Chapter Twenty! What more can be said? :)
Skyrider45, I love that you're curious about Max. Me too! I think we'll learn more as we go, and hopefully we will see a happy ending for him. Jug is definitely breaking out some of the stops; it was one thing helping Clark, but this is something he's been explicitly wanting to do since YCHT. I love your Clark narration! He is so innocent, yes; we'll see if it helps or hurts! And yay for Fred - and I loved that Archie and cat videos rang true for you as well. :-D Thank you for the review and the good thoughts! Medical anything (and of course non-elective because pandemic) is at least a little scary, but I am optimistic. And... hooray for the kitchen sink being welcomed! :-D
Living Lucid Dream, thank you for the good wishes! And I love your assessment of the ways in which Jug is echoing Brand, and where he departs very dramatically. I thought Jug as "coddling" Max in comparison was a great description, and Max as a very different person is an important lesson for Jug - but he's also got a sweet impulse going that Brand and FP are trying to protect/preserve by getting Max to the FBI quickly. They do try to let Jug stay innocent from time to time. :) Clark probably got the most concern from readers last chapter - he's definitely going to get some space to sink or swim. And yay Fred! :-D He's right in the middle of it all, so we'll see how that goes... but it is always such a relief when he walks in. :) I look forward to hearing what you think as things continue to play out!
Enjoy!
-Button
00000
Clark had been amazed by how much of a relief it was to see Trigger - and also the physical evidence that Jones, FP, and Special Agent Davies had made it successfully to Toronto. They'd even moved their couch into the bedroom, which seemed tactically advantageous.
"Davies is so bizarre," Williams had declared when they noticed the unusual furniture arrangement. "Just when I think he can't possibly get any more paranoid, he does something like this. And brings a dog."
Agent Quinn hadn't commented, but Clark thought he saw another reaction entirely when she noticed Jones' SAT prep book lying on the pull-out couch.
It was kind of a blazing-neon-sign sort of reminder that things were not as they should be.
They'd headed back to their own larger apartment, and Clark got Trigger settled in his room so that Williams' allergies would be as mildly affected as possible.
And so, on Friday, Clark found that he had more responsibility - caring for Trig - but still a lot of time to kill. Then Quinn texted at seven pm that she and Williams would be back 'late.'
So Clark decided that was his chance to revisit the biker bar.
He followed the same pattern he had before, and ordered a beer and sat down at a table where he could easily overhear conversations. Clark opened a newspaper app on his phone and relaxed, skimming the headlines and sipping contentedly.
"How do you know FP?" A deep voice rumbled in Clark's left ear, causing him to jump.
"What? Who?" Clark set down his beer and sat up straight as an enormous biker pulled up a chair and sat across from him at his small table. "I don't know anyone-,"
"Look. There are two types of Americans who show up in this bar. They're either lost, which means they don't come back a second time, or they've got ties. Nine times out of ten, that means FP." The biker looked even more curious now. "You're clearly not lost; this is your second time here this week."
"Um, well-," Clark was suddenly realizing that showing up without a prepared story was a really dumb move. He wracked his brain.
The biker laughed. "Don't hurt yourself making something up. We'll just leave it at you don't trust me." His eyes narrowed as he considered Clark. "So now you get to know me, and maybe then we'll take it from the top. The name's Banjo. I'm in town from Montreal to oversee some politics. Where are you from?"
"Uh, Buffalo." Clark realized that it would probably be best to lie about that, and it seemed like an innocuous enough city of origin.
"You don't say. You ever meet a kid named Archer?" Banjo leaned back in his seat, getting comfortable. "You look almost as much a fish out of water as he did in the Montreal bar - and mind you, he was underage even in Canada."
"Archer?" Clark was too surprised to pretend he'd never heard of him. "You met Archer in a Serpents bar in Montreal?"
"He-ey, you've met him too?" The biker seemed delighted to find a connection. "Redhead, real crazy kid, willing to do or say anything if the bet involves pub fries?"
"Met him? I blew up a building with him," Clark blurted out before realizing that was really, really not a helpful thing to reveal while undercover.
"Well, now you're cooking!" Banjo guffawed heartily. "I almost believed that. Little tip, though: you get all sincere-looking when you lie. You'll want to work on that."
