Chapter Twenty-One! It's been an exhausting week, but hey - we made it!
Skyrider45, Banjo is so much fun already. I'm not sure how much the Serpents are going to come in, but they're definitely present and in the thick of it now... And yay for the band getting to Toronto! Awww, Fred - I think he's going to get some more moments, too. I had a good laugh this week because Donn is basically the Spanish Inquisition from Monty Python; he's been around, but still catches us flat-footed every time. It's become his thing. :-D Thanks so much for the encouragement, too! I will try to keep it up! :-D
Living Lucid Dream, I am interested in seeing how the Serpents weave into all of this as well. They're definitely watching, and only from a slight distance! I am enjoying Clark working through a thoroughly out of context experience, too. He's learning a lot in a hurry, and I suspect that he's not done yet. Oh man, just thinking about Fred working through all of that on a daily basis is painful; I think it would be super hard for him, even though he's definitely got the touch. And yay for calling it with the keys! That was great! :-D I'm really curious about how Alice and the band are going to navigate everything and what they'll be walking into as well... We officially have a timeline starting to take shape! And I'll take a flourishing bow over a shocking ending. :-D We might get some breather chapters here and there, but oh man the plot is thickening. I love your excitement so much, by the way; it was so energizing to read your review! :-D
Enjoy!
-Button
00000
Jughead stumbled into Rose's immense foyer on his hobbled legs, without the ability to use his bound arms for balance.
"Donn?" Rose's voice carried from an adjacent room. "What is this all about?"
Donn steered Jughead into the room, which was plush with red velvets and lined with leather-bound books.
Rose looked confused. Maybe annoyed. Two other men followed Donn and Jughead into the room, and it seemed like they might be part of Rose's security.
"It's about Jones. He's the one who stole Max from here the other night. He and Brandon are-,"
"You've suffered a loss, Marcus, and you aren't thinking clearly." Rose's voice was calm. "Did he hurt you, Jones?"
Jughead wasn't sure how to answer that, and he hesitated.
"That's it; this form of loose cannon behavior has gone on for too long. You're dismissed, Donn. I don't want to see or hear from you again." Rose's expression was suddenly cold, and Jughead recognized his tone from the scariest of his phone messages. "You have every ability to retrieve Max from the FBI for the moment, but I suggest that you cut your losses and move on with your life. In any event, I won't tolerate you harassing Jones or Brandon any further."
Jughead was sure he was hearing the same promise that Donn was in Rose's turn of phrase: that it was a question of when, not if, his job with the FBI evaporated.
Donn's expression was murderous, but even with them out of his line of sight, he seemed to sense that the security in the room had drawn their weapons.
He turned toward Jughead, though, and his body loomed over the teen threateningly.
Jughead stumbled a few steps backward, and tripped over the straps holding his feet too close together. Without the ability to catch himself, he went down hard and felt the air knocked out of his lungs when he hit the hardwood floor.
"That is quite enough." Rose was back to his usual unperturbed demeanor, but the words had no less powerful an effect. Donn turned on his heel and was exiting the house in scant seconds.
"Brandon was right. He is entirely unstable, and I'm afraid I gave him too much free rein. Did he shoot anyone, Jones? Do I need to clean up any messes?"
Jughead stared up at Rose, his mind racing with thoughts of Donn going after Max as he gasped for air and tried to figure out how to respond.
"Oh dear, did he shoot Brandon?" Rose looked mildly alarmed for the first time.
One of the security men bent down next to Jughead and began releasing the straps holding his arms helplessly against his sides.
"Brand's okay," Jughead managed breathlessly. "Donn didn't shoot him."
"He hurt you, though?"
"Uh, n-no. Sorry. He only threatened me." Jughead wasn't sure why he was apologizing for that. The room seemed unsteady and that was making him feel nauseated, though, so he didn't try to think too much about it.
Rose arched an eyebrow. "So far out of line. He knew I wanted you and Brandon left alone, and he kept on pushing. No matter; you're fine and Brandon is fine. It's rather nice that you're here, in fact. Perhaps you'll consider staying with me for a few days. I've got a gift on its way for you, and we didn't get to spend much time together when you visited with Brandon."
Jughead felt like he was hallucinating all of this as the straps fell away from him and the security operative offered him a hand up from where he was on the floor.
