A/N: So this chapter is a unique in that it's told from three different character's perspectives (you'll see as you read along). It's also one of the longer chapters but it serves as a pretty good introduction to our characters in their alternate lives. I'd also like to point out that this story sprouted from a single image of Timothy McGee in his brown trench coat that he wore early on in the show and a 1920s style suit, fedora and wire-rimmed spectacles that I couldn't get out of my head until I figured out why. This story is what I came up with. Hope everyone enjoys it as much as I had fun writing it!
Chapter 1 – Public Faces
Five Days Later
He sighed as he walked up the street towards a newsstand.
He pulled his long tan overcoat closer to his body against the chill. It was late March but winter didn't seem to want to let go this year. While it had rained last night, the temperature was barely above freezing and the damp air felt even colder than it should, especially with the light breeze.
Suddenly, the wind picked up and he was forced to grab his hat before it was ripped from his head.
He could do without the gusty winds too, he thought as he reached the newsstand manned by a young kid who probably should be in school. But from the looks of the brick that was holding the papers in place, he thought that the kid had enough sense that maybe he didn't need it. Although, on second glance, the kid couldn't have been more than nine or ten years old. Common sense or no, he should be in school.
"I'll take a paper," he said as he held out a nickel. The kid nodded and handed him a couple pennies with his paper. He scanned the headline that had caught his attention. The fact that it was in large, bold letters didn't hurt.
'IDENTY OF MUTILATED BODY STILL UNKNOWN'
"That's something, ain't it, mister," the kid said looking up at him intently.
"Yeah, something," he replied half-heartedly as he adjusted the small, circular, wire-rimmed spectacles that he wore. He skimmed the first few lines of the story but noted that there wasn't anything new in the article.
"I wonder who he is and what he did to make someone that mad," the kid said as he looked down at the stack of papers. "And I wonder if we'll ever find out who he was. I heard from a cop that he didn't have much of a face left. Looked like someone bashed it in with a baseball bat."
He shuddered. He had heard that too. And more. Sometimes it didn't pay to be friends with the city coroner's assistant. It especially didn't help that his friend seemed to be fascinated by the various ways people were killed and he liked to share his fascination with anyone within earshot.
He looked down at the kid critically. The kid was far too interested in the mystery man's brutal death. "What's your name, kid?" he asked.
"Nicholas Miller," he replied crossing his arms over his chest.
"Shouldn't you be in school, Nick?" he asked.
"Day off," Nick replied jauntily.
He doubted it but didn't question the kid further. He didn't have the patience to deal with a little hoodlum today. His neighbors had kept him up all night as they alternately fought and made up. And thanks to the thin walls, he heard practically everything.
He took a moment to readjust his glasses, thanked the kid and hurried down the street to a diner which had been his destination before he stopped to pick up the newspaper. He smiled at the waitress as he entered the diner. It was always nice to see Elaine in the morning. The fact that it was warm inside was nice too.
"Morning, Mr. Gemcity," she said as he took off his coat. He sat down at the counter as far from the door as he could and unfolded the paper as she poured him a cup of coffee with a bright smile. "They're still printing that horrible story?" she asked as she noticed the headline.
"Seems so," he replied with a sigh. "News must be slow lately."
"So you're saying that nothing worse has happened to knock this off the front page?" she asked.
He snorted and nodded. "Ain't that the truth. I'll take the usual."
"Coming right up," she said as she walked away.
He skimmed the story but there was nothing new. Sometime in the middle of the night three days ago, someone had deposited the mangled remains of a man in the center of Washington Circle. There had been no witnesses and so far, no one had been able to identify the naked man who had been found hanging from a tree by his wrists.
The story might not have been nearly so interesting if not for the unusual message left with the body. Actually, those in the know knew that the body was the real message but the mysterious message had caught the interest of the press. Aside from being brutally tortured and murdered, the man had a single word carved into his back.
Thief.
It was obviously a message that the man had stolen something but the general public didn't know what it meant. But from what he overheard on the streets, people were having a good time speculating who he had been and what he had stolen. And most people's guesses were close to the mark – that it had something to do with bootlegged liquor and the crime that went with the highly profitable and illegal spirits.
