Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Numb3rs or any character therein. I also do not (of course) own the rights to Snoopy or any character associated with him- I just refer to him, but am overly cautious about copyrights. All characters are fictional, and should not be associated with any person- real or imagined.
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Jimmy looked with humor at his grandfather's garage. His 1979 Pontiac Bonneville sat in the middle of its concrete floor, parts falling out of its bottom while others lay untouched on a table flush with the far wall. There were at least five lawn mowers in various stages of disrepair scattered about, as well as a myriad of half-empty paint cans, ancient tools, unusable lamps, chipped dishes, broken coffee tables, mangled fishing rods, discarded brushes, wheel-less bicycles and tricycles hanging from hooks in the ceiling, and a tarp in the back, covering something with wheels. The small space looked like one abandoned junk yard.
A wrinkled hand firmly grasped Jimmy's shoulder, guiding him away from the melee.
"Don't say a word- not a word. Your grandmother tried to get me to clean that garage out for over twenty years."
As the two walked down Bob's driveway, the old man said with genuine affection-
"If that crotchety old woman couldn't get me to do it- nobody ever will."
Jimmy laughed.
The past week had been great. The young student had assumed he would get bored staying all week with his lack of outside contact- the old guy didn't even have cable or satellite- but he had been pleasantly surprised to find his time thoroughly occupied. As it turned out, he had forgotten that his grandfather was an excellent storyteller, and discovered he was quite sharp when it came to playing cards- especially poker, the young man thought ruefully, his wallet a shade lighter as a result of his miscalculating his grandfather's skills. Jimmy suspected if the clever old man had really wanted to, he could have thoroughly fleeced his only grandson.
A small Mustang was parked at the end of the driveway. Jimmy greeted his college roommate, Nate, introducing him to Bob.
"How was your week, Jimmy?" Nate enquired, helping Jimmy with his bags.
Smiling at his grandfather, he replied-
"Well, I took the old man for a few bucks in poker- but I think he's forgiven me."
Bob smiled genially in return, covering for his grandson.
"Yeah, the boy knows how to play- that's for sure."
Jimmy put his luggage in back of the Mustang, hugged his grandfather, and waved as Bob stood in the driveway watching the car fade away into the early morning haze.
Reminiscing about the past week, Bob worked his way back to the quiet of his house. He was always a little sad when the boy first left. Though he liked his solitude, when his grandson was around, he felt like his world was complete.
Bob looked at the breakfast dishes still in the sink; not having any other chores on his list, he ignored them and went to suck on a beer in the living room. Ruth would not have approved of his early morning drinking, but the old man thought at his age, what difference was it going to make anyway. He had already lived a complete and fulfilling life- every day he lived beyond the current moment was candy.
Placing his beer down and kicking his feet up on his lopsided coffee table, he pushed aside the quilted afghan and magazines scattered on the couch, knocking a small cardboard box to the ground and scattering papers along the floor. With a loud Oof!, Bob reached to pick up some of the mess he had made, not really worried about neatness, just wanting to keep the house in a livable state.
Leisurely sitting back into the couch cushions, he tossed the papers next to him, glancing at their photocopied topic-
Then sat up so fast his beer tipped over, a pool of golden liquid leaking unnoticed down the side of the coffee table, as Bob's complete attention was on the flier he now gripped in his hand.
Hell, no- it's not possible-
But, then again-
No, no, I'm seeing a resemblance cause the old bag ticked me off-
Maybe, but it looks just like him.
And the name- coincidence?-
They're both named Don- or Donny?
Bob's first instinct was to call the police; but as he lifted the receiver to his ear, doubt assailed him. He felt for the young man he had seen next door- was still afraid that Dr. Thompson might be abusing him. He had been checking nonchalantly during Jimmy's visit, looking out his side window to see if Donny came outside to play ball again; Bob hadn't seen him all week. Not only that, the first few nights after his encounter with him, Dr. Thompson had suddenly and inexplicably kept all her lights on at night, the whole house glowing eerily. These things bothered Bob, though he didn't know why. If he reported her to the authorities now- told them she had kidnapped (?) an F.B.I. agent, and then was wrong- they would never believe him if he reported her for abuse; they would just look at him like he was some senile old man. Then Dr. Thompson would feel free to do whatever she wanted to her son- things that the old man felt in his heart would not be good, having classified the woman as predator.
