The Last Straw Part 3
This was what a stroke must feel like, Ezra thought. Only an acute medical condition could explain how he had quickly lost control and found himself having to take up residence in Purgatorio. He had finally stumbled his way into his office after the surprise in the conference room. He sat holding his head in his hands, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Hearing a soft knock he waved Agent Tanner in.
Awkwardly, Vin placed a brown, cardboard box on the neat desk. This must be the stuff the sharpshooter had mentioned earlier. The undercover agent vaguely remembered Vin talking to him after the team had given their condolences. Tanner made no move to open the box. Standish placed the carton in his lap. He assumed it contained maps, and information of the area. He opened the flaps to find an offensive blue and red plaid shirt. Quickly he closed the box and pushed it back to Vin.
"What is the meaning of this?" He questioned, pointing at the box as if it were a ferocious animal. Ezra hated plaid. Armani, Brioni and Prada did not make plaids.
"Umm, Ez, you can't go into Guns and Ammo dressed like that." Vin's blue eyes studied Ezra nicely cut Marzotto suit. Tanner took a seat in the guest chair. Softly, he continued to speak. "You need to blend in and be able to hang out at places."
Maybe he should go to the doctor's. He was not fit for duty. He hadn't thought this whole jaunt into Purgatorio through, and Ezra prided himself on being well prepared for an assignment. He would have to go in as a normal, average guy. Ezra visibly shivered-he was none of those-he was an extraordinary gentleman. Who happened to have a friend in need, and he had agreed to help. He couldn't attach any strings to friendship, could he?
The undercover agent leaned forward across his desk. "Ezra Standish does not hang out."
Vin let a grin slip over his lips. "What do you call what you do at the saloon?"
Without missing a beat, Ezra responded. "Associating with my co-workers."
Vin laughed and nodded. He realized Ezra had come around and was going to go through with the assignment. Tanner placed the box back on the desk.
Ezra nervously placed his hand on the offensive object. "I need to be alone for a minute. I'll be right out."
Tanner winked. He closed the door behind him leaving Standish with the clothing. Ezra slowly took out the shirt, and studied it. "Courage Ezra, courage."
All this time with the FBI and now with the ATF he had masterfully avoided an assignment which would force him into Wal-Mart clothes. He always found a way to keep his clothes, whether he went in as a drug dealer or an arms trader, he wore his own attire. Well, there was a first and a last time for everything. Ezra slipped out of his suit jacket.
The door clicked behind as Ezra made his entrance into the common room of the 11th floor. He was wearing the plaid shirt; a white tee shirt was peeking underneath as accent. He found a worn pair of Levis in navy. The only pair of shoes he had found in the box were work boots. Lovingly, he had wrapped his Ferragamo loafers and locked them in his desk draw before making his appearance.
"He looks like bad Hunter Ken." He heard JD say in the silent office. He looked at his teammates. All seemed to be struggling not to smile or laugh.
Buck came forward. His smile so wide, Ezra could see the whiteness of the ladies man's teeth. "Here." Wilmington handed a plain bag to Standish. "Me and the boys got you something."
Standish put his hand inside the crumpled paper bag and pulled out a short, off-white bottle. "I do not wear Old Spice." The others standing behind Wilmington were all laughing, unable to control themselves. Ezra raised his voice so they could him over the cacophony. "I wear Irish Tweed by Creed. It is worn by Prince Charles."
This only made the fits of laughter worse. Nathan and Josiah were clutching their stomachs, doubled over in amusement. JD had tears streaming down his face, and had to sit on a desk. Buck still in the grips of his delirium, haltingly said, "Ez, in case no one told you before-Prince Charles doesn't go to Purgatorio."
At least Chris and Vin had some decorum. They were laughing, but had covered their mouths, so as not to subject Ezra to any more indignity.
The undercover agent turned to his leader. He had a job to do, and he knew Chris would respect him. "I have a plan."
Chris gestured for Ezra to lead the way into his office to review the plan Standish had devised. Standish held his head up high as he walked to Larabee's office.
Larabee turned to his best friend and whispered, "Did you get the picture?"
Vin produced the small camera from his pocket. "Oh yeah."
