Author's note: I came up with the idea for this case almost three years ago. I'm so excited to finally reach this point in the story I can barely write it. Some of the details are true, some were added for dramatic angsty effect.
The hot dog/hot dog bun conversation is based a more recent conversation I had with my husband and daughter which I immediately thought would work perfectly in this chapter. Bun appétit.
Also used some dialogue from "Little Boy Lost" Season 3 Episode 4.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Monday, 3 October 2016, 7:30 am
"How on earth could you forget your lunch?" Paige complained as she, Walter, and her absent-minded son strolled into the garage. "It was sitting right on the counter, exactly where I put it every day."
"I said I was sorry," Ralph said, his exasperation matching hers. "I had other things on my mind."
"Is everything okay at school?" Walter asked the question before she could.
"Yeah. . . And everything is okay at home too," the boy replied. "Come on, this isn't the first time I've forgotten something."
"That's true." Paige headed toward the kitchen. "Good morning, Sly," she called out to the human calculator, who was tidying his already tidy desk.
"That's yet to be determined," Sylvester said as he opened a container of yogurt and giving it a sniff.
She yanked open the ancient fridge, the smile dancing on her lips turning into a frown as she looked over the slim pickings inside. Half a loaf of bread, Toby's beloved hazelnut creamer, nearly empty condiment bottles, a lone pickle floating in a jar, a carton of milk. When she picked up the milk, intent on checking its expiration date, she discovered it too was nearly empty.
"Peanut butter it is." She reached for the bread, hissing between her teeth as pain shot through her lower back."
"Here, let me get that." Walter came up behind her, grabbing the loaf from the lower shelf. "Are you okay?
"Thanks." Taking the bread from him, she rubbed her back with her free hand. "Just a little tinge."
"Question," he said as she got out the peanut butter and set it on the counter.
""What?" She glanced over at him, interrupting her search for a butter knife.
"Why doesn't Ralph just eat the lunch provided by the school?"
"Because it lacks nutrition value," she replied, getting out two pieces of bread. "Or so I was told on the second day of kindergarten."
"Plus it's really gross," said Ralph as he slipped up to stand between her and Walter. He wrinkled his nose as Paige started spreading peanut butter on one of the slices. "Isn't there any jelly?"
"Nope. Someone needs to go grocery shopping," she said, intentionally raising her voice as Toby and Happy entered the building.
"Hey, don't look at me," said the mechanic. "I hate shopping."
"Except for engine parts," the shrink supplied.
"Yeah, what he said," Happy replied as she walked over to her workbench and stashed her bag.
"I'd go but I don't have a car," said Sylvester, an anxious expression on his face.
"It's okay, Sly." With an exasperated sigh, Paige turned to Walter and Ralph. "Go see if there's anything upstairs. And hurry, carpool's gonna be here in ten minutes," she called out after them as they headed toward the stairs.
Assuming it was Cabe when the garage door creaked open again, Paige stuck the knife into the peanut butter, ready to resume making Ralph's sandwich, when she heard Walter murmur, "Oh, shit."
Oh, God. Ms Linehan. The knife clattered to the counter as Paige's heart plummeted to her feet. They hadn't heard from the INS agent since her initial visit several weeks earlier. The old adage 'no news is good news' drifted through her head, but it was one she never believed in. No news had been bad news too many times in her life.
Paige couldn't tell by looking at the older woman's face what kind of news she'd come to deliver along with the large manila envelope she was carrying.
"Mr O'Brien," she called out. "Is there a reason you can't answer your phone this morning?"
"Sorry, uh, we just got-got here," Walter replied, hurrying over to his desk. A red light flashed on the answering machine. "You could have tried my cell."
"I did. Sent me straight to voice mail." And she didn't sound too happy about that either.
Walter reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He turned it on, or so he thought, but the screen remained dark. Dammit. "I must have forgot to charge it last night." Warmth flushed through him as he recalled how he and Paige had spent the previous evening trying out another of the positions he'd researched
"Well, it would have saved me a trip across town," the INS agent complained, thrusting the envelope at him. "Here. You're going to need these."
"For what?"
"For your naturalization ceremony next month."
It took a moment for her words to sink in. Naturalization. Ceremony. Oh. . .
