Disclaimer: The Mentalist and Hawaii Five-0 are not mine. This story, all of it, is.
ONE
Sacramento, California
Patrick Jane raised his glass. "To CBI."
"To CBI."
It had been a long day for the CBI team. They had just caught a murderer, courtesy of, as always, Jane's deduction. On their way back to HQ, they stopped at a 24/7 diner. Van Pelt's idea. She'd said the place offered good stuff to eat. It did. They munched happily and gracefully, rewarding themselves after cracking a tough case.
"Chai tea, please," Van Pelt said to the waitress when they finished with the entree. "Make it a pot." She winked at his frowning compatriots. "My treat. You guys will like it."
Jane considered himself diehard pure tea fan, but now he was sipping down his cup...
Well, he'd make exception for this. Van Pelt was right; he did like it. Its spicy, milky sweetness soothed him well. Relaxed him.
Suddenly it didn't.
He put down the cup. Something's wrong. What? This tea?
No. It was something his eyes caught...Just now. What? Where—
Then he saw. Three Chinese, with big duffel bags, who'd just come in and sat in the corner. They...were wearing what seemed to be soccer jerseys. Red. Pure red. Whole red. No stripes. Far as he remembered, there was no California MLS team whose jersey was pure red.
He picked out a name on one of the Chinese. "Can I borrow your phone real quick, Lisbon?"
Lisbon tossed her iPhone. Quickly, Jane googled "solskjaer". Found the man was a Norwegian. A legend in the English Manchester United.
Manchester United. Jane googled again, see if Manchester United played somewhere in California about this month.
None.
They were staring at the door, Jane saw. He dug his pocket, picked a rubber band. His father—if that miser and liar could be called one—taught him to be resourceful like MacGyver. Always have simple things like this in your pocket, the old man said.
Could've been good father, if only he's not that greedy, Jane thought as he stretched the band and took aim.
"Jane, what are you—"
TZIIIIIING—
Slap!
"Ouch!" The band hit one of the Chinese at its nape. The guy and his friends glanced back. "What the hell is that, man?"
Jane pointed his finger at Rigsby. "He did it!"
"What? I—"
"Jane!" This from Lisbon. "What do you think you're doing?"
Jane didn't listen to Lisbon's rant, didn't glance at his compatriots' shocked stare. He only saw those Chinese were staring at the door again. Already.
Don't think about all those things you fear.
Steve McGarrett chuckled, jacked up the volume.
Just be glad to be here.
FC Kahuna. Hafdis Huld. Her voice was...music. Real music. Refreshed by her voice, Steve stamped the pedal, gun his rental Mercedes faster on the roads of Sacramento.
Danny would have a field day if he knows I like this kind of music. But why not? Who said ex-SEALs cannot listen to...womanly...euphony? Everyone has his own taste of music! For Steve, the world was rough enough already to listen to throat-burning screaming or mourning junk kids like nowadays. Even he needed break sometimes.
But he couldn't afford one.
As long as Wo Fat is still alive. The man behind his family's murders. The man behind all this misery and mystery. Steve had sworn to himself, the day he knew Wo Fat controlled the dirty Governor, who ordered the murder behind his father.
I'll kill that son of a bitch.
To do that he would do anything. Everything. If he had to come to Antartica to get a footprint of Wo Fat's boot, he would. Even though he preferred not, he just would. Anything that would lead him to Wo Fat, he would chase it.
Nevertheless, Steve definitely preferred Sacramento over Antartica. Just two days ago, he'd gotten a call from Kaye. The CIA analyst.
"Steve."
"Jenna."
"I have a lead on Wo Fat."
"Where can I meet you?"
"You're so blunt, you know?"
"Where can I meet you?"
"Not in Hawaii. Wo Fat's men are watching you."
"I can handle them."
"I'd rather not risk it. And not in Langley either. I'm also being watched."
"So where?"
"Let's meet in Sacramento. Middle point between here and Hawaii."
"Fair enough."
"I'll tell you where we'll meet once you're in town." Click.
"Lisbon, listen."
"No, you listen—"
"Lisbon." Jane lowered his body and voice both.
Lisbon paused. Thought. Childish as he was, Jane rarely did something pointless. He liked to piss people off, sure, but he always had something behind that. Come to think about it, he wouldn't have pissed off those—those Chinese in the corner without a reason.
Her agents, too, seemed to realize that now.
"What?"
"Those Chinese. No, don't look at them. They're intent to do something bad."
"And you know that how?"
"Three guys, wearing same jersey of a foreign soccer team that's nowhere near California. How likely is that?"
"Maybe they're watching at friends' house."
"Or maybe, they want any witness of their crime remember those red shirts." Jane lowered his body even lower, and she and her agents followed. "It's classic misdirection. You make people so focused on one detail they neglect to remember anything else. Why don't you check your pocket, Rigsby?"
Rigsby did. "My wallet is gone."
Jane tossed it to him. How he managed to keep his face straight was beyond Lisbon; she wanted to punch and clapped him at the same time.
"See?"
"I see. But still—"
"No still. You ever rubber-banded someone? That's painful. People will not forget the pain, much less the anger, within six seconds. If those people are innocent they'd have come to our table and kick my ass already." He flickered his head. "They're watching the door. They're planning an ambush, I think. Probably with assault rifles, given the size of their bags."
Silence.
"What are we gonna do about it?" Cho said.
