Hello dear guys,
This is the "Pilot-Episode" of a crossover series of Fast & Furious and NCIS: LA. Should this story be well received, further parts will follow (Part II – Back to driving school is in work). Part I consists of 14 chapters and will be uploaded weekly.
I wish you a lot of fun reading this and am happy about comments!
Mephysto
Brian yelled as he passed the junction. Adrenalin pumped through his veins. His heart raced and the high was incredible. In moments like these he understood what Dom told him. This wasn't a drag race, but only during the run he felt really free. And Brian liked the street races in Miami more than the ones in L.A. Here he could live up his driving skills.
Brian passed the finish line and stopped short some meters near Tej. He got out of the car and enjoyed the walkabout. The people cheered excited. It was hard for Brian to come down from the adrenalin high.
Tej came to him, "Wow, Bullitt! You know your hit. You're really ice, bro!"
"Come on, Tej. That was nothing," nevertheless Brian felt good at the thought that other drivers would've evaded the truck. And they did.
Satisfied Brian grinned.
"Here, bro," Tej gave him a big bundle of money. Brian counted some Franklins in Tej's hand with the words, "Maybe next you organize something spectacular again."
"I will, Bullitt."
While turning around to his car, Brian's gaze moved through the crowd. He faltered. There were these two women again. The first one appeared for the races since he came to Miami. She never talked to any of the drivers, but only watched. She stuck out of the crowd: she was Latina and dressed, in contrast to the other bunnies, very elegantly. She appeared like a cop to him.
The second woman fitted better in the scene. Her clothes consisted of more material than that of most of the present girls and Brian did watch her as she did look at the cars. She clearly was savvy. But she, too, didn't belong to the scene.
Brian couldn't say why he got this feeling, but at the latest after juvie he knew to trust his instincts. And his instincts told him to avoid this woman, too. He should go anyway.
Brian waved gratefully at Tej, when he sat back behind the wheel. While doing so he noticed the man behind Tej. He had black curls, was more or less the same size as Brian and had piercing eyes. His suit identified him as very prosperous.
Brian knew this man. Probably everyone in Miami's underworld knew him. Carter Verone. The man, who looked for drivers. And the man, Brian avoided more than cops.
It surprised Brian how much of his old life was still in him. In his heart he was still a cop.
With a lively stride Callen entered the villa of the OSP. Although the weekend was over, he spent the past night very good. The blonde from the bar had looked like a model and didn't have much more brains, but for the nightly activities it had been sufficient.
Callen grinned brightly as he placed his rucksack by his desk. Even as something gnawed on his mind, his grin didn't disappear as Sam entered.
Callen thought that his friend didn't seem to be well rested after the weekend. He looked more like enraged. And he put the blame on Callen, judging how he glared at him, even though Callen wasn't aware of any crime.
"Morning, big guy! What's eating you?"
"You!" Sam grumbled. He slammed his bag on the desk, "You wanted to pick me up, G!"
Callen flinched. That's why he thought the whole morning he forgot something. That's why he checked the magazine of his SIG at least four times until now.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I totally forgot. But I stuck a note on the door."
"Then how could you forget?"
"I didn't sleep at home."
Callen was saved from further questioning as Eric whistled, "Kensi's on air!"
Callen immediately used the chance and popped upstairs. Sam followed hot on his trail, "Wait a moment, G! What do you mean, you didn't sleep at home?"
Callen remained silent and turned off to the Ops Center.
"Were you with a woman? Did you sleep at a woman's?"
"Does Callen have a girlfriend?" Kensi smiled to them from the big screen. She looked at Callen mischievous and curious.
"I don't have a girlfriend," Callen sighed, "but yes: I did sleep at a woman's. And I had to hurry to be punctual. Therefore I didn't think of you, Sam. So once again: I'm sorry. You'll get a donut."
"Nonetheless," Hetty strolled in, "even though I appreciate your work ethics: for the safety of the other road-users, please drive more slowly the next time, Mr. Callen."
Hetty gave him an envelope. With a sinking feeling Callen looked at the sender's address: the LAPD. He was zapped again.
