Are You Sure? M7 ATF AU
Assistant ATF Director Orin Travis flipped on the light to his office as he came through the door. Placing his briefcase and hot coffee on the wooden desk, he settled into his chair and pulled out some papers.
It had been a quiet week for him since his best, but most trouble-prone, team had been sent on vacation. Sent, as in, he'd turned in the time off to the HR department for them, booked a well-equipped cabin for them in a remote mountain location, practically packed for them, confiscated all but one of their cell phones and each of their laptops, then picked them up and put them into an eight-passenger van with an old-fashioned paper map and orders not to show their faces at the federal building for seven full days. Getting the agents to take time off was like pulling teeth sometimes, since they tended to answer work calls even when they were supposed to be on leave.
This particular time five of the seven men had been hurt in some form or another in the last bust, which had gone to hell in a matter of minutes due to some faulty intel from another agency that they were supposed to be 'collaborating' with. None of the injuries were terribly serious, but ranged from sprained knees and ankles to dislocated shoulders and one case of hopefully temporary ringing of the ears. In spite of being put on out of office status, the two well members tasked with making the others follow doctor's orders, they'd answered a request from another team that was supposed to be for surveillance assistance only. In spite of that, they'd somehow ended up participating in a car chase, escaping a warehouse just before part of it exploded, and then jumping on the suspects and taking them down physically. Which obviously did nothing to help the previous ailments the five injured members had, and resulted in the two 'fine' ones now sporting a swollen eye and bruised ribs respectively. Thus the personal attention from him to make sure they actually had some down time.
He was shaking his head at the memory when the rapidly blinking light on his cell phone that signaled he had voicemail caught his attention. It showed one flash for each message, and if he was counting correctly it was winking at least seven times. An ominous feeling invaded the pit of his stomach. One hand reached out to lift the device with something akin to trepidation as he punched the number to access the stored calls.
The feeling in his gut turned to butterflies when he heard the familiar voice of SAC Larabee first.
"Orin… I know you said not to call, text, or e-mail for seven days, but we have a little situation here." Travis could hear several other voices in the background, but couldn't tell what they were saying as the recording continued. "I can't really explain it in a voicemail and they've only given me two minutes, so call my number back when you get this. If someone else answers, ask for me."
The AD heard someone say "Alright, time's up. Hand over the phone." Larabee's voice somewhat sarcastically said "Are you sure it's been two minutes?" Then a click ended the message.
Someone had 'given' Chris Larabee, of all people, only two minutes to make a call. Generally no one controlled the impressive blond, and he was a federal agent for Pete's sake… he should be the one in charge of any given situation. Travis was relieved that Chris hadn't given any indication that he'd been kidnapped or taken hostage or anything. That had unfortunately happened in the past and they'd worked out a code to use in that situation, but Larabee hadn't given any of the SOS signals. In fact, the leader just sounded mildly annoyed.
Before his thoughts could go any further, the second message started. JD had created an app that displayed the origin number of the recorded calls so that they could be traced if necessary, and he didn't recognize this one. He did know the deep, aggrieved southern accent that spoke, however.
"Judge, whatever anyone tells you, I am not responsible for this debacle! I was simply trying to help Mr. Tanner when…" The same voice as before interrupted before the undercover agent could finish. "Time's up Standish, or whatever your name is. Hang up."
The drawled tone gave a supercilious "Are you certain? It seemed more like one minute, thirty-nine seconds to me." The line then went dead.
What the hell was going on? Larabee was usually the only one who could shut the verbose man off once he got started. And again, Ezra hadn't used any of the code words. Disgust was the only inflection the former judge could make out in the brief message, in fact.
While he was still puzzling on that, the third message began. This time it was the raspy voice of the team's sniper that Travis heard. "Weren't me that started it Judge, in spite 'a what Ez said. Ya see, Bucklin' and JD were…" As Orin now rather expected, the unknown person again interrupted. "You boys sure do seem to be wastin' your calls. Your two minutes are up, whoever you are."
