Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS: Los Angeles or any of its characters
CHAPTER 14: A CONFRONTATIONAL BATTLE
Kensi hauled her knapsack up to Angelo's luxury yacht called The Italian Beacon. The early night sky fell over the city, a shimmering deep blue. The full silvery moon glowed down on the dock.
An uneasy wariness coursed through Kensi. She didn't know what was going on. She didn't know why Angelo was on the defensive or what he sent Deeks off to do. Kensi figured the rest of the team made some sort of breakthrough with the case. She wished she didn't have to sail off with Angelo. She'd much rather have her partner's back. But she knew this was their best hope to save Ray's family.
Once Kensi climbed up to the yacht, she dropped her bag down on the deck and went to look out at the ocean from the bow. She absentmindedly watched the bright beams of moonlight shine in the dark, reflective waters. Angelo set his own luggage aside and joined her.
"You better get in the cabin," he told her. "We'll be casting off soon."
"I'm fine," Fern said distracted.
"That's cool." Angelo shrugged. "The moon is pretty tonight."
Fern didn't respond to him. She kept staring off into the murky waters, her wavy hair softly billowing in the cool sea breeze.
"Francesca," Angelo began awkwardly. "Do you have any actual plans for the future?"
"To kick ass and get well paid for it," the savage warrior princess answered coolly.
"Good plan." Angelo grinned. "I've got a feeling that I just might have recruited the wrong pistol. How long are you going to shack up with that skeevy Max? You got a bright future ahead of you, girl. He's slowing you down."
"Me and Max live in the moment, gramps," Fern said sardonically. "We barely discuss what we want for dinner, let alone what our next job might be."
"So, you don't see yourself bearing Max's fat little babies," Angelo said pleased.
"The only thing I care about is finding the raciest, sheerist lingerie I can find and rocking and rolling with Max," Fern claimed bluntly. "And sharing in the riches."
"Okay, okay." Angelo laughed, flustered.
"Was that TMI?" Fern mocked. "You want to know what me and Max are about? Well, we really like sex and ass kicking – oh, and money, too."
"Yeah, yeah, you guys share a sweet, pure love," Angelo remarked with obvious sarcasm. "But you're going to be a solo act for a little while. I'm going to introduce you to some seriously cool people. They're kick ass ninja soldiers. I kid you not!"
"Cool," Fern chirped bubbly.
"We're casting off!" an anonymous lackey hollered.
Angelo dashed to the cabin, while Kensi resumed quietly staring out into the ocean. She found it worrisome that Angelo was sending Deeks into the line of fire. She hoped the guys had his back.
Max patrolled the docks with Santos, protecting Angelo's private warehouses. Soft lunar light illuminated the receding coastal waters, while fog lanterns hung from the warehouses provided dim yellow light. The cold sea soothingly swayed beneath them.
"I don't get why Angelo is creaming his panties," Max muttered to Santos. "Why does he think the law's on to him? He was less than forthcoming at the party."
"The feds nabbed his top supplier," Santos explained.
"Bummer," Max responded. "I take it he has more hardware in Catalina?"
Santos didn't answer. The two men spotted Thapa leaning over the wooden railing, looking up at a docked fishing ship.
"Yo, Gurkha!" Santos called, grabbing his attention. "Any pigs stop by?"
"Pigs?" Thapa squinted quizzically at the arms dealer, as the two men approached.
"Cops, feds," Max elaborated. "Fuzz if you're a dinosaur."
Thapa shook his head. "No, I haven't seen any of that."
"Good," said Santos.
"So far this war's kinda boring," Max complained.
"Excuse me, fellas," a gravelly, masculine voice cut in.
Max and Santos looked over their shoulders and saw a slim middle-aged bald man, wearing a yellow Hawaiian shirt and long tan shorts. A man Deeks and Thapa knew as Assistant Director Granger, but was a total stranger to their undercover characters. Santos had never seen him before. The older man only carried a fishing rod.
"This place look like a fishing hole, old-timer?" sneered Santos. "Get outta here. I'm sure someone nice will direct you to Walgreens or one of those old people stores."
