AN: Wahey, an update! Whoah, I totally didn't see that one coming. Honest, I didn't. Something else was supposed to happen this chapter. Obviously, this means it didn't.
Enjoy the second chapter regardless!
This bit (mostly) conceived and written (completely) on February 15th, 2006. :)
Geared - Chapter 2
Gronick, South Dakota, was a quiet little town, not anywhere particularly close to it's capital Pierre, but for the moment, it held everything Mal needed.
For one, there was a distinct lack of Agents anywhere within the city limits that would be looking for him. Half or less of the team assigned to this particular area of the State were expected to make another routine visit to the quaint and quiet little town two days from now.
They would be staying here for two more days, before leaving again for their headquarters. Then Mal would have one day before another visit was made, probably by another pair of Agents.
For another, there was someone here who would point him to someone who would be very helpful.
If his research on the matter was correct, then he would have no problem convincing a certain Jan Millers to, preferably, give him accurate and up-to-date information on the current whereabouts of the low-profile deviant #10021249007.65FRl8, a.k.a. Jesper "Esmée" Bakers, who, despite a lack of matching DNA, succesfully posed as the grandfather of the aforementioned Jan Millers.
Mal quietly admitted to himself that he would settle for a last known location if the woman proved unreasonable. The former Agent had more than one way to find people that would be useful to him, after all.
"Right," he said, breaking the silence in the small compartment of the rental car before pushing himself to action. He would have been in and out that paint shop with the required information on any other given day. Days like today, though, seemed to exist outside of the regular space time continuum when it came to that.
Mal pulled the key out of the ignition and got out of the small and compact Volvo, closing and locking thedirty white door.
Putting both the key and his hands in the dark blue blazer he'd picked up, he crossed the parking lot, moving towards the paint shop that belonged to Jan Millers and her husband.
Mal glanced inside the shop as he passed the window, which proudly proclaimed this to be the 'Miller's Paint Shop' for anyone to see in an abhorrent display of colours that didn't so much not match as just didn't go together.
.. would have an apoplectic fit if he saw that..
A fond smile appeared on his lips as he pushed the door open, but it wasn't the unexpected sound of the jangling sleigh bells strategically placed above the door that caused him to frown at the memory he couldn't quite place. No, they merely caused him to startle.
"Be with you in a minute, look around why don't you?" came the advice from somewhere in the shop. The voice sounded vaguely distracted and Mal took grateful use of the moment to collect his nerves and close the door amidst another discordant jangle of bells.
Looking mildly flustered for no good reason that he could find, other than today being 'one of those days', Mal approached the counter and sighed to himself as his programming took over to scan the shop for werewolves or anything unusual that he would know how to handle.
Werewolves, at least, made a certain sense on days like these.
"Right, sorry for taking so long," a woman appeared from behind a door, wiping a pair of hands that looked dipped in a new coat of paint as she wiped them on her trousers, a matching stripe on her left cheek and forehead.
Alright, Mal admitted, this too was unusual, but not quite the unusual he had expected. Still, one took what one could get..
"Ah, Mrs. Jan Millers?" He asked in his polite English accent.
"Ooh, not from around here, are we?" The woman's amused grin widened into a sheepish one as she waved a decidedly green hand in a vaguely dismissive manner, "Oh, don't mind me, I've been waiting for years to try that one. Since so many people tried it on me when I first got here.. Used to live north of the state line."
Mal, not really having any frame of reference when it came to North and South Dakota accents, blinked for a moment. "Ah, no, that's.. quite alright, really.."
He cleared his throat and frowned a bit, then tried to get as close to the sequence he'd come up with for the situation. "Ah, I'm not here for any paint, actually. I'm here to talk to you about your grandfather, Mr. Bakers? You wouldn't happen to.. ? Mrs. Millers? Are you alright? Maybe you should.."
Before Mal could finish his suggestion about her sitting down, Mrs. Miller had already taken to the floor.
Walking quickly around the counter, he knelt to inspect the woman's inert form on the floor. She was breathing, but unconscious.
.. It.. would appear that she had fainted.
Well, that was certainly not something he had expected..
The large shadow that accompanied the heavy footfalls headed in their direction had been, although, not exactly in this situation.
"And what do you thinkyou're doing, Mister?"
.. Bugger.
tbc