Tanner's "Ya sure about that? Didn't seem like two minutes…" was the last thing the assistant director heard before the recording ended. He did notice that the number displayed was the same as Standish's call. Once more, no distress code, just Vin's laconic words and what even sounded a bit like amusement at the end. This was just getting stranger and stranger.
Wilmington's baritone was the next sound to come to him. "Now Judge, me and the kid didn't know things were gonna turn out like this. We were just…" The gregarious man was cut off in mid-sentence by the same voice as before. "For supposed federal agents, you boys sure aren't gettin' to the point if you're wantin' help from whoever you're callin'. Time's up, mister."
The ladies' man's exasperated "Didn't seem like it! Ya sure?" and then the expected click ended the call. Travis was now totally mystified as to what was happening. But it was starting to give him a headache anyway. And since they were all recordings, he couldn't tell the agents to get to the point! Again the ID screen showed the same phone number. At least they were all together…wherever that turned out to be…
He was rubbing his temple when Dunne's voice came on the line next. "I didn't know they had the other stuff Judge Travis, honest. They were just acting suspicious and looked like they might be bootleggers, so I thought…" Orin's eyes widened, even as the unknown tones once again stopped the young agent. "Maybe ya should of checked around a little more? Now what's Miss Daisy gonna do without a roof? Time's up, kid."
"Are you sure, Sheriff? It didn't seem like two minutes. And when you let us go, we'll fix it, I promise…" The call then got disconnected.
Travis let out a groan. 'Sheriff?' Great! A sharp pain went through his head. This was beginning to sound like it was going to take some fancy talking… and maybe a few drinks…to straighten out. He put his forehead in his hand as the next message started.
This time it was the profiler's deep voice that spoke. "Now Judge, it isn't as bad as it sounds. Those men were sneaking up to the bar's back door with a couple of boxes, so naturally…" The words trailed off and Orin waited for the stranger to speak. He wasn't disappointed, though the admonishing tone didn't help his understanding much. "Even if you boys really are who you say, you should'a let me know what was goin' on. At the least, I could have warned Miss Daisy. She's getting up in years you know, and a shock like that could have given her a heart attack! Now, time's up Mr. Sanchez or whoever you are."
Somehow the director wasn't surprised when a rumbled "Are you positive it's been two minutes? Time is relative and an old philosopher once said…" The pounding in his head was now turning into a jackhammer as the recording came to an end. Thank God there was only one more to go if his surmise was correct. Though he did hope Jackson had sense enough to spit out something useful in his not-quite-two-minutes of phone time!
Even as he had the thought, the medic's mellow tones came through the speaker. "We're all ok, Judge. We just need you to explain to Sheriff Stevens here that we're who we say and that we'll…" Even he wasn't given a chance to finish however before Stevens…at least Orin figured it was said sheriff…cut him off with the now apparently requisite "Sorry Agent Jackson, if that's who you are. You seem like the most believable one of the group, but I'm still not convinced you're all with the ATF, and that supposed judge you're callin' obviously isn't in for me to speak to, so I'll have to wait and talk to him in the mornin'. Hand over the phone, your two minutes are up."
Travis had his eyes closed when the now expected last words began. "Sheriff, ya sure about that? I'm used to timin' things, and it hadn't…" Before the smooth voice could finish, the line went dead.
The AD heaved a weary sigh, and it wasn't even eight-thirty in the morning yet. After all that, all he really knew was that the boys were apparently being detained by a Sheriff Stevens in an unknown office in an unknown town for an unknown mishap that seemed to involve an older lady named Miss Daisy and her roof. Whether that roof belonged to the bar Josiah had mentioned or not, he had no idea, and no notion of what actually happened to it. Nor what had become of the men that Dunne had seen and whether they were the same ones who had been creeping up to the back of the establishment in question. He didn't even know if all seven of the team members had participated in whatever the unknown incident was, or whether they were actually under arrest or just being informally held until their identities could be verified…
What was he actually sure of? A groan escaped when he realized that the answer was 'absolutely nothing'.
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He was swallowing a couple of ibuprofen with his now luke-warm coffee when his phone rang. Taking a moment to cast his eyes heavenward for strength, he picked up the device and almost barked "ATF Assistant Director Orin Travis."