"Oh, okay. Thanks." Clark figured it was for the best that he hadn't been taken seriously on that. "I'll work on it." Then something else occurred to him. "What kind of politics bring you to Toronto?"
"Now that is a long story," Banjo took a sip of his own beer. "If you don't know FP, you won't know anything about this, but we've got a big old retirement coming up and a ringer taking over. Only some say he's a double agent, and that we're about to lose our treaty."
This sounded like entirely useless intel to Clark, but in the interests of good will he nodded encouragingly. "So you're in town making sure the ringer doesn't turn on the Serpents and dissolve your treaty?"
"You're quick. I like you. That's exactly it."
"How will you enforce it? Are you just using numbers and an increased local presence to put pressure on him? On them?" Clark figured that at least getting to know some of the common strategies in use by the Serpents would be useful.
"We're also keeping ready in case we need to make it real clear that breaking the treaty's more trouble than it's worth. A little… peacekeeping."
"The police can't do that for you?" Clark figured a treaty was something that most folks would be interested in maintaining. "Or at least help you with it?"
"Eh. Their response times aren't bad, but have you ever seen how long they spend determining who's at fault?" Banjo shook his head mournfully. "In a real situation, you need guys rolling up who know at a glance who to draw down on and who they're supposed to back up. Otherwise you stand to lose a lot of good snakes."
"Oh." Clark was pretty sure the police never just stood around letting people shoot while they took their time and chose sides. But then again, maybe it felt that way when you were in a biker gang and actively 'losing snakes.'
"You gonna be in town for long?" Banjo motioned to the bartender and two more beers appeared on their table. "Like I said, I like you. And any friend of Archer's who's that bad at lying needs two things: a place to drink where your money's no good, and someone to show them a rope or two. And maybe in return you'll eventually tell me what you're doing here. Whaddaya say?"
Clark was not entirely sure, but it sounded like he'd just been offered free beer and friendship. This might be his very first 'contact' developed as an undercover FBI associate. Intern, whatever. "Wow. Thanks. I'm not sure how long I'll be in town, but… yeah, that sounds great."
"Now tell me how you know Archer, and what the kid's been up to since the spring." Banjo lifted his beer toward Clark and they clinked glasses companionably.
"I don't know him all that well. I do know that he's been busy this fall, though, and I think he's been scouted for some sports scholarships. He's also in a band."
"A band? That must be a sight." Banjo guffawed again. "All that energy, all over the stage? He'd make a show, all right."
Clark grinned. "He has a lot of stage presence, yeah. You know, some of his music's online. I can show you."
"No kidding?" Banjo pulled out his phone. "This I've got to see."
"Yes, you do," Clark agreed.
The Serpents had always been somewhat scary, and undercover work had always seemed intimidating in the past - but this was turning out to be kind of fun.
00000
"I'll kill you!"
Brand had assumed that adding Fred to the household for a night and sending Max with him in the morning was a foolproof plan. There simply would not be enough time for things to go wrong.
Well, apparently the new kid was an overachiever.
As Brand burst into the hallway, wondering exactly how early in the morning it was, he had to grab Fred to keep his own momentum from knocking the man into the wall - and Brand was impressed when FP, who was also making a hasty entrance into the hallway, managed to dodge both of them and start down the stairs before either of the other two.
They all stopped at the bottom of the stairs, though, not sure how best to intervene.
"Stop! Don't! Let me go!" Max had gone from bellowing to a pained sort of yelping, and an ugly-looking knife clattered across the kitchen floor.
Jones was hugging Max.
It could have been a restraining hold, and in fact it probably should have been one just for safety's sake, but no - Jones was leaning into Max and patting his back reassuringly with his right hand while he used his left arm to pin Max's arms to his sides and firmly maneuvered him away from the open utensil drawer.
"I'm your friend, Max. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you." Jones' tone was level and it was obvious that he was worried - but not about his own safety. He was entirely focused on Max. "It's okay to get upset and yell. You're safe, though. You don't need a knife to protect yourself while I'm here."
Only then did Brand realize that the knife on the floor was not the only one in play.
"Hey!" Brand shoved past FP and was grappling with the two teens in an instant.
"Brand! Brand, it's okay!" Jughead started protesting at the top of his lungs, and trying to block Brand from grabbing Max - and disarming him of a steak knife. "He's not going to hurt me. Max is just scared that Agent Sarah is a lie. He's worried that Mr. A is planning to take him somewhere... bad."
