arm, grapping his opponent's wrist in his hands and twisted the arm, bending it behind the man's back, forcing the hand up towards Wyatt's neck. The auto-mechanic's head tossed backwards as he yelled in pain and rage. Max kept hold of Wyatt's wrist with his left hand while delivering a right handed knife hand strike down into the base of his opponent's neck cutting off his yell. As Wyatt began slumping down, Max delivered a final knife hand strike horizontally across the back of his neck sending him to the floor face down in an oil-stained heap.
Keeping her grip on Brock's fingers and wrist to hold his arm out to the side as he remained on one knee, 99 swung her left leg up and her shin slammed into the back of the man's neck with a loud smacking thump. Brock's face went slack and his left hand slipped from his crimson nose as he pitched forward into the coloured oil on the floor with a wet smack sending droplets of oil splattering 99's ultramarine dress.
There was no respite as the door in the west wall flew open, swinging a full 180 degrees to hit the wall to it's left.
"Ninety-Nine get down!" Max barely had time to yell as he ran and dived to the floor as the big red-bearded man in the blue denim overalls and light blue shirt at the convenience store half of the building stepped in, tobacco stained teeth bared in a vicious snarl and thin barrelled FBP submachine gun in his big hands, collapsible wire stock extended and shoved against his blocky shoulder.
The FBP's muzzle flared and spat it's death song as 99 threw herself back to the floor against the right side rear door of the Jaguar Mark X. Max slid over the floor on his chest and stomach, droplets of oil raining upwards from his passage, splattering his face but somehow, he managed to grab his fallen Colt Official Police as well as Wyatt's Walther P38 along the way. Bullets raked a line of holes across the eastern wall just inches above his body. As he came to a stop behind the Jaguar, the FBP's 9mm Parabellum shells hammered the left fender of the Mark X near the wheel and as the bearded man continued firing, the front left tire blew.
Max scrambled over the floor, his face and the front of his dim gray jacket, vest and pants now a myriad of black, blue and silver stains and 99 sitting on the floor, leaning sideways against the Jaguar door, trying to keep her head low. Blue and silver streaked black oil drenched her knees, shins and calves while her kitten heel boots were nowhere near their original colour as was most of the lower portion of her ultramarine dress, stained with patches and swathes of oily black, blue and silver.
The red bearded man kept his hold on the trigger, swinging the blazing FBP down the left side of the Jaguar drawing a line of holes along the left side doors. Max and 99 heard the sharp drumming as the bullets punched through the metal of the doors and chewed into the internal linings.
Max chanced a look up through the window of the right front door only to have the gunner see him and swing the blazing FBP up to hammer the left front door window with a hail of bullets. 86 barely had time to duck his head as the left front door window exploded inwards, showering the interior of the Jaguar with glass. A split second later, the bullets demonstrated the same effect on the interior of the right front window and glass showered over Max and 99's back and hair.
"Stay down Ninety-Nine! Stay down!" Max yelled his voice almost completely drowned out from the automatic gun fire, as he reached his hands protectively over 99's bent back.
Instantly, the flashing muzzle of the FBP inched to the right and obliterated the rear left side window followed by the corresponding one on the right side as the bullets sliced through the interior of the once luxurious vehicle. Hundreds of glass fragments again showered 99's back and hair tearing a sharp cry from her.
"Ninety-Nine!" Max yelled over the thunder of the automatic fire though 99's face was just inches from his while bullets continued to pummel the left side doors.
"Yes Max!" 99 yelled back, hands trying to shield her head.
"Here's the plan!" Max declared handing her the Walther P38. "You draw his fire and keep me covered! I'll run away and get help!"
"Right Max!" 99 said taking hold of the pistol and still hunched over, turned towards the right quarter panel of the car as bullets streamed through the shattered windows of the Mark X and riddled holes in the eastern wall. However she suddenly paused, her blue eyes widening before whipping back round to Max, jaw dropping as she exclaimed indignantly.
"Maaaax!"
Max grimaced taking back the P38.
"Oookay—I'll…" he began only to be interrupted as the rear left tire blew as well and the Jaguar tilted slightly.