There was a somewhat surprised silence on the other end of the line, then the voice he'd heard on all of the messages spoke.
"You are with the ATF." The man cleared his throat with what sounded like embarrassment and started again.
"Director Travis, I'm Sheriff Ron Stevens from Calhoun County. I have seven men here who claim to be federal agents and work for you. The IDs all look legit, but I need you to give me descriptions of the agents in question just to be sure. I'm really wondering if these badges aren't stolen or somethin'. And I wasn't sure their stories tracked since they kept calling you 'judge' when they made their calls to this number."
Keeping his voice professional and unemotional, Travis answered. "I was a federal circuit court judge for fifteen years before I took this position, Sheriff. If you are who you say. I need you to go on video chat so I can see you, then verify your identity before I give out any personal information about my agents. I'm sure you understand."
The tone was somewhat stern and brooked no refusal. It also had the desired effect of putting the caller on the defensive. Orin might be exasperated by Team Seven sometimes.. ok, often… but that didn't mean he was going to let some local LEO disparage them either. Not that the man had said anything directly offensive, but he hadn't particularly liked the way the sheriff kept cutting the men off on the voicemails and insinuating that they were lying. A couple of them might prevaricate sometimes, but Larabee especially was usually bluntly honest. He was actually a bit surprised that the sheriff hadn't wilted under the intensity of Chris' famed 'glare' that he was sure had been directed at the man all night. Intense and imposing were words that were frequently used to describe the former SEAL.
"Of course, Director. Uh, let me figure out how to go to video on this dang thing and I'll have my deputy send over my credentials if you'll give me your fax number."
Travis gave the number, then offered a suggestion with a hidden smile.
"If you need help figuring out your phone functions, ask Dunne. He's the team's electronics tech, and he can fix you right up."
Even though they weren't face to face yet, he could picture the man glancing disbelievingly at the dark-haired JD, who looked more like a skate-boarding teenager than a twenty-something decorated federal agent.
"Him? Are you sure?"
"Positive. He's created some gadgets for the team that other agencies would give their eye-teeth for. Just ask, he'll be glad to help out."
He could hear the sheriff fiddling with his device for a minute, then the rather grudging request for assistance on the other end of the line.
Dunne didn't disappoint, a man in a gray uniform with a sheriff's star pinned to the chest quickly coming into view when Orin switched to video mode. The judge saw no need to mention that he'd had to have the kid show him how to work his the first time, too.
The fax machine spit out a couple of papers as the pair introduced themselves again, so Orin rolled over and picked up the pages. Comparing the driver's license and badge number to the man in front of him, Travis accepted that Stevens was indeed who he said. That taken care of, they moved on to the team.
"Um, could you describe your agents to me before I let you talk to them, Sir? Just to be sure you're not in cahoots with these fellas or somethin'?"
The AD didn't have to feign the annoyed scowl that crossed his face. He knew the man had undoubtedly researched Orin D. Travis before calling and knew what he looked like, even if he was still surprised to find that the men in question worked for him and they all were with the ATF.
"You continue impugning my honor Sheriff, and you will be the one who needs help. I don't take slander of me or my team lightly."
"Sorry, Director. No offense intended. It's just a little hard to believe that these boys are agents." He held up one hand when Travis appeared ready to chastise him again. "Not that they're not talented, mind you. I've never seen better shots than a couple of 'em, and that Standish fella, if that's his name, could talk a man into insulting himself without ever knowin' it. And they're all dang good fighters, too. Took the Johnson brothers down fair and square. 'Course, they about took down Miss Daisy's bar too, but that's somethin' to discuss after we sort out who everybody is."
Travis gave up and began describing the men, though he pointed out that if he was indeed in 'cahoots' with them, that he would probably know what they looked like anyway.