"You're a citizen!" A hand touched his shoulder for a second before withdrawing. Turning his head, he saw Paige biting her lip, her eyes shimmering with what he hoped were happy tears. The urge to embrace her was overwhelming but he resisted, despite logic dictating it was pointless to keep up the pretense they weren't together.
"Technically, yes." Linehan pulled a miniature US flag on a stick from her handbag and held it out to him. "His application has been approved, although he won't. . ."
Walter tuned out the rest of what she was saying. He wasn't going to be deported back to Ireland. He wasn't going to be leaving Paige in the lurch. Or Ralph. Or the baby. He stared down at the flag in his hand. Pride, relief, and surprisingly, a little sadness swirled through him.
"Woo-hoo!" shouted Toby, pumping his fist in the air. "You know that this means? We can fi. . ."
"Shut it, numbnuts," Happy cautioned between gritted teeth, tipping her head in the INS agent's direction.
"You can what?" Linehan narrowed her eyes at the shrink.
"We can celebrate," Paige chimed in after a brief awkward silence.
"You can do whatever you want. I have work to do." The older woman shook her head. "Congratulations, Mr O'Brien." With that, she turned and headed toward the exit.
A car's horn blared before she was halfway to the door. "Crap, car pool." Walter watched as Paige hurriedly stuffed Ralph's sandwich into a plastic baggie." "Do you have any money so he can get something at school?" she asked him.
"Uh, yeah." He tugged out his wallet, pulling out the first bill he saw and handed it to the boy genius, who was struggling with his backpack.
"Thanks." Ralph grabbed up the five along with his sandwich and ran, nearly careening into Ms Linehan on his way out. The INS agent snorted with displeasure as she followed in the boy's wake.
"We really should celebrate," said Paige as soon as the older woman was gone. "How about burgers on the roof tonight?"
"Only if I run the grill," replied Happy as the others agreed with Paige's suggestion.
"Sure, why not?" The liaison shrugged.
"Can we have hot dogs, too?" asked Toby. "With relish and mustard and. . ."
"Someone's gonna need to go shopping," Sylvester commented as he scraped out his container of yogurt. "Speaking of hot dogs, why do they come in packages of 10 while the buns come in packages of eight?"
"It's a conspiracy by Big Hot Dog," the shrink said. "They want you to buy more hot dogs. Ha, ha Big Hot Dog. Ow. . ." he yelped as Happy smacked the back of his head.
"Wouldn't it be the bun makers who want you to buy more buns?" she asked. "They're the ones shorting their packages."
Walter nodded. "I've been doing some research on tubular meats and hot dogs were invented before hot dog buns. Therefore it would have been logical for bakers to match the quantity of hot dogs per package, not the other way around."
"So what you're saying is that it's a conspiracy by Big Buns to get people to buy more buns. Hee, hee, Big Buns. Ow. . ." The behaviorist squealed as Happy whacked him once again.
"Why on earth are you researching tubular meats?" asked the mechanic.
"Heh, heh, tubular meats. . ." Toby snickered before slapping the back of his own head. Happy glared at him.
"If you must know, I've been working on a project which will make humanity eternally grateful," Walter explained. "I'm fixing the hot dog by refashioning it into a revolutionary u-shape with increased surface area, allowing for 50% more condiments and 100% less mess."
He'd also been reading how it could cost nearly $200,000 to raise a child to the age of eighteen. And that didn't even include college. He and Paige were making a good living now, but what if something were to happen . .happen to him? The idea Paige would have to go back to being a waitress again to support their children. . . That was a scenario he wanted to avoid at all costs. Using his genius to invent something which would guarantee them a steady income would certainly help to ease his mind about their future.
"Why on earth would you fix something that isn't broken? The mess is half the fun of eating a hot dog," the psychiatrist complained.
Walter opened his mouth to contradict the other man when Sly cut in. "Guys, we need to make a list," he said, getting out a pencil and a piece of paper.
"Someone still needs to go shopping," Paige pointed out.
Toby ran over to his desk and snatched up a sheath of papers. "We can do it after we swing by the courthouse. Come on, Sugarplum," he said as he beckoned Happy as the garage door creaked open. "Let's get you unhitched from Mr Egomaniac. We can kill two celebrations with one party."