"What?"
"Tea, I think. Something to eat. You look very tired, too." Rose tutted, and Jughead realized with a jolt that it was the same noise that Donn had made in the car. "Let's have you call Brandon first, though, and let him know that you're here and unharmed. He's so attached, and he does tend toward worrying."
Jughead wasn't sure that he could trust his own senses, but if there was any possibility that this was reality, he wasn't missing his chance. He had his cell phone dialing Brand in moments.
"Kid, are you calling me from your bedroom?" Brand sounded amused.
"I think Donn might be going after Max." Jughead hadn't intended for those to be his first words to Brand.
"Wait, what? Where are you? Stay put, wherever you are; I'll come to you. Are you safe? Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay. Rose has a gift for me. He wants me to stay with him for a few days." Jughead frowned as he realized that this was not coming out coherently.
"You're with Rose? Put him on the phone. And don't move; you don't sound okay, kid." Brand's voice was thick with worry.
"Brandon, I'm afraid you were correct in your assessment of Donn." Rose sounded more rueful about having been proven wrong than anything else that had transpired. "He brought Jones here in restraints, raving about the loss of Max, but it's all sorted out now. You don't need to come by right away, but perhaps on Wednesday you could collect the boy. That should give us a chance to get to know each other better; I'd quite like to see what you see in him. The timing is most advantageous, too, as his gift should arrive tomorrow."
"Is he okay?" Brand demanded. "Did Donn hurt him?"
"He's shaken up and needs some tea, I'd say, but he's unharmed." Rose motioned to one of the men in the room, and he left. "He's perfectly safe here. Your concern is noted; I'll make sure he's comfortable, well fed, and rested."
Maybe the man had gone to get some tea, Jughead speculated, staring after the retreating figure.
"Put Jones back on the phone," Brand ordered.
"As you wish." Rose seemed to be entertained by Brand's intensity.
"I'm okay, Brand." Jughead felt another tear fall, but this time he could wipe it away. He wondered if his dad was standing next to Brand. He hoped they both could hear him. "I didn't want Donn to shoot anyone, so I didn't fight back. I didn't know what to do. But I'm okay."
"I know you are, killer. You're a tough cookie, and you kept yourself in one piece just like I always ask. Sometimes a gun means you don't have any options, and Donn's a very good shot. It sounds like you were paying attention and being smart." Brand's voice was gentle and soothing. "Keep your cell phone on you at all times, okay? I'm going to come for you as soon as I can square things away. Do you think that things are as stable as Rose is saying? Are you safe there for the time being?"
Jughead felt like he'd been answering that question over and over. "Rose protected me."
"Okay. All right. I want to talk to him again, but you might be there for a day or two, so everything we discussed applies. Once we're done with this call, keep your cell phone right with you."
"Okay, Brand." Jughead handed the phone back to Rose.
Sure enough, the man reappeared with a tea service.
Jughead wrapped his arms around himself as the security operative poured him tea and offered him a tiny china plate that held a croissant.
Rose was still on the phone with Brand, but he looked over for a moment. "Eat, Jones. You look ill."
Jughead scrubbed his eyes with his palms, willing reality to come back into focus. When it still looked like he was in Rose's home, being served tea and pastry, he accepted the plate and the cup and saucer and sat down on a plush sofa.
"I'll see you then, Brandon. Yes, he's eating now. You left his camera here the other evening, so I'll see that he's given that too. All right."
Rose ended the call and then reached over to set the cell phone next to Jughead on the velvet fabric of the sofa he was seated on. "Do you like black tea?"
Jughead shrugged and tried a sip. It was hot tea and did not taste remarkable to him. "I like croissants."
Rose motioned to the security guy again, and Jughead was offered a second croissant on a napkin. "Eat up. I'll have a room prepared for you, and then you can lie down if you like."
Jughead wondered if Rose expected to be thanked. After a long, awkward pause, he figured the answer was yes. "Thank you."
"Ahhh, there are those manners." Rose seemed to relax, though Jughead had not realized until that moment that the man had tensed. "You are entirely welcome, Jones."
00000
FP would kill him if Brand let him sleep.
FP was probably going to kill him either way.
But Brand needed another perspective on this. Apparently Donn had kidnapped Jones right out of his bedroom, with both Brand and FP in the house.
