Title: Duty's Call
Author: Crazy Ivan and Lady Bethia
Series: Sub Plot in the Ranger Next Door.
E-Mail: lady_bethia@yahoo.com, the_crazy_ivan@yahoo.com
Home Page:
Pairings: None
Ratings: PG
Warnings:
Disclaimers: The X-Men are not mine. I am making no profit from this
story. James Smith is my original character.
Summary: The X-Men get a clue that James Smith is in Two Hills. Before
Teresa becomes the Ranger at Two Trees.
Duty's Call, III: (Interlude)
The tall man walked down the old state highway, like he had a mission in life. And enthusiasm for that mission. He did. Dressed like most of the locals, you could tell a few differences, the tall engineers boots didn't fit in locally, neither did the black cargo pants, but the flannel shirt, the ball cap, and the navy blue sports vest worked well. Even the summer mornings in upstate New York could be chilly.
It was a Sunday. That meant Steak and Eggs, Fresh Hot Coffee, he patted his thermos fondly. That Highway Dinner had even gotten grits for him. Grits, in New York. He chuckled in amusement.
"Let's see, The Sunday Papers, hot breakfast, not from a ration pack. Fresh coffee, again not from a ration pack."
"This mission could almost be fun."
His gate picked up, as he saw the parking lot around the curve in the road. Breakfast was calling. And he wanted it, more than he wanted a lot of things since taking this mission.
And a few minutes later, he was seated at the far end of the counter in the dinner, placing his order. The staff knew his face, if nothing else,
Better, Emma, his usual waitress liked the tips. Every Sunday, he'd pull a Twenty, pay for his meal and leave the change on the counter top. Even topping his thermos every Sunday, the tip was still about $7, out of the twenty. So she'd never get rich, it helped.
And this day seemed like the others. Nice and boring.
And promising as the steak and eggs came out for the man that Emma thought was named Jim.
But, boring has a habit of changing. Fast.
Just down the road, two young men sit in their candy apple red Mustang Convertible. Both obviously young, both also obviously thinking highly of themselves, Tim and Bob were looking for trouble. A quick robbery, and then on the road with a little coin in their pocket.
"Now listen Bob," Tim stretched in his seat, "These yokels will just roll over, flash a gun, make our demands, and we be gone. Long before the Mounties get a chance to respond and come out."
"Easy. Easier than that Stop and Rob we hit down the road yesterday."
Bob snickered, remembering that Hindi, cowering behind the counter. "Yeah, that had been fun. He shat all over hisself. Yes, he did."
"O.K., I'll take the Pistol, you take the shot gun and cover. Easy, and if somebody gets heroic, shot'em. "
"Dead?, I can kill'em." Came Bob's response. "Coolness."
"Let's roll. I wanna scare some yokels. Yeah, I do."
So Tim put the 'Stang back into gear and they rolled into the parking lot of the 'Old Highway Dinner.'
Bob counted and found the four cars present did not exceed his ability to count, and reached between his legs for the sawed off.
Tim rolled to a stop, "O.K., I go first, you give me two minutes and come on in."
"Got it?"
He hit Bob on the head, "Pay attention, Got It?"
Bob rubbed his head, "I ain't stupid. I got it. I got it."
"Good. Two minutes."
Tim got out, pulled the lower edge of his leather jacket down, ran his hands through his hair, and started sauntering into the Dinner.
Nobody gave him another glance as he came through the door. Nor seemed to pay attention as he walked to the cash register. Not a one of the 7 people getting something to eat at the Dinner so much as blinked.
Emma noted the skinny kid at the Register, and the other one starting to walk in. Giving her hands a quick wipe on one of the handy counter towels, she walked to the Register. Little thinking that this would be any other than another customer.
And that thought lasted until she got to the Register, and the youngster pulled at gun, pointed it at her face, and in a squeaky voice told her, "No troubles, keep it cool. I take the cash, and we go away happy. Got that, 'Ho.'"