Chris listened through earphones as Ezra entered Guns and Ammo to attempt to make a purchase. In a white van, across the street from the store, six men listened as Ezra talked to the clerk.
"I just moved into town, and with all these kids hanging around I think I need a gun, just in case."
The clerk 's response came through clearly from the microphone, which Ezra had placed in the pocket of his flannel shirt.
"I totally understand. It's like you walk down the street and see three drug deals before reaching the corner." Both men laughed at the comment.
Sitting next to Chris, Vin growled, irate over the casual statement. "If he's so concerned why doesn't he stop selling guns."
Larabee saw the sharpshooter's blue eyes were blazing with anger. The flippant remark had hurt Tanner, still reeling from the loss of one of the Los Lobos. It only strengthened Chris's resolve to bring the scum bag straw purchaser down.
The clerk stopped chuckling. "So you want something basic?"
"Yep, and nothing that's going to break the bank." Ezra said with a conspiratorial tone in his voice.
The six agents heard the case door slide open and the clerk place a gun on the counter. "This one should serve your purpose," there was a click of a gun's chamber being checked. "A Taurus Model 65, the best self-defense caliber for most people. It's list price is $313.00 for a blued finish."
There was a long pause, which was probably Ezra examining the gun. "I'll take it." The case was shut and there was an audible click of a lock being fastened.
"By law I have to put your information through the FBI's Insta check." The clerk told Ezra.
Standish lowered his voice, as if he was telling a secret. "Umm, well truth be told, I was convicted for a crime." Chris had arranged for the record of one Eric Simpson to read he had been convicted of driving under the influence of alcohol. "I was innocent, " Ezra continued. This elicited a laughing response from the occupants of the van. It was a statement they had heard numerous times from a variety of criminals. "But it's going to show up on my record." Larabee could tell the undercover agent was turning on the charm in hopes he'd be able to purchase the weapon. Therefore, another plan would have to be thought up. One not involving said agent having to dress in inexpensive clothing and live in Purgatorio. He had to hand it to the undercover agent, he was really trying to avoid having to take up residence in Purgatorio.
"Sir, I am sorry but I can't sell you a gun." The clerk responded with a terse tone of voice.
"Shot down!" JD exclaimed. "Sorry, figure of speech. You know what I mean."
The occupants of the vehicle grinned. Chris himself was finding his agent's discomfiture amusing. He had to stifle a laugh as he remembered when they went to the garage to show Ezra the car he would be driving.
"No," Standish had gasped upon seeing the 1988 maroon Dodge Daytona in the parking spot usually reserved for the Jaguar.
Tanner stepped in to qualm the undercover agent's fears. "Don't worry Ez, we just moved your car, right there," Vin pointed to a space a row down. Standish visibly relaxed when he saw the shiny, black vehicle was fine. He then turned to look at his temporary vehicle and grimaced.
"At least it is low to the ground," JD said with a smirk as he inspected the car by kicking its tires.
"Please, Agent Dunne, do not compare this poorly American-engineered vehicle with my own luxury automobile," he said, looking at the vehicle as though it made him physically ill.
"Ezra, you do know Ford owns Jaguar right?" Nathan said with a smile on his face. He drove a Ford Explorer.
"Yes, I do know," frustration edged Standish's voice. "I just tend to selectively forget," he mumbled the last part.
"Look, Ezra, it is only temporary," Vin said, glaring at the guys to stop the teasing for awhile. It was, after all, because of Tanner that Ezra had agreed to do this assignment. Chris knew that even though Standish complained and protested he was still committed to helping a friend, and seeing justice done. The undercover agent liked to project himself as the black sheep of the seven; the man on the fringe. The more he tried to distance himself the more he got teased by the others to show he belonged and they included him in their camaraderie. Chris had to admit, though, Ezra gave back as good as he got.
"Thank you, Agent Tanner, I plan to have the straw purchaser show himself sooner rather than later." With a loud squeak, he opened the driver side door. Vin threw him the keys, and awkwardly Ezra slid into the front bucket seat.
"Whatever makes you feel better," Chris replied as the rest of them walked to the surveillance van.
"Please?" Chris heard the plea coming through the headset, as did the others, bringing him to the problem at hand.