"I'll try," Callen assured and planned to drive well-behaved under the speed limit for the next month.
"Do it, Mr. Callen. Otherwise you will visit driving school again!"
Okay, for the next three months.
Callen heard a repressed chuckle. He looked around the room. Eric coughed suspiciously, Sam looked grinning brightly at the floor and Kensi giggled.
"Okay, let's get back to the case. Carina, what do you have?" he diverted them.
"Oh, really funny, Callen! Next time I'll choose my alias myself!
I couldn't get ahold of Verone. I still work behind the bar. Although he invited women into the VIP lounge over the past three months, all of them were only guests. And every time it was another one.
In spite of this there's another woman, who behaves odd. She does everything to attract Verone's attention."
"Is she an employee?"
"No, a guest. He tops are very low-cut, but Verone hardly looks at her."
"Are there any other suspicious doings in the club?"
"Not really. No one deals with drugs. But I spotted a cop, who talks to Verone often, thus he must be dirty. But I eavesdropped on a conversation between Verone and his bodyguards. The drugs are definitely in Argentina, but he got problems to get the money out of the country. Therefore Verone's looking for drivers."
"Is there any clue to the dead marines?"
Kensi shook her head, "They weren't mentioned, but Verone generally talks little about his business. He just visits the street races in Miami once a week."
Sam stepped next to Callen and crossed his arms, "Verones looking for drivers to do the transportation. It would be ideal to catch him in flagrante. We pose as drivers, bring him the money and arrest him."
"It won't be that easy," Kensi cautioned, "I watched the street races. You have to participate there, otherwise you won't be short-listed for Verone. And it got round the scene already that Verone's looking for someone. Many of the drivers compete against each other."
"It won't be easy to get in there," Sam drew a deep breath and Callen felt his gaze on him, "at any rate we'll have to learn many things."
Pensive Callen stared into space. Gun-runners, drug dealers, terrorists, murderers. They were able to handle all this. They knew the behavior, the language. This was completely virgin territory.
"About which required skills are we talking, Kensi?" Callen asked, "Sam and I could pose as tourists, just passing through. We take part in the race the evening Verone turns up, win and that's it."
"Callen, it isn't just about fast driving," contradicted Kensi.
"These aren't the drivers you normally follow," Hetty chimed in.
"I'll show you. Eric, could you retrieve the recordings of the traffic cam last night? Two roads away from Grapeland Heights Park. It had to be around 9 o'clock."
"Give me a moment," Eric muttered and typed eagerly. The video image of Kensi shrunk by a quarter and a second window appeared. The video's quality was remarkably high. It showed an excited crowd and race cars in gaudy colors stood there. The women (and girls) were slightly clad, the men (and boys) acted cool and showed off their machines. A guy broke away from the crowd. He was young, black and calmed down the people with some gestures. Four drivers stepped forward.
The only woman in their midst wore shorts and a cropped top. She combed her loose hair with her fingers from her face. The second driver was black and Callen guessed his size about 6.5 ft. He looked like roadworthy rapper. The last two drives were white. One had black, short hair and wore an open shirt. On his wrists and around his neck hung rocks that looked certainly more expansive than they were. The second one had blonde locks. He was dressed casually – jeans and t-shirt. He seemed to get on very well with woman, because she greeted him with a kiss on his cheek. Blondie shook the hand with the first black guy and gave him a bundle of money. The others followed.
"How many money will this be?" Eric asked.
"Judging by what I'm aware of it could be well over 10.000 $," Kensi answered, "it seems to be depending on who drives. Every time the blonde one's there, high sums are at stake. He is something like a popstar there. They call him Bullitt."
"And what exactly do you want to show us?" asked Callen.
"Watch and wait."
Callen watched the video closely. He even spotted Kensi in the crowd. She stood near the black guy, who received the money.
"Who is the guy with the money?" asked Sam.
"They call him Tej."
"Eric-?"
"Already at it," Eric typed and a driver's license appeared on screen, "the man is Tej Parker. Just some speeding tickets. There's another record in the database of the MDPD. Parker crashed his car. But he didn't attract negative attention due to bad driving. Seems to be cured from races."