"I just want to know what's biting," the older man claimed innocently.
"Your outfit for one," Max countered, eyeing the loud clothing.
"Look, man, it's a little late for fishing," Santos spat.
"It's never too late for fishing," the man disagreed cryptically. "I just caught the catch of the day."
Max narrowed his eyes. "You're a pig, aren't you?"
"I prefer fuzz, actually." The old man smirked.
Santos looked wildly between Max and the "fisherman." "Whoa, c'mon, man!"
"Get on the boat, Thapa," Max ordered, his icy glare piercing the not-so-unassuming fisherman. "And make some noise."
Thapa bolted up the gangplank, calling out a loud warrior's battle cry when he reached the deck. Max and Santos drew their guns as the fake fisherman drew his from behind his back, dropping his fishing rod. An army of black garbed feds covered in face masks, stealthily emerged from the thick shadows. All of them equipped with assault rifles.
"C'mon, man." Santos grabbed Max by the shoulder, slowly pulling him up the gangplank, kicking loose the knot in the mooring as he went.
Max still held his gun on Granger. Santos frantically let out the first shot. Granger fired back at them, hitting Santos in his right shoulder. The greasy arms dealer grunted in pain.
"You're slowing us down." Max threw Santos off the gangplank, sending him landing harshly down on the wooden dock. Max fired a warning shot at Granger and leaped up to the deck. The ship was loaded with barrels and crates, some of them half-opened.
Thapa and some of Angelo's other hoods sprang up on the ship's deck with their own assault rifles. They fired at the feds with reckless abandon. Granger and the rest of the law ducked for cover and fired back.
Through the curtain of fast, spraying bullets, Max managed to cut loose the anchor from the back. The ship slowly cast off. The gangplank snapped apart as the ship pulled from the dock. The firing of gunshots loudly rang on.
Keeping to cover, Max discovered a grenade launcher inside one of the half-opened crates. He grabbed it and quickly loaded it. He fired one round at the closest of Angelo's warehouses. For a split second, nothing happened. Then bedlam; as thousands of rounds of ammunition and several crates of grenades, exploded all at once. This really startled the feds, as well as the now handcuffed Santos.
"What are you doing?" one of Angelo's typically greasy thugs screamed at Max, as they all ducked for cover on the deck. The next warehouse over, the one housing the majestic tank, had already caught fire.
"Destroying evidence so Angelo can't be linked to gun running," Max explained wildly.
"You think it's that simple?" the thug shouted, perturbed.
"We need to blow the ship," Thapa helpfully piped up. "Many of Angelo's incriminating war weapons are on board."
"What! Are you crazy, too!?" the greasy thug was panicking.
"He's right," said Max. "The Coast Guard will swarm us long before we reach Catalina."
Another thug, still firing from the starboard side of the ship, took a bullet in the chest and slumped over the side.
"We'd better blow this rust bucket and dog paddle to the island," yelled Max.
"You're both psychos!" the greasy thug railed, appalled.
Back on what was left of the dock, Granger and the rest of the feds ceased firing when the battered ship drifted too far from shore. The ship then suddenly erupted into a loud, gigantic fireball, lighting up the clear night sky with fiery shrapnel.
Granger and the feds started. Callen and Sam removed their masks, eyes wide. Granger soberly stared at the smoldering fire in the ocean. "What are you playing at, detective," he whispered.
Kensi endured a rather uneventful trip to Catalina. The trip on Angelo's yacht was boring, but she dutifully kept a lookout for any suspicious boats or helicopters that may be targeting her insane employer. She didn't find any. On the plus side, Kensi didn't really mind fulfilling her dull duties. It prevented Angelo from flirting or trying to reach out.
Without fanfare, the two arrived at the island. Once the yacht was docked, Angelo and Fern quickly made their way from the docks and trudged off across the beach. Angelo gallantly carried his own luggage, while Fern slung her knapsack over her shoulder.
"Don't you have a limo or a Rolls Royce or something that could take us to the hotel?" Fern griped.