"What a sorry thing to hear. He's begging." Buck said shaking his head.
"Do you know anyone who can? You know on the side?" Ezra continued his plea to the clerk.
"That's against the law," the salesperson responded, obviously losing patience with the irksome customer.
Standish raised his voice in frustration. Chris knew he was not happy that the plan would have to go onto phase two. "You have a flag up there which tells me I have a right to bear arms. I need to be able to protect myself!"
"You are going to have to leave." The sales clerk stated.
The six heard Ezra huff and puff, and then the chime of someone leaving the store. From the window they could see Standish was outside glaring at the van.
He spoke into the microphone. "Agent Sanchez, I hope you can assure me that because of what I am going to do there is a place in heaven for me."
Josiah solemnly made the sign of the cross in Ezra's direction. Buck, JD, and Nathan followed the large man's lead and bowed their heads.
"Hell boys, he's gonna be livin' in the nice section," Vin said as he moved into the driver's seat and started the engine to the van. They pulled away from the curbstone and followed the Dodge Daytona to Ezra's new home.
Chris didn't think it was going to matter to the undercover agent. He was not going to be happy living in Purgatorio. Larabee could only hope the case would end quickly.
Six days had passed since he drove up to 995 East Trent Street. The fact that Agent Tanner was actually impressed with the surroundings scared Ezra. The home was constructed of cinder blocks providing very little warmth within the cold walls. Brown velour-covered furniture occupied the living room. In the bedroom, resided a full size bed, nightstand and a bureau all made of faux wood. They were not reminiscent of his antique furniture. At night he would lull himself to sleep with the thought, 'Courage, Ezra, courage,' and the knowledge one of the seven was outside.
He had entered into a routine of sorts. Each morning, Ezra awoke at an ungodly hour. He put on his work clothes and drove the Dodge to a construction site. There Vin would be waiting to take him to work. He was making it to work on time, and hoped Larabee was not getting used to it. He would go back to his old habits soon enough. At work he changed into his normal clothes, and reveled in being able to wear a suit for eight hours. At night, the routine reversed itself. He would then frequent the local haunts-convenience stores, bars, etc. Tonight he found himself at McGee's Pub, a lovely establishment situated within Purgatorio serving only the best Bud and Bud Light. His mission was the same- to let people know he wanted a gun, and maybe a certain straw purchaser would show himself.
He knew Agent Tanner was getting restless. Although their morning trips were as silent as usual, Ezra could still read the sharpshooter. It was not just because the straw buyer had yet to make an appearance. The time was shortly approaching in which Ezra was going to be pulled off the case. The manpower of the seven men was being taxed and they had other assignments to attend. No matter how much they wanted to catch the criminal, in a couple of days their efforts would have to end.
He ordered another beer and laughed at a comment made by the man sitting on the bar stool next to him. Most of the inhabitants must have thought him a curmudgeon. Yet, his neighbors thought differently of him. With a baseball cap low on his forehead, he thought about his neighbors.
Two days after he became a resident of Purgatorio he returned 'home' at night to find two children playing in his yard. It had been a long day at the ATF office and to return to these bleak surroundings did nothing for Ezra's mood. He walked up to the children and warned them. "You're on private property."
There was a lanky boy around six with dark, medium length hair and a girl not much older with her hair in a braid down her back. Both stopped running and turned to him, "So?"
It was already dark outside and Standish wanted these unmannered children to leave. "Don't you think you should be getting home? Isn't your mother looking for you?"
The boy began running again. The little girl, standing with hands on hips, answered. "Nope, she's working."
The undercover agent did not want to know why a mother would leave two children unsupervised. He was losing patience, and tried not to let it show. "Have you done your homework?"
"Yep," the girl answered in a monotone voice. She pulled her braid to the front, and began to examine the ends.
Ezra bent down so he was at the little girl's level. She had large brown eyes. "Have you eaten dinner?"
"Had some cookies," she said as she watched her brother run around the backyard. "Come on, Ricky, let's go home!" She yelled out motioning to the younger boy.
"Okay, Lily, coming!" He said a little out of breath as he ran as fast as he could and stopped suddenly in front of Ezra with a toothless grin.