She nodded, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Yes she had been robbed before, but it hurt, and there was always the chance that this one might just shoot anyway.
She quickly filled a small bag with the money in the register, as the other youngster came up and pulled a sawed off shotgun out from under his coat.
And with the shotgun out Time took a position by the register to watch the Dinner, and with a grin took the bag, turned to face the Dinner's dazed patrons, "This here, is a robbery. Me, I'm goin' to go down this here beanery and collect contributions from each and every one of you to help make sure me and my friend don't go doin' somethin' you all might regret.
He was gratified as he saw the people react in shock, and surprise. Until he noticed the seventh patron was ignoring him. Ignoring him and just eating his breakfast, like nothing was wrong. Bob felt irritated. You didn't just ignore him, not when he had the nine out.
So Bob told Tim "Cover me. We bein' disrespected by that hick down there."
"Can I shoot him" came Tim's answer.
"Naw, not yet. I'm goin' to teach him to respect his betters. Yes I am."
So saying he swaggered to the end of the Dinner, and put his pistol against the temple of the man at the end of the counter.
"You ignoring me, Slick?"
The hick just kept eating.
Bob pushed to pistol into the stranger's temple. "I said, You ignoring me, Slick?"
Then time went mad.
In a blink, Bob was face down on the counter, screaming in pain. A splash echoed from behind the counter, even as something clattered harmlessly on the floor. And before Time could bring the shotgun to bear, his nerveless right hand dropped the weapon to the floor. Then Tim focused on the biggest man he had ever seen, moving quickly up the center of the Dinner's floor to pick him up, one handed and slam him into the wall.
Tim half expected the stranger to say something Darth Vaderish, but he didn't. He just held him off the floor, his eyes two flat chips of obsidian looking into his, and Tim gave vent to the only way he had to show his fear. He felt then heard the patter of urine running down his lead then onto the floor. For in those eyes, he saw death, if he wasn't really care. And death, maybe if he was.
The big man in the flannel shirt opened his mouth, "You ruined my breakfast. One of the high points of my week. And you just waltzed in and tried to draw down."
"That makes me angry."
And with a casual flip he threw the stunned teen onto the floor. Pointed to him, when he came to a stop, pointed one finger at him, "Stay." Came the command. And Tim did.
Looking around, the man in the ball cap, saw the stunned reactions around him, "Emma, call the Sheriff, if you please."
"Oh, first."
He walked behind the counter, unslung his thermos, and filled it with fresh hot coffee. "First things first."
Stopping at the counter after he had his fill, he left a $20, "Sorry about the mess."
And walked out.
A matter of minutes later, two Sheriff's Patrol cars rolled into the Dinner's Parking lot, and found a scene of mild chaos. But no big stranger in a blue vest with a baseball cap.
Some 30 minutes later, Deputy Dan Parker was talking to the Sheriff, "Strangest thing. Almost sounds like Logan was here. But it was too big. Too dark for Saber Tooth, and our perp didn't show anything like mutant powers. So.What you think Sheriff."
"Too many inconsistencies. The punks were taken by something bigger and badder than they thought they were. Just lucky that no one was hurt."
"Now, were did you say the pistol was found?"
Parker sighed, "Well, the mag was on the floor, the pistol was in the deep fryer, there was a loose bullet rolling on the floor, the first perp was his arm broken in two places, and a broken nose. Close to a killing blow. The other perp is scared witless. He remembers black eyes, bulging muscles, and wants, no, demands we take him to jail."
"Where he'll be safe."
The Sheriff shook his head. "A Perp wanting to go to jail."
"That's a first."
"O.K., get the evidence teams out. I've seen the combat style that these people think they saw. Not since I left the S.E.A.L.S. though. We used to call it D.D.T. Department of Dirty Tricks. If we got a Rambo type out here. I want to know about it soonest. Could be trouble. And with the Xavier School close, I don't want any more trouble than we get already."
