I know I'm pushing my luck writing a third story, but I'd already come up with an idea, and just had to write it. Oh well, I hope it's as good as the previous two.
This story takes place about a year after the end of She Never Looked Back
"So, what are you putting in Skipper's coffee this time?" Kowalski asked, trying to peer under the gigantic black curtain obscuring Kowalski's view of half the kitchen. Kowalski narrowly dodged a kick to the face as Rico's foot his the area of curtain when Kowalski had previously been standing.
"I' a supri'. 'o peekin'" Rico grunted, standing on the other side of the curtain. Kowalski heard the sound of a knife steadily hitting a cutting board.
"Use the katana, Rico," Kowalski complained, "I still haven't gotten my breakfast and you're taking longer than it will take the sun to become a red giant!"
"'ipper probabl' ain' up yet." Rico replied, continuing to take his time. Skipper and Marlene lived in the apartment next door, though the rest of the team still had to share one, albeit a three bedroom, apartment. They had been lucky to afford that, the way housing prices were going. There had been much debate as to where they were going to move to, but they drew lots and agreed on Manhattan. Despite the fact that Skipper was now across the street, Rico still prepared his coffee, complete with a new mystery fish every week.
"Oh, he's up. While you were on that Rio job, he started going back to the routine. You know, getting us all up at 0600, and running us through training and sparing. Marlene even had a go at sparring against Private."
"By 'Marlene sparring against Private', Kowalski meant: allowing her to use me as a punching bag, since I can't touch Skipper's girl," Private added, walking down the stairs. He was carrying his home schooling materials, ready for his chemistry lessons in Kowalski's lab, which normally consisted of learning what not to do when faced with highly reactive chemicals, "You know, I think Skipper misses the danger of the agency. I certainly do."
"He still takes the occasional job," Kowalski replied, "Not as Skipper, of course, just minor stuff."
"No kaboom." Rico added.
"Rico does have a point, from what I can tell, they were all pretty boring." Private concurred.
"Ta da!" Rico emerged from behind the curtain carrying a steaming cup of black coffee. By that I mean, ink black.
"Rico, what did you put in there?" Private asked, looking disgusted.
"Squid!" Rico replied excitedly.
"I don't know how Skipper manages to swallow those foul concoctions." Private muttered heading towards the lab.
"I'm not ready for your lesson yet, Private. I lost yesterday's game of chess. Rico literally wiped me off the board," Kowalski gave Rico a wilting glare, though Rico just smiled victoriously, "Due to his unorthodox interpretation of the rules of chess, it is my turn to get the groceries."
"Well, if there's one good thing about being dead," Skipper admitted happily, "It's being able to walk into a movie theatre without someone trying to arrest and extradite me."
"Movie theatre?" Marlene asked. The two were seated in a small theatre in New York, talking in whispers while they waited for the ads to end and the film to start.
"Yeah," Suddenly Skipper spotted something in one of the commercials, "No, that's not how you fly a jet pack!" Marlene didn't so much as raise an eyebrow at the outburst. She was used to it, "Yeah, most people going after the 1,000,000 krone on me, have a tendency to use movie theatres as hideouts. No idea why."
"Hm. Never knew that," Marlene muttered. The trailers ended, and the movie began.
"Arsenic and Old Lace?" Skipper asked, frowning at the black and white screen, "No wonder you refused to tell me what you were taking me to?"
"It's a classic. You'll enjoy it."
The movie ended, Marlene still clinging to Skipper's arm, despite the fact the scary part had long since ended. She'd been in far more dangerous situations herself, yet she was still got frightened when the bad guy would creep up behind the main character and try to kill him.
"Excuse me, but do you know the time?" an English accented voice in the row above asked. Marlene looked at her watch
"Eight thirty," she answered
"0600 hours." Skipper gave the countersign almost out of habit.
"No I'm pretty sure it's…"
"Look, I'm out of the business. Name's Agent Troy, I retired for medical reasons three years ago. Just ask head office," Skipper used the identity of Agent Troy, who really did exist and retired for medical reasons, just in case an agent who had somehow not heard of Skipper's demise recognised him.
"Come now, Skipper, you can't expect me to believe that old trick," the man replied, "after all, I taught you to keep multiple covers," Skipper looked up, finally recognising the voice.
"Agent Nigel, sir?" Skipper could hardly believe his eyes.