And they were right. Which meant that the cops were having a hard time finding anyone who was willing to admit that they knew anything about the man. And there were a lot of people who knew what the message meant, and a lot of people knew who the man was. But no one was willing to talk about it lest they be the next body to turn up with the word snitch carved into their backs.
He included himself in that list of people. Even thinking of it gave him chills.
He hadn't known Terry Spooner personally but he knew of him and he had met Terry once in passing. And he knew that Terry worked for James Napolitano or Jimmy Naps as he was more commonly known on the street.
Jimmy Naps was one of the more prominent businessmen in DC. He owned a variety of businesses ranging from restaurants to importers of foreign goods to factories. All that made him a wealthy man and that wealth earned him political clout within the city.
But that was only the tip of the iceberg for James Napolitano. He also owned the majority of the illegal clubs in the metro area and held control over a large portion of the bootlegging, racketeering, gambling, and prostitution businesses. He was the Prohibition Unit's dream bust but so far he had managed to keep his nose clean. It was largely speculated that he owned most of the local police, judges and politicians, which would add bribery and probably blackmail to the list. It was the only logical explanation.
And Terry. Terry Spooner was the man behind the money. He was Napolitano's personal accountant. It had been his job to launder the money Naps made from his less than legal businesses. And he had been very good at it too. Evidently, he thought that he was good enough to skim some off the top for himself but he had been caught and he paid for it with his life.
His death sent a message to everyone in the city that you don't steal from Jimmy Naps and get away with it. It also said that no one was safe from a terrible fate no matter how close to Jimmy they might be. And if Jimmy was willing to inflict that much pain on a friend, no one wanted to see what he'd do to an enemy.
As someone in the accounting business, it gave him the chills. He just hoped that any future employer of his wouldn't take a page out of Naps' book. Not that he planned on stealing money from any future employers. But these mobster types weren't exactly bound by the laws of evidence or the creed that you are innocent until proven guilty of a crime.
"Any luck finding a new job, Thom?" Elaine asked as she set a plate of bacon, eggs and toast on the counter in front of him.
He pushed the paper aside and shook his head.
"Not yet, Elaine," he replied as he picked up his fork. He frowned. He had been out of work for a month now. And it wasn't for a lack of opportunities. He knew of nearly a dozen openings for an accountant, both legitimate and for less than legal businesses, but he hadn't been hired and no one could give him a good reason as to why. It was as if he had been blackballed from the entire accounting industry.
"I'm just lucky I put some money away for a rainy day," he added. "Too bad it won't last forever."
She nodded sympathetically as she leaned onto the counter. At this time of the morning, the diner was practically empty, so she could take a moment to chat with him. The only other patrons in this late in the morning were a pair of older men chatting away in Italian over coffee in the booth at the opposite side of the diner, a man dressed in an overcoat sitting near the door reading the paper, and a scruffy man in well-worn workman's clothes seated at the far end of the counter huddled over a cup of coffee.
"If only money grew on trees," she said as she looked around. "I would get out of this dump and move some place with a beach. I've had enough of this weather. Summer needs to get here quick. Heck I'd settle for spring."
"Give it a couple more weeks," he said as he ate. "Before you know it, we'll be complaining about the heat."
"I wish," she replied standing up. The owner had just come out of the kitchen. "I don't like this cold rain." She hurried away and attempted to look busy.
As he ate his breakfast, he skimmed through the paper. Most of the articles weren't anything extraordinary and he hardly had any spare money to his name so he didn't pay much attention to the ads for new shoes or the latest jalopy to roll off the line in Detroit. The only interesting article he found was buried on page six and was only three short paragraphs.
The reporter was seeking more information on the various bootlegging rings in the tri-state area. He cited the numerous recent crimes that were blamed on illegal alcohol and demanded to know what the Prohibition Unit was doing to curb the illicit trade. As usual, the Bureau of Prohibition didn't have a comment. Or at least Bureau of Investigation Agent John Charles didn't have a comment.
Typical of the Bureau.