Putting down the phone, he thought of his other options. He could call Professor Eppes, tell him that coincidentally he thought his brother was living with his neighbor next door. But Bob had told the man how evil he thought Dr. Thompson was- if Eppes believed what Bob had spoken about her, and that his brother was within her house, he might go off half-cocked and do something stupid- hurting himself and Thompson's son in the process.
No- there had to be another way to verify the identity of the man next door.
Jimmy had mentioned Professor Eppes' brother often came by the college, and he had met him on many occasions. His grandson said he was a nice man, and it was another reason why he worked so hard to look for him. Jimmy was his solution- he could call him once the boy reached Cal Sci and tell him he needed him to return. Only problem was, the boy didn't have transportation. And Bob didn't want to waste any time getting him back to his house to identify Donny- if he was Professor Eppes' brother, they needed to get him out of that house as fast as hell.
Bob grabbed his car keys and headed out to the garage, various routes going through his mind as he tried to decide which one would get him to L.A. the quickest.
He was actually sitting in his car with the key in the ignition when it dawned on him that a car couldn't move if half its engine was missing.
Damn!
Slamming the car door shut, Bob went around to the front of his car. No way could he put this back together today- hell, never going to put it together. Sighing, he turned to go into the house when he sighted the black tarp at the back of his garage. He stuck his tongue out at the edge of his lips, thinking.
Bob went through his house to the back bedroom. It was more cluttered than the garage, piles of boxes lying about in a seemingly disorganized mess. But Bob knew what he was looking for- found it in less than thirty minutes- an old trunk painted drab olive green with the word 'army' painted across the top. Prying open its lid, the old man's eyes gleamed as he pulled out the plastic-wrapped items he needed.
Prepped and ready to go, Bob figured if he pushed his machine for all it was worth, he would reach his grandson by noon.
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"Hey, Jimmy- Snoopy's here to see you."
Jimmy looked up from the stack of interviews he had been flipping through. He was at the task force office, trying to help separate the most recent tips into two piles- "maybe in this life time" and "are they from Mars?" When his roommate had dropped him off an hour before, he immediately dove into work, feeling unnecessary guilt for having forgotten to post fliers in Alta Sierra while visiting his grandfather; worse, he had left the box of a thousand there, rendering them useless.
"What the heck are you talking about, Cheryl?"
The young coed smirked at Jimmy, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
"Come and see for yourself."
Rolling his shoulders to ease a few kinks, Jimmy followed Cheryl outside, assuming it was some kind of joke. He was used to that kind of treatment, so many girls refusing to take the shy, lanky youth seriously.
He was taken aback, however, the moment he exited the office door.
There, in front of the task force office, was Grandpa Bob- and what appeared to be the oldest motorcycle Jimmy had ever laid eyes on.
Bob smiled at his grandson. He was standing next to his classic 1942 World War II WLA Harley-Davidson- complete with side car. It was a thing of beauty, and the only pride and joy Bob had- other than Jimmy. Bought when he returned from Germany, he had stored it in a shed behind his house after his daughter was born, and until his wife had passed away. Several years before, he had been reintroduced to the machine when looking for spare lawn mower parts in the shed. Feeling a wave of nostalgia- and with extra cash on his hands- he had decided the old soldier deserved a better retirement than wasting away forgotten in an old shed. With over 90,000 WLAs having been produced during the war years, many of them were bought and maintained by returning servicemen- and, later, by motorcycle enthusiasts worldwide. Thus, it was not hard for Bob to find a mechanic to restore the machine to her previous splendor.
The machine was painted completely black- its thinly cushioned seat, thin handle bars, low-riding side car, tubular frame, and wheel spokes- even all the chrome. Bob liked to think it made it good for night patrols and raids. With a 23hp/4600rpm engine, the classic machine could run up to sixty-five miles per hour, its engine purring as only a Harley could.
The motorcycle, however, was not the spectacle that caught Jimmy's and Cheryl's eyes- it was the old man himself. Bob was dressed up in an old, black leather pilot's jacket- complete with badges of honor; his head was ensconced within a black World War II motorcycle helmet, with large goggles encircling his tiny eyes, his small, wrinkled face lost behind them. But what completed the outfit- and brought to mind the popular cartoon dog- was the long black scarf around his neck, its two long ends hanging behind him like large puppy-dog ears.