Brand ignored Jones, who had apparently defied Brand and FP and shared the transportation plan with Max. Brand twisted Max's wrist until the knife fell. FP was right there to snatch it up, along with the other knife from the floor, and he dumped both into the sink, safely out of reach.
"Stop! Leave Max alone." Jones continued yelling as Brand focused on wrestling him back and FP stepped in to restrain Max and move him away from Jones. "He wasn't going to do anything!"
"You know, you're adorable when you say stupid crap like that." Brand was gratified when Jones scowled as if that was the worst insult he'd ever heard. "Lesson for today: it doesn't matter what you think someone is capable of; when they pick up a knife and start yelling about killing you, from now on I want you to assume that they're going to attempt exactly that - and respond appropriately. Got it?" Brand pushed Jones against the kitchen counter firmly, but not hard enough to hurt him. "You told him the plan when nobody else was even awake? Honestly."
FP had Max pinned against another counter, and Brand realized that meant there was a new threat in the room. An angry father could easily play a little too roughly with Max, and they needed to de-escalate the situation as much as possible.
"Don't you dare move from this spot, Jones, or I will put you in a time-out for your own protection." Brand gave the kid a look and nodded his head meaningfully toward the drawer that was still stocked with duct tape and restraints. Jones glared in response to the unwelcome reminder, but he didn't budge when Brand released him.
"FP? Let's trade. I'm going to take Max into the living room, and you take Jones." Brand approached FP carefully. "It's a good trade for you; the kid is already calming down."
FP stepped slowly away from Max, and only his precise, measured movements gave away how agitated he was.
Max's face was pale, and his eyes followed FP for once instead of tracking Brand. It made Brand wonder if he'd missed an exchange between those two.
Well, the brat deserved whatever he'd gotten after pulling a knife on Jones. Two knives.
"So." Brand dropped both hands on Max's shoulders and steered him toward the couch. "You're going to park your butt here until it's time to go. I'm going to have Mr. Andrews talk you through Agent Quinn's role with the FBI, and we're going to have some sanity and cooler heads prevail or you're really not going to like what happens next. You will leave this house in handcuffs if I'm not convinced that you're able to make the drive to the FBI without trying something on Fred, so let's see how convincing you can be, huh?"
Fred looked like he was about to back out of chauffeur duty, so Brand gave him a quick shake of the head; there'd be handcuffs all right. Exactly nothing was going to convince him otherwise. But he knew better than to tell that to Max right away if there was any possibility that they could incentivize better behavior.
"Uh, good morning, Max." Fred sat down on the couch gingerly. "I'm really not sure that anything I say can convince you that we're telling the truth about the FBI if you don't already believe Jughead. But I'll happily answer any questions you have."
"I…" Max looked over at Jones, who had not moved from where Brand had told him to stay. FP was right beside him, and clearly ready to step in if anyone made a wrong move. "I don't want-,"
Max choked up but regained control of himself before any tears could fall. His voice hardened. "I'm not going to be taken anywhere again. I want you to let me go."
"You're marked. Someone would grab you in no time flat." Brand looked over to Jones for confirmation. "Right, kid?"
"Yeah. Max, it's not that simple. You need help. And protection. Believe me, it's dangerous to strike out on your own when there are criminals looking for you." Jones looked and sounded agonized, and FP dropped an arm over his shoulders. "Can't I go with Max? Just to show him that it's safe?"
"No." Brand and FP said the word in unison.
"Well, uh, maybe you need to get to know me a little better, then." Fred was starting to get the picture - or a picture, anyway - when it came to the new kid, though he was still obviously confused about how Max had come to be in the townhouse while they were ostensibly in Toronto seeking medical care for Jones.
Oh, well. Max wasn't about to give up any information about Rose, and Sarah was more than on top of things. Keeping Andrews in the dark was everyone's goal, so Brand figured he didn't need to worry too much about that.
"Ask me anything you like. Or we can just chat. Do you want to hear about my son, Archie? Or my work? Maybe you could tell me a little about yourself, too. I know that you like cat videos, but that doesn't really tell me a lot about you."
Brand decided to start making breakfast and to have FP brew coffee. They could let Fred try to work his magic, but Brand honestly couldn't picture any scenario that began with a two-knife altercation in the morning and didn't end with handcuffs.