The two waifs were walking away from him into the darkness. 'Don't get involved,' Ezra told himself as he was returning to the house. His conscience got the better of him and he called out to them. "Where do you live?"
They were at the end of the driveway. "Next door." The girl turned around swiftly, her braid bouncing in the air.
He sighed as he jogged up to them. "Seeing as we are neighbors. My name is Eric by the way. I feel it is my duty to escort you home."
They shrugged their shoulders, ambivalent about the perilousness of their surroundings. It was only a few steps, surely Ezra could make sure they made it home fine. Granted, Buck was watching, too, from across the way and probably found the whole situation amusing. Standish looked down at the two little ones leading the way. They were very trusting. Luckily, he was an ATF agent. It was damn fortunate nothing untoward had happened to these kids. They were at the doorstep. Not one light had been left on. Ezra tried not to feel anger towards the parents of these two. He had never met them. The little boy twisted the doorknob.
"Cookies are not a healthy meal. There must be something else you can eat."
"Dunno, maybe," the girl said as she entered the house, and was about to close the door.
Ezra stuck his hand on the door so that it would not close in his face. "I am not the greatest cook, but perhaps I can make you something to eat."
Ricky and Lily shared a look and a nod, and decided to let Ezra in. In the small home, similar to the one he was staying in, they pointed him to the kitchen. Wordlessly, he entered and began rummaging through the refrigerator. As he closed the refrigerator door finding nothing, he thought he had to remind these children to be wary of strangers. He could hear the television turned up loud in the other room. Finally, in the cupboard, he came across a box of macaroni and cheese. As he opened the box, he cringed at the memory of seeing Buck prepare some of the pasta. The mental picture of the powdered, fluorescent orange, imitation cheese that was sealed in the unlabeled white packet almost made him call for Ho Mein's for delivery; but the last thing he needed to do was to attract attention to himself. Hell, there was little guarantee that the Chinese restaurant wouldn't laugh out loud once he gave the address. So macaroni ala formage it would be.
He stayed awhile, made sure they ate and cleaned up, then, went back to his very humble abode. He left his phone number with them and kept checking on them through the window of the living room. He must have fallen asleep while reading A Tale of Two Cities, because, there was a loud, impatient knocking at the door as if someone has been trying to get his attention for awhile.
With his hand he brushed his hair away from his face. "Coming!" He opened the door to find a thin woman with lank hair wearing a waitress uniform.
"I just wanted to thank you," She said, and she pointed to the house next door. "My kids told me, and I wanted to make sure you are not some nutcase."
"I assure you, I'm not, ma'am. But. . ." Ezra replied to the woman who had the same eyes as her daughter.
"I know what you think, but you don't know." She hitched her handbag further up her shoulder. "Their father walked out on us. I have two jobs so I can clothe them and pay the rent, and I also go to school."
"I understand," Ezra replied. He had to give the woman credit. He may not of have approved of her parenting techniques. At least, she was keeping her family together, unlike Maude, who took every opportunity to send Ezra to stay with relatives. The children's mother interrupted his childhood reminiscing.
"Well thanks, Eric, and if you are ever at the Mug and Muffin ask for Meg. Coffee will be on the house." Meg said, as she headed down the walkway and made her way back to the house next door.
"Meg?" Ezra called out. "You won't mind if I keep an eye on them from time to time?" The undercover agent figured he could watch over them while he was in Purgatorio.
She stopped and took a moment to assess Standish again. "Nope."
Over the week, he discovered Lily was a budding artist and Ricky had a tendency towards math skills. Both, after their initial surliness, and outward toughness had turned out to be charming children.
The next day, after his incident with the children, he met the woman from across the street. He was getting into the borrowed heap of junk. He could not bear to call the Dodge 'his vehicle.' In a way, it seemed to degrade the Jaguar.
He heard the woman's engine sputter. The car was not turning over. She got out, wringing her hands and looking up at her house. Ezra looked at his watch. He had time to help. For once, since this whole farce had started, he would come in at his usual late hour. There was another bonus. Agent Tanner, the teacher's pet, would also be on the tardy list.
He walked up to the plump, older woman. "Ma'am, may I help you?"