Jimmy suppressed a laugh, hiding his mouth behind his hand as he asked-
"Are youlooking for the Red Baron or what?"
Bob's face dropped to a frown, his chest thrusting out while he stood taller next to his baby.
"I'll have you know that women would fall all over themselves when I rode up on this beauty- including your grandmother, the looker that she was."
Not wanting to hurt his grandfather's feelings, Jimmy nodded his head seriously-
"They still come running," he said, lifting his chin toward a flustered and embarrassed Cheryl. Saying a polite goodbye, she turned and practically fled into the sanctity of the task force office.
Both men shared an amiable laugh before Jimmy realized his grandfather must have come with a purpose.
"Why are you here, Grandpa- I just left you a few hours ago- something wrong?"
Bob chewed his lower lip, then pulled a folded up piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans.
Handing it over to Jimmy, he stated firmly-
"That's why I'm here."
Jimmy opened the paper and was puzzled- it was one of the task force fliers. Raising his eyes to Bob, he said-
"You didn't have to bring these here- we have plenty; I could have picked them up another day."
"No, Jimmy- that's not it."
Taking a deep gulp of air, he blurted-
"That's Donny- Dr. Thompson's son. I'd swear to it."
It took a few minutes for his grandfather's words to swirl around his head before Jimmy was able to grasp their meaning.
"That's- that's, uh, well- no, it's- impossible!"
Shaking his head, Bob affirmed-
"No, it's not- anything's possible."
Slowly pacing the sidewalk, Jimmy mimicked his grandfather's habit of chewing his lower lip while he thought-
"Then, we need to call the police, and- and, tell Professor Eppes, and- oh, we should"-
He was cut off sharply by his grandfather-
"No, Jimmy- I didn't ride all the way down here to do that; coulda done that from home."
Bob explained his concerns about Thompson's son if he somehow- but he doubted it- was making a mistake.
"You need to come back with me- take a look at the boy- identify him. Then we can call in the troops once we're positive."
"I don't know- I think we're treading risky ground here."
Jimmy's tongue slid out to the side of his mouth as an idea came to his head.
"Come on, Grandpa- I think I got a way we can verify that guy's identity without making the local cops think you're crazy."
Trusting his grandson as much as Jimmy had implicitly trusted what the old man had seen, Bob reached into the sidecar of his motorcycle, pulling out a matching set of goggles and helmet, offering them to Jimmy.
It was at this point that Jimmy realized the ancient machine was their only means of transportation. With nervous goose bumps rippling along his arms, he put on the riding equipment and managed to squeeze his long legs into the sidecar, ignoring the giggling face of Cheryl that he could see clearly through the task force window.
Bob just grinned-
"And away we go."
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Megan sat at her desk, trying to avoid talking to her new team leader.
It's wasn't that she didn't like the guy; well, actually she didn't.
It wasn't that she couldn't understand the reasoning behind the orders he issued; well, to be truthful, she couldn't.
It wasn't that he always seemed to be checking out her ass, or delegating her to inane tasks, or that he interrupted her behavioral analysis before she had finished giving it.
It really came down to one simple thing- Special Agent Jerry Atwater constantly clicked his teeth when he talked.
Working in the F.B.I., Megan had to train herself a long time before to handle male chauvinistic attitudes.
But the clicking- when he got to talking, she felt as if she were trapped inside a large clock, each flick of his tongue a reminder of every second she was forced to work with him-
and a reminder of how long she had been forced to work without Don.
Hearing the click-click-click of Atwater coming her way between the cubicles in the bullpen, and with her former boss on her mind, Megan grabbed one of Don's files, her purse and jacket, preparing to steer away from the walking irritation and catch up on some of the tips Charlie had sent her in the past week.
Keeping her head down so as to not make eye-contact with Atwater if he were nearby, she ran into David; he put his arms around her to steady them both.
"Sorry, David" Megan whispered, trying to rush by him to the elevator.
"Whoa- hold on Megan. Don't rush off just yet- Marie tells me there's someone waiting to see us out in the visitor's parking lot- something to do with Don."
Turning to grab David by the arm, Megan began dragging him to the elevator, whispering-
"Fine- let's go- but quick, quick- I can hear the sound of Atwater lurking around hear somewhere."
Understanding perfectly well what sound she was talking about, and being equally annoyed by it, David rushed ahead of Megan and began to pull her.