Max took the opportunity to rise up aiming through the front right side shattered window and squeezed the trigger. But his angle was off and the .38 special round struck the open door next to the red bearded man. However, it was enough to make him cease fire and retreat for cover behind the wall to the left of the door giving Max a glimpse of the name "GUS" on the overall's name tag. Then they heard frantic sharp clicks and slaps of metallic parts grinding and sliding against one another which heralded a reprieve.
"Quick! While he's reloading!" Max hissed now levelling the Walther and firing with it repeatedly through the Jaguar's window, shattering a small section of the doorjamb and making Gus flinch and growl like a rampaging wild boar as wooden splinters and bits of masonry pelted him while he struggled to fit in a fresh 32-round box magazine.
Max's trigger finger squeezed off the 6th shot from the P38 shot as 99 whipped around on her boot toes, bent low to dash for the southern entrance which they had first entered. At that moment, in his right eye's peripheral vision, a flicker of movement to in the Jaguar's miraculously still intact right door side mirror made him spin to his left.
"Ninety-Nine get down!" Max yelled just barely having time to grab hold of 99's fleeing shoulder and throwing his chest onto her back to push her back down into a crouch while extending his right arm and aiming the Colt Official Police
99 yelped as the weight of Max's hard chest pressed her down, grinding her knees painfully into the oil covered ground and her gloved hands joined them, soaking up the fluid as Max reached over her with his right arm, levelling his gun at Jeremy who was dashing in through the south entrance if the garage, right arm raised at shoulder level with a Walther P38 in his hand, aimed at them.
The heat and pressure of Max's body against her back triggered involuntary flutters of her heart and despite the potential life-ending circumstances, 99 found herself wishing they could remain in that position a few minutes longer even as she clapped her oil soaked gloves over her ears to block out the deafening roar of the Colt Official Police barely inches from her. The Smith & Wesson kicked and flashed as Max squeezed the trigger twice. Jeremy staggered, brown hair flying as the first .38 special round shattered his right collar bone and exited with a plume of blood from the middle fibres of his trapezius muscle to the right of his spine and the second one smashed his breast bone knocking him off his feet to land in a clatter of boots and body on concrete.
Right at that moment, Gus swung out from behind the doorjamb, submachine gun blazing in a renewed assault. The left quarter panel of the Jaguar shook as 9mm Parabellums riddled it with holes, making Max and 99 back away, still keeping low, towards the centre of the car.
Gus swung the blazing FBP to the left again aiming at the shattered windows as he hollered.
"Meghaaaaal! Kapitalista kutyááááák!"
The upholstery of the Jaguar exploded filling the interior with a roiling mass of flying shredded leather and seat stuffings before the wooden dash board erupted as well. 99 screamed hunching lower as Max tried to shield her against the avalanche of seat stuffings and wooden splinters and fragments that exploded out the right side windows of the Mark X.
Gus stepped out of the doorway into the garage now firing in 3-4 round bursts as he walked sideways rapidly towards his left in the direction of the northern entrance. The FBP spat and blazed drilling more holes into the left doors of the Jaguar. The leather interior of the car was torn to shreds, stuffing flying constantly. As Gus kept moving and firing, 9mm rounds drilled through the partially closed hood of the car.
99 screamed again as the damaged radiator exploded under a hail of bullets, the force flipping the lid up to bounce against the limits of it's hinges before slamming back down again followed by the windshield finally exploding inwards. More glass fragments blew out the shattered windows of the Mark X, showering Max and 99, joining the seat stuffing, bits of once luxurious leather and decadent mahogany from the dashboard that already festooned their clothing.
"He's circling around!" Max yelled swivelling around towards the front of the car to aim his revolver and the Walther. "Get ready to run Ninety-Nine!"
Gus was nearing the other entrance, closing in on an angle that would allow him to shoot at his hidden targets as he kept peppering the Jaguar with fire, keeping them pinned.
As Max remained hunched, aiming his weapons towards the opposite entrance waiting for his quarry to come into view, making himself believe he could outshoot him in just a split second, 99 crouched against his back looked about frantically for a means of escape, her dark brown hair flying as she did, oil dripping from both her blackened ears. Her eyes fell on the creeper which the auto-mechanic with the name tag "GRANT" had been using, now with the unconscious Brock face down next to it before spotting Grant's fallen Zastava M57 near the creeper as well.