"O.K., Sheriff, we'll get evidence on it, and get all the information we can."
"Good, This is small, but it makes no since."
And at the far end of the Dinner, a half eaten breakfast sat, getting colder, even as the egg yolks and juices from a rare steak congealed.
Duty's Call, III: (Interlude)
The tall man walked down the old state highway, like he had a mission in life. And enthusiasm for that mission. He did. Dressed like most of the locals, you could tell a few differences, the tall engineers boots didn't fit in locally, neither did the black cargo pants, but the flannel shirt, the ball cap, and the navy blue sports vest worked well. Even the summer mornings in upstate New York could be chilly.
It was a Sunday. That meant Steak and Eggs, Fresh Hot Coffee, he patted his thermos fondly. That Highway Dinner had even gotten grits for him. Grits, in New York. He chuckled in amusement.
"Let's see, The Sunday Papers, hot breakfast, not from a ration pack. Fresh coffee, again not from a ration pack."
"This mission could almost be fun."
His gate picked up, as he saw the parking lot around the curve in the road. Breakfast was calling. And he wanted it, more than he wanted a lot of things since taking this mission.
And a few minutes later, he was seated at the far end of the counter in the dinner, placing his order. The staff knew his face, if nothing else,
Better, Emma, his usual waitress liked the tips. Every Sunday, he'd pull a Twenty, pay for his meal and leave the change on the counter top. Even topping his thermos every Sunday, the tip was still about $7, out of the twenty. So she'd never get rich, it helped.
And this day seemed like the others. Nice and boring.
And promising as the steak and eggs came out for the man that Emma thought was named Jim.
But, boring has a habit of changing. Fast.
Just down the road, two young men sit in their candy apple red Mustang Convertible. Both obviously young, both also obviously thinking highly of themselves, Tim and Bob were looking for trouble. A quick robbery, and then on the road with a little coin in their pocket.
"Now listen Bob," Tim stretched in his seat, "These yokels will just roll over, flash a gun, make our demands, and we be gone. Long before the Mounties get a chance to respond and come out."
"Easy. Easier than that Stop and Rob we hit down the road yesterday."
Bob snickered, remembering that Hindi, cowering behind the counter. "Yeah, that had been fun. He shat all over hisself. Yes, he did."
"O.K., I'll take the Pistol, you take the shot gun and cover. Easy, and if somebody gets heroic, shot'em. "
"Dead?, I can kill'em." Came Bob's response. "Coolness."
"Let's roll. I wanna scare some yokels. Yeah, I do."
So Tim put the 'Stang back into gear and they rolled into the parking lot of the 'Old Highway Dinner.'
Bob counted and found the four cars present did not exceed his ability to count, and reached between his legs for the sawed off.
Tim rolled to a stop, "O.K., I go first, you give me two minutes and come on in."
"Got it?"
He hit Bob on the head, "Pay attention, Got It?"
Bob rubbed his head, "I ain't stupid. I got it. I got it."
"Good. Two minutes."
Tim got out, pulled the lower edge of his leather jacket down, ran his hands through his hair, and started sauntering into the Dinner.
Nobody gave him another glance as he came through the door. Nor seemed to pay attention as he walked to the cash register. Not a one of the 7 people getting something to eat at the Dinner so much as blinked.
Emma noted the skinny kid at the Register, and the other one starting to walk in. Giving her hands a quick wipe on one of the handy counter towels, she walked to the Register. Little thinking that this would be any other than another customer.
And that thought lasted until she got to the Register, and the youngster pulled at gun, pointed it at her face, and in a squeaky voice told her, "No troubles, keep it cool. I take the cash, and we go away happy. Got that, 'Ho.'"
She nodded, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Yes she had been robbed before, but it hurt, and there was always the chance that this one might just shoot anyway.
She quickly filled a small bag with the money in the register, as the other youngster came up and pulled a sawed off shotgun out from under his coat.
