"You should have kept your mouth shut, you bitch," Dale hissed at her, getting into her face.
"Go suck an egg, ya lazy horndog," Langston said, glaring at him coldly. "It's all yer misfortune an' none oh my own."
"I don't understand what the hell you just said, you freak, but understand this; you're just a little nobody probationary agent, and I will get you, one way or another," Dale snarled.
Suddenly, he was on the floor, the world having exploded around him. His face beginning to hurt, he looked up. Standing over him, shaking her fist, was Langston, and she was glaring at him.
"Ya start it, I'll finish it," Langston said conversationally. "Ya come at me again, an' I'll show you what happened t' the last guy I tangled wit, in the last bar fight I was in." And with that, she slapped the elevator power button back on, which Dale had turned off, and stepped over the prone man when the elevator opened.
It had been about a week since they'd last seen each other, and they had just finished a meeting with Director Vance, along with Gibbs and Ducky.
Gibbs had already made his opinion known; over the last few days, he had come to know the younger agent, and decided she had something to add to his team. For one thing, she was law-enforcement, but of a different kind, which meant she saw the world a little differently. With nearly six years of experience and plenty of experience in a wide variety of situations, Langston was no greenhorn fresh out of some college or high school, terrified of shooting a gun. Her background as a rancher's daughter, on a genuine, working ranch, where hard work and long days were the order of the day, had instilled a hard working, keep-going-till-the-job's-done, just-because-it-hurts-doesn't-mean-you-quit, if-it-doesn't-work-one-way-find-another, personality. She was riding before she was walking, and she was shooting by the time she was in Grade 1. She had carried that personality into her job as a game warden, and her file had several mentions of her chasing after suspected poachers and only stopping when her supervisors ordered her to. Her file also mentioned her taking numerous law-enforcement related training courses, especially with the local PD, most of which were elective, and covered a wide range of tactics and techniques. Langston's reasoning for taking the courses was very simple; boredom.
"If Imma gonna do my job, I might as well do it wit as much knowledge as possible. Sides, I'm not used ta sittin' round an' not comin' home ready ta drop from exhaustion. So my boss told me ta take these courses, whichever ones looked interestin', an' I took as many as I could fit inta my schedules," Langston told Gibbs one evening, over steaks and beers. "I already know I wanta check out yer REACT teams."
The investigation into Dale's behavior had been concluded, and effective immediately, Dale was being reassigned to another NCIS post in Alaska, well away from any major NCIS post with any sort of influence, or at least people Dale could bully. The only reason he wasn't being handed his termination papers was because, thanks to COVID-19, their numbers were down. However, the legal department had warned Vance that he didn't dare risk leaving Dale in a position of authority, where he could go after someone else again. The investigation had revealed that Langston hadn't been the first probie agent Dale had bullied, nor the first time Rinkles had covered up for him. In fact, it was suspected that Rinkles, and several other women in other Human Resources departments, had covered up for him repeatedly. The legal department had warned Vance that they couldn't fire Rinkles without risking a sexual harassment suit against the department, namely against Dale, but they could shift her somewhere very far away from Dale and Langston, and slap her with a restraining order to stay away from Langston, with no communication, at all, or she would be well and truly fired, this time with grounds for termination.
Dale had been given the same restraining order, effective the second he got back to his desk, and he was informed of this during the meeting.
Then, once the meeting was over, they had gone downstairs, with Langston and Dale taking the elevator.
"Should we leave those two alone?" Ducky asked Gibbs, worried.
Gibbs grinned. "Nah, she'll be fine."
Sure enough, Langston stepped out of the elevator, over a prone Dale, who was still on the floor and still looking a little dazed.
"Is he all right?" Ducky asked, concerned.
"Tripped over my cane, kinda hit the wall, and I ain't exactly in any hurry ta help 'im up," Langston said easily. "But if ya would be so as kind, Doc, could ya, I dunno, maybe check 'im over?"
"Of course," Ducky said, getting into the elevator.
"You okay?" Gibbs asked Langston.
