Arvin waited as the security cameras went through their programmed sweep of the alley. In a moment when they were all facing away from him, he scurried up to the large gray service door.
"Outfielder, in position," he whispered.
"I'm on it," Jack's voice crackled in his ear.
The cameras slowly panned towards him.
"Hurry!" Arvin growled into his comm. unit.
"Hang on…all right, you're clear!"
With only seconds to spare, Arvin opened the door and slipped inside, pulling the door shut behind him.
"Proceeding to target," he said.
"Copy," Jack replied.
Arvin hurried down the corridor, mentally checking off the doors until he reached his destination. He opened the door and entered, gun drawn. The office was empty. He removed the ghastly 17th century painting over the mantle to reveal the wall-mounted safe behind it.
"You can buy art, but you can't buy taste," he muttered.
"Outfielder, you have incoming," Jack warned.
"Relax, I got it," Arvin said as the safe door clicked open. He snatched the tape inside and ran.
"No, it's too late. I'm on my way!" Jack said.
Arvin sprinted towards the building's only exit. The door slammed open and he skidded to a halt, gun aimed and ready. He checked his fire at the last second as he realized it was only Jack. Without a word, Jack grabbed his arm and dragged him into the alley.
"Trust me," Jack said as he slammed the door shut, pushed Arvin against it, and stuck his tongue in his mouth.
Arvin resisted the impulse to do his partner serious bodily harm. Instead, he grabbed Jack's button down shirt and tore it open. A split second later, a cadre of armed men surrounded them.
"Get out of here, you fucking fags!" one of them yelled.
"Hey, fuck you!" Jack growled. He took Arvin's hand possessively and pulled him out of the way as the gunmen yanked open the door and stormed the corridor. Jack and Arvin beat a hasty retreat before the gunmen could realize their mistake.
"We're clear, homeplate," Arvin said when they had gone several blocks. "See you at the extraction point."
"Copy that, Outfielder. But I think from now on, it's going to be Catcher!" Grady said.
Arvin cut off the raucous laughter by removing his earpiece and shoving it into his pocket.
"They're going to pay for that," he swore.
"It could be worse," Jack said.
Arvin tried to think of a more humiliating baseball related call sign that they could assign him, and came up blank.
"How?" he asked finally.
"They could change mine to Pitcher."