And with the shotgun out Time took a position by the register to watch the Dinner, and with a grin took the bag, turned to face the Dinner's dazed patrons, "This here, is a robbery. Me, I'm goin' to go down this here beanery and collect contributions from each and every one of you to help make sure me and my friend don't go doin' somethin' you all might regret.
He was gratified as he saw the people react in shock, and surprise. Until he noticed the seventh patron was ignoring him. Ignoring him and just eating his breakfast, like nothing was wrong. Bob felt irritated. You didn't just ignore him, not when he had the nine out.
So Bob told Tim "Cover me. We bein' disrespected by that hick down there."
"Can I shoot him" came Tim's answer.
"Naw, not yet. I'm goin' to teach him to respect his betters. Yes I am."
So saying he swaggered to the end of the Dinner, and put his pistol against the temple of the man at the end of the counter.
"You ignoring me, Slick?"
The hick just kept eating.
Bob pushed to pistol into the stranger's temple. "I said, You ignoring me, Slick?"
Then time went mad.
In a blink, Bob was face down on the counter, screaming in pain. A splash echoed from behind the counter, even as something clattered harmlessly on the floor. And before Time could bring the shotgun to bear, his nerveless right hand dropped the weapon to the floor. Then Tim focused on the biggest man he had ever seen, moving quickly up the center of the Dinner's floor to pick him up, one handed and slam him into the wall.
Tim half expected the stranger to say something Darth Vaderish, but he didn't. He just held him off the floor, his eyes two flat chips of obsidian looking into his, and Tim gave vent to the only way he had to show his fear. He felt then heard the patter of urine running down his lead then onto the floor. For in those eyes, he saw death, if he wasn't really care. And death, maybe if he was.
The big man in the flannel shirt opened his mouth, "You ruined my breakfast. One of the high points of my week. And you just waltzed in and tried to draw down."
"That makes me angry."
And with a casual flip he threw the stunned teen onto the floor. Pointed to him, when he came to a stop, pointed one finger at him, "Stay." Came the command. And Tim did.
Looking around, the man in the ball cap, saw the stunned reactions around him, "Emma, call the Sheriff, if you please."
"Oh, first."
He walked behind the counter, unslung his thermos, and filled it with fresh hot coffee. "First things first."
Stopping at the counter after he had his fill, he left a $20, "Sorry about the mess."
And walked out.
A matter of minutes later, two Sheriff's Patrol cars rolled into the Dinner's Parking lot, and found a scene of mild chaos. But no big stranger in a blue vest with a baseball cap.
Some 30 minutes later, Deputy Dan Parker was talking to the Sheriff, "Strangest thing. Almost sounds like Logan was here. But it was too big. Too dark for Saber Tooth, and our perp didn't show anything like mutant powers. So.What you think Sheriff."
"Too many inconsistencies. The punks were taken by something bigger and badder than they thought they were. Just lucky that no one was hurt."
"Now, were did you say the pistol was found?"
Parker sighed, "Well, the mag was on the floor, the pistol was in the deep fryer, there was a loose bullet rolling on the floor, the first perp was his arm broken in two places, and a broken nose. Close to a killing blow. The other perp is scared witless. He remembers black eyes, bulging muscles, and wants, no, demands we take him to jail."
"Where he'll be safe."
The Sheriff shook his head. "A Perp wanting to go to jail."
"That's a first."
"O.K., get the evidence teams out. I've seen the combat style that these people think they saw. Not since I left the S.E.A.L.S. though. We used to call it D.D.T. Department of Dirty Tricks. If we got a Rambo type out here. I want to know about it soonest. Could be trouble. And with the Xavier School close, I don't want any more trouble than we get already."
"O.K., Sheriff, we'll get evidence on it, and get all the information we can."
"Good, This is small, but it makes no since."
And at the far end of the Dinner, a half eaten breakfast sat, getting colder, even as the egg yolks and juices from a rare steak congealed.