"The agent in charge is Chris Larabee. Six feet, all lean muscle, dark blond hair, hazel eyes that are usually green, looks intimidating and dangerous without even trying. And he is." he added just for effect. He figured Chris must have smirked at the sheriff about then, since the other man gave a little involuntary shiver. "Larabee has the highest pistol score in the agency and was a SEAL before joining the ATF. He can kill you thirty different ways and you'd never see it coming. He's the best team leader I've got. Would enter hell to do his job or save his men. One of the most honest and trustworthy men I know."
He could see the sheriff's gaze slide to the blond. "You sure? About the honest part? He hasn't exactly been talkin' a lot. Seemed almost like he was hidin' somethin'. He's just been watchin' me with this icy predator look and little smile ever since I brought 'em all in." Another shiver coursed up the sheriff's back as he turned for a minute. His voice lowered to a whisper. "Kinda gives me chills, if you want the truth."
Orin fought to control the snort that wanted to escape. "Probably just deciding whether to punch you in the face or shoot you when you find out he is who he says. He doesn't suffer fools lightly." he deadpanned. When the sheriff blanched at the words, he relented. "I'm just kidding, Stevens. He won't shoot you. Maybe charge you with unlawfully detaining a federal officer and put you in your own jail, but he won't shoot you."
That reassurance didn't seem to relieve the sheriff if the sweat suddenly beading his upper lip was any indication. Travis decided to move on.
"I've already proven JD is who he says, since he's the one that set up your video chat. But, dark hair with long bangs, hazel eyes, shortest of the group. Looks about sixteen. Smart as a whip, though."
He could hear Dunne call "Hi, Judge" as he finished.
"Vin Tanner is the team's sniper. Slender, long sandy hair, blue eyes, Texas drawl. A hell of a shot. One of the best agents I've got."
Stevens looked doubtful. "Him? Are you sure? Not about the shootin', saw how good he is at that. But that he's an agent? With that hair and leather jacket and boots, he looks more like a biker."
Orin did let a grin show this time. "Don't let the appearance fool you. He takes his duties seriously. He works undercover sometimes, so we let him get away with the longer hair. And I don't require, or want, any of them to follow the normal dress code. They can do their jobs much more effectively if people don't think 'Fed' every time they see one of them."
The sheriff finally nodded in understanding, since even he had to admit that it made sense.
"What about this Wilmington fella? You sure he's with 'em? He had Miss Daisy blushin' and gigglin' like a schoolgirl. And her havin' outlived three husbands already. Acts more like a playboy than an agent. And I'm not sure about that mustache."
Travis heard Buck squawk in protest in the background at the perceived insult to his beloved facial hair.
"He does like women of all shapes and sizes." the AD admitted. He then smiled a bit. "But, the feeling is usually mutual, too. And again, don't let the first image mislead you. Buck is the team's explosives tech, and he's damn good at his job. He's also Tanner backup as sharpshooter. You find yourself standing on a bomb, Wilmington is the man you want disabling it. Trust me on this one. I've been in that position, and thanks to Buck, I'm here to tell the tale."
Stevens looked shocked. "Wow. Good to know, though I never would have guessed it." He then cut his eyes to the chestnut-haired figure dressed in designer jeans and a shirt that he said was of Egyptian cotton, as though that was supposed to mean something to the sheriff.
"Alright, I'll give you Wilmington, but this Standish? He doesn't even talk like any law enforcement member I've ever heard." He'd given up on descriptions now, just making sure the men really were all agents.
Orin nodded. "Yes, Standish is one of mine too. And he doesn't look or sound like you expect because he's the team's official undercover operative. He can appear to be anyone or anything at any time, with no one the wiser. He admittedly can insult you fifty different ways without you realizing it, but he's an amazing agent, much as I hate to say that where he can hear."
"Seriously? You're sure?" asked Stevens, even as Ezra himself spoke.
A smug "Why, thank you Judge" came to Travis' ears. "By the way, I shall need to turn in a reimbursement form for a merino wool casual jacket and a pair of Lucchese boots. The cretins we followed chose to go through a muddy swamp with a thorn hedge before reaching the lovely Miss Daisy's establishment. I believe Mr. Larabee is wearing his Luccheses as well, so we shall both need…"
Travis put up one hand, even though Ezra couldn't see it. "Save it, Standish. We'll discuss it after I find out exactly what you seven got yourselves into."