When the elevator car finally arrived on their floor, both agents jumped into it, just as a loud click sounded behind them.
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Both David and Megan were thinking of Snoopy; couldn't help themselves, as they peered curiously at the odd couple standing nervously beside an old motorcycle and side car.
They figured it had to be the goggles and helmet- the large round shapes giving the old man's head the appearance of being too large for his body, just how the cartoon beagle had been drawn. Or maybe it was the scarf- whatever it was, they couldn't shake the image from their minds.
"Special Agent David Sinclair and Special Agent Megan Reeves."
Licking his lips, the old man replied-
"I'm Bob Anderson and this is my grandson Jimmy."
"What can we do for you, Mr. Anderson?"
"Just call me Bob- really Bobby, that's what my friends call me."
"Okay, Bobby- you have some information about the whereabouts of Special F.B.I. Agent Donald Eppes?"
"Yes- he's living next door to me- has been, apparently, for two months."
Nodding his head, though not convinced, David asked-
"If he's been living there for two months, why haven't you come forward earlier?"
"Easy- didn't know he was missing. I only saw the flier this morning- Jimmy left it there by mistake. Just pure luck that I saw it at all- and that the boy happens to be next door to me."
Megan and David exchanged glances.
Bob didn't miss the exchange.
"I know what you're thinking- I'm some old geezer that don't know what he's talking about. Well, I'm some old geezer- no doubt about that- but I do know what I'm talking about."
"Bobby, where exactly do you live? I mean, why hasn't anyone else reported this?
"I live in a small city called Alta Sierra- few hours away northeast of L.A.-and there is no one else to see the kid- I'm the only neighbor within a few acres of the house."
Again with the glances.
Megan spoke up-
"Other than his similarity in looks, can you tell me any other reason you think this man you saw might be Don Eppes?"
"Well, I don't know. He said his name was Donny."
Both Megan and David nodded-
"It's not much to go on..." she said, "We get a lot of tips like this that just don't pan out."
Frowning sourly, Bob tried to explain-
"I'm just asking you to look- don't you understand that I'm concerned about his well-being, no matter who he is. He hasn't been outside playing baseball since I first saw him last week- if nothing else, it'd make an old man feel better if you checked things out; cause I can guarantee you one thing, something's not right about the whole situation."
Bob noted that both agents' expressions had turned to stone and their postures had become ramrod straight.
Unknowingly to Bob, his mentioning baseball had charged a gut feeling in both of their stomachs.
With a solid, deep voice, David asked-
"Where exactly do you live again?"
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Megan was sitting in Bob's living room, trying to get comfortable on his old couch, the cushions lumpy and the seat hard. David was in the old man's kitchen, staring through binoculars at the yellow house next door, the afternoon sunlight glinting off its twin glass orbs. The agents had been switching positions every four hours since the two days previous, when they had first arrived at Bob's house. They had managed to park in the back yard next to an old shed, entering the house well before dark. Since then, it had been a waiting game, as they tried to catch sight of the mysterious man Bob had met next door. Only, as they had been forewarned, he never seemed to appear.
Bob and Jimmy were sitting at the dining room table half-heartedly playing poker. Though the young college student was patiently waiting for the agents to sight Don Eppes next door, the old codger was beginning to get annoyed.
"How the hell long do you plan to stare out that window?" he finally asked David.
Without turning, the agent replied-
"As long as it takes to see that guy."
"And what if it takes a week, or month, or year- huh, you think about that? F.B.I. planning on paying me rent?"
Bob didn't mean to be so ornery. He just wasn't used to standing around and doing nothing when a job needed doing. From fighting in World War II to working in an office job he hated (had to pay the bills) to taking care of the funeral arrangements for his daughter and son-in-law, and eventually his wife- Bob simply did whatever job came his way because he had been raised in a generation that revered the work ethic. Though he knew the agents considered standing around staring out a window their job, he couldn't help but think that there must be something else they could do to get at that boy.
Biting his tongue, David politely replied-
"We don't have any evidence that Don Eppes is in that house. Until we confirm his identity, we can not get a search warrant to enter the premises. So, as much as we all hate having to stand around and just look out this window, it is the only option open to us."
Hell, Bob thought, it's not the only option open to me.
