"Jane Langston? Maine game warden? Yeah, I remember her. She helped me and Chris with a case that took us to her neck of the woods, and she wasn't afraid to get dirty while chasing down our suspect," Pride said. "Chris wrote her a letter of recommendation, and last I heard, she'd managed to embarrass the weapons instructor during FLETC training."
"How?" Gibbs asked, calling Pride on his cell from inside Langston's camper. The junior agent was still sound asleep, having tossed and turned most of the night, until finally taking a double shot of Tylenol later that night, out of desperation. The camper's bed was comfortable enough that Gibbs got some sleep, while still keeping an ear out for Langston.
"He made the bad mistake of assuming she was just a rookie with an antique rifle, until she outshot him with her Winchester during a training exercise. Then he found out she's been handling rifles since she was old enough to walk, never mind ride." Pride chuckled. "Yeah, she's good people. What's going on, brother?"
"She's been reassigned to me, pending an investigation into her previous supervisor, and since she knew you, wanted your opinion on her," Gibbs said.
"Well, she's very much a cowgirl, the rough and tumble type. She's more comfortable in jeans and boots than office wear, and I never saw her without her hat. She's also good with interrogations, and her 'aw shucks' persona catches people off-guard every time. She owns a black Chevy Silverado truck and she loves that thing. Oh, and if you let her, she never goes anywhere without her favorite, prized, knife."
"What's so special about it?"
"The handle is made from the antler of the first buck she ever hunted in Maine, and from the way she described it, it was such a big fellow, that she wound up donating some of the meat to a family that had fallen on hard times. The father thanked her by making her the knife, and it's usually in a sheath on the back of her belt, and trust me, not only does she keep that thing razor-sharp, she knows how to use it. She also usually carries a boot knife, and knows her knots like the best of 'em." Pride sighed heavily. "My only concern with her is her stubbornness. During the case, our suspect caught us all off-guard and body-slammed her through the building wall and onto the hard-packed ground, which was a good three feet up. Despite her telling us she was okay, we later found out she'd gotten a concussion and a couple of cracked ribs, plus some real nasty facial bruises from when the suspect punched her, before she could get her wind, and before Chris or I could get to him. She refused medical treatment until we caught the guy, and even then it was a fight just to get her to take it easy. She tried to tell us she'd taken worse hits with a thousand pound horse and a stall wall, but her immediate supervisor was not happy with her. Seems that wasn't the first time, as the bullet graze scar on her upper arm can attest to, and no, I don't know the story about that."
"I'll ask her," Gibbs said. "Thanks, King."
"Any time, brother. Tell Jane I said hey."
"I will." Gibbs' ears caught the sound of Langston stirring and he went to check on her; she was up on her elbows and pushing her hair out of her face, looking better. "Hey," he said.
"Hey yourself, boss," she said.
"How're you feeling?"
"Like the bull beat me to the fence by two seconds," she grumbled, sitting up and swinging her legs over her bed with a grunt. "Nature calls an' I'm craving a shower."
"Want me to call Kasie or Bishop?"
"Sure. An' then, you an' me, hoss, we got some figuring out to do," Langston said. "With all due respect, Dale was an ass, an' if the big boss is turnin' me over to you, I wanna know what I'm gittin' myself into with you. I ain't got no plans to wind up in the pig pen twice, if you get my meaning."
"I do," Gibbs said, helping Langston hobble across the camper to the washroom. "Do your thing, and I'll call Bishop. You drink coffee?"
"Does a cow shit? Stuff's in the doors above the stove, four scoops," Langston said, sitting down on the toilet with a groan.
As he shut the door, Gibbs took out his phone and called Bishop. "There's a camper out back, need your help with another agent. Kasie knows where it is," he said when she answered. She promised to be there quickly, and he hung up. As he got the coffee ready, four scoops of Maxwell House Dark Roast, he heard the toilet flush and the sink run for a moment. Then Langston opened the door and hobbled out, heading for the dinette table and chairs.