Five minutes later, when Fred was laughing, Max was talking more freely, and Jones was inching toward the conversation while he contributed comments and stories of his own, Brand was glad that FP took it upon himself to haul his son back to his spot by the kitchen counter.
"Dad. Max is fine now. Just look at him." Jones did not resist, though, and he even wilted a bit when FP gave him a stern look for moving when his back had been turned.
However, Brand had to admit that the kid had a point: Max looked like he was genuinely starting to believe that Fred was not the next in a long line of people who stood to turn a profit by putting a helpless teenager into unfriendly hands.
The man had a gift.
00000
Alice wasn't sure whether this was a good idea, but Gunnar had invited her to sit in on their band 'summit' with Mary Andrews in her official capacity as 'band advisor,' a role which basically meant whatever she wanted it to mean.
She'd accepted, out of curiosity and a growing attachment to the band. Alice was feeling more and more investment in their music and success and each new development was exciting - and the online groundswell was almost mesmerizing to watch grow. So attending the meeting sounded fun.
Then Sweet Pea had turned up at the Pembrooke on his motorcycle, with an extra helmet and a smile.
And somehow Alice was unable to turn him away.
"You can't get away for a ride? I haven't seen you outside of school since we visited your mother. Don't force me to take that personally." Sweet Pea didn't look like he was anywhere near taking that personally, since his smile was confident and his stance projected ease and familiarity. He took a step closer to Alice.
"Well, why don't you come along to the meeting, and we can take a ride afterward? It should be fascinating, and I'm the band advisor so I could deputize you." Alice thought quickly. "You could be a focus group of one."
"I'd have to focus? I don't know if I'm up for that on such a great day for riding," Sweet Pea replied teasingly, motioning to the autumn foliage that was indeed starting to look very impressive. He turned serious a moment later. "Gunnar will be there, so I can just come back and pick you up after if that's easier."
"No." Alice realized even as she spoke that she was ready for this. "You should get to know Gunnar. And all of my friends. I'd like it if you did."
Sweet Pea's grin grew. "All right, then. I'm there."
00000
Archie sent his dad another cat video. Honestly, Jughead must be a mess - maybe on painkillers, or perhaps just in pain - if he was really asking for more of these.
'Thanks, Arch. I'll be home late Sunday night. There's some stuff I need to finish up, and there might be some traffic.'
The timeline was a little odd. Archie was not sure where Jughead and FP were, and he was suddenly curious. He reviewed some of his dad's texts and description of his timeline and plan - and suddenly the word 'townhouse' struck him.
Archie knew where one of those was. There was enough distance between there and Riverdale to make his dad's comments make sense.
Huh.
Maybe they could get free medical care there. But probably not. Archie went back to Jughead's texts and couldn't tell much of anything.
He would just have to be patient. Or he might have another way of looking into things. Maybe. Archie knew the meeting was going to start soon, and people were likely already en route to his house, but he opened up his E-mail and did a quick search through the flood of band-related messages.
There it was.
As he reread it, Archie thought it showed a lot of promise, too. He'd just have to sell the others on it, and that might not be particularly difficult.
00000
"So you want to open for an opening band?" Veronica was a little confused, but seemed unopposed to the idea. "Is it a big venue?"
"We'd be first, and there would be several other bands, yes." Archie had forwarded the E-mail to everyone, and his mom was sitting in on the discussion. She had assured him that she would offer input, but only after everyone had expressed their wishes first. Archie was honestly impressed by how quiet she'd been so far, and he suspected - hoped - that it was because she approved of the direction that their planning had taken. "It's a huge venue, and I think it takes a lot of the pressure off that we don't have to worry about ticket sales, and it's a relatively short set. We'd also be right near Alice's old stomping grounds."
Alice looked up then. She did not have a copy of the E-mail. She'd been looking up statistics about the headlining band with an expression of approval, but this seemed to catch her interest. "Do you mean Toronto?"
"Yep." Archie noticed that his mom looked up as well, and that seemed like it might be confirmation of where his dad was this weekend. Maybe.
"Do you need a place to crash?" Alice smiled eagerly. "I just got the keys to my dad's place, and I should take a look at it. Start thinking about cleaning it and renting it or something. Two birds with one stone?"