With surveillance footage being saved from every angle Brand had been able to think of.
Brand's jaw slackened as he processed that fact. This might be a game changer.
But right now he needed to wake FP up and tell him that his son was alive, but had been stolen from his bed by the man FP hated most in the world, and then 'rescued' by the very criminal that they were trying to protect Jones from.
Brand's own vision was already tinted red from the anger running through him, so he figured that almost any response from FP would be appropriate to the situation.
Yeah, he was probably going to die once FP found out what had transpired.
Brand started up the stairs.
00000
Fred Andrews dropped off Max, but from what Clark could tell he'd told them basically nothing - which made some sense since he was not operating in any official capacity. Mr. Andrews simply left Max with the parting admonition that he had a chance to make a fresh start.
It seemed like good advice, and nobody wanted to put Mr. Andrews in the middle of anything, so they'd left it at that for the time being.
Clark was not entirely sure what he'd expected would happen when Agents Quinn and Williams had to leave the apartment later in the day, but being left alone with a skinny, wide-eyed teenager who had pressed himself into a corner with a book and an entire loaf of French bread that he was steadily making his way through was probably the kind of babysitting job that was more or less his speed.
It was uncomfortable, though. And Clark had a feeling that his effusive offer of 'any food you want' was going to come back to haunt him when Agent Williams discovered that they were completely out of the bread that she'd specifically sought out at an upscale bakery.
Nevertheless, Clark eventually decided to follow Max's example and he settled in to study and work on his paper once again. He was sitting near his own bedroom door and could hear Trigger snuffling around on occasion.
When the dog eventually scratched on the door, as if politely requesting introductions with the newcomer, Clark looked up from his coursework.
Max was frozen and clearly terrified, his book dangling from his hands and all but abandoned, and he was staring at Clark's bedroom door as if it concealed actual monsters.
"Are you okay, Max?" Clark frowned. "That's just Trigger. Agent Quinn didn't want him wandering around while you're settling in here."
"Who's Trigger?" Max's voice was faint, almost a whisper, as if he was trying to hide himself from whatever was in the bedroom, and Clark's reassurance seemed to have done nothing at all to allay his fear.
"He's Jones' dog. I think you'll like him, but we're going to leave him in there until it's time for his walk. Agent Quinn wants us to-,"
"Jughead has a dog?" Max seemed to recover as he thought that through. He drew his book up toward his chest and clutched the large hardcover volume as if it were a security blanket, but his facial expression had relaxed. "His dog is here with you?"
"Yeah. I've been living with Jones and his family for a little while, so Trig knows me pretty well. This works out for the time being." Clark shrugged, not sure how much else to explain.
"Jughead lives with an FBI agent?" Max spoke more to himself than to Clark this time, and his tone was awed.
"Oh, no - I'm not an agent. I'd need a lot of specialized training before I'd get that title. Special Agent Davies is, though, in sort of an international role, and they've been living together off and on for a while. Uh, that's his godfather; I don't know if they explained all of that to you."
Max looked confused. "FP's his dad, so... You don't mean Brand."
"I do, actually. It surprised me too, but Davies is Jughead's godfather."
"That guy's an FBI agent?" Max's jaw dropped.
Clark smiled. "One of the best. He's modest, though, so I bet he didn't tell you about any of that. But rescuing people is part of his job."
Max stared at Clark in disbelief.
"I'm not making this up, Max."
"Oka-ay." Max looked back at the bedroom door. "Jughead lives with you, and his dad, and with an FBI agent - Brand, who's his godfather - and he has a dog?"
"It's a full house, yeah, but just temporarily. Except for Trigger and his dad," Clark explained. "It's a little complicated; I'll be moving out soon, and Special Agent Davies is buying a house, but for a few weeks that's been the arrangement."
"How did Jughead get kidnapped, then?" Max looked disconcerted. "Or did he make that up?"
"Oh, that was back when he was undercover with Davies. It was more of a capture than anything, and I don't know a whole lot about it. I mean, we were taken prisoner by some terrorists, too, but that was a little different - and just for a few hours."
Max gaped at Clark, who realized a little too late that this was probably not appropriate conversation for a recently recovered abductee. "Sorry. That's not something we should - uh, what's your book about?"
The topic change was less than smooth, but Max thankfully didn't seem to mind.