The sheriff's face was now puzzled as he apparently eyed the remaining two members of the group.
"So what's this fella that talks in riddles do on the team? You're really sure he's an agent? I couldn't follow half of what he's said."
A nod was Orin's reply. "Ah, Sanchez. Yes, Josiah is the team's profiler, and a damn good one. He can get into minds that the rest of us can't even imagine. Plus, he doesn't need a gun to take down a perp."
The director paused a minute, then added. "None of them do. Even the slim ones don't need a gun, even if they are exceptionally good with one. Trust me, you don't want to screw with any of the members of Team Seven."
Stevens gave what looked suspiciously like a gulp at the last words, but gamely carried on.
"I guess that means Agent Jackson is legit too, huh?" He was now beginning to wish that he hadn't been so dogged in his belief that the men had to be lying. The last two especially looked like they could break a two-by-four with their bare hands. He hoped they didn't hold a grudge…
"Indeed. Nathan is the forensics tech and medic. It's not that common to have one on an individual team, but his services are invaluable to the seven. He's a hell of an agent. And the most level-headed one of the group, but you don't want to make him mad."
The sheriff gave another obvious swallow. Now he really, really hoped the men were forgiving at heart. He still found it a bit hard to believe though, and had to be certain before he let them go.
"So you're sure they're all federal agents and vouch for 'em?"
Travis was now as aggravated as any of his men. "Yes, I'm sure!" he snapped in annoyance. "Why do you keep asking that?"
"Well, 'cause of what happened yesterday."
Orin rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Yes, now that you brought it up, what on God's green earth did happen anyway? Why did you feel the need to detain my agents all night apparently?"
Stevens gave a shrug. "To be honest, I'm not clear on all of it myself, and your men just gave me a headache when they tried to explain it, so maybe it's best if we prop this thing on the desk so they can fill in the parts I'm kinda hazy on."
A chorus of "Thank you, Lord" "Finally!" "It's about time" and other similar sentiments were heard in a variety of accents, along with a grunt that Travis thought was Chris. The sheriff piled a couple of books together and then leaned the phone against them, motioning the seven men to gather around. When everyone but Larabee started talking at once, the assistant director grimaced and reached for some more ibuprofen. He wasn't certain about a lot of things, but he was sure that this was probably going to turn his headache into a migraine!
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After five minutes, seven of the eight voices were still trying to speak over each other. Orin gave up attempting to hush them himself and motioned at the team leader.
A soft "Boys" from the lean form was all it took, even the sheriff heeding the commanding tone. Orin had to wonder if Larabee had let them babble on just to give him a taste of what the tall figure himself had to put up with all night. And the director did feel a little guilty. He'd turned off his phone when he went to the theater with Evie the previous evening and had forgotten to turn it back on. It wasn't normally a problem since anyone who didn't get through on his cell would normally use his home line. Apparently Stevens hadn't let any of the boys have a second call however.
When everyone shut up, he pointed to Larabee to begin the tale. The blond was standing hipshot, lips pursed in a strained patience look.
"Alright Chris…start at the beginning. I have no idea what the hell is going on, so I want everything from the top."
"Well, Judge, we were at the cabin you booked for us, minding our own business like you wanted. Had to come to the nearest town for supplies since the kid and Tanner had already eaten up half our junk food and done away with the majority of the sodas and milk."
He was interrupted by indignant protests from both Vin and JD. A level three or so glare got them to quiet down however, though the sniper did have the audacity to stick his tongue out at the taller form.
Larabee ignored him and continued.
"Anyway, we decided to have supper at the local pizza place before we headed back. JD got up to go the restroom and saw some men through the back door. They were talking to the shop owner next door and pulled what looked like a couple of un-labeled bottles out of a box. He thought it was suspicious and mentioned it when he got back."
Orin paused him to ask a question.
"How many of the individuals were there?" He really wanted an idea of how many men the team had been up against. There were some new bruises and split lips and so forth if he was seeing correctly through the small screen, as well as some rubbing of previous injuries.