"That would be awesome." Archie was ninety percent sure that Alice's dad's house was within walking distance of where Jughead was staying if his dad had been referring to that townhouse. This was working out even better than he'd pictured. "Mom, you can officially cross off lodging expenses from the budget."
"We'll see, Archie." His mom was noncommittal, but he recognized her smile; so far at least, she was approving the plan.
"So this band is a little edgier than our sound, but I don't think that's a bad thing," Gunnar finally spoke up. "I like the size of the venue, I like Toronto for a location, but the timing is-,"
"That's the big thing, yeah." Archie nodded. "Is everyone free this week for fall break? And, like, every evening between now and then to pull this off?"
That made his mother frown. She must not have paid close attention to the date.
"I say let's go for it!" Veronica was enthusiastic. "I'm going to call Betty and see if she can come, too. All hands on deck. She'll be into it, and I think she needs a distraction pretty badly right now. How many people can fit comfortably in your dad's house, Alice?"
Alice laughed. "It's a little ridiculous; we could have a full entourage there. Picture everyone having their own room."
"Oh. Wow." Veronica was surprised, but then grinned. "Ni-ice, Alice."
"I don't know. We'll see how it has fared when we get there, but it should be fine for a night or two." Alice shrugged.
"Or three. We could go for fall break and stay through the weekend." Archie suddenly recalled another ace in the hole. "We'd have plenty of time."
"Mrs. Andrews?" Veronica finally drew Archie's mother into the conversation more fully. "What do you think?"
"I think it's soon. Extremely soon." She made eye contact with Archie, and tipped her head apologetically. "I'm not sure you can be ready in that short amount of time. How are the songs coming together?"
"Oh, that's not a problem, Mrs. Andrews." Gunnar was suddenly all reassurance. "We've performed them a couple of times and it's only a question of keeping ourselves fresh and being ready for a new venue. We won't be struggling - not for a set that's this short."
The one person in the room who had been silent the whole time finally spoke up.
"I think it makes sense." Sweet Pea nodded. "You could let the online presence build or whatever while you play this gig, and make decisions after you have this relatively limited experience under your belts. Do you want another set of hands for stuff? Including cleaning the house, Alice, if that turns out to be a thing."
"Sure." Gunnar's expression was emphatically neutral, but his tone was welcoming. "I have absolutely no problem with it whatsoever. You seem like you'd be good at carrying stuff."
Alice looked a little unnerved, but her expression cleared swiftly. "Great. Yeah, thanks, Sweet Pea."
"I think that's one option," Archie's mother spoke slowly, and it was obvious that she was about to redirect everyone, "but we have a lot of others to discuss today. Let's put this at the top of our list and come back to it once we've gotten a clear picture of all of the opportunities, okay? I also want to talk about your online presence, since I just spoke with a friend who specializes in that. He had a lot of suggestions, and some of them we'll want to consider implementing right away."
Time to work. Archie was satisfied, though - he'd made his pitch, and it sounded like folks were onboard for it. Surely there would be enough time to make a quick trip to the townhouse, or to a local medical facility, and drop in on his best friend. He'd see for himself that Jughead was okay.
00000
"Clark, put the dog in your room if you don't mind. The handoff is happening."
"Wait, we're going now?" Clark had been playing with Trigger and putting him through some of his paces for agility training. When he reacted strongly to Agent Quinn's words, Trigger leapt up in excitement.
"No, actually. We're getting a delivery. And it's not Davies coming here; it's Fred Andrews."
"Really?" Clark made a face as he tried to figure that out. "How on earth did the FBI get-,"
"This is where you stop asking questions," Agent Williams interrupted. "Although I had more than a few myself, and I'm still not convinced that any of this checks out."
"It's Fred Andrews," Agent Quinn replied. "It checks out. It really is that wholesome from what I understand: he got worried and somehow guessed that they were in Toronto."
"Opsec is a thing of the past," Williams lamented.
"Not based on what I was told happened," Sarah said firmly. "We're lucking out, too. He isn't FBI or anyone who's known in the area. This is saving us a lot of hassle."
"So what's he dropping off?" Clark asked.
"His name is Max. It sounds like there's a long story here."
"What is he?" Clark was still confused. "I'll get Trigger in my room so we don't have any incidents, don't worry."
