Title: When Worlds Collide - Don't Mess With Texas
Author: Jeanny
Feedback: jeannygrrl@hotmail.com
Summary: Walker and Trivette travel to the East Coast to apprehend an unusual fugitive.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but I say Meg owns half the blame.
Thanks to: Meg, for letting me play in this sandbox - something she now regrets, I'm sure. And Terry, for the many xover suggestions, of which this combo was one. I am blessed with friends with minds as deviant as my own...
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"You're sure he'll be here?" Trivette said again. He didn't know why he was asking, really. Of course Walker was sure. He was always sure. And right, he was always right. James Trivette knew he was lucky to have Cordell Walker, the best, toughest, most perpetually correct Ranger in the history of Texas as his partner. Sure, Trivette reflected, he'd ended up critically injured in the hospital every few weeks, but Walker had always vowed to get him revenge and had always made good on those vows. And the Texas Rangers had kick-ass medical benefits, so Trivette couldn't complain.
"He'll be here," Walker placidly responded, sipping his beer and looking around the bar with a look that revealed none of his thoughts, or that he was even thinking at all. Through his years of experience, however, Trivette knew that the slight furrowing of his partner's brow meant Walker was indeed thinking. Or cold. Or maybe hungry. It was hard to tell.
"Say, do they serve food in this joint?" Trivette said, taking a guess at the expression.
"Nope. I reckon it's just a bar." He tipped his hat to the waitress as she deposited two more drafts at the table. Trivette looked her over skeptically. She was a pretty blonde who somehow seemed too classy for the place. Of course, the place they were staking out was filled with characters more colorful and, he suspected, potentially dangerous than any of the miscreants they'd tracked back home.
"You think any of these people will give us trouble?" Trivette asked a bit nervously, eyeing a particularly loudmouthed loose cannon sitting at the bar. Walker looked at him with more impassiveness than usual. Trivette knew his partner was unworried, but as to what else Walker might be feeling, Trivette was clueless. He suspected that Walker did in fact have emotions, despite the complete lack of evidence to date. They were just buried too deep down inside to effect his facial muscles.
"What do you think, Trivette?" he answered. Before the African-American Ranger could mention his concerns, Walker inclined his head nonchalantly. "He's here," he stated, moments before a portly man in a cheap suit came ambling through the main door. Trivette and Walker leapt to their feet.
"Hey everybody," the man genially said.
"Norm!" the entire bar chorused.
"Norman Peterson? Texas Rangers. You're under arrest," Walker said without inflection of any discernable kind.
"You'll never take me alive!" Norm yelled, diving out the door. Without ever appearing to hurry, Walker managed to pass him and kick him back into the bar.
"Norm!" the bar spoke in unison again. Trivette moved in to help Walker but was stopped by the waitress' hand on his arm.
"What do you want with Norman?" the haughty blonde demanded. "What could he possibly have done?"
"Stay back, Diane, I'll handle this," a tall, good-looking man that Walker had earlier identified as the bar owner said. Another cry of the suspect's name told Trivette that Peterson had nearly escaped and been hauled back into the bar again. The bar owner addressed him angrily. "I don't want trouble in my bar, buddy, and normally I avoid fights. But Norm Peterson is a friend to everyone here. So if you want him, you're gonna have to come through each and every one of us." The man drew up to his full height, pausing dramatically before finishing, "Starting with Carla here."
The diminutive curly-haired waitress' hands curled into claws, but before she could spring at the younger Ranger two things happened.
First, Trivette announced loudly, "Folks, Norman Peterson is wanted on an outstanding warrant for the brutal murder of his wife Vera back in Dallas."
"Ohhh," said the bar patrons.
Second, in a move that took less than a second but seemed to take minutes, Walker launched a roundhouse kick at Norm's head, sending him flying across the bar to land with a sick thud against the far wall.
"Ewwww," the bar patrons collectively winced. The owner nodded at Trivette.
"On second thought, he's not really our friend...you guys feel free to do...whatever. And your beer's on the house, alright?"
"That's right neighborly of you," Walker said, hauling a moaning Norm to his feet. "Come along, Mr. Peterson. In the future, when trying to escape justice, you might want to go somewhere where no one knows your name."
*****
The End