She looked at him warily. Ezra wondered if he would get the same look if he were wearing his Brioni suit. He tried not to dwell on it. Soon enough, he would be wearing a perfectly tailored set of clothes.
"No, no, my car won't start," a faint accent tinged her words. "I don't want to bother my husband, he just got in from the late shift."
"May I?" Ezra asked, gesturing to the hood of the old vehicle. He opened the hood and looked around at the dark, dusty parts that made up the inside of the car. He had no idea what he was doing. He shut the hood. He looked at the distraught woman. "How about if I give you a ride?"
She wrung her hands again. "I'm a cleaning woman at the O'Neill building. Is it on your way?" Her eyes darted from him to her car.
"Yes, I pass right by there," Ezra answered and put his hand out gallantly for her to proceed before him to the Dodge. She stepped into the car, shut the door and fastened the seatbelt. Standish noticed she had maneuvered herself so she was against the door and as far away from him as possible.
The undercover agent started the engine and pulled out onto the road. Without taking his eyes off the street he told her, "I'm Eric and I don't bite."
She nervously laughed. "Carmen, I wouldn't have accepted the ride, but I missed the bus and I can't afford a taxi,"
"Not a problem." He wanted to say she didn't have to be nervous, that he was an ATF agent. Unfortunately, he couldn't. He could only get her to her destination as soon as possible.
Carmen was nervous and began chatting to bring her some ease. Ezra found it was common for people to react this way.
"You're new to the neighborhood."
"Yes," Standish answered as he turned onto the highway, waving as a driver let him proceed on the ramp.
"My husband, Lenny, and I moved here a year ago. I have an elderly mother with Alzheimer's. Her bills are a lot so we had to make some changes." She explained to the undercover agent.
Within moments, he pulled up to the building and he let her out. "Have a good day." He said to her as she alighted from the vehicle.
"Thank you," she replied as she slammed the door.
Ezra watched as she walked in front of the Dodge and safely entered the building. He headed to the construction site and thought about the people he had met. Purgatorio was full of surprises. He had assumed, somewhat discriminatory of him that the town was made up of drug dealers and troublemakers. He never thought about the circumstances surrounding the inhabitants. It gave Standish something to contemplate.
Ezra was still thinking about his neighbors as he threw some money on the bar of McGee's to cover his beers. He was going to call it a night, an uneventful night. He would make himself a cup of coffee and have some muffins. Carmen had been bringing by some baked goods since he had done the kindness for her. In his kitchen, he would look at Lily's latest painting, which he had taped onto the refrigerator.
He understood. It wasn't like he had an epiphany. It was something he always knew. He loved Maude. He respected her intelligence and savvy. He did not respect her. There were his neighbors making their way through life the best way they could-honestly. They were not on a quest for riches or power. They wanted to make a decent life for themselves and leave a legacy for their children. He wanted to help, granted it would never be on the same level as Agent Tanner, but Ezra was practical and liked to concentrate on the individual rather than the masses.
He got into the car trying to ignore the harshness of the maroon interior under the street light. As he pulled away from the curb, he made up his mind what he was going to do tomorrow.
He was so caught up with his thoughts that he didn't notice someone was keeping a keen eye on him.
He pulled into the driveway; his headlights throwing light well into the deserted backyard. A glance next door told him Meg was home for the night with her kids. He fumbled a moment with the keys and then opened the front door, as he turned he saw Nathan pull up and settle in for the night. He tossed his keys on the kitchen table and picked up the phone.
"Larabee," came the reply after two rings.
"Just letting you know I won't be in tomorrow," Ezra said as he stretched the phone cord and opened the refrigerator door, which was littered with Lily's drawings.
The undercover agent heard the loud sigh Larabee gave, which meant he wanted an explanation. The southerner didn't want to hear the words that he knew were incorporated with that sigh. 'You better have a stellar reason.'
Standish took out a bottle of San Pelligrino mineral water, and poured himself a glass. "My residence is in need of some maintenance."
"You pay condo fees," Chris answered, puzzled by the undercover agent's request.