"What do you mean, 'what is he'?" Williams snapped.
"Sorry - it's not another pet. That was kind of confusing, Williams, so leave him alone. Max is a teenaged boy. He was kidnapped, and Davies recovered him. That is literally all I know."
"Oh." Clark had nothing else to say. And then he did. "This is your specialty, right, Agent Quinn? Will he stay with us long? Is he American, and does this mean we're going to be heading back to the RA now?"
"That is literally all I know," Agent Quinn repeated firmly. "I'll be in touch with SAC Wilson once we have Max here."
"Wow." Clark nodded to himself. "All right, then."
He'd have to play it by ear and make a decision about whether to return to the Serpents' bar as he'd originally planned.
00000
FP and Brandon flanked Jughead as Max left with Fred Andrews.
Jughead had his arms crossed tightly, but couldn't quite keep still; he was twisting his hands around his elbows anxiously and shifting his weight from foot to foot as they stood by the door.
Fred had insisted that Max be left unrestrained for the drive, and Max had shamefacedly agreed to ride in the backseat with child protection locks on as a compromise. At least that had been a relief for Jughead, who had been objectively horrified and strenuously vocal when the question of handcuffs had been discussed.
Brand had made sure that Fred had both his number and Agent Quinn's on speed dial, just in case, but everything seemed to have settled down after the morning's outburst. Max had been very surprised and a lot more cooperative after they had not punished him for the knife incident.
"He's American," Brandon stated as Fred's car pulled out of the driveway. "It can be dicey going by accent, but his vocabulary is American. He'll be taken across the border and debriefed, and then placed with someone who's equipped to handle him. It's going to turn out as well as can be expected, Jones."
"Mr. Andrews can't take him in." Jughead's voice had a hitch in it. "That would have been a good solution, but he can't. He already tried with me."
"Max needs a little more than Fred can give him, kid." Brand patted Jughead's shoulder, trying not to picture what Fred's reaction would surely have been to that suggestion. "I know you're mad at me because I won't adopt him, but you'll have to trust me on that one. And, for what it's worth, I wish I had a concrete plan and a firm set of outcomes that I could offer you. But that was never going to include living with me. Or Fred."
"No, you were right about adopting Max." Jughead made a face. "All it would take is one bad day and you two would kill each other. He needs someone who's a lot more patient."
Brand gave Jughead an irritated look at the idea that his patience was the limiting factor, and not anything to do with the knife-wielding teenager, but he let it go.
FP looked down at Jughead, and he felt a range of aches stemming from his memories of Jughead being missing to the worries that had persisted from debriefing to this day - and now a new one arising from his son's protective impulse and grief over his inability to do more. "Do you want to keep in touch with Max? Follow up with Agent Quinn, and maybe correspond with him?"
"Yeah." Jughead watched the car disappear around a corner and then turned away from the door. "And get together to hang out sometimes."
"Well, I don't know about that." FP tried not to let his skepticism come through in his voice as he followed Jughead to the couch in Brandon's living room. It had still only been a few hours since Max had come after Jughead with a knife. "But I think you're someone he's always going to remember, and that he's someone you're going to think about for a long time. We'll talk it over with Agent Quinn and see what she recommends."
"Sure." Jughead leaned back on the couch wearily.
"What time did you get up this morning?" FP asked curiously.
"Around five. I couldn't sleep."
"You think maybe you could right now?" FP studied Jughead's tired expression. "We don't have anything else on the docket for today. We might try getting back to the apartment, but Brandon and I can handle the planning for now."
"It's Sunday," Brand interjected. "I can give you two some space if you want to watch a movie or play a board game and then nap. I know you're missing therapy this week, too, so…"
Jughead looked up at Brand. "Playing hooky from time to time is healthy, Brand, so we don't get dependent on formal sessions to help us communicate."
"Your therapist actually tells you that? It sounds like kind of a mixed message." Brand was amused.
"No; Dad says that whenever we have to miss a session."
"Ah, I see. My mistake." Brand's tone was teasing and he tousled Jughead's hair. "Are you going to communicate with your father today, then?"
Jughead merely nodded, ignoring Brand's humorous tone. "A game or a movie sounds good; I'm up for either."
"What board games do you have here, Brandon?" FP had perked up as well. "You can join us if you like."
