Title: Ezra - Midnight Oil

Author: Mre

Series: A Day in the Life

Rating: PG

Warning: WIP!

e-mail: mremre@lycos.com

Summary: What was Ezra doing at that club?

The digital display of the clock radio met his burning eyes when he struggled out of the depths of sleep to the insistent tones of his cellphone.

"What?" Ezra growled into the pickup. It was--dear God--one thirty in the morning, and it had better be damned important to interrupt his much-needed rest.

Team Seven had just gotten off a gruelling series of back-to-back cases. They'd earned their comp time and he wanted to start his long weekend right, with at least 12 hours of sleep.

He pulled his scattered wits into some order when he recognized the voice. "Good... morning, Browne," he worked to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Browne was one of his most reliable informants. Mostly, his intel concerned the pulse of the street. If something big was brewing, Browne would know who could be approached and what was going down. He had been working with the ATF for years.

It was hard to keep a civil tongue when the clock stared at him accusingly, but Browne would only make contact for the most urgent reasons.

"Hey E! Sorry ta be calling so late, man."

To his credit, the man actually did sound apologetic. "No matter. What do you have for me?" Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose and manfully did not sigh.

"C'n we meet somewhere? I got some heavy shit for ya, E, but ya gotta see what I got 'cause it's kinda thin. I wouldn't normally go ta ya with this, but it's damn wierd. I really think yer gonna want in on it."

Ezra glared at the mocking digital clock for a moment, defeated. Thin or not, Browne was too good a contact to ignore him when he called. "Where and when?"

"How about at Black Box in 30 minutes? Ya know where that is?"

"Certainly, Browne. I shall see you there." Ezra thumbed the disconnect and resisted the urge to scream. No Ezra, bad. If Browne is calling for a face-to-face in a crowded place like Black Box, then he has a damn good reason.

After a moment sulkily contemplating a return to bed, he got up and put himself together for the meeting.

***

Ezra pulled the Jag into Black Box, one of the hottest night clubs on the Denver 'scene'. He'd never had occasion to visit (clubbing wasn't anything that interested him) but the layout was basic and he would probably have no difficulty locating Browne.

He handed his keys to the valet and was moving toward the club when a cut-off scream stopped him cold.

An unsavory looking fellow was holding a knife to the valet's throat, standing beside the open door of his Jaguar. To the left, a gunman waved his .45--Ezra automatically classified the weapon--at a group exiting from Black Box. Probably on a group date. What a lovely cap to the evening's festivities.

"Hey, man," a familiar voice said softly from behind him. "You really don't want to do that."

Mr Dunne, what are you doing here? That was fortuitous. He would rather not face two-to-one odds on his day off. JD moved forward, making placating gestures as Casey led the others back into the safety of the club. That girl has a good head on her shoulders. Time to make my own contribution to maintaining peace and order.

"Young man, be so kind as to remove your person from the vicinity of my automobile." Ezra stepped up from the left, far enough to present separate targets for the two criminals holding the valet hostage.

JD motioned briefly toward the man with the knife. He shifted to cover the gunman more fully, acknowledging the signal and moved closer to his car.

"I have no desire for this predicament to result in property damage, considering that the property in question is my own. It would behoove you to comport yourself in a civilized manner," he said, trying to get the pair to ease up a little. Confuse them enough and they may back off to regroup.

"Yeah, man," JD added. "Right now you're facing assault charges. Manslaughter isn't anything you'd want on you records. What say we talk it out? My name's JD and I'm with the ATF."

The gunman was looking undecided, swinging his .45 from right to left. Ezra stopped his advance, judging the distance easy enough to cross but far enough to make the gunman relax.

The gamble paid off. The two settled down fractionally, the knife off-target and the gun pointed away from the majority of the appalled crowd.

When JD jumped at the knifeman, Ezra leaped for the gun. He didn't bother pulling his hideout because a shootout was the last thing he wanted. In a matter of moments, they were wrestling for the weapon. The ATF agent managed to kick the gun out of the way and dropped the man with a vicious punch to the throat. The gunman went down gasping for breath.

With a few practiced moves, Ezra had him kneeling on the pavement and handcuffed, still fighting for breath. "Good morning, Mr Dunne. You seem to have things under control at your end."

A bit of an overstatement. His victim was still squirming in JD's armlock and trying to buck him off.

"Nice to see you too, Ez. Hurry up and cuff him."

"I shall be with you directly, Mr Dunne." Ezra kept his voice reassuringly calm. "Ms Wells, if you would be so kind as to secure the assistance of paramedics?" Because your boyfriend seems to be bleeding.

