Author: Dreamy
Rating: R [mild violence and sexual situation]
Summary: Donovan learns some rules must be broken while undercover, but some prices are much too high to pay.
Disclaimer: UC:Undercover and its characters belong to Shane Salerno and NBC. All original characters belong to the author. Do not use without written permission.
Chapter One -- Tribulations"Next," he heard a female voice call from the hallway. He looked around the crowded waiting room and realized he was "Next". He had been waiting the longest. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat before he finally stood. During that length of time, the woman had moved to the sign in sheet. "Ettore Sansone," she called.
"That would be me," he replied arrogantly, handing her the "COC" form he had been supplied.
The woman looked up at the decidedly Italian accent that floated into her ear and shivered just the slightest. If given the opportunity, this man standing in front of her would be one she would gladly worship in any way he demanded. Sexy did little to sum him up. She shook her head and waved a hand toward the end of the hall. "Follow me."
"Of course," he stated flatly.
Sighing his irritation, he followed her and silently reflected on why he was even at such a place. He had to be insane. All this to obtain a job at an exclusive Lamborghini dealership that had opened just outside of Savannah, Georgia, less than a year ago. According to those who worked there, sales were not plentiful and few salespeople were needed. The commission from one sale could support someone for a month or two, perhaps longer. The repairs were where a lot of the money for the dealership was generated from, but he was no mechanic. Selling was his forte; he could sell a drowning man a glass of water.
However, there were guidelines he had to meet. Swarthy, good looking, and perhaps, unattainable, was how the Owner and General Manager described his sales staff. His salesmen were men that every woman wanted and every man wanted to be. They came from different ethnic backgrounds, but most possessed each of the qualities that Nelson Creswell Motors thought the public wanted to see.
To meet these guidelines, he had grown out his black hair until it flowed past his shoulders. He had also allowed his beard to fill in and trimmed it neatly along his jaw line until it meshed perfectly with his goatee and mustache. He made his already obvious accent more distinguished and he played that to the hilt. He found it amusing how his dark looks and a foreign accent could make most American women melt before they even had a glimpse of his personality. Just like the woman who was filling out his Chain of Custody paperwork while he waited most impatiently. If she were anything near his type, he would most likely have her begging for him before the night was over. He sighed. His looks had their perks, but they also made him feel uncomfortable at times. He did not like being so … noticeable.
"Take this," the woman said as she shoved a plastic cup into his hand. "In there. Don't run the water; don't flush."
He grimaced as he listened to her monotone voice spout orders as he walked into the small doorless bathroom. He shrugged and did what was necessary. As he had been so coldly informed by the dealership's office manager, if he wished to complete the hiring process, he had to pass the 'whiz quiz'. Again he grimaced as he remembered the chill in her voice. Nelson Creswell operated a 'drug free' workplace, and it was his last step before being accepted as an employee.
His task complete, he snapped the lid in place and returned to the technician to complete his paperwork.
"Good luck, Mr. Sansone," she offered, handing him a copy of the COC form after he had washed up. "Your employer will be in touch as soon as they receive the results; most likely, within three days."
"Thank you," he replied and left hurriedly to slide into his Arena Red 1996 Porsche 993. He sank into the cashmere leather seat and rested his head back against it. Grumbling under his breath, he picked up his ear microphone and hooked it in place.
"Everything come out all right?"
"Funny, Cody. Very funny," he growled. "So funny, I may have to thank you personally for the chuckle."
"Eep. Sorry. Whatcha so touchy for? It's not like you've never had to do that before."
"I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind," he barked as he turned the key in the ignition. Cody was right. Drug testing was a normal part of the job, but he preferred the government's method – a little snip of hair and it was over. This was… degrading. "We're in a waiting pattern again."
"So, your plans are?"
"A little night recon," he supplied briefly.
"See you back at the hotel?"
"No. I'll head back to Ettore's apartment. I'll check in with you in the morning."
"Okay, Donovan. Happy hunting."
"Again, Cody. Very funny."
Making his way through the lazy Savannah streets, he reached his apartment in short order. He quickly changed from his Armani suit to a pair of faded blue jeans and a pullover midnight blue sweater. It was springtime and the days were warm, but the nights could get a bit on the chilly side. He slipped into his tennis shoes and hurried from the apartment to the bus stop at the end of the street.
After a short ride, he exited the bus ten blocks from his apartment and entered a small diner. He ordered a BLT sandwich and a cup of coffee. Leafing through the paper, he waited. His watch indicated that he would not be waiting long. He would have just enough time to eat his sandwich and head off again.
Twenty minutes later, he heard the telltale sound of the bus engine and two minutes later, the jingling of the diner bell as the door was opened. He raised the newspaper up enough to cover his features, but was still able to see around it.
"Good evening, dear," the tall, elderly blue haired waitress called out.
"Hello, Jeanie. How are you?" came the reply as she sidled up to the counter and absently adjusted the thick-rimmed glasses on her face.