"Nah. You should keep your Sunday routine." Brand waved him off. "I'll read a book and maybe start on that nap a little sooner. The games are all on the bookshelf down there." Brand pointed out a low shelf that was filled with games.
Jughead and FP investigated them while Brand went upstairs. Soon they were teasing each other competitively while they played a few favorites, and then they were more focused as they tried out one that was new to them both.
Brand came back downstairs a few hours later. He raised an eyebrow when he realized that the two had been playing games the whole time. "No naps for the weary?"
"We must have lost track of time. You should go get some sleep, Jug. I can clean up this game," FP offered.
"Okay." Jughead stretched and then stood up from the couch. "I'll see if I can fall asleep."
He disappeared upstairs, and Brandon joined FP on the couch to help him clear away the game pieces from the coffee table.
"So. How screwed are we?" FP asked. "I'm sure you weren't napping that whole time."
"Yeah, not quite. And, strangely enough, we might still be on track," Brandon pulled out his phone and studied something on it. "Rose wants one more thing, and I'm thinking we still need to keep you a secret for at least the lead-up to that part, but he isn't flipping out. We may still be able to do this."
"He wants something else? Oh, joy." FP felt weary now as well, and envied Jughead heading toward a nap. "Are you planning to head back to Rose's place, then? To deal with the Max fallout?"
"That's what I'm saying. There is no Max fallout." Brandon made a face. "Rose hadn't taken custody of him, or money hadn't yet changed hands, or something. Anyway, someone else is going to be out for blood from what I gather, but Rose didn't eat the loss and he doesn't see any reason to expend resources following up on it."
"Dom does land on his feet most of the time. That's something, I guess." FP rubbed his eyes. "Any idea what they were doing with Max?"
"None." Brandon massaged the back of his neck. "You might want to find that out before you let Jones keep in touch. Sarah will get to the bottom of things, but you'll want to know what the kid is likely to be getting himself into."
"Yeah." FP felt the ache return. "You're probably right."
"So that one thing Rose wants." Brand's voice was suddenly a little too casual. "I think we can bundle it with the bust. Use some cell phone technology to get some 'wires' in there, have you enter the scene, and bring the roof down right afterward. But-,"
"Oh, let me guess." FP felt wide awake now. "He wants to see Jughead again?"
"Just for the dinner he didn't get to have with the kid. Maybe even lunch." Brandon shrugged apologetically. "It would be elegant; Jones and I would do it together, we'd bring ears inside with us, and as soon as we had what we needed I'd bring you in to close the trap - and we'd have everyone poised and standing by for the bust. We'd be out of Toronto before the end of the week."
"I hate you." FP's voice held no rancor, though.
"You love me. You hate this plan," Brandon corrected. "I didn't think we'd be able to have Jones skate on grabbing Max, but if Rose thinks it's not even worth pursuing, we can do this. I even got the sense that he likes the idea of Jones jailbreaking another kid successfully, so long as it didn't represent a loss for him."
FP snorted. "That sounds like Dom. Sure. Doesn't mean he isn't lying through his teeth and trying to get Jug back under his roof to make an example out of him."
"I really don't think that's it. And it's a powerful statement that he wants to bond with Jones. Get to know him a bit. If we have you walk in after an hour or two of that, it's going to be as effective a setup as we could have dreamed up." Brandon looked toward the stairs where Jughead had disappeared. "This part I could theoretically do without him, though."
"Great. Sold. He's out." FP gave Brandon a look.
"But we'd potentially be here for a lot longer, and severing those ties could be much more difficult. It might be a gift, FP, and I'm not talking about doing it without a load of precautions." Brandon stretched. "We have time to decide, though. Go take a nap; you look even older than usual."
FP raised an eyebrow, but he got up to head back to his own bed. "Brandon?"
"Yeah?"
"You'd be there? The FBI would be listening the whole time? There wouldn't be another kidnapped teenager to distract Jughead?"
"My God, let's hope not. And they're doing excellent work with cell phones these days."
"Huh." FP considered that. He shook his head, though. "Jughead's out. Bullets are too fast, and I'm not interested in seeing how many he can dodge."
"Me either." Brandon frowned at the implication that he was playing fast and loose with Jughead's well-being. "I do think it might be safer for him in the long run, though. Go get some sleep for now. No decisions until we've had some time to think."
