Chapter 82.
John hated shopping.
Food shopping, in particular.
He'd only visited a supermarket twice in his life. Once when he'd been called down to help Virgil clean up after an earthquake in western Iran, and once when he, Virgil, and Scott had been young and living at their mother's ranch. Lucy had been heavily pregnant with Gordon at the time and developed a sudden, unexpected craving for strawberries. Unable to locate any in the house, she'd bundled the boys into the car, fishtailed to the nearest supermarket, raided the fruit and veg section, blown her credit card on five acres of berries, and then puked them up forty minutes later.
John had found the entire experience rather unsavoury. The way certain people insisted on experimentally squeezing every single piece of fruit before selecting one had haunted him well into adulthood. Talk about a complete disregard for hygiene. No wonder the world had struggled so badly with pandemics during the first quarter of the century.
The convenience store Gordon had led them to turned out to be a lot bigger than any of them had anticipated. It spanned two floors and looked like the Argentinian equivalent of Harrods.
Scott's thinking appeared to be travelling down the same path.
"Gordon!" he snapped, dread pooling in his stomach when he saw Alan's eyes widen in excitement, "I thought you said this was just a convenience store."
Gordon shrugged and merrily grabbed a trolley, "It's located a convenient distance from the house, isn't it?"
Scott's face was a picture of artistic exasperation.
"Look on the bright side," Virgil interjected, "It looks as if we've got the place to ourselves. I've always said that late night shopping is the way to go if you don't like crowds or queues."
The scowl on John's face almost summoned a rainstorm, "There's a reason no one else does it, Virg. People who shop at night only do so because they don't want to be seen during the day. We'll probably get picked off one by one as we make our way around."
"If that's the case, I'm heading straight to the booze aisle," Scott announced, "Alan, make sure to stick with Gordon. If we do get ambushed by a lunatic, he'll be able to weaponize his lactose allergy and defend you."
Gordon ignored Alan and Kayo's snickers of amusement, his attention preoccupied with the much more purposeful task of locating two spare shopping carts.
"Laugh if you must," he chirped, sliding the trolley he'd already secured over to John before scampering off to retrieve another one, his savaged arm cradled against his chest, "But shopping at night really is the best time. The empty aisles and lack of staff make for the perfect battleground."
Virgil felt himself wilt, "Battleground for what, dare I ask?"
Gordon beamed and vaulted into the basket compartment of the second cart he'd just retrieved, "Tracy Trolley Wars!"
A pause.
"Never have I been more ashamed to share your DNA."
-x-
Havoc was completely and utterly stumped.
Her ass was well and truly stuck.
She'd heaved and hoed and, god forbid, screamed at the offending chimney that was holding her captive. Damn those Tracy boys. Damn the Hood's obsession with them. Damn their nine-figure net worth. Damn their state-of-the-art biometric technology. Damn their rich asses. Damn her own ass for being a lot bigger than she'd realised.
And damn Scott Tracy for being so easy on the eyes. Sure, she'd snogged him purely for work purposes, but she'd be lying if she said her brain hadn't done a little dance number afterwards. How many women could say they'd had lip action with the leader of International Rescue?
'Eat that, Kayo!'
A cloud of soot and loose cement suddenly crumbled down the chimney, dusting Havoc's hair and making her cough. Scowling, she squinted upwards, her pulse quickening in case it was one of the Tracys.
"Sis?" came the nonplussed voice of Fuse, "What're you doing down there?"
"Fuse!" Havoc wheezed, squirming feebly in an attempt to dislodge herself, "I didn't get the DNA. Have you told the Boss yet?"
Fuse shook his head and braced his hands against the chimney's crown, "He thinks you've deactivated your comm as a security measure. He's clueless beyond knowing that you gained entry to the party without tripping any alarms."
Havoc groaned loudly, "I'm so dead."
"Not yet," Fuse interjected, "I just saw the Tracys and Kayo head outside. If we follow in the Cruiser, we should be able to corner one of them long enough to get whatever samples the Boss wants. Sit tight, I'm going to get a rope to pull you out."
"Hurry up!" Havoc snapped, "It's dark, it's cold, and a pigeon crapped on my head a short while ago."
A quiet chuckle filtered down from the rooftop. Havoc chose to ignore it.
"I could rig some detonators up outside the store they've just entered," Fuse carried on, "No casualties, but they'd be trapped under debris until the GDF rocked up. Reckon that would give us enough time to grab the spit and fingerprints before legging it?"
Havoc shuddered upon remembering how intent Gordon had been on catching her. The brothers would probably chew their own arms off before allowing themselves to be financially exploited by her or her dolt of a brother. More to the point, they'd probably chew their own arms off before allowing themselves to be financially exploited by the Hood.
There was an old saying that money couldn't buy happiness, but Havoc begged to differ.
She'd much rather cry in a Thunderbird.
-x-
"Okay guys," Gordon began, propelling his trolley forward by rocking his weight from side to side, "The rules are simple; teams of two compete against each other to find all the items on a single shopping list. The person in the basket grabs the items, while the other person pushes the cart. No switching of roles is permitted. Lady Penelope just sent me a rundown of everything she reckons we'll need and the quantities. Virgil, you're with me. I want your biceps on my side."
Virgil schooled his expression into one of mock disappointment, but didn't object. He knew he and Gordon made a good team.
John wasted no time snatching Alan and swiftly manhandled him into the spare cart Gordon had acquired, ignoring his squawks of protest. As the smallest and lightest, he'd be the easiest to push. And bully.
"Looks like you're stuck with me," Scott observed, throwing Kayo one of his famous lopsided grins.
"How are we supposed to know what to get if you're the only one with a copy of the list?" John asked, absently sanitising the handles of his trolley.
Gordon braced one hand against the side of the basket he was sat in and swiped his phone screen with the fingers of the other, "I've just sent you and Scott a copy. Given the number of people Penelope's re-invited, getting three trolley loads shouldn't be too excessive. Okay, now we're going to need a referee."
Six pairs of eyes swivelled towards a lone teenager snoozing on one of the checkouts.
"Excuse me?" Gordon called, approaching the slumbering kid with the same level of caution as if he were disarming a bomb, "Hello? Excuse me?"
A snort and an irritated scowl, "What?"
Gordon threw the kid an apologetic smile, "We need someone to independently verify who wins the 2062 Tracy Trolley War. Could you act as our ref? I promise it'll be the most fun you've ever had while on duty."
A shrug, "Whatever. Just don't steal anything."
Satisfied with the verbal consent he'd been given, Gordon motioned for Virgil to push him towards the fruit and vegetable section. John and Scott had the decency to look embarrassed as they followed with Alan and Kayo.
"On your marks!" Gordon yelled, leaning over the front of his trolley in anticipation, "Get ready, Virg. Victory shall be ours."
John felt his heartrate quicken as he hastily pulled up Penelope's list. He had no idea how the store was laid out and didn't have time to ask EOS to send him a scan of the building's blueprints either. All he had were his instincts and Alan's terrible sense of direction.
Scott and Kayo shared a look of silent confidence. Virgil was strong, John was smart, but Scott was fast. And the Tracy Trolley War was all about speed.
"Get set…"