"Already on their way, Mr Standish."

"Thank you, my dear." Ezra turned back to his handcuffed prisoner. "You have the right to remain silent..." he recited. The gunman had managed to catch his breath and was looking more alert already. Best to get the formalities out of the way.

When he was finished, he motioned for one of Black Box's bouncers to take charge of the prisoner until the uniforms came to transport them. Then he headed back to where JD crouched on the ground, still intent on immobilizing his prisoner.

Ezra considered the desperate man for a moment, then pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and pointed it at the man, cocking the trigger meaningfully. "Thank you for your patience, Mr Dunne, I shall deal with this miscreant."

JD stumbled to his feet and staggered toward the Jag's driver seat, the nearest stable surface. Ezra winced and made a mental note to have the interiors detailed. Please no blood on the leather.

He directed the paramedics toward the car and intercepted the uniforms who'd accompanied the 911 call. "Over here, gentlemen. I'm with the ATF. The bouncer has the gunman and I've got the other perp." Ezra nodded at the sullen man at his feet. "Between the two of them we have illegal possession, armed assault, attempted manslaughter, public endangerment, and resisting arrest. I'm sure that the DA can tack on a few other charges."

"Thanks for the assist... I didn't catch your name?" one of the police officers asked, taking hold of the cursing prisoner.

"It was the least I could do. The arresting officer was Agent JD Dunne of the ATF--I was simply lending a hand to my colleague who is currently being treated by the paramedics." Ezra nodded at the open Jag and the hovering EMT. "Unfortunately, I have a pressing engagement that cannot be missed. Would it be acceptable that I drop by the precint later this morning for the formalities? Mr Dunne will be glad to handle the preliminary statements and will be able to explain my involvement."

Expertly, Ezra got the officers to agree and made arrangements for the Jag to be taken to the PD's impound lot after forensics was finished with the crime scene. After a word with Casey about JD's condition, he entered the club.

Thanks to the volume of the music being pumped out of the speakers, most of the club's patrons were unaware of the fracas at Black Box's doors. The tiny dancefloor was still full of flailing twentysomethings and the band onstage was happily deafening their fans.

Ezra winced and headed deeper into the club, away from the melee on the dancefloor. Sure enough, Browne was at a table in the back, slowly peeling the label off a beer. Domestic, he noted absently.

"E!" Browne got up to slap a hand on his back and usher him into a seat. "What c'n I get ya?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow at the unusual familiarity but made no comment. Obviously Browne was playing it very safe. Despite himself, Ezra was beginning to get worried about this meeting.

"Whatever yer havin' s'fine, man," he exclaimed. If Browne were this paranoid about being caught, it must be one hell of a situation about to blow and it wouldn't hurt to take precautions.

They went through the motions of ordering a second beer, chatting loudly about fictitious high school shenanigans. Half an hour later, Browne led the way out a door discreetly labelled 'Employees Only' and entered a deserted employee lounge.

"We're clear here the next four minutes, then we gotta get out 'fore the security guard checks back."

Ezra nodded. "Let us proceed, then."

Browne pulled a battered manilla envelope out from under his shirt. "Something's going on at the UCD campus. Got a bunch of homeless guys, regulars around the shelters, disappearin'. Got a fuck of a lot of deliveries to the UCD biolabs."

"Go on," Ezra said, taking the envelope and tucking it into his waistband under his shirt.

"Word on the street is, ya don't wanna get caught near UCD at night. Supposedly someone's testing some new biochemical shit on the homeless." Browne was checking his watch.

Ezra raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Isn't that a little late-night-movie? And how does this involve the ATF?"

"Payload delivery via modified grenade launchers. Stolen grenade launchers." Browne gestured meaningfully at the hidden manilla envelope. "I put together what I could find. It's all there."

"Ah, that would be helpful. I shall go over everything." Give the man benefit of the doubt, Ezra. "Can I reach you if we need more?"

"Sorry E. I'm headed outta town for a bit. Got some business in Sacramento that won't wait. A trucker agreed ta pick me up two blocks down from here."

Browne is actually clearing out? "I see." Ezra handed an envelope to the nervously fidgeting man. "Thank you for taking the time to meet me. If you find anything else when you get back in, please feel free to contact me."

Browne peeked into the envelope, nodded at the sheaf of battered tens and twenties and shoved it into a pocket. They shook hands once, then the informant led the way to an outer door, opened it on a dark alley and disappeared into the pre-dawn gloom.

TBC...