Instead, unexpectedly, he lit up proudly.
"It's called Treasure Island. Jughead said it was good, and Brand said I could keep it, even though Jughead was a little worried he might not because it's expensive. Brand gave me three books, and they're all classics, so that means I'll want to read them more than once."
Clark smiled warmly, relieved by the feeling that he was on solid footing once more. "That's a great book and a great plan. I think I read it more than once when I was around your age. It looks like a nice edition, too. Good choice."
"Thanks." Max returned the smile, but then his eyes went back to the bedroom door.
"You want me to let him out? Trig probably just wants to meet you and figure out what's going on."
"Can I pet him?" Max looked tentatively hopeful.
"Well, only if you understand in advance how much he loves that. You might be signing up for a whole lot of petting if you start down that road." Clark stood up to open the door to his room and release Trigger.
"I'm good for it." Max jammed the remainder of the French bread back into its bag and knotted the plastic, and then he carefully slid his book into one of the two tote bags he'd kept within reach since his arrival.
"In that case, have at it." Clark let Trig out, and watched closely as the dog darted toward Max and woofed lightly as he smelled around the boy and his possessions. "Give him a minute. You might smell like Jones, and that's going to confuse him."
"Hi, boy. Do you miss Jughead?" Max addressed Trigger, who had begun sniffing Max's torso and looked up eagerly when he heard his master's name. "You're a good dog. You probably really like living with FBI people, huh? They must have to exercise all the time, so there's always someone to play with. I bet you bite Brand, too, whenever he's mean. He would never punish Jughead when you're around."
Clark's eyebrows lowered in consternation over that comment, but he figured Davies had probably just intimidated Max. And, to be perfectly honest, Clark could relate to that sentiment.
"Can I walk him?"
Clark sighed when Trigger made a delighted noise and then began dancing in a tight circle. "Now that you've said the 'W' word, I think we'd better. Not far, though. I was given very strict parameters for today."
"Awesome." Max looked around the apartment. "Can I put my stuff in your room?"
"Sure. We'll be sharing that room, so it's yours too. We've even got a lock on the door. Why don't you find a real good hiding spot so nothing gets lost, and I'll get Trigger leashed." Clark nodded encouragingly. Agent Quinn had warned him not to touch Max's possessions, and he figured that doing a little extra to secure his belongings might set the teen's mind at ease.
"I'm not being paranoid, you know." Max's eyes had narrowed. "People break into apartments all the time. They steal valuable books."
"Hey, no judgment. I'm just telling you that we don't have a safe in there. Evasive maneuvers are our best bet." Clark made his expression and tone as sincere as he could. "Personally, I would hate to lose my copy of Treasure Island."
"Yeah. That's all I'm saying." Max seemed somewhat appeased. "And if we're not going far, then probably nobody will even know that the apartment's empty."
"We'll even leave a few lights on, even though it's daytime," Clark agreed. "That should do the trick."
Max nodded and looked around the apartment again, this time approvingly. "The FBI is rich. That means you might get robbed, because you have three bedrooms and two bathrooms and that's kind of a giveaway. But I bet the other apartments could distract thieves if you have better security than them."
"Good point." Clark wasn't sure why they were continuing to discuss this, but it seemed to be making Max feel more secure to talk through the details. "We don't have to outrun the bear."
"The bear?" Max asked.
"It's just a phrase. Go find a place for your stuff and I'll explain while we're on our walk."
"Okay." Max headed into the room he'd be sharing with Clark.
Clark took a deep breath as he moved toward Trigger's leash. Things seemed to be going well so far, but he had the distinct sense that he was just one misstep away from disaster.
Hopefully a walk would help.
00000
"Call Fred. He can't come back here." FP was in Jughead's room, staring at the window that Donn had taken him from.
"Okay." Brandon was subdued, though he was obviously upset by the situation - and by the footage they'd just watched together. "I'll call him right now."
FP had erupted, demanding that they go after Jughead right away, but after Brandon had talked him through all the reasons that was unwise at the moment, he'd gritted his teeth and watched the trail cam footage with Brandon on his laptop.
And now he felt sick.
It was clear that Donn had surprised Jughead with a gun, and at some point in the process FP must have come up the stairs to lie down; both figures had reacted to something in the hallway, and Jughead's tense, alert body language had gone completely to hell after