Callen shrugged his shoulders as he got out of the car, getting himself into character. He had parked the vehicle a few blocks away, as most of the gang members only had classic Mustangs. And as much as he wanted one, it was out of his budget.
So instead, he had waltzed down the streets like he owned them. People scattered from his way respectfully, and Callen was glad that he had been in the area before. It gave him an edge, since most people already know that he was dangerous (not his name, though, which was good) and stayed out of his way.
He walked up the dirty steps into a rundown ruin of a house, and was met by a large man who was basically the bouncer of the joint.
"Get out."
Except he didn't take bribes.
Callen crossed his arms, using his piercing stare as a natural advantage to try and get the bigger man to back down, and spoke with a cockier voice than he felt. "Tell Esteban that Jacob Tanner is back in town."
Esteban was one of the ringleaders of the local gang, who called themselves the 'Runners'. To G, it seemed like the exact kind of name not to name a gang that was prone to violence. 'Shankers' or 'stabbers' would fit much better.
The big man narrowed his eyes at the order, but after a few moments he nodded and disappeared up the stairs. This was his chance. According to the intelligence he had acquired, the terrorist known as Dawson was hidden away in the basement (so cliché!) and Esteban stationed his 'office' on the top floor.
With a disgusted eye roll, Callen walked to the stair opening. When did gangs get this predictable? Or is this one just that bad? Descending the banged up stairs, he made sure to keep his footsteps quiet. He reached the bottom of the staircase with no trouble, but lightly touched his pocket where he knew his phone was, just in case he had to make a quick 'SOS' call.
"What are you doin' down here?" a gruff voice barked at him, and he swung his head to look at the tattooed man who had just turned the corner.
"Esteban told me to give a message to Dawson," Callen responded, the lie rolling off his tongue with ease.
The man scowled, sizing G up before giving a curt nod and continuing down the hallway. G breathed a sigh of relief, walking the opposite way. Now was the hard part: finding out what room Dawson was in, and getting the terrorist out of the gang's territory and into NCIS hands.
"Hold on a second!" a voice bellowed from behind him, and he turned around with an easy grin, deciding to go with a cool and carefree attitude. The voice belonged to the same tattooed man from before, and two other guys were with him. One of them had a crowbar resting in his hands, and the other had the body of a quarterback. Not good.
"Esteban only told three of us the bomber's name. Me, himself, and his bro. Guess who isn't one of them three?" The tattooed man boasted, and Callen mentally winced. Big burly guys were bad, but the ones who probably failed kindergarten were even worse.
The tattooed man elbowed the quarterback guy, who nodded and cracked his knuckles in a cliché 'gonna kick your ass' move. G took a step back, both hands raised slightly. His Glock was tucked in the waist line of his pants, but he wanted to try and get this done cleanly.
"Whoa, whoa! I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstanding, guys. Let's just talk to Esteban, no need to start throwing punches!"
Crap. That came out much more whimpy than he had been aiming for. It was the stupid name, he berated himself, it's messing up your game when you have to keep saying it.
"How about we talk with Esteban and your dead body?" The tattooed man threatened, stepping forward to stand next to the quarterback. The one with the crowbar copied his move. G tensed, knowing that his ruse hadn't worked. He should get out of the place while he had the chance.
But if he left, Dawson would know that the feds were onto him and he's leave town. Maybe even the state, or smuggle himself into another country. So Callen resolved to stay, determined to get Dawson into custody. Allowing his gaze to flicker around the room, he leaned his feinted to the left before taking off to the stairs. They were bigger than he was, so he would have a better chance of taking them out on the narrow stairwell.
He made it up the fifth step before he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him backwards with a harsh yank. Damn. Guess these guys are called the Runners for a reason. Wicked fast gang boys do not equal a healthy me, Callen thought wryly to himself before he landed roughly on the hard ground.
His air left him in a loud but controlled gasp, and G had a moment to try and suck back in some before a kick landed on his ribs, to which he automatically curled up. And thus the beating began.
He heard the clang of the man's crowbar falling to the ground, which was the only warning he had before another foot began the assault on his body. They were mostly aimed for his chest, and G was surprised that he hadn't felt a rib crack yet. Bruises were going to be plentiful, though.
A heavily tattooed arm grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him up to deliver a hard punch to his face, and Callen knew that he was going to have a black eye for awhile. But he was off the ground, now, and he punched the man back, feeling a harsh triumph at the crack of the man's nose.
Trying to fight your way out when you're curled up on the floor being attacked on all sides was hard. But now that he was standing (albeit wobbly), he had a chance.
The tattooed man recovered from the punch, and with a yell charged G, who dodged to the side before inflicting a solid punch to the back of the man's neck, effectively knocking him out.
The quarterback was coming up on his left, and the one who used to have the crowbar was standing next to him. G angled his body to best defend himself, but was cut off a loud shout.
"Hey! What are you thugs doing?"
The voice was familiar, and Callen wracked his brain for where he heard it before. It was right on the tip of his tongue, but when he tried to place it with a name or face it vanished.
"This guy ain't one of us! He's probably a cop. He was tryin' to find you." The quarterback replied. The tattooed man let out a low groan as he slowly woke up, and the crowbar guy had picked up his crowbar.
"Well, let me see him. I'll figure out how to handle him."
The two awake gang members nodded, and lifted up the tattooed man to drag him away.
"Turn around, then, Mr. Cop." The voice ordered and-having no other option- G turned obediently. What he saw made his jaw drop ever so slightly, and his eyes to widen incredously.
"…Jacob? You're Dawson?"
The man in front of him had changed since they had last seen each other. His hair was a shaggy blond (and G couldn't help but compare it to a slightly-shorter version of Deeks'), but his gray eyes were a sharp as ever. There was a long scar on his cheek that wasn't there before, as well as a haunted look that consumed his features. But when the man smiled, the person G knew came forward again.
"Callen! What are you doin' here?"
G wanted to answer, to laugh as they had done many years ago, but stopped himself.
"You didn't answer my question, Jacob."
Jacob sighed, running a tanned hand through his hair. "Stubborn as always, I see. But if you must know, than yes, I am Dawson. I really didn't think it would be that hard to figure out. It is my last name, you know." He paused, seeming to think over what he was going to say, "Now answer my question. Why are you here? I haven't seen or heard heads or tails of you since that last bust. Some higher-ups came to me the next day, said some bullshit about you quitting FBI."
"I did quit."
"Sure you did, Callen." The sarcasm was thick, as it always had been in their banter.
"Okay, fine. Maybe I quit seconds after they tried to fire me."
"I thought so. Why don't we catch up in here?" Jacob motioned to a door, and G hesitated, not sure if it was an okay thing to do. Finally, he nodded and followed his old partner into the room. Perhaps he could find some information that hadn't been found before.
.~.~.~.
NCIS: LA EAGLE NEST
Eric frowned, punching buttons on his keyboard. Hetty waited impatiently for him to fix the static coming from the feed from Callen's phone. His GPS tracker was working, but for some reason as soon as G had entered the basement, some sort of signal had interrupted.
You had better get back here in one piece, Agent.
.~.~.~.
I have to thank all of you for your kind words. The next update may take even longer than this one, I'm sorry, for the funeral and services are coming up and I'm trying to help get everything in order.
Thank you for reading. :P