"This is gonna be a long few days," she groaned. She pulled a Hilroy three-subject notebook and pen that had been on the table, towards her, and flipped open the notebook to a blank page. "Okay, since jeans are out of the question for a few days, I'm gonna need either sweats or lounge pants, neither of which I have in large numbers."
"What do you like to eat?" Gibbs asked, knowing a few places where she could get some loose pants.
"A good steak and potatoes, medium, with gravy, an' a healthy portion of steamed corn, carrots, and peas," Langston said. "Oh, an' a cold Bud if I ain't drivin'." Gibbs grinned at that, as he brought two cups of fresh coffee to the table. There was no creamer in the fridge, or sugar on the counter, so he made an educated guess as to how Langston liked her coffee. "Otherwise, I'll go for a sub sandwich with a cold cut mix on bread with lotsa cheese, or a good ol' BLT an' fries, chocolate milk on the side, or apple juice. Soda, I like a Jones Soda Green Apple, but I'll drink whatever's on hand, but nonna that diet crap stuff."
"I hear ya. Burgers?"
"Bring 'em on, especially if they're an inch thick an' come with fried onions an' pickles on the side."
"What do you got in your freezer and fridge?"
"Right now, not a lot, 'cause tomorrow was supposed to be my day off an' I was gonna go grocery shopping," Langston said.
"Write your list, including your preferred brands," Gibbs said. "I'll take care of it."
There was a knock at the door and Gibbs went to answer it; it was Bishop, who was looking more than a little confused.
"Umm, morning, boss," she said, as she followed him into the trailer. "Hi Jane. How's the leg?"
"Sore," Langston said, looking up from her writing. "I want to wash my grubby hair an' I need a little help. I can do the sponge bath thing, but I ain't riskin' goin' ass over kettle while washing my hair."
"Okay, we can do that," Bishop said, trying not to feel like a fish out of water. "Clean clothes?"
"Thataway. Think there's another pair of sweats in the closet, during my game warden training days," Langston said, pointing towards her bedroom with her pen before resuming writing in the notebook.
"I'll get them," Bishop said, heading for the bedroom.
Langston shoved her list towards Gibbs. "These are the basics, stuff that'll get me through for a few days until I can move about on my own. Keep the receipts an' I'll pay you back. The keys to my truck are beside the door. I don't care who you are, but you ding my truck, an' I'll put a few dings in you you ain't gonna be able to hammer out."
"You could always claim the groceries as medical expenses," Bishop said, coming back with some clean clothes in her arms.
"Not unless I gotta deal with Cheerful Chucky in Accounting. Guy's so dang stingy, he'll squeeze a nickel 'till the buffalo screams," Langston groused.
"Umm, yeah, okay, I guess," Bishop said, trying to figure out what Langston meant.
Gibbs must've realized this, because he grinned and said, "Real tightwad."
"Ah. Yeah," Bishop said. "Shower?"
"Goin'," Langston said, getting up with a grunt from the table and heading for the bathroom.
"I'll be back shortly," Gibbs said, snagging the truck keys and leaving the camper. "Oh, Langston?"
"Yeah?"
"Coffee's good."
"Good to know. An' dannabit that hurt!" Langston yelped from the bathroom.
"What happened?" Bishop asked, concerned, seeing Langston leaning against the bathroom sink, eyes closed in pain.
"Moved wrong. It's gonna be a long week," Langston grumbled as she hopped over to the shower/tub and sat down on the edge heavily. She pulled off her blouse and chucked it in one corner of the room before gesturing to the taps. "Let's git this nutter show on the road, shall we?"
When Gibbs came back an hour later, having taken the time to stop by his place and grab a shower and a change of clothes, he heard laughter coming from inside the camper. Curious, he went inside in time to see Bishop and Langston giggling like crazy.