"Any celebrating is gonna to have to wait." Cabe stepped inside, taking off his sunglasses. "We gotta a case.""
Everyone gathered around the conference table as the Homeland agent handed each of them a file. Walter opened his and frowned. "Chemical weapons? We're not exactly trained for. . ."
"Yeah, but you're government contractors who've signed a NDA," Cabe stated. "DoD is keeping this OTR."
"No wonder," said Toby, scanning his file. "Two people died."
"Died?" Sly looked like he was going to faint, lose his breakfast, or both. "And they want us to go to this Um-a-teeya. . ."
"The U-ma-tilla Army Depot, yes," said the agent, correcting the human calculator's pronunciation. "All the munitions there were safely destroyed five years ago. Cleanup started in 2013 and when it was finished earlier this year, DoD turned the land over to the state of Oregon for development."
"According to this," Walter began as he read ahead, "the state didn't waste any time in doing so. A hundred acre parcel was bought last month by a potato processing company and they broke ground two days ago to build their new facility." Taking a breath, he continued, "a crew was running a backhoe and hit something buried underground. . ."
He glanced up at Cabe. "I thought you said all the chemical weapons were destroyed?"
"Officially they were."
"So how were these workers sprayed with a HD blister agent?"
The older man sighed wearily. "Because when the depot began stockpiling the nerve gases in 1962, and this is purely speculation, some personnel responsible for their storage breached protocol when a bunker reached capacity and just buried the remaining canisters in the ground instead of moving them on to another bunker."
"So they want us to use our ground penetrating radar to see if it can detect if any more canisters are buried underground?" asked Happy.
"Got in one," replied Cabe. "And before you argue that the DoD can use their own personnel. . . You guys know how this equipment works and how to fix it if it breaks down. . .and like I said before, Scorpion has a non-disclosure agreement with the government."
"So they want us to clear the area of any more rogue canisters. . ." Walter said. He didn't like this assignment. He and his team were putting their lives at risk because some military personnel were derelict in their duties fifty years ago. And there was another aspect which bothered him even more.
"And keep our traps shut about it," interrupted Toby. His shoulders slumped as he turned to the mechanic. "Looks like we'll have to wait another day until we can ditch your fraudulent hubby. Ow. . ." He rubbed his arm where she'd punched him. "I know I'm risking more violence but maybe you should stay behind with Paige, Sweetie Pie."
"I thought we've had this discussion before," Happy snarled, jerking her thumb in Paige's direction. "She was dangling from a cherry picker just over a month ago. I'm barely second trimester. I'm not ready to be sidelined yet. Plus I built this contraption. It's my baby."
"I'm more worried about the baby inside you."
"You should be more concerned about its mother. She's about to kick your ass. . ."
"I'll stay behind with Paige," Sylvester volunteered, thankfully putting an end to their squabbling. "I just remembered I have another interview with the reporter from the West Altadenia Shopper this afternoon. I'm meeting her at Kovelski's at two."
"How convenient," sneered the shrink.
The human calculator wrinkled his nose at the behaviorist. "I can also help Paige with the party. So there."
"Thank you, Sly," said the liaison as she angled herself into her desk chair.
Walter watched as the others shuffled off to gather their things. "Cabe, can I talk to you?"
"Sure, what's on your mind, son?" The Homeland agent followed him to a quieter corner of the garage.
"Paige is due to give birth in 18 days."
"And. . .?"
"As it appears we don't have any choice whether we want to accept this case or not," Walter said, pausing when the older man nodded. "But this is the last time I'll be available for any out-of-town missions for approximately the next six weeks. It's imperative I be here, with Paige, when the baby is born."
"Understood." The agent shook his head. "Molina's not gonna like it though."
"She's the least of my concerns right now."
"I suppose not," Cabe said with a chuckle. "Well, the sooner we leave, the sooner we get back."
"Copy that." Walter hurried over to his desk and began assembling his gear. As he shoved his tablet into his backpack, he caught a glimpse of Paige sitting across from him. Tears rolled down her face.
The Umatilla Chemical Depot was just going to have to wait. He had something much more important to take care of.