He folded his paper and was just sorting out the coins to pay for his breakfast when the man dressed in the overcoat stood and walked towards him. The man took a seat next to him and waved Elaine off when she approached them. She frowned and walked over to his table and started to collect his dishes.
"I couldn't help overhearing that you're looking for a job," the man said.
He examined the man in the overcoat cautiously. He was older, nearly bald but seemed fit and his blue eyes were bright and alert. They seemed to take everything in, which set him on edge. There was something suspicious about this guy.
"Yeah," he replied cautiously. "But then again so are a lot of people."
"Well I think I might have a position for you," the man said.
"And you are?" he asked as he set the coins on the counter.
"Tobias Fornell," he replied holding out his hand. He cautiously shook it. Suddenly Fornell leaned in and whispered, "And I know you are Mr. Gemcity."
Surprised, he leaned back.
"How do you know my name?"
Fornell stood and said, "Let's take a walk while we discuss this opportunity."
"Sure," he replied as he stood. "I'll see you tomorrow, Elaine," he said as she pocketed his money and began to stack his dishes.
"I'll look forward to it, Thom. Take care," she said as she disappeared into the kitchen.
He stepped over to the door and pulled on his coat and hat before he followed Fornell out into the streets. He unconsciously tucked the paper under his arm and thrust his hands into his pockets as they walked.
"How do you know who I am?" he asked once they had started down the street.
"You shouldn't be so surprised," Fornell said coolly. "You have a reputation in this city." When he didn't reply, Fornell added, "From what I've been told, you're very good at what you do. If your last employer hadn't made some unwise business decisions, you'd still be happily employed."
He examined Fornell. There was something off about him. Despite his confidence, he had an air about him. One that seemed to indicate distaste for what he was doing. The man also didn't seem to know as much about him as he wanted 'Thom' to think he did.
"Yeah that was unfortunate," he replied vaguely. He wasn't going to give this strange man the information he was obviously fishing for. "So here I am at ten in the morning, just done with my breakfast and wandering the streets with a cryptic stranger with a cryptic job offer."
Fornell smiled at that but took his meaning to get on with it. "My employer would like to interview you for an open position," Fornell said and this time, the distaste slipped into his voice. Instantly on edge, he suspected that he knew who the employer was, and which position was open. "I see you know who I'm referring to."
"You won't find anyone in my business who won't know who you are referring to," he replied coolly. "What makes you think that I'm going to want to take a job with him?"
"If I were you, I wouldn't," Fornell replied to his surprise. Fornell caught himself, cleared his throat and said, "But you aren't me and I'm not unemployed. He pays well. Or so I'm told."
"Am I going to be given the opportunity to say no?" he asked half fearful of the answer. He suddenly wondered if Napolitano had been preventing him from obtaining another job because Naps wanted him to take Spooner's job. The thought that Naps had been eying him for so long was chilling.
"I wouldn't know that," Fornell replied. "I'm just delivering the message. A car will be by your apartment at eight to take you to your interview. Good bye, Mr. Gemcity," he said as he hailed a cab.
He shook Fornell's hand and watched as Fornell got inside the cab. He stood riveted in place as the car trundled away until it was out of sight.
Tucking the paper under his arm, he hurried down the street towards a small park.
He was both elated and terrified at the same time. This was something he had been hoping and dreading for eight months. Eight long months he had been trying to make a name for Thom Gemcity as an accountant and money launderer all in hopes that he could get inside Napolitano's network. Then he would work to help take Naps down from the inside, if he wasn't pegged for a Fed.
It seems like his alter ego finally was going to get his chance.
He fought down the fear that was threatening the security of his breakfast. The stakes had just gone up dramatically and he wasn't sure he was ready for this. Going undercover as Willie Taylor's accountant was one thing. He had been an independent club owner and not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
James Napolitano, on the other hand, was a notoriously intelligent man. Few people could pull the wool over Napolitano's eyes and get away with it. How on earth could he hope to do it? He was a terrible liar!
"Excuse me," a man said, drawing his attention and putting a stop to his worrying. He looked down and noticed the scruffy man from the diner was sitting on a bench. "You done with your paper? Mind if I have it?"