Slamming his cards on the table, Bob got up and went to the hall closet. He was putting on his coat when David and Jimmy came up behind him.
"Where do you think you're going?" David demanded.
"Where do you think?" Bob spat back, pulling his zipper up tight.
Jimmy stood in front of the door, blocking Bob's path, while David stood to one side of him, and Megan approached him from the other.
"Cool down, Grandpa- you can't possibly be thinking about going over there?" Jimmy asked him nervously, scared eyes turning to Megan and David for help.
The old man turned around, looking each of the younger people circling him in the eye- one by one.
"And why not?" he said, folding his arms across his chest, "That woman ain't ever gonna let her son come out, and you're gonna give up and leave. Me- I'm not willing to let that happen. I'm not restricted by search warrants and judges and courts."
Megan, David, and Jimmy all unconsciously stepped back from Bob, giving him leeway to exit; Jimmy because he knew once his grandfather decided to do something, there was no changing his mind- Megan and David, because they knew he was right, they couldn't stay there forever.
"So, what's your plan?" Megan asked.
"Well, I've been thinking- you kept joking about me looking for the Red Baron, like he's some made up person I should be gunning for; what you might not know is, he was real- a pilot during WWI- nobody could get near him and his flying machine, him always shooting you down if you even thought of getting close- sorta the way Dr. Thompson likes to fight. Well, the bravest way those fighter planes would attack was to come right at each other- face to face- to engage in the battle. Took a lot of nerve to fight that way."
Bob opened the door and stepped on his porch, eyeing Dr. Thompson's house across his land.
"You keep your binoculars on that front door," Bob directed, "I'll get Donny to come out- cause my plan is to engage in battle with Dr. Thompson the old-fashioned way- head on."
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Bob walked straight to Dr. Thompson's front door, ringing her bell several times before he got an answer.
"Why, Bob," she exclaimed sweetly when she opened her front door, no emotion showing on her face, "What a pleasant surprise. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Actually, there is," he replied, not stalling for any more time and being straightforward in his request, "I've haven't seen Donny outside all week, and I demand you let me see him- right now. I think you're doing something to him, and if you don't do what I say, I'm calling adult services to report you for abuse."
He then folded his arms and planted his feet, letting her know he wasn't leaving.
Dr. Thompson eyed him for a few minutes, her options obviously running through her head. At last, she smiled at Bob-
"Donny hasn't felt like playing outside- I bought him some new toys and he's been busy with them"-
Bob started to challenge her claim; he was stopped short when she continued-
"But of course, if you're concerned about my son's well-being, you are welcome to come in and see how safe and happy he is for yourself."
Like hell I will Bob thought.
"I'm sorry Dr. Thompson- I don't want to intrude. If he could just come here a few moments so I could see him, I promise- I'll never bother you again."
"Well, as long as you promise to leave him alone after this"-
"I swear- I won't ask you about him again."
Relenting, Dr. Thompson went inside her home, appearing a few seconds later with her son in tow.
Bob's heart sank. Donny's head was tilted into his chest, his eyes down and half-closed, his arm wrapped tightly around his mother's.
Gently, Bob said to him-
"Hey, sweetie, remember your old friend Bobby?"
Donny didn't answer him- instead, he pressed his face into Dr. Thompson's arm.
Well, this ain't gonna do us any good Bob thought.
Attempting another strategy, he addressed Thompson-
"Hey, that's not a black eye he has there, is it?"
Dr. Thompson glowered at Bob. She grabbed Donny's head under the chin, and wrenched it around for her neighbor to view his face.
Apparently satisfied, Bob said good-bye to Donny and promised Dr. Thompson she would have no more trouble from him.
He did not, of course, promise she would not have any trouble from anyone else at his home.
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Megan dropped her binoculars in the sink with surprise. David was frozen in position as he just stared and stared through his binoculars, seeing nothing, as Dr. Thompson and Don had already re-entered the house.
Finally turning to Megan, David smiled and gave her a spontaneous hug.
"Hard to believe one of these tips finally panned out," he grinned.
Quickly, their professional demeanor took over, as they planned what their next steps would be.
When Bob returned to the house, he and Jimmy entered the kitchen; they didn't have to ask- they both knew; it was apparent by the looks and actions on the faces of the agents.
The man living in Dr. Thompson's house had been positively identified as Special F.B.I. Agent Donald Adam Eppes.