FP was both surprised and unsurprised when he got to his room, lay down, and felt himself drifting off right away.
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Jughead heard his dad making his way up the stairs with his distinctive footfalls.
He shook his head helplessly and pled with his eyes for mercy.
"There's only one way this is happening without Brandon bleeding out on the floor." The gun cocked, and the noise sounded far too loud in the small bedroom.
"I'll go with you. Just please don't hurt anyone." Jughead kept his voice low, hoping his dad wouldn't hear the tense conversation playing out and come to investigate. If he yelled for help, he knew that Brand would stand a chance - but he had no idea what his dad might do, and what could happen to him.
The image of FP in the shooting range, bleeding heavily and fearful that the bullet wound might be life-threatening, seemed permanently stuck in Jughead's mind - along with Brand's assessment: that Donn must have outsourced the hit, because he would not have missed.
"All right." Donn gestured toward the bedroom window that Jughead had entered the townhouse through two days previously - and neglected to lock behind himself. "Some symmetry, huh? You really owe me. Rose has deeper pockets, so we'll start there, but when Brandon's booted out and I take over for him I'm not likely to forget that you're the sneak thief who robbed me."
Donn paused thoughtfully and seemed to be weighing options. "Rose giving you to me as a replacement for Max seems like it would be a fair trade. It would be a good start, anyway; I'll have to see what's possible with the FBI after that. I might even end up with both of you, and then we'll just see if I can come out ahead in spite of your little stunt."
Jughead blinked against the burning sensation in his eyes as he moved toward the window.
"Got your cell phone? We'll need that too." Donn was holding a backpack that he'd filled with Jughead's clothing.
Jughead nodded, sliding it out of his pocket to show Donn. His dad had taken possession of his wallet and passport while Max was in the townhouse, so he hoped Donn didn't ask about either of those.
"Let's go, then. Get in the back seat of the blue car and buckle yourself into the restraints there. I'll tighten them down in a minute, but we don't want anyone seeing anything from the street, now do we?"
Jughead nodded a second time, even as he shuddered at the thought of being tied up and taken away. He climbed quickly out the window, willing Brand not to climb the stairs before Donn followed him out and down the lightweight ladder he'd used to surprise Jughead in his room.
Discovering that there was an unexpected extra person in the townhouse might be enough to start bullets flying.
The back seat of the blue car had a tangle of nylon straps on it. Jughead wasn't sure where to begin.
"Legs first. I'll get to your arms in a minute." Donn dropped the backpack on the floor of the vehicle, and for a moment Jughead considered attacking him for the gun - but Donn moved out of reach as if he sensed his idea. "I heard that Clark was in the city the other day. What is Brandon trying to pull? Rose is going to get quite an earful today."
Jughead was shocked to hear that Clark was nearby - and chilled to the bone by the idea that Donn might be able to find him.
"Oh, you felt invulnerable, didn't you? There are so many ways to find things out. And then for someone to have an accident." Donn tutted. "Legs. Now don't over tighten those; you should be hobbled, but still able to walk inside when we get to Rose's. We won't need a gag, I think. You're doing well."
Jughead shook his head quickly against the idea of a gag. He could begin to see a pattern to the straps now, and he cinched his ankles into the straps that were dangling from the seat.
"Belt it around yourself next, and then do your arms and shoulders. It's nothing too bad; your arms will be attached to your sides and waist, so it's going to keep you from trying anything, but you'll be comfortable. I take care of what's mine, and I do think that's going to include you once Rose hears what's going on."
Jughead felt a tear roll down his face.
"Keep going." Donn gestured with the gun. "If Brandon comes out here, I'll shoot him in the head. You might prefer to be quick enough that doesn't happen."
Jughead nodded, speeding up his movements.
He wasn't sure what his game plan should be, but he trusted that if his dad and Brand stumbled into the situation, it could end very badly. If Brand had time to prepare and then come after him, they all had a much better shot at survival.
"Don't cry too hard. If all goes well, you'll be reunited with Brandon soon enough."
Donn's self-satisfied smile was the most terrifying thing that Jughead had seen in quite some time.
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I know! Everything went left when it looked like it was going right! And now things are in motion... and Donn is back. Woo-hoo! I'll love reading any and all notes as I write Chapter Twenty-One... :)
I hope you are having a lovely week!
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