"It's not far," Angelo exclaimed, panting. "A bit of walking will do you some good. Helps strengthen those long hot legs."
"It wouldn't do me any good if a sniper smeared my brains all over the sand," Fern countered. "But I guess they wouldn't be aiming at me, now, would they?"
"Nothing like that happens here," dismissed Angelo.
Kensi trailed her attention to the ocean. The bright, waxing moon luminously hung in the night sky. She even spotted some stars. It was a welcome sight. Kensi hardly saw any stars back in LA. She deeply inhaled the sea breeze. If she didn't know any better, she'd swear she smelt something burning somewhere in the distance. Before she could fully consider this, a ten story, Mediterranean style building came into view up ahead.
"There it is," Angelo said brightly.
They climbed over the sand dunes and made their way to the hotel. When they finally entered the deserted tropical lobby, Angelo said a friendly hello to the woman working the front desk. Fern kept quiet and followed him into a private elevator. Angelo pushed the button for the top floor. The automatic doors opened up onto a penthouse.
"Home sweet home," said Angelo, as they stepped out of the elevator. The doors slid shut securely behind them.
"Is this really your home?" Fern looked around the spacious living room. It had high ceilings, clean beige walls with expensive, but impersonal looking oil paintings hung on them, thick tan carpet and leather furniture. There was also an open concept kitchen with stainless steel appliances.
"It is for now," said Angelo, setting his luggage aside. "I despise LA. I badly need to rule it."
"I thought your aim was world domination," Fern drawled.
Angelo scoffed. "The world! Have you seen what lives there? I want to rule what's worth ruling; Chicago, New York, hell, even Jersey has more clout than LA."
Fern was perplexed. "Then why are you doing all of this?"
The gaunt mafioso smiled, clearly happy she'd asked. "Baby steps, Francesca. When Cesar wanted to conquer a city, what did he do?"
"Sell cheap pizzas?" Fern guessed.
Angelo chuckled. "Almost. He starved them, surrounded them on all sides, took everything they needed just to survive. And only when they were desperate enough to make a mistake, he'd attack."
"Okay, sure." Fern shrugged. "But what does this have to do with Jersey?"
"Nothing's about Jersey!" Angelo snarled. "We're talking war. LA, the City of Angels, with even half the man power of the Southland Kings, I could take all of New York. If I can claim this sunny heap of a city, it would be like Nevada all over again. The Kingpins and wise guys of the east coast would have to bow down before me." Angelo waved to a closed door near the kitchen. "Your suite is in there. It has its own spa bathroom."
Fern gaped at him. "I'm staying in your penthouse?"
"You're my bodyguard," Angelo said logically. "I need you close."
"Yes, you do," Fern agreed. "Did that slag I wiped out at my house live with you, too?"
"I always keep my bodyguards close," Angelo answered vaguely. "Why don't you unpack and unwind."
"Shouldn't I inspect this place to make sure there's no bugs or hidden bombs in the toilets?" Fern asked.
"I had my maid do all that stuff before we got here," Angelo responded nonchalantly. "It's fine."
"You have a maid that inspects your penthouse for bugs and stuff?" Fern said impressed. "You are full of surprises."
"I find it shocking that you thought I wouldn't have such a servant." Angelo smirked, bemused. He moved to the frosted glass coffee table in the center of the room and picked up a remote control. He turned on a large flat screen TV adorning his wall. "We're safe, Francesca. Just relax."
Fern looked at him wordlessly, then crossed to the door leading to her suite. Angelo turned up a local news report on the TV. Fern paused while opening her door.
"Still no confirmation as of yet if this has been linked with any known terrorist groups. Once again, breaking news, a massive explosion occurred at the west LA docks earlier this evening," reported an anchor woman. "The blast destroyed a fishing ship and several warehouses were reduced to rubble. Unsubstantiated reports suggest that there has been a shootout with authorities. One arrest has been made. According to the LAPD, everyone on the fishing ship perished in the blast."
"Oh, dammit!" Angelo fumed. "This is us!"