"You can cut the 'sir' now. You're not with the Penguin Division anymore, and they're putting me out to grass in a few weeks." Nigel replied.
"You don't look much like old Troy anyway."
"What can I say? It's hard to find someone else with my rugged good looks."
"Um…" Marlene looked at the two uncomfortably. Skipper normally didn't like her around when he talked work, though he often explained, it was for her safety. The less she knew the better.
"Agent Nigel, my wife Marlene," Skipper introduced, "Marlene, Agent Nigel. He's Private's uncle, and my mentor."
"Nice to meet you," Nigel greeted cordially, "Now, shall we get down to the nuts and bolts?"
"I'm not an agent anymore." Skipper refused.
"I know, that's why I came to you. Like I said, they're putting me out to grass in a few weeks."
"Yeah mandatory retirement age: no leaving any younger, or any older. I guess you've got me to blame for that."
"I certainly do. Rockgut was worried that the story of the loop hole of Skipper the Great…"
"Skipper the Great?"
"… and now, Late, would circle 'round to all the other officers who wanted out. Then we'd find ourselves in quite a pickle," Agent Nigel removed a folder from his leather satchel, "Now, I here, despite your retirement you are very much in the game."
"Not really, I only take on one or two very safe cases when the bank balance is getting low."
"Well, what I wanted to ask, was if you'd take on an old case of mine," Skipper flipped through the folder, his eyes narrowing.
"I'm interested," Skipper answered, with a bit too much gusto. Seeing Marlene's disapproving look, he continued, "Why don't you finish it?"
"I've been going at this case for forty years. Also, Rockgut's started having us retirees followed, just to make sure we don't try to do anything freelance, or see if we try and dodge the retirement age by making a dash for the other side."
"Waste of good agents." Skipper muttered.
"I want you to finish the case. I know it's probably unsolvable, but some of the facts just keep nagging at me," Nigel stood up from his seat, "For some reason, I can't bear to leave it unsolved. Well, what did I always do when I needed a second opinion on an uncrackable case?"
"Ask Skipper." Skipper smiled at the fond memory.
"Look, I'm sorry to break up the reunion, but Skipper's out of the game." Marlene interrupted.
"I assure you, madam, this is purely paperwork, and I am equally positive there is some ambitious young agent out there who would love to take credit for this piece of work." Nigel answered.
"I still don't think…"
"I'll take the case." Skipper interrupted.
"Nice to see you Skipper," Nigel could see that the faster he left, the less chance Marlene had of convincing Skipper not to take the case. He set off in the direction of the theatre's exit, "Say hello to Private for me."
"Sure thing, sir."
"Little B?" Doris knocked on the door of her brother's lab.
"Whoever it is, I'm not in." a voice from behind the door shouted impatiently.
"Don't make me pick the lock, Francis Norman Blowhole!" Doris yelled. This was followed by the sound of footsteps, and a few seconds later, there was the scraping sound of a key being turned in the lock, and the door opened.
"Don't call me that, Doris." Blowhole complained.
"You've been in that lab for three weeks."
"And?" Blowhole rolled his eyes, "I really don't want to hear another lecture about how the chemicals are bad for my health."
"Little B…" Blowhole attempted to shut the door of the lab, in anticipation of a very long lecture. However, Doris wedged her foot in the door, holding it open, "I want you to take me shopping."
"Ask Kowalski."
"He's dead." Doris uttered the words hollowly, doing her best to make sure her brother didn't notice the stab of pain she felt at the mention of her late boyfriend's name.
"Ask Dalia."
"She's at Blue's having her amnesia and delusions of being me treated."
"Ask Clemson. He's a nice young man…"
"He's boring, and stop telling me who to date."
"Go by yourself." Blowhole made another attempt to shut the door, painfully crushing Doris' foot between the door frame. Blowhole didn't seem to care.
"When you take me I get to jump the ques. Anyway, I can't fly a plane, and there's nothing around, since we're in the middle of the Atlantic ocean."
"And I almost always nearly get arrested," Blowhole muttered.
"Nearly, not actually."
"The answer's no. I'm working on something." Blowhole kicked Doris' foot out of the way before slamming the door.
"I'm going to stand here hammering on the door, all day," Doris threatened, "You won't be able to get any of that stupid mind control machine done!"
"Fine!" the door opened again and Blowhole stormed out, tossing his lab coat onto a chair behind him, "Where do you want to go?"
"How about… New York?"