He looked into the familiar eyes of his partner and nodded. "Yeah," he said as he handed over the paper. Fornell had interrupted their planned meet. Thankfully his partner had had managed to improvise a second meet. "If you're looking for work, you won't find anything before page eight. Try five or six."
"Thanks for the advice," Tony said as he took the paper. Message delivered, Tim hurried on his way. He had a lot to do before tonight.
Tony opened the paper and made a motion of reading it for the next thirty minutes. When he was done, he folded it and tucked it under his arm. He hurried back to his apartment and after a quick wash and change of clothes; he left again this time as a respectable citizen, albeit a respectable citizen armed with a couple knives and two different guns.
He hailed a cab which quickly took him to a nondescript building in a factory district. The building had a sign which indicated that it was a garment factory, much like the others on either side of it.
But instead of making for the main entrance, he circled the building to a side door that was labeled 'Boiler Room' and 'Danger: Keep Out.' Ignoring the signs, he knocked on the door and a slot slid to the side, revealing a pair of eyes. Before he could say anything else, the door opened, and he hurried inside.
"Hey Blue," he said as he nodded to the large man.
"Tony," he said with a slight nod. "You're early."
"I'm looking for that handyman, Gibbs. I thought I heard he was going to be in today. Is he?" he asked.
"Yeah. He's fixing the sink in the bathroom," Blue said in his thick English accent. "What do you want him for?"
"I haven't had hot water for three days in my apartment. My landlord says he fixed it but he's full of it. I'm sick of cold bathes."
"Can't say I blame you," Blue replied with a chuckle.
"It's not funny, Blue," Tony muttered as he hurried down the hall. After a dozen feet, the room opened but instead of a mechanical room, he found himself in a very large posh club.
At the moment, the chairs were turned upside down on the tables. A man was sweeping up the floor and a young woman was scrubbing the bar while a second woman was folding table linens at a table to the side. He nodded to them as he weaved through the tables, taking the most direct route to the bathrooms.
When he reached them, he could hear metal banging on metal, which led him to the men's room. He found Gibbs lying on the floor as he struggled with a bolt that seemed to be firmly rusted in place.
"You are a far braver man than I, Gibbs," he said as he knelt next to the man, careful to keep his clothes from touching the floor. "I wouldn't be caught dead lying on this floor. You know what goes on in here? I'm not just talking about guys bringing their girls in here for some private time. Blue said his boys caught a couple of guys in here the other night."
Gibbs looked up at him. "Yeah, hence the sheet."
Tony looked down and noticed the dirty sheet that was on the floor. "Good call."
"What do you want, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked as he sat up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. It wasn't exactly warm in this room which told him how hard Gibbs had been working to loosen the pipe.
"What makes you think I want something?" he asked with a grin. Tony watched as the older man glared at him. His smile slowly disappeared under Gibbs' intense gaze. "Ok so I usually want something."
"What is it this time?" Gibbs asked.
"Oh well," he said stuttering slightly. Even after all these years, Gibbs still managed to make him slightly nervous when he looked at him like that. "Well the boiler in my apartment is on the fritz. I've got heat but the water comes out stone cold."
"Talk to your landlord," Gibbs replied as he lay down again.
"I did," Tony replied. "But he's got a prior commitment." Gibbs perked up and looked at him. Tony nodded slightly.
While their undercover personas were largely independent of one another, they kept in touch with each other through various means. Most times they only made contact with each other once a week unless something unusual occurred. This week, it was his turn to meet Tim and he had selected the diner to make his contact using his 'man down on his luck' persona.
Since Tim could be more predictable, he had made it a habit to eat breakfast at the same diner each morning, which made it easier for them to cross paths. By nature of his job, Tim was a late riser and wouldn't reach the diner until after the morning rush so he had plenty of time to pull out his most worn clothes and spend an hour or so soliciting spare change from the men who were leaving the diner.