"An' that ain't even the worst one. See, I get this call 'bout a fishin' injury down by one of the local creeks, an' since we're right smackaroo in the middle of fishin' season, and it's been warm for the last few days, I ain't too surprised," Langston said. "So I git down there, an' I see this feller an' a couple o' his buddies sittin' on a coupla rocks. Now, this one feller, he had a towel draped across his waist, just so, ya know? An' his face is lookin' a little green apple green, like he's one hair away from givin' up his cookies. So I do the usual question askin' an' all that, an' in the mean time I'm seeing plenty o' fishin' gear an' whatnot. Where's the injury? Where's your fishin' license? Was there any alcohol involved? An' this guy's stammerin' an' stutterin' an' his buddies are laughin' their asses off. Finally, I git good an' mad and tell 'em yokels to stop foolin' round an' help me figure out what in tarnation happened. Turns out the danged fool had taken a bet t' go fishin' in the nude, an' the hook had caught him right on the tip of his pecker, right where the skin covers the head when it ain't up."
"Oh my god," Bishop moaned, laughing. Even Gibbs couldn't help but cringe over that.
"Now that was a fun one t' call in to the Emergency Services fellers, an' it got worse when one of the paramedics that showed up, was a gal I was friends wit."
"How bad?" Bishop asked, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
"Bad. Feller was eighteen an' just about to graduate from high school. Word went 'round town so fast, it made an EF5 tornado look slow," Langston said, giggling. "Oh, an' his girlfriend? She was not a happy camper for a few weeks, 'cause word was the first time he tried t' git it up, it hurt so much, it went down twice as fast. An' just to really add insult to injury, I had t' examine his pecker so I could tell the paramedics what t' expect. He kinda, sorta, got, well, yeah, no. That was one danged hard report to write, an' I even got a call from Pete the next day, askin' me if I was serious about the report. Oh yeah."
"Was he laughing?" Bishop asked.
"Tryin' not ta, but I'd worked wit him long 'nuff to know when he was tryna be professional an' all that, an' not laugh, but I could hear 'im laughing just before he ended the call," Langston said. "Hey, boss."
"Truck's nice. No dings," Gibbs said. He went back outside and brought in several bags of groceries and a case of Jones Soda Green Apple.
"Oh, you are definitely in my good books, sir," Langston said, cracking open the one bottle that Gibbs handed her, and taking a large swallow. "How much do I owe you?"
"You don't. I gave the paperwork to Accounting, told them it was medical expenses because you got shot in the line of duty," Gibbs said.
"They don't mess around with him," Bishop told Langston.
"I'll remember that th' next time I need t' do the square dance wit 'em," Langston said. "Lemme ask ya this; what are yer rules and regs with regards to my appearance? I seen Torres, an' he was in cargo pants an' boots most days. I saw you in jeans an' a bright orange sweatshirt coupla weeks back, so again, what are yer rules, especially wit my hats?"
"Wear what's comfortable, as long as you can run in it. If that means jeans, boots, and your hats, then wear them, as long as you remember we occasionally deal with top brass. Pride said you had a favorite knife and you carry a boot knife?" Gibbs asked.
"See that drawer near the door?" Langston asked. He did and he opened it. Inside was a knife in a worn leather sheath, with an antler handle. He took it out and took the knife out of the sheath, balancing it.
"Good balance," he said.
Langston waggled her fingers at him, and he handed her the knife. Without warning, she threw it, and it went deep and hard into a board that was attached to the pantry door.
"Wow," Bishop said, eyes a bit wide.
"One of the rules of a good rancher; know your knives and your knots," Langston said, getting up and taking the knife out of the board, handing it back to Gibbs.
"Rule 9, never go anywhere without a knife," he said, putting the knife back in the sheath and back in the drawer. "Where's your service weapon?"
"In my desk, in NCIS. Didn't get a chance to grab it last night, and it needs cleaning," Langston said, sitting back down.
"I'll get it, along with any paperwork you might need," Bishop offered.
"Right thanks," Langston said.
