Bowling
No bowling. On this, he and Sam agreed.
It had started out as a normal case. Follow the money. But the money, in this case, led to a bowling alley. One of those rock & roll bowling alleys that LA used to be famous for – with the music and light shows, people in costume, the whole nine yards.
The op came to a head on, of all things, Disco Night. They'd been undercover for over a week as two fun-loving locals looking to meet girls. They'd spent almost every night at the bowling alley, chatting up transplanted Jersey Girls, eating far too much junk food, and dressing up as everyone from Sinatra to Samson as they tried to figure out the connection between the owner of the alley and sailors who had been found dead with bowling shoe check tags in their pockets.
Hetty had had a field day planning wardrobe. Callen had never seen her so focused on period research as she was when she found out that the alley was having "Cleopatra Night." If he never had to wear gold lamé again, it would be too soon.
At no time during the op had they actually bowled – they were simply too caught up in trying to gather evidence and follow the trail they'd picked up back in the Navy Yard. They'd been able to beg off from the actual process of bowling for ten days.
But the final night was Disco Night. All things '70s. And they arrived just at the moment that teams were being chosen. There was no way to avoid it and maintain their relationships at the alley. No way to not participate and fade into the woodwork.
Which is how he ended up dressed as David Bowie – complete with a remarkably accurate (although incredibly itchy) wig – bowling a respectable low 200s game, while Sam bowled gutter ball after gutter ball after gutter ball dressed as Mr. T.
They never caught the guy.