He had it timed pretty well now that he would have just enough to get a frugal breakfast and a cup of coffee down before Tim would enter the diner to eat his breakfast and read his paper. He'd nurse his second cup of coffee while Tim ate and read his paper. When Tim finished with the paper, he'd ask for it under the pretense of looking for work. Tim's answer would tell him if they needed to meet again and if they did, when.
But this morning, the balding man with bright blue eyes had interrupted their routine. He had been finishing his breakfast when the balding man entered the diner. Tony had watched as the man scanned the diner as if he was looking for someone specific, but he also recognized that the man was sizing up the other patrons in the diner too. Something about the stranger put him on edge.
He kept an eye on the balding man as he took a seat where he could see the door. The man ordered a cup of coffee and a Danish which he ate as he read the newspaper. But the moment Tim entered the diner, Tony noted that he only feigned interest in his paper. The man's real focus was on his partner.
So, when the bald man approached Tim, he strained to hear what they were saying and silently cursed that he was so far away. He hadn't been able to hear most of their conversation, but he'd heard enough to be concerned so he had followed Tim from the diner at a discrete distance. He had been close enough to hear the man offer his partner a job interview but not close enough to hear if the man had introduced himself.
He hadn't recognized the balding man as one of Napolitano's usual messengers. In fact, he hadn't recognized the man at all, which made him nervous for his young partner. Tim was still a rookie and he wasn't certain that the young man was up for an assignment like this. He'd have to assess that tonight when they met again.
He knew Tim's next stop would be his apartment so while Tim watched as the man got into the cab; he hurried to the park that was on Tim's path home. Then all he had to do was to wait for Tim to walk by and ask for his paper so that Tim could pass his message along.
Now he had to pass that same message along to Gibbs. Thankfully, Gibbs had work inside the Tin Angel this morning which made it easier and less suspicious for them to meet up and exchange news.
"When should I come by?" Gibbs asked.
"Five or six," Tony replied. "My place is on the corner of G and Fourth Northeast," he said giving Gibbs Tim's address. Gibbs nodded slightly to indicate he understood. "I hope this doesn't take too long. I have to work tonight. Some friends of mine are coming by to pick me up at eight."
"Got it," Gibbs replied as he lay down. "But it'll be closer to six. I have to go to Quicksilver after this."
"Quicksilver?" Tony asked pausing. The name rang a bell. He searched his memory to figure out why that club stuck out as odd. Suddenly it hit him. "Isn't that the club run by a woman?"
"Wouldn't know. I've never been there before. I'll find out," he replied as Tony stood. "You owe me DiNozzo. And not just for fixing the boiler."
"I know," Tony replied as he left the bathroom, his message delivered. "A bottle of bourbon it is."
"And none of the cheap stuff!" Gibbs called as he watched DiNozzo leave.
It was one thing for Tony to want to meet with him someplace more private but meeting at Tim's place meant that something was up. And given that Tony had put a time limit on their meeting made him think that they had either made progress or they had encountered a problem with their scheme.
Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to sort out which it was until they met tonight, so he lay down and returned to his work.
A little over an hour later, Gibbs strolled into the main room of Quicksilver carrying his basic toolbox. It was a smaller club than the Tin Angel but it was still large enough to hold a couple hundred people. Like the Tin Angel, Quicksilver was located below a garment factory, although this one made men's trousers. Gibbs could just hear the sound of the equipment above them.
There was an ample stage that was only slightly higher than the main floor which would allow the audience to feel as if they were part of the show. At the moment, only a drum kit and piano occupied the stage. Hard wooden booths on a raised dais lined the edges of the room and tables suited for pairs or larger parties were spread around the room.
It was a little worn around the edges but there were signs that repairs were taking place. It was freshly painted, the wood floor seemed freshly refinished and it was meticulously clean. Even the brick walls seemed to have been scrubbed recently.
He was eager to find out what Tony and Tim had to say that necessitated the first face to face to face meeting for all three of them in almost two months. They had seen each other fairly regularly over the months but it was rare that all three of them were in the same room at the same time.
But before that could happen, he had more work to do. Unfortunately, he didn't know how long the job would take. He didn't even know what the job was. He had only been told to be at Quicksilver and to bring his carpentry tools.