"Right as rain. Whatta we got?" Langston asked. She had managed to switch to a cane instead of the crutches, but still walked with a bit of a limp. Her clothes had also changed. She was now in boot-cut jeans, a blue and black plaid snap-button Western shirt, a belt with a wide silver buckle, and worn cowboy boots tucked under her jeans. On her belt, at her back, was her deer antler knife. At her desk was a hat hook that was attached to her wall, and a black cowboy hat hung from it, next to a well-worn dark blue wool rancher's coat. Bishop had given her a little ball cactus in a cute teacup and matching plate, McGee had found a comfortable footrest for her leg while it healed, and Torres had made sure she had a decent desk lamp. In her desk was a fountain pen with twelve different ink cartridges, as a thank you from Kasie for her help with the previous case.
"You're going to the gun range with Torres. I want to make sure you know what you say you know," Gibbs said.
"Fair 'nough," Langston said. She glanced at the other agent. "What do ya wanta play with?"
"Rifle and sidearm," Torres said. "I want you to show me that you know how to load and unload them safely, fire them, and your accuracy. Later, we'll do a walk-and-shoot session, see how you do."
"Double team, room clear?" Langston asked, clipping her sidearm to her belt, which also had a spare clip.
"Yup," Torres said, doing the same.
"Fine. I'll dig out mah trainin' knives," Langston said. She grinned as she shrugged into her coat. "They're a real shocker."
"I hate those things," Bishop muttered. When everyone looked at her, she explained. "Been shocked a few times by those things. Last time, my arm was numb for an hour."
"Better a numb arm than a blade in yer gut," Langston pointed out.
"Point," McGee said.
"Get," Gibbs said.
"Going," Torres said.
"Gone," Langston said, tugging her hat on and down, and following Torres to the elevator. "Rifles are in my camper."
"We'll go grab them," Torres said. He still wasn't quite sure what to make of the new team member, despite what Bishop, Kasie, and Palmer were saying. In the camper, he spotted the photos. "You hunt?"
"And fish. Nothin' like a good fish dinner," Langston said, popping open the rifle panel and removing the Remmington. She handed it to Torres, before taking out the ammunition.
"How do you travel with these?" Torres asked.
"Locked rifle rack in th' bed of truck if I'm huntin', otherwise they stay here," Langston said, grabbing her safety glasses and ear plugs. "If I ain't usin' 'em, I ain't carryin' 'em. Locked ammunition box in th' same place. Both rifles are registered, but I thought th' gun store owner was gonna cry when he saw the Winchester an' found out how old it was. Don't use it unless I'm huntin'. Fishin' gear goes in there too."
"What do you like to fish for?"
"Whatever's legal an' tastes good."
"Gibbs goes fishing; he'd know a couple of good spots."
"Good t' know. Let's move out."
Torres was more than happy to ride in Langston's truck.
"This is sweet," he said, looking around in appreciation.
"Oh, I love this thing," Langston said, grinning. "But if ya spill anythin' in here, ya ain't gonna be lovin' me."
"Duly warned."
Two hours later, he was staring at Langston with new respect. He had taken her to a federal training facility and run her through several basic weapons scenarios with both the rifle and her sidearm. "Okay, I am impressed. And I apologize. I thought you were fudging the truth a bit about that firearms story."
"I don't fudge those stories," Langston said, unloading her rifle. "Ain't no point. Shall we make a date fer a tag-team session?"
"If it's you and me versus McGee and Bishop, I'm in," Torres said.
"What about th' big hoss?"
"If you mean Gibbs, I don't dare. I do not want to piss him off."
"That good, huh?"
"That terrifying."
Langston laughed.
"I'm hungry for some lunch. You ever go to the Beltway Burger?"
"Can't right say I have," she replied. "Good stuff?"
"Half an inch thick, I swear."
"Pickles?"
"Slabs if you want them. And the fries are no slouch either."
"I'm game. Let's go."
It was when they were headed towards Beltway Burgers, with Torres driving, that Langston spotted something.
"Slow down," she said, eyebrows furrowed.
