Little by little I'll get this story up. Inspired by the Fairy Godparents Job. Thanks for reading!
Schooled
Eliot sat coiled and patient. This was always the most annoying part of the job. The blow to his jaw disrupted his concentration like the buzzing of a mosquito. The chair that held him tipped over and his cheek made hard contact with the wet floor. He groaned as a boot dispatched an almost well-placed liver kick.
He grunted, and his attacker grinned in triumph, little knowing that the hitter was simply airing his disgust at yet another sub-par attack.
Seriously, who hired these guys? He was beginning to wonder if there was a temp agency for thugs. These guys were a disgrace and his hands itched to feel their bones disintegrate under his knuckles.
He had to be patient.
Now, there was a time that he'd have already swept the floor with these goons and used one of them to make a door, but he'd learned a thing or two from Nate.
He wished they'd stop kicking. It was amateur at best and it kept breaking his concentration when his mind would go on autopilot and grade their performance. Not to mention those boots, not even steel-toed and constructed so poorly. Terrible stitching and some kind of cheap pleather substitute. Sophie's voice was in his head. Not via an earbud, this was a private mission, but still her voice was there, critiquing the footwear of these morons.
It wasn't like Eliot didn't know a lot about shoes, he didn't have to learn that from Sophie and her obsession with expensive footwear. He knew a lot about women's shoes, liked it when it was the only thing they would still be wearing...
Damnit.
Eliot was getting bored. Then he realized that they were putting his chair back up to rights. This meant one thing—finally—the real head of the operation would be making his appearance. A quick speech, maybe a little more threatening with a gun or jumper cables, the usual. Then he could get down to the business of cracking skulls, multiple contusions and maybe a little blood. He shifted his eyes to one of the guys in the corner who was loving stroking a machete.
Okay, maybe a lot of blood. Don't ever bring a machete to fistfight.
He could still smell a bit out of his right nostril. Somewhere close by there was coffee. He'd had to get him some of that before leaving.
That was when he heard it, mouse-quick and probably no bigger than Parker. It wasn't Parker though, this wasn't her scene and he knew she was off stealing some Da Vinci sketches.
She'd sent him a post card. He'd stopped wondering how she did it. Figured it had to involve Hardison and pigeons.
It would have to wait.
Eliot sprung to as much of a standing position as he could get while tied to a chair. With a sweep he'd broken the chair against the cheap boots, along with probably several of the man's ribs. Then there was an invitation to a boot party for one for the boss man, but not before getting himself free with a taunt to the idiot with the machete.
He figured it would take him about 2 minutes to finish the job, and take what he needed from the one guy in the room wearing a suit. A suit that now looked as if it were made from a boot print fabric.
They'd brought him to the boiler room of an old private school. It wasn't very creative and Eliot couldn't help but be reminded of the job they'd done using that kid, what was his name? Skidmark?
Hell, he couldn't remember, all those kids had weirdass names.
Throwing open the heavy door, Eliot stomped up the stairs and couldn't help but remember finding a small girl in the corner trying, and failing to hide something in her book bag.