"Hello?" he called as he looked around. Unlike the Tin Angel which bustled with activity, there was no one to be seen.
"Be right there!" a woman called. Her voice echoed through the empty room, making it impossible to know where she was.
A few minutes later, two women appeared from behind the stage. His attention was immediately drawn to the young woman who was talking. She wore a short skirt that was cut just above the knees and a tight white blouse, and her hair was pulled up in children's pigtails, which revealed a strange mark on her neck. On closer inspection, he realized it was a tattoo of a spider web. That in itself was unusual but she wore some of the darkest makeup he had ever seen on a woman, including blood red lipstick. To top it off, she wore knee high boots that could have passed for work boots if they hadn't been made from black leather.
As strange as the young woman was, his eyes were quickly drawn to the other woman. She was strikingly beautiful and had long blond hair. She was dressed in a manner more typical of a respectable woman but she seemed to have an internal strength that was extremely attractive. He couldn't help but stare at her.
"I'll have to special order the fabric," she was saying. "To do what you want to do, it's going to take a lot of material. And it won't be cheap. I have good credit but not that good. I'll need at least half the money up front for the material. We can work out a weekly payment from there."
"If we have a good weekend, I'll have your money by Monday," the strange woman replied.
"Good," the blond replied. She nodded towards Gibbs as he tipped his hat.
After she had gone, he removed his hat and looked at the strange woman. He wasn't sure what to say about her appearance.
"You're the handyman then?" she asked curtly.
"Yes Ma'am," he replied. "I was told to come here with my carpentry tools."
She looked him over but didn't seem to approve of what she saw. "First of all, I'm not a Ma'am. My name is Abby. Secondly, the stage is over there," she said pointing. "See what you can do with it. I'd hate to have my new singer fall through in the middle of her performance."
"Well depending on how good she is, it might improve the show," he replied as he walked over to the stage. He didn't particularly care for the music generally played at these clubs but if he wanted a drink, he had to tolerate it.
Although now that he thought of it, that wasn't entirely true. There were a couple of blind tigers in his neighborhood that didn't bother with entertainment. But he wasn't so desperate for a drink that he'd drink swill. He missed the days where he could go down to the neighborhood saloon and enjoy a drink in peace and quiet.
"I am very good," a woman said from just off stage. She walked onto the platform and looked at him. "And Mr. Napolitano would not take kindly to you if your shoddy work led me to injury."
He looked at the woman. She was tall and slender, with dark brown or black hair. With the lighting, he couldn't tell. She was very beautiful and had a strange accent. He couldn't quite place it.
"My work is never shoddy," he replied firmly.
"We shall see," she replied. She examined him closely for a moment before she continued. "It feels as if the stage might collapse around here," she said indicating a portion of the stage near the front and center, right where she would stand when singing.
"This is my club," Abby said drawing his attention again. "So, if you have a problem, you see me. Abigail Sciuto and no one else."
"Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he replied, holding his hand out for her to shake, indicating that he accepted her as the manager.
She shook it firmly.
"Leroy Jethro," she said. "Not your usual name."
"Most people just call me Gibbs," he replied as he set his tool box down.
"For good reason," Abby replied. "This is my new singer, Miss Ziva David."
"David?" he repeated. "I'm not the only one with an unusual name."
"It is common where I am from," she replied.
"Which is?" he asked.
"Tel Aviv," she replied.
"Palestine?" Gibbs asked. "You're a long way from home, Miss David."
"I go where my work takes me," she replied. "I think that you find yourself in a similar situation, no?"
"I do," he replied as he set his tool box down. Carefully he tested the floor of the stage and after a moment, he retrieved a pry bar. With some effort, he pulled up a couple floor boards. After examining the problem with the help of a flashlight, he said, "The joist is split down the center of the wood, along the grain. I'll have to tear up the stage and replace it."
"I've got a show tonight!" Abby protested. "There's no way you can tear up my stage."
"Easy," he said as he saw her starting to get worked up. "I can patch it for now. A couple of boards on either side with a bolt on either side of the crack will shore it up. I can also add a couple of braces between the bad board and the good ones on either side. It'll take four or five hours. Plenty of time to get your stage cleaned up for Miss David."