"What do you see?" he asked, slowing down a bit.
"Sign says that building's closed, so why're there two vehicles parked nearby?" she asked, reaching into the compartment between their seats and pulling out a pair of compact binoculars. "Might be somethin', might be nothin', but sometimes a might be nothin' turns out ta be a big somethin'," she continued, watching what was going on through her binoculars. "An' right now I don't like th' way those vehicles are parked."
"You wanna take a closer look?" Torres asked.
"Yeah, see if we kin get a plate an' run it."
Torres checked the area and quickly found a place to hide the truck but where they could get back to it fast if they needed to.
"How do you want to play this?" he asked.
"You speak any Spanish?"
"I can hold a basic conversation. You?"
"Well 'nuf. Muévete, mantente bajo."
"Si, move in, stay low. We also need to call Gibbs and warn him," Torres said, taking out his phone and quickly dialing their boss. "Always call Gibbs before you do something like this, if it's not planned, just in case something goes wrong. Hey boss, we're headed back, but something caught our attention so we're going to stop and check it out. Will do." He ended the call. "We're good. Let's go." Moving quickly and quietly, they circled around the buildings to where the vehicles were. One was a cargo van and the other was a truck, both vehicles looking like they had seen better days.
"Can you see a plate?" Torres asked in a low voice, as Langston peered through her binoculars.
"Delta delta eight one five six fer the van," Langston replied. Torres quickly sent McGee a text with the plate information and a request to run it. "Can't quite make out th' truck, but it's memorable, that's fer dang sure." She handed him the binoculars, then did something strange; she closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly. After a moment, she said, "They're ways in, but I kin hear 'em doin' somethin' inside, metal scraping on concrete floors, more 'n one feller. What say we have a look see?"
Torres nodded, and unstrapping their weapons just in case, they moved towards a doorway. Torres took out his phone and turned on the camera, allowing them to see around the corner. Amid the shadows of the building, he spotted some barrels and indicated that they were to head for them, to which Langston nodded. Keeping low and near the way, they made their way towards the barrels. In the warehouse, for it was an old warehouse, were two men working at a table that had an assortment of equipment on it, one of which Langston recognized.
"That's a pill presser," she hissed at Torres. "Ecstasy?"
"Maybe, but that stuff's lethal without proper PPE. Won't know until we get closer. What do your 'nocs say?"
Langston checked. "White powder, some food colorin' stuff, an' looks like capsule filling machines too, an' lotsa pill bottles. That's a label makin' machine over there too." An idea came to Langston. "What 'bout fake meds? People are pretty desperate right now."
Torres quickly snapped a few photos and sent them to McGee. "I'm only seeing the two dudes right now, but there might be someone else, especially with those catwalks. Looks like they're moving something out." His phone vibrated, signalling an incoming text message. "McGee says the plate belongs to a Jerome Tanner, and he's got a long record, mostly drug-related."
"Weapons?"
"When there's drugs, there's weapons. Kinda goes with the job."
"Point. Pincer? We need t' talk to these fellers, but if they start shootin', I want cover."
Torres nodded and quickly looked around. "Get cute, and I'll be within reach." He quickly disappeared amongst the barrels and pallets. A minute later, he was in position, and Langston stood up.
"Well now, howdy, folks," Langston said casually, pushing back her coat to show her sidearm. "Don't know what yer upta, but sure looks mighty interestin'."
"Who the hell are you?" the heaver of the two men demanded.
Langston grinned, tugging her hat down. "Lets jest say I'm someone who could be yer bestie or yer worst nightmare. Why doncha tell me what's goin' on here, an' maybe we kin work somethin' out to our mutual benefits."
"And what do you have to offer, other than a nice set of legs and a big mouth?" the second man demanded.
"Access to a lotta people, the kind that kin make things a whole lot harder fer ya with those fancy pills oh yers. Don' think it's E 'cause yer PPE gear sucks, an' ya got the wrong gear fer makin' blow or candy, or even crank."
"It's not," the second man said.
"Shut up!" the first man said. "Why don't you come closer?"