"Where's your rifle?" Gibbs asked.
Langston pointed up to a panel above the table. "Push on it."
Gibbs did so, and it popped open, revealing a rifle rack and a gleaming, polished Winchester Model 1894 lever-action rifle below a black Remington 700 bolt-action rifle. There were a couple of nasty, but worn-down scratches across the buttstock of the Winchester, but for a rifle as old as it was, it was still in very good shape.
"Belonged to my great-grandpa, an' just before I left, Ma and Gram turned the rifle over ta me. Uses thirty-thirties with no problem," Langston said, as Gibbs removed the rifle with an almost reverent look about him. "I also have th' Remington 700 bolt-action I used as a game warden. It packs a good punch when I need it, an' I like the .223 Remington rounds."
"I'm not much of a gun person, but umm, wow, that is beautiful," Bishop said, eyes wide as Gibbs studied the Winchester.
"The scratches?" Gibbs asked.
"Story goes Gram's horse was nearly dinner for a starving bobcat. Cat was too close t' her horse t' git in a clear shot, so Gram did the only thing her fifteen yer old mind could think ah; she charged the cat an' swung the rifle hard enough ta' send it flying, broke it's back against a nearby tree. Th' scratches are from th' cat's claws," Langston said.
"Wow," Bishop said.
"Proven fact, Langston wimmen tend ta be pretty tough stock," Langston said. "Had ta be."
Gibbs put the rifle back and closed the hidden hatch. "Bishop, go get the paperwork and her weapon," he said to Bishop, who nodded.
"Back soon," Bishop said, wisely not arguing with her boss.
After Bishop left, Gibbs sat down across from Langston. "Okay, let's lay our cards down. I expect you to do your job to the best of your ability. Do not be unreachable, ever. We're a team, and that means we work together as a team, always. Always carry your knife with you, and gloves. If you need help, ask. I'll teach you the rest as we go."
"I can live wit' dat," Langston said.
"Now, what do you expect from me?" Gibbs asked.
Langston studied him for a moment, thinking hard. "I expect ta learn. I didn't give up my nice job as a game warden an' embarrass the heck outta the FLETC weapons teach justa be used as a danged punchin' bag by some varmit wit' a bad attitude. Yeah, Imma gonna trip some times, it happens, but th' good Lord willin', an' the creek don't rise, ya give me a chance, an' I'll give ya the best I got."
"What do you want? Why are you doing this? As you said, you gave up a nice job as a game warden, and some game wardens I know have been doing the job for twenty years or more," Gibbs said. "Only a month on this job and you take a bullet to the leg that just missed a major artery."
"'Cause I want more. I have a brother who joined the Marines when I wuz fifteen. I ain't seen 'im since, but I figure he's probably tryna make the world a better place. I wanna help, and maybe, just maybe, I can find 'im and tell 'im I was wrong an' I understand now," Langston said.
"What about your parents?"
Langston smiled sadly. "Pa did ta me what he did ta Johnny. I ain't seen Ma since I left home at nineteen, and yeah, I have tried, but Pa?" Langston shook her head. "Once he closes tha' door, he ain't openin' it again."
"Then it's up to you, for the sake of your mother, to break down that door," Gibbs said. "We'll help you find your brother, but it's up to you to make contact. Same goes for your mother. Is that clear?"
"As vodka, sir," Langston said. She held out her hand, and Gibbs shook it, noting she had a firm grip.
There was a knock on the door, and Langston hollered for the person to come in. It was Kasie, Palmer, and Ducky, with Ducky carrying a set of forearm crutches. Kasie grinned when she saw Langston.
"I got gossip," she said happily.
"Good stuff?" Langston asked.
"Very good stuff," Kasie said.
"And I am out of here," Gibbs said. "I don't want to see you at your desk for at least three days. After that, it's up to you."
"I'll drink ta that," Langston said, raising her Jones. After Gibbs left, she pounced on Kasie. "Gossip. Give!"