"Wait, what do you mean this is us?!" Fern spat, dumbfounded.
"Max, Zapa and the rest of the boys were suppose to bring them war!" Angelo whined petulantly. "Not get blown up!"
"What?" Fern uttered.
Kensi's heart froze. Right then and there it felt like the world completely stopped. Before anything could sink in, Angelo's phone rang from the end table sitting next to the couch. The mobster quickly answered. "Yeah?"
Fern watched him talk on his phone.
"Send them up." He ended the call.
"Who's coming up?" Fern demanded.
"Evidently, some dead guys." Angelo shrugged, his tone uncaring.
They heard the private elevator arrive. Its automatic doors slid open. Max, Thapa and about twelve other men clambered out. They were all dripping wet.
"Max, what the hell happened at the docks!" Angelo snapped dramatically. "You boys were supposed to blow up the law! Not the other way around!"
"They took us by surprise," Max said lightly. "They got Santos. I had to take out your warehouses. Maybe it will slow them down, maybe it won't, but hopefully I got that dorky, old asshole. But yeah, you're done. I'm gonna take Fern and go."
"I'm not licked yet, Max," Angelo hissed, his eyes brightly sharp and deranged. "I still have enough merchandise to meet all my orders. The deal is still on."
"If that's how you want to roll. Your delusional fantasies worked so far." Max laid his eyes on his mistress. The sad, emotional look clouding her face didn't go unnoticed. "What's up, Fern? You look like someone ran over your poodle."
"I thought you were blown up," Fern explained, strengthening her voice. "We just heard it on the news."
"No, I didn't get blown up," Max told her with no emotion in his own voice.
"Why are you guys dripping your failure all over my floor?" Angelo sneered.
"We had to swim all the way here," Thapa explained.
"And you didn't leave any of your stylish suits for us in the lobby," Max added. He returned his gaze to Fern.
"What are your plans now?" Thapa asked Angelo.
"For starters, we stop destroying our own merchandise," said Angelo.
"I take it you don't approve of me getting blown up." Max crossed over to Fern, trailing muddy boot prints on Angelo's expensive tan carpet. The mob boss glared at the sodden thug venomously.
"I got used to you." Fern shrugged.
"Why's your stuff here?" Max gestured at her knapsack.
She'd forgotten that she was even carrying it. "Angelo gave me a suite in his penthouse," Fern informed him. "He says it has a spa bathroom."
"How thoughtful of him to do that for us." Max threw Angelo a smug look.
"You think you're staying here?" Angelo sniped.
"Wherever Fern sleeps, I'm there," Max declared. "And I had a long night covering your ass. We're hitting the sack."
"Should you take a shower first?" Thapa suggested.
"I'll help with that," Fern told Max eagerly.
"Yes, you will," Max huskily told Fern.
Max and Fern's kinky bad guy sex would always win out over Angelo's boring villain rants.
"Say good night, Fern," drawled Max.
"Take it easy, Angelo," Fern told the mob boss dryly. "Don't get yourself shot or anything. Your bodyguard's body is going to be busy for a while."
Angelo and his uncomfortable thugs watched as the sleazy "love birds" quickly dragged themselves into her suite and shut themselves inside, making out as they did so.
"Kids are so uninhibited." Angelo rolled his eyes.
"Would you like to lay out your strategy for us?" Thapa asked professionally.
"No, it's been a rough night." Angelo irritably rubbed his eyes. "We should all rest up. We'll meet up in the morning."
"Understood." Thapa nodded.
Inside Fern's suite, Kensi tightly embraced her soaked boyfriend.
"Thank God, you're safe," she breathed.
Deeks tenderly stroked her soft, wavy hair.
"I'm okay, baby," he gently whispered into her dark locks. "Have you seen Jenna?" He whispered that very quietly.
"Not yet," Kensi whispered softly.
Deeks continued holding her, showing no signs of budging. They didn't really know what Angelo's scheme was in Catalina, but they knew they still had their work cut out for them.
Next Chapter: The Paradise Sun Club