"Honey, I may have been born at night, but I wuzn't born last night, an' I ain't gittin' any closer to ya fine fellers until I'm danged sure you ain't gonna try an' put a few holes in my nice shirt," Langston said.
"What do you want?" the first man demanded.
"A bottle oh Jack's, a fine feller t' play cowgirl with, an a good steak, but right now, I wanta know what yer doin' on my property."
"We were told this place was abandoned!" the second man protested.
"Book, cover? Fantastic thing, huh?" Langston said. "Here's the thing, boys, I don' like varmints, an' when I find 'em, I tend t' shoot 'em. Yer trespassin' where ya don' belong, an' unless I start gittin' some acceptable answers, well, I aim t' start gittin' mighty cranky."
"How do we know you're not a fed?" the second man demanded.
"How do I know you ain't someone stupid?" Langston shot back. "Last feller stupid 'nuf t' cross me, well, Texas is a mighty big place an' people disappear real easy," she said, grinning widely. "Now, I kin make one call an' there'll be so many fellers in fancy gear crashin' down on this place that it'll make a rave look like a little ol' tea party. Or, I kin make another call, an' you get the gear ya need t' really crank the moolah, an' we become real good friends." Seeing that Torres was in position, she pushed back her coat and withdrew her sidearm, showing her gold badge on her hip. "There's a third option. You kin put yer hands where I kin see 'em and step away from th' gear. Now."
As both men raised their hands, glaring at her, Torres called out. "Don't play stupid, boys. She's not the only one here, or the only one with a gun." Both men spun around to see Torres, his weapon aimed at them. "Surprise. Federal agents. Move. Now."
Suddenly, something caught Langston's eye. "¡Tirador! ¡Sobre ti!" she yelled, bringing her gun up and firing off a trio of shots at a guy who was on the catwalk above them, who had suddenly appeared and was aiming an automatic rifle at them. He fell back, and Langston couldn't see him, so she didn't know if she hit him. Torres ducked back as the first man grabbed an automatic weapon that had been on the table, and started shooting at them, while he and the second man scrambled for their vehicles, causing Langston to duck down behind the barrels.
"You git yer sorry biscuits back here, ya mangy varmints!" Langston yelled, firing off some shots once the shooting stopped.
"Don't let them get to their vehicles!" Torres yelled, chasing after the men.
They got outside in time to see the truck tearing out of the yard. Both agents fired at the truck, with no luck. Then something caught Langston's attention out of the corner of her eye, and she spun, dropped, and fired. The man that had been on the catwalk earlier, had been coming around the corner of the building, weapon in hand, and he dropped like a rock as her round punched through his forehead.
"You get a plate?" Torres asked.
"Charlie zeta three maybe bravo couldn't see the dang rest," Langston said, breathing deeply, getting back up. Her leg was protesting loudly, but she ignored it. Now wasn't the time. "Call it in."
"Already am. Nice shot, by the way," Torres said.
Langston swallowed hard. "Yeah."
"Boss, need you and the rest of the team down here. One dead, two on the run. McGee has the photos, we got a partial on a dark blue Ranger truck, older model, judging by the condition. Charlie zeta three or bravo. Some kind of drug operation. We're fine, but as far as I'm concerned, Langston more than meets my expectations. She can have my back any time."
He hung up and went over to where Langston had gone over to her victim. It was a white male, not young but not old, messy brown hair and matching beard, in jeans, a long sleeve shirt, and a brown tactical vest. On the vest, in the center, were three bullet slugs that the vest had stopped, indicating her shots had hit him.
"You did the right thing," he said, seeing the look on her face.
"I saw the vest an' I jest… I reacted, like all my trainin' had taught me."
"Your first?"
She swallowed hard and nodded. "I've hunted lots. Deer, a moose I had t' put outta it's misery, a bear, coyotes, bobcats an' cougars, but this…"
"It's not the same," Torres said, nodding. "If it's any comfort, you saved my life, and you can watch my six anytime."
Langston smiled tightly. "I want that burger, an' a beer, when this is over."
"Deal."