Ezra cleared his throat. His hand was cool from holding the glass and he placed it on his neck as he answered. "I mean here in Purgatorio,"
Larabee was frustrated and anger spiked his words. "I need the manpower. I can't have one of the team watching you mow the lawn."
Ezra wasn't looking forward to mowing the lawn. As he stretched the phone in the other direction he looked through the window, soon a visitor would need a machete to get to the door. Hell, the only gardening he had ever done was trimming a bonsai tree. "I understand, but I thought it would help me to blend in," Ezra continued trying to convince Chris it was in everyone's best interest for him to miss work for the day. "And it may assist in bringing a successful end to this case."
"Best I can do is have Vin check on you during the day," Larabee conceded after a long pause of dead air over the phone.
"Fine, I'll be here." Ezra replied, feeling strange he was not going to have a shadow tomorrow.
Chris changed the subject. "How'd it go tonight?"
The undercover agent would have loved to say that finally there was a lead. Instead, he softened the truth. "Yet another establishment knows I want to purchase a weapon."
Larabee's voice held a tinge of disappointment. Standish understood. The leader didn't want to be the one to tell the sharpshooter that the assignment was over with unsuccessful results. He was also under pressure from his supervisors to work on other more 'important' cases.
"Okay, Ezra, let me call Vin so he doesn't pick you up tomorrow."
In the morning, the thoughts of helping his neighbors quickly faded as sweat began to trickle down his chest. Ezra did not like manual labor. He had mowed the lawns of his two neighbors and thought for all his efforts the property value in the area should skyrocket. He found the lawnmower in the basement of the house. Luckily there was still some gas in it. Though, as he tried to complete the back yard of his present residence he was struggling to start the engine. He pulled and it sputtered. He did not hear when a man crept up the shaven lawn.
"Hey!"
Ezra was visibly startled by the heavyset, pock-faced man before him. "Sorry, didn't hear you." Standish wiped his greasy, blackened hands on a dishcloth he had brought outside. He felt his body tensed as it prepared to fight a possible threat.
"Yeah, whatever," the man said as he hunched his shoulder and his beady eyes darted. "You," the pock-faced man jutted out his chin, "still interested?"
"In what?" Ezra asked the rude man.
"You have shit for brains?" The heavyset man squinted. "You wanna buy a gun?"
Standish did not find it refreshing to have his intelligence insulted by a criminal. He kept his cool exterior and replied, "Yeah, are you selling?"
"Yep, not here, though." The heavyset man scratched at a pockmark. "You gotta come with me."
The undercover agent let his eyes look out on the street. There was not a familiar car there. "Let me wash up and grab my wallet."
"'Kay," The man followed Ezra into the house. Standish looked to the phone. He was hoping he was going to have some privacy to make a phone call. He would have to do this solo.
He briskly washed his hands, removing as much as the grease as possible and stuffed his wallet in his back pocket. "Ready."
Ezra followed the man down his driveway to an old Ford Escort parked across the street. As they pulled away from the car, the house became smaller and smaller in the distance leaving Standish with an uneasy feeling.
The driver expertly darted down side streets into parts of Purgatorio Ezra had never seen. He felt as if he was in a complicated labyrinth without a solution. He memorized as many street names as possible, and then went to work.
"You're a hard man to make contact with."
The pock faced man made another sharp turn. "Yep, I like it that way. I'm the only gun facilitator in Purgatorio."
Ezra gripped the dashboard as the vehicle surged forward. "Thought they called people like you straw purchasers?"
The man grinned. "I like to think of being the middleman in an entrepreneurial venture. I buy the guns and sell it to you who can't, making a little profit of course."
"Of course," Standish replied. The car was slowing down. Ezra glanced around taking in the scenery. They were near buildings that seemed identical. Concrete masses that went up eight floors, intermittently dispersed were warehouses.
"We're here," the heavyset man said as he parked the vehicle. He led the way to one of the buildings. A man larger than Josiah guarded the metal door, which was tinged with rust. Ezra saw the two men exchange a nod and the large man opened the door.
The hallway before Standish was dark and littered with paper. Ezra continued to stay in character. "I know this is illegal, but there's not going to be any trouble is there?"
The metal door clanged loudly shut and Ezra was unable to hear the answer.