Chapter 10
Once she saw Booth had identified the suspect, Bones stood and grabbed her towel, shaking it out as she briskly walked back to the SUV. Now it was time to dress quickly and help Booth bring the guy in. She had no modesty issues, but she knew that the suspect would be far more intimidated - and less likely to cause trouble - if they were both dressed while he remained nude.
No, she smiled to herself, he wouldn't be nude. Once he had been removed from the beach, he'd be naked. Naked, in front of both male and female authority figures, with all the sociological implications that carried. This was going to be most enjoyable. In fact, this had been one of the most enjoyable field assignments she'd ever gone on.
Once he was certain Bones was well out of the way, Booth strolled over to the guy and stood over him. "Hey, pal, wanna come with me and have a little chat?"
The guy glanced up at Booth, now clad in his baggy swimsuit. "Sorry, that sort of thing is frowned upon here. Besides, you're not my type."
Booth discreetly flipped out his badge. "And you're not mine, either, but I think you're gonna come with me. FBI."
The guy jumped to a sitting position. "What the hell? Am I under arrest?"
"Nope, I just wanna ask you some questions. Preferably someplace more private."
The man was starting to get belligerent, but his nudity tended to inhibit him slightly. "And if I don't want to come with you?"
Booth shrugged. "We can do this two ways. If you come along willingly, we can swing by your car and you can put on some clothes. If not, I can arrest you, cuff you, and take you in just as you are."
The man considered his choice. "OK, I'll come along. I don't know what you want, but you got the wrong man."
"Then I'll apologize and bring you right back here. Now, let's go. Where are you parked?"
He started to point, but Booth's glare persuaded him to not make any sudden or dramatic gestures. "Back over there," he said, indicating the same lot where Booth and Bones had parked. He reached for the towel, but Booth stepped on the corner. He wasn't about to let the guy flip a towel-ful of sand in his face. "Step back, I'll take this. And take off the sandals, too."
"Why?"
"If you start running, I want you barefoot. You'll get them back, don't worry." He unhappily stepped out of his sandals, then stood back and turned his back on Booth, who quickly tossed them on to the towel and picked it up with one hand, the other hand on the pocket with his gun. "OK, now, head for your car - but take your time."
As they reached the lot, Booth saw Bones heading towards them. Fortunately for both men, she'd slipped her clothes back on.
"Hey, Mr. FBI guy, this pavement's burning my feet."
"OK, here you go." He tossed the sandals to the ground by the suspect. "And behave yourself - that's my partner heading this way. Don't even think of playing any games." He then turned towards his partner. "Hey, Bones." He then dropped his voice so the suspect couldn't hear him. "Still positive?"
"Even more so."
"Good." He raised his voice again. "So, pal, you got a name?" The suspect paused. "Remember, in a couple of minutes, you're going to be showing me your ID. And then I'm going to run it."
"Ron Hyatt," he sighed. "This is my car."
"OK, Ron, here's what you're going to do. You're going to give your keys to my partner, and tell her where in your car your clothes and ID are. She's going to get them out of the car, search them for anything dangerous or improper, and then you're going to get dressed."
"What if I don't want her pawing through my car?"
"Then I arrest you and we head for the nearest police station with you just as you are." Booth smiled. "I'd rather not do that, as it's a lot more paperwork if I formally place you under arrest and later kick you loose, but if that's how you want to play it..."
"Fine. My clothes are in the trunk, my wallet is in my pants pocket with my ID."
"Thanks, Ron. And will my partner find or see anything else she might not like to see?" He paused, and Booth could tell he was debating something. "Remember, Ron - you can tell us about it, or I come back here with a warrant and tear the car apart. So you can save us some time and you a serious mess if you tell us up front."
"There's a little gym bag under my clothes. Inside it is a gun. But I have a permit."
"That's the smart way to play it, Ron. We don't like surprises, and you just saved us from one. That's a point in your favor. What kind of gun?"
"A Glock automatic."
"Loaded?"
"Yes."
"Safety on?"
"Yes."
Trigger lock in place?"
"No."
"Well, that's still not bad. If you have a permit, then you're in compliance with the law. Another point for you, Ron." He nodded to Bones, who was uncharacteristically silent. Now that they were dressed and off the beach, they were back in Booth's world, and she was enjoying watching him control the guy. "OK, go ahead and pop the trunk while Ron and I stand back here a bit."
Inside the trunk were shirt, pants, underwear, socks, and shoes. Bones (after slipping on the rubber gloves she carried everywhere) quickly searched each item of clothing before setting them in a new pile inside the trunk, pulling out the wallet. "Here's the bag, Booth. Want me to take out the gun?"
"No, I'll check that out. Ron, why don't you stand over there and turn you back for a minute?"
"And let you plant something in my car? No, thanks."
"Ron, you insult me. If I was going to plant something in your car, I'd just do it right in front of you. You're going to say I did anyway, and it'll be your word against both of ours. Whether or not you actually see it doesn't matter. I just don't want you to get any frisky ideas while I might or might not be watching you." Booth relented. "OK, how about this. Bones, put his clothes on the hood and keep an eye on him. While he's dressing, I'll secure the gun." As she moved towards the front of the car, he added a little warning. "And don't get any ideas, Ron. She's tougher than she looks. She knows about seven martial arts, and I've seen her take down crooked cops, serial killers, and Salvadoran gang members. Besides, you're doing a good job cooperating so far; don't screw that up."
As Ron morosely dressed, Booth slipped on his own gloves. (Bones had thoughtfully left a pair on top of the bag.) Inside the bag was just what Ron had promised: a Glock 9-millimeter automatic, fully loaded and safety on, in a holster. Booth removed the clip, removed the round from the chamber, and pocketed the ammunition, then returned the gun to the bag. "OK, your gun's secure, Ron. You dressed?" He looked up to see him putting on his shoes. "Now come back here."
Booth pointed around the trunk. "See? Nothing extra added or taken away. You played it straight with us, we're going to play it straight with you." Booth picked up the wallet. "You mind, Ron? Thanks."
In the wallet were several forms of identification, all in the name of "Ronald J. Hyatt," including a concealed-carry permit. Once he was certain there was nothing improper in there, Booth handed it back to the guy.
"OK, Ron, that's my Tahoe over there. We're gonna get in there and take a ride down the local police station, and borrow one of their interview rooms. And if this is all a big misunderstanding, we'll bring you right back here with our apologies."
"I should hope so."
As they got to Booth's vehicle, Booth sighed. "One last thing, and I'm sorry about this. But regulations say I can't transport a suspect without securing them, so I'm going to have to handcuff you. This does not mean you're under arrest, and I'll take them off once we get to the station, but rules are rules."
Bones smiled to herself. At every moment, Booth had kept the guy in his complete control, merely with words and body language. He'd never had to draw his gun, never even had to threaten to do so - just the very precise use of authority, shaped with positive and negative reinforcement. She watched as Booth helped Ron into the back seat of the Tahoe, handcuffed him, and shut the doors. "OK, Bones, let's go."