Dunne was the one who answered.
"There were five of them, Judge. It was already getting dark, so I couldn't see them real well, but they looked like they were pulling liquor bottles out of one of the boxes they had, so I figured they were bootleggers. I thought it was odd and mentioned it to the guys when I got back to the table."
Buck started speaking then. "We did ask the waitress if the sheriff or deputy was around." The cobalt gaze flicked to Stevens for a second. "But she said the sheriff went off duty at four and that the deputy usually headed home for supper at seven."
The uniformed shoulders next to him slumped a little.
"Yeah, that's about right. We're a small town and not much happens except for a few bar fights on Friday or Saturday nights, so Dan doesn't always stay at the office for mealtimes the rest of the week."
Orin nodded his head. "Alright. So what happened next?"
Wilmington continued the story.
"After we asked the waitress about the local LEOs, we mentioned that the kid had seen five guys actin' kinda shifty around back. Miss Loraine said that it was probably the Johnson brothers and that they made their own moonshine and brought it into town every once in a while to try to bully folks into buyin' it. She mentioned that the Sheriff had run 'em outta town so many times that they waited until dark and snuck in the back way now."
Buck paused and Nathan took over the narration.
"She said most folks were too scared to report when the Johnsons came in, but that nobody wanted to buy their whiskey since a few people had gotten sick from one of their batches. I figured it might 'a been alcohol poisonin' from somethin' they used. Since the law seemed to be outta pocket, I told Chris we might oughta follow 'em. Wouldn't have felt right if I'd let people get sick again."
Orin nodded in understanding. All of the seven took their jobs seriously and had a sense of honor and duty where innocent people's safety was concerned. And bootlegging homemade liquor definitely fell under the jurisdiction of the ATF team.
"Alright, sounds like a good call. What happened then?"
Vin took over the story next.
"Miz Loraine said she'd let the deputy know that the Johnsons were in town and we were gonna check it out, so we went out the front, then snuck around the side 'a the pizza joint. I could see the men movin' away from the place next door, so I followed 'em. The rest 'a the boys stayed a few yards back so we wouldn't spook 'em. They banged on another door a block or so down, but couldn't get anybody t' answer, so they headed for the back of the bar at the end of the street. A young feller told 'em Miss Daisy wasn't interested in their homemade booze that made folks sick. Guess it pissed 'em off, since one of 'em punched the poor guy in the face."
Ezra took over narration duties when the sniper paused, a frustrated look on his face that he hadn't been close enough to take the bullies on then.
"The rest of us quietly joined Mr. Tanner when we heard the altercation. An older lady…now known to be Miss Daisy… came out then and proceeded to order the five men off of her property, saying that she was going in to call the sheriff immediately. She had a sawed off shotgun in her hand, presumably retrieved from under the bar if my familiarity with such establishments is any indication, so the five turned as if leaving."
The sheriff nodded that the feisty woman did indeed keep a scattergun under the counter.
Standish continued the saga.
"Instead of exiting the area however, the men paused just out of sight of the door. Two of them pulled something out of one of the boxes they carried and started up a back stair that led to the roof while the other three began rummaging in the remaining container. When we saw a lighter flare once the two cretins on the steps were close to the top, Mr. Tanner took off after them. I followed him, since we weren't sure what the wretches were intending to do. He and I went up the stairs while our compatriots descended on the three on the ground."
When the undercover agent paused, Josiah started speaking. Travis had a feeling things were finally getting to the interesting part.
"When Vin and Ezra started up to the roof, the rest of us crept up on the other three Johnson brothers. Two of them stuck matches. Figuring they might be planning to use the alcohol as Molotov cocktails, Buck and JD jumped on them, trying to knock the bottles out of their hands. Only it wasn't whiskey bottles, they had sticks of dynamite, which they tried to throw when they realized they were about to get taken down. One landed at the corner of the building and the other rolled close to the back door. About the same time we heard Vin yell to take cover from the roof."
The profiler came to a stop as the images replayed in his mind. Chris picked the story back up.