"Not quite," said Callen and stared at the video, "he organizes the races."
Kensi affirmed, "The race should start about now."
And really: the four went to their cars, climbed in drove to a sprayed on start line. Tej Parker stepped in front of the cars, lifted his hands and gave the start signal. The cars dashed forward.
The cars of the woman and the blonde took the lead. The other two had barely a chance.
Shoulder to shoulder they drove around corners, dodged approaching traffic. The blonde pushed to the front. His driving fashion was smooth. He didn't graze any car.
"Does he brake occasionally?" Callen had no idea how the guy kept control over the car.
"Wow!" Sam leant forward.
The blonde drove directly toward a junction. And from the left came a truck.
"I hope he slows down!" Sam put his hands on the desk.
Callen agreed with Sam. If the blonde didn't stop soon, roughly 110 mph and fifty tons would hit each other.
But the car even speeded up. Now there was only 3 feet left.
The truck drove on. The blonde, too.
"Stop!" yelled Callen and Sam.
"Oh god!" Eric turned away.
The car speeded up again. The truck drove directly to the center of the junction. The car drove underneath the truck and arrived without damage at the other side. The car of the woman slowed down.
"I don't believe it!" moaned Sam.
Callen just noticed now, that his respiration had fastened over the whole time. He draw a deep breath to get his pulse down to a normal level.
"What got this dude in his veins?" demanded Callen, "Ice? Gas!"
"Or nitrous oxide," replied Kensi, "that's the big hit with the racers."
On the screen the car drove over the sprayed on finish line. The blonde stopped with squeaking wheels and got out. The cheering crowd came up to him. The blonde beamed.
The video was a little grainy, nevertheless Callen could exactly see his face. The smile was very attractive.
"Eric, find out, who that guy is," Callen instructed, "police record, family. If we handle this clever, he'll be out ticket into the race scene. He surely can put Sam and me there."
"Then he must not accept any offer of Verone, " said Sam, "and after such a stunt he's surely now on top of the wish list. He'd be the ideal driver."
"Maybe we could convince him to take one of us as partner," suggested Callen, "shouldn't he play along, we threat with a charge of dangerous driving."
"Guys, this dude has worse problems," said Eric and put a file on screen, "that's the driver: Brian O'Conner. Born and raised in Barstow, California. Two years in juvie for auto theft and fast driving. Moved to Los Angeles and attended the police academy."
"Wait," interrupted Callen, "this O'Conner is an officer?"
"Not really. He finished top of the class and went on patrol for some months. Then a Sergeant Tanner took him under his wings. He choose him for some undercover-ops. Nothing to get excited about, but he got very good evaluations, however only from his bosses. Apparently he wasn't very popular with his colleagues. There were confrontations."
"Why?"
"There's nothing in the file. At any rate there was a joint undercover-op between FBI and LAPD two years ago. Truckers were robbed on the highway. Due to the precise driving the LAPD suspected street racers as culprits. O'Conner was smuggled into the scene, but at the end of the investigations he let the prime suspect go. Since then he's on the run."
"Great," Sam sighed, "an ex-cop. He certainly won't help us. And he knows our tricks."
"Maybe he'll help, if we give him a suitable incentive," Hetty mused, "find him. I'll ensure that Mr. O'Conner's charges will be dropped, should he cooperate."
"Do you really believe we can trust him, Hetty?" Callen looked down at her, "we can't work with someone, who puts a knife on our back."
"Fly down to Miami, Mr. Callen. I'll send you the FBI agent, who led the investigations. Then you can assess whether he represents a great risk. I don't think so."
"And what will I do, Hetty?" Sam asked.
"As soon as the operation is underway, you'll be the backup. You will fly down with large luggage. I already arranged that the LAPD will leave us two seized cars."
"Well, big guy," Callen patted Sam on the shoulder, "be seeing you there. Kensi, in meantime talk to the MDPD. They should provide us with men to catch O'Conner at the next race."
Kensi nodded and disconnected the link.
"Then I'll pack my shorts. Eric, send me O'Conner's file to my cell. See you soon, Hetty!"