As the FBP's staccato 3-4 burst tune of devastation found the remaining headlights of the Mark X shattering them, 99 lunged, crawling on oil soaked gloved hands and knees to grab up the M57 before partially crawling over Brock's inert form to throw herself onto the creeper which had been left with one end against the eastern wall. 99 laid on the creeper on her back, about halfway down, with her head pointed towards the Jaguar. As bullet holes raked the eastern wall over her, 99 pulled her knees to her chest and braced her oil spattered boots against the wall, sacrificing some modesty and pushing aside the heat in her cheeks as the blackened hem of her dress fell to her hips, exposing her sleek oil stained thighs and triangular point of her white panties encasing the sensual curving bulge of her genitalia. Taking an engine oil laced breath and still blushing slightly at her exposure with Max so nearby, 99 kicked with all the power in her steely quadriceps, straightening her legs as she did.
Max turned at the high speed rattling of wheels and his eyes bulged as he saw 99 rocketing head first over the floor on her back, oil spraying thinly on either side of her as she disappeared under the Jaguar. The underside of the MARK X flashed by for a split second in 99's vision and then the garage's ceiling came into view again as she arrowed out on the other side of the Jaguar.
Gus whirled at the movement and 99 turned onto her left side, arms stretched out as the creeper continued rolling towards the western wall. The FBP's blazing barrel swung and a line of bullet holes tore across the floor towards her and 99 felt the squishing around her index finger inside her oil soaked gloves as she squeezed the trigger repeatedly. The M57 kicked and coughed again and again as 99 fought with all her strength to maintain her aim. The trail of oil soaked concrete spitting bullet holes in the floor heading towards her from the Mark X stopped an inch short of the moving creeper as Gus jerked and convulsed violently, arms swinging out to the sides, FBP still clutched in his right hand as the first 2 7.62x25mm shells shattered a rib each on his right side and the next 3 projectiles shattered his sternum through his shaggy red beard drilled his lungs, exploding out his backs in star-shaped bursts of blood between his scapula and his spine on either side, sending him flying off his feet to land with a loud frump of body, clatter of boots and the sharp clucking of the FBP's metal receiver on concrete.
It took Max a second to realize Gus was down for good as he edged forward past the front right wheel of the Jaguar to look before standing and shouting.
"Ninety-Nine! You ok?!"
"I'm fine Max!" 99 answered as she sat up and pushed herself quickly off the creeper which had stopped finally, inches from the work table at the west wall. As she did, she hurriedly tugged down the oil drenched hem of her dress, hoping desperately she was on time.
Brock, Wyatt and Flat-Nose were beginning to groan their way to consciousness as she joined Max.
"Here, watch em while I call the Chief." Max handed her the P38.
While 99 pointed the M57 at Brock and the Walther at Flat-Nose and Wyatt, Max put his back against the east wall and removed his right shoe. He twisted the heel to unlock the outsole of the shoe and then paused and looked down. He lifted his right foot to fine his gray sock, now drenched black with oil. Grimacing, Max removed the outsole, lifting the circular speaker to work the rotary dial underneath.
With the circular receiver where the heel had been to his ear, Max spoke into the flip-out circular speaker.
"This is Agent Eighty-Six calling CONTROL. Agent Eighty-Six calling CONTROL. Come in CONTROL.—Yes Chief!—Yes, before we get to Němec, I have a matter of overriding urgency which we need to discuss—what's CONTROL's protocols on dry cleaning bills incurred in the course of mission-related-gun-fights?"
Max immediately jerked his head away from the shoe phone, with his eyes shut and eyebrows arched as the Chief's voice streamed over the receiver in perfect imitation of an angry, rabid chipmunk overdosed on amphetamines.
As the endless chipmunk pitched vitriol continued streaming through, Max held the shoe phone along with said ornery chipmunk hollering towards 99 as he said sheepishly.
"The Chief is asking for you."
Which of course makes 99 sighed with air she could not spare from her lungs as she kept the guns aimed at their assailants while tilting back her head and rolling her eyes.