"And you'll fix the stage when we're closed Monday?" she asked.
"I'll be by first thing Monday to fix your stage," he replied.
"Good," Abby said in relief. "Well at least it sounds good. Let's see if you can put your money where your mouth is."
Hours later, he chuckled as he watched Abby jump on the newly repaired stage. She looked at it and said, "Looks good as new. Feels like it too. Gibbs, you're hired!"
He smiled at her, bemused. Over the course of the afternoon, she spent most of her time dealing with club issues in such a rapid-fire manner that his head was left spinning. But he couldn't deny that she was good at her job and she certainly could handle the men that crossed her path. Despite her odd dress, Gibbs found that he liked this young woman. She had spit and fire.
"I work for Mr. Napolitano fixing all his properties," he replied mildly as he put away his tools. "It was no trouble."
"I know that," she replied quickly. "But he doesn't pay you to remodel buildings, does he?"
"No," Gibbs replied wondering what she was about to ask of him. "He doesn't."
"Well if you're interested in making some extra money, I've got big plans for this place. I mean you can see that the old manager didn't exactly keep up with things. This place needs some polish before it'll be up to par with the Tin Angel," she said.
Gibbs considered it. She could be a valuable source of information.
"What have you got in mind?" he asked. And he couldn't deny that the extra money wouldn't be welcome. Napolitano paid well enough for him to get by but a little extra pocket change never hurt.
"A whole lot of things," she said enthusiastically. Just looking at Abby, he could sense that she was going to ramp up in a hurry. "The bar needs to be refinished. I want a new backdrop behind the bar and new shelves for the liquor. You saw me talking with the seamstress. She's going to make some draperies for me and I want to replace all the dingy brass with silver. That's just to start."
"Well you decide what you want first and we'll talk price," he replied as he pulled on his coat. "I'll be back on Monday to fix your stage." She nodded. "Nice to meet you Miss Sciuto."
"A pleasure, Mr. Gibbs," she said shaking his hand.
He smiled. "Just Gibbs'll be fine." She smiled brightly.
As he was about to leave, a young man entered the club and looked around. When he spotted them, he hurried to their side. The young man was dressed in a well-fitted brown suit and had a neat haircut and a small mustache on his upper lip.
"Leroy Jethro Gibbs?" he asked.
"What's it to you?" Abby asked confrontationally before he could reply. The man looked at her and her strange dress oddly. He seemed to be mesmerized by her appearance. "Who are you anyway?"
"Charles Sterling," he replied jerking back to the present. From the way he spoke, it seemed as if they were supposed to know who he was.
"What do you want, Chip?" Abby asked curtly.
"My name is Charles," he replied annoyed. "I need to speak to a Leroy Jethro Gibbs," he said firmly. "It was my understanding that he would be here."
"I'm Gibbs," he replied.
The young man looked at him and reached into his jacket. He pulled out a small sealed envelope and handed it to Gibbs. "I was asked to give this to you."
Gibbs took the letter and ripped it open. There was a small single sheet of paper inside with a short, scribbled note in familiar handwriting.
'Gibbs, can't make it tonight. Unexpectedly called in for a meeting. You still need to keep our maintenance appointment.'
Gibbs looked up and noticed Charles was still standing in front of him, expectantly.
"You waiting for a tip?" he asked.
"It would be nice," Chip replied as if he were a cad for not offering one before.
Suddenly Abby grabbed his arm and spun him around. "Stay out of dark alleys, Chip," she said as she gave him a push. Reluctantly, Chip left the club looking darkly in their direction. Abby looked at Gibbs, grinning.
"Thanks," he replied as he picked up his tool box. He worked hard for his money. He wasn't about give it to a kid in an expensive suit just for handing him an envelope. "I'll see you on Monday."
"Sure thing," she said as he left.
He hurried outside and put his tools into the back of his truck. It was a short drive to his destination but he knew that it wouldn't be easy getting in unnoticed. Naps would undoubtedly have people watching his destination. This was going to take some time and some ingenuity.