He frowned a little at the sight of her. Plain Jane was a good description for her. Her ash blonde hair was always pulled up into a twist. She had no makeup on her oval-shaped face, and her tinted glasses, perched on her slim nose, hid her eyes from clear view. She appeared to have an okay figure, but kept it well hidden beneath straight-line dresses that left everything to the imagination. He had to admit her full lips carried a lovely pout, but that was the only positive he could find.
"Fine as the hair on a frog's butt."
She laughed softly and shook her head. "You are a treasure, Jeanie."
"Tell that to Herman," Jeanie said, chuckling. "Here ya go, darlin'," she said, handing her a to-go order of the day's special and a large drink.
"Thanks so much. See y'all tomorrow!"
He folded the newspaper and went to the counter to pay his bill. He gave her a good head start, giving him a chance to keep out of her sight. It was a ritual he had been following for nearly a month. Until he was able to get inside the actual daily activities of the dealership, he kept himself occupied with surveillance. Sure, he had a file on the docile, seemingly unfriendly, office manager, but he needed more than words on paper. She had to have the dirt on Creswell, and he wanted whatever information she had.
Taylor Anne Kinney was his ticket to Creswell. He slipped off the sidewalk to wander among the old grave markers in the nearby cemetery. He stayed close enough to keep his eyes on her, but stayed well out of her line of sight. He watched with interest as she kept to her daily schedule.
She sat on the park bench outside of the cemetery and placed the plastic bag and drink Jeanie had given her at the diner beside her. Turning slightly, she faced the other occupant of the bench. He was there every day without fail. He wore ratty trousers and a flannel shirt that had seen better days. His shoes appeared to be new, probably given to him by Goodwill. Donovan had made the observation that the man appeared to take in all the activity around him, but rarely moved a muscle. It was as though he was rooted to the same spot for hours upon hours.
"Hello, Bubo," Taylor greeted in her southern drawl and stretched her arms out in front of her before relaxing back against the bench. "How was your day?"
The now familiar sound of clicks and whistles began. It took Donovan a few evenings to ascertain that it was the man's way of communicating. He had taken the time to ask around and found that "Bubo" was a name given to him by Miss Kinney. Apparently, his form of communication had reminded her of the owl that Hephaestus had handcrafted for Perseus in the movie "The Clash of the Titans" and the name stuck with all the local residents.
"You had a good day then? I'm glad to hear that," Taylor responded as she rifled through her purse.
Another burst of short whistles and clicks sounded, followed by a raspy cough.
"Oh, I'm fine. Thank you for asking," she said, smiling up into his tired gray eyes. "But, you know, I did the dumbest thing. I went by the pharmacy today and I picked up regular aspirin for a headache…and you know I can't take aspirin." She shook her head and set the bottle down on the bench. "I don't know what I was thinking."
More clicks, more whistles, and a soft pat on her hand.
She looked up as a smile appeared on his heavily bearded face and watched as he absently ran a hand through his curly brown hair. "You're right. I was distracted today. Just before lunch, Nelson brought in a potential new salesman." She chuckled as Bubo let out a long whistle. "You know Nelson so well, Bubo. Yes, the new recruit is right in line to work with the rest of the saleswhores that are there."
Bubo shook his head and smiled. His smiled quickly disappeared when he began coughing again.
"I know, Bubo. I'm too hard on them and they're only doing what's expected of them. It just chaps my hide the way they turn on the charm and think things will fall into their laps." She sighed as she stood. "You have a good evening, Bubo. I'll see you tomorrow." She touched his cheek softly and then went on her way. She heard a click or two, wishing her a good night.
Donovan remained behind, watching as Bubo moved for what was probably the first time in hours. He slid to the other side of the bench, picking up the bottle of aspirin as he did. He grabbed the large cup, took a sip from the straw, and smiled. Donovan assumed it was the staple of the southern drinks. Sweet tea. Bubo opened the aspirin, dumped a couple into his hand and popped them into his mouth, following them with another swallow from the cup. He then opened the plastic bag, pulled out the container, and dug into the meal that Taylor had left behind.
Donovan moved quietly through the cemetery and exited when he was a good distance away from Bubo. He was not sure why he did not want Bubo to know he was shadowing Taylor most evenings. How could he possibly convey to the woman through noises that she was being followed? He knew it was absurd to give it any credence, and, yet, there was something telling him that Bubo could, indeed, converse with Taylor on some level. He was very curious about the relationship between Taylor and Bubo, but on a personal level. Business came first and he needed to find a connection with Taylor. As it stood, he knew her feelings about the salesmen at the dealership. She would be a tough nut to crack.
He caught up to her easily enough and slipped into the shadows once again. He could predict the remainder of her evening as he watched her enter her townhouse. First she would disappear into what he assumed was her bedroom and change. Then she would make dinner and watch the evening news. She might read or watch television for a couple hours and then off to bed. It seemed a rather lonely existence, but one she was comfortable with.
He decided to call it an early evening. It was Friday, it had been a long week, he had a meeting with the team in the morning, and Taylor was in for the night. There was nothing more to learn by skulking about like a common Peeping Tom.
…to be continued…