"We realized the men on the roof must have dynamite too, so Nathan and I pulled Buck and JD back as far out of the way as we could while Josiah went to the foot of the stairs to see if he could help Vin and Ezra. The three perps on the ground just moaned 'Oh, shit!' and curled into as small a targets as they could while Buck, JD, Nathan, and I ducked behind a small storage shed."
Vin took up the tale when Chris paused to remember how worried he'd been about the sniper and undercover agent.
"I figured out about the time they lit the fuses that the two fellas Ez and I had followed had dynamite. I yelled for the others to take cover, then tried to grab the stick out of the closest guy's hand t' toss it to the back where there weren't no big buildin'. Ez was tryin' to get to the second one, but when he realized that he didn't have time, he jumped t' cover me. I dropped the stick I had and it rolled t' the edge of the roof and caught in the gutter. Thought for sure Ez and I were toast."
Standish continued the story when Tanner closed his eyes as if seeing the image all over again.
"Once I determined that I couldn't get to the second imbecile with the dynamite in time, I threw myself at Mr. Tanner. Due to the slope of the roof, we slid downward with the momentum and landed in the refuse container that was stationed at the side of the establishment. Fortunately it only had cardboard in it, otherwise I would be submitting a reimbursement for more than my jacket and boots."
Orin shook his head. Trust Ezra to be more concerned for his haberdashery than his life! Although, he was sure the man was truly worried at the time, especially for Vin, though he would probably deny it now that everyone was safe and apparently reasonably unscathed. Grateful for that fact and interested to see how they kept from being at least singed, the AD motioned for someone to pick up the saga.
When everyone else just looked down or at the ceiling, Larabee took the tale up again.
"The people in the bar had realized that something was going on and had all run out into the street. Their voices carried over the building. We heard Vin and Ez yell as they hit the dumpster and realized they were at least off the roof. Before any of us could go check on them though, the dynamite up top went off, followed by the sticks at the back of the building. I braced for all sorts of debris to rain down on me as the place exploded. Apparently our moonshiners had also packed their own dynamite though, and weren't any more talented at that then they were making whiskey. There were muffled 'pops' and a few pieces of the tin roof slid over the side from the ones up top, while the one at the back door just took out the porch supports and busted out the window. The one at the corner didn't do anything except spew and then fizzle out."
Travis was now vaguely confused.
"But Sheriff Stevens said Miss Daisy lost her whole roof and that her bar was nearly destroyed..."
Chris gave a wry shrug and continued.
"Once we realized that was all the damage the dynamite was going to do, the four of us in the back got up and went to detain the three Johnson boys on the ground. Unfortunately, they didn't have sense enough to just surrender peacefully. The attempted arrest turned into a brawl that moved into the bar when the men ducked in there to get away from us. One of 'em picked up a chair and hit Josiah across the back with it. Kinda pissed him off and he flung the guy into a support post in front of the bar. The blast up top had torn the tin off of that part of the roof and damaged the rafter a little, so when the fella hit the post, it broke. Josiah realized it would probably collapse, so he grabbed the guy and drug him out the back. I knocked out another and Nathan picked him up in a fireman's carry and took him out, while I went to help Buck. He'd punched his guy so hard that the man had hit the back wall where the second stick of dynamite up top had gone off. Part of the roof was falling down around him from the impact and the window was broken. Buck was trying to get him up. We got his unconscious form slung between us and managed to toss him out the window. Then we ran for the back door. The broken post Josiah's guy had taken out collapsed completely as we went past, causing more of the roof to fall on the bar. We dove through the doorway just as the bar splintered and the support beam next to it cracked and more of the roof came down. When we got outside, the sheriff had just shown up." The icy green gaze skewered Stevens with a fairly mild glare considering the circumstances.
The sheriff twitched as if he'd been hit by a laser beam. Before he could say anything though, Ezra added his and Vin's view of the aftermath.
"Once Mr. Tanner and I recognized we were relatively unscathed, we also realized that our two opponents were still on the roof. I personally was all for letting them fend for themselves considering they had tried to blow the entire establishment and us to smithereens, but our intrepid sniper felt compelled to go back up and see if he could find them. I, being the consummate friend that I am in spite of myself, accompanied him. We discovered one of the miscreants out cold at the back of the roof. We drug him over and slid him off into the cardboard receptacle. The other however was still conscious and lying at the edge of the hole in the roof where the support post underneath had collapsed. When Mr. Tanner tried slither over on his belly and help the imbecile away safely, the idiot slid to the side. He moved onto an even more weakened part when he did so. We heard a loud creak, then that part of the roof collapsed, leaving him hanging by his fingers from one of the rafters that was still in place. Vin went to one side and I grudgingly to the other. We were just reaching for the cretin when he apparently decided that possible death was better than being rescued by us. He let go of the beam and fell to the floor below. When he landed, he hit another support post, which cracked. The roof under us was now groaning ominously, so Mr. Tanner and I beat a hasty retreat. The stairs were still relatively intact, so we made it down them just as the whole roof caved in. When we reached the bottom, it was to find that Sheriff Stevens and his deputy had Mr. Larabee and our teammates covered with their pistols instead of the miscreants that started the whole debacle."
Stevens spoke up then, tone defensive.
"The Johnson boys were all out cold by then, and these fellas were just comin' out of Miss Daisy's all scratched and bruised as the place practically collapsed around 'em from dynamite blasts. What was I supposed to think? The Johnsons are bullies and not real bright, but I've never caught 'em with explosives before, so how was I to know they were the ones that brought and lit it?"
Chris' glare ratcheted up a notch or two. "Maybe because seven federal officers told you so?"
The sheriff had the grace to look apologetic, even as he twitched again from the look Larabee was giving him.
"Now, ya gotta admit that you boys didn't much look like agents when I saw ya."
Ezra gave the man a disgusted glance.
"Be that as it may Sheriff, we showed you our badges and ID's. The pictures matched the men before you. Whatever state we were in at the time, you owed us the benefit of the doubt."
When the other five added their stares as well, Stevens dipped his head.
"Reckon I should'a checked y'all out a little more when ya couldn't get hold of the director here."
Travis gave the man a look as well, while Buck muttered "Ya think?"
There were still a few pieces missing in Orin's understanding of the events.
"So why didn't you at least arrest these Johnson brothers as well as detaining my agents?"
The sheriff shook his head.
"Couldn't. They were all taken to the county hospital and admitted for their injuries. Your boys pack a hell of a punch! Not to mention are damn good shots. Two of the Johnsons woke up and were able to get to their feet while I was tryin' to figure out what was goin' on. They tried to make a run for it, and Tanner hit one in the leg and Larabee shot the other in the ass before I even realized what was happenin'. That was when I decided detainin' these fellas until I could verify their identities was a good idea. Wasn't real comfortable with the idea of such dangerous men bein' loose in town."
"Wasn't much of a challenge. Those boys weren't movin' very fast." offered Wilmington with a snort. "Chris and Vin could'a hit 'em blindfolded."
"Ya could'a at least let us get a room at that little motel at the edge 'a town." muttered Tanner as he rubbed his aching lower back. "Would'a sure beat tryin' t' sleep in your metal chairs or those jail bunks."
Ezra dusted off the cuffs of his now less-than-pristine cotton shirt. "Indeed! I am considering litigation for inhumane treatment."
Larabee gave the sheriff another icy glance.
"So now that you've verified we are who we say, are you going to take care of the Johnson brothers when they get released or do we need to go arrest them ourselves? We are with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives." The sarcasm was fairly obvious in the cool tones.
"I'll take care of it, unless you boys just want t' have the pleasure yourselves. Reckon I owe ya an apology, too. Should'a trusted ya instead 'a goin' on first impressions."
His cheeks turned a bit red, and he waved the men out of the office after handing Larabee his phone.
"Alright, I've got your statements. You boys can get on out of here."
He shook his head as the men stretched and then started for the door.
"But y'all sure don't look or sound like federal agents." He turned back to the judge who was still on the line.
Before he could say anything, all seven team members were joined by Travis in anticipation of what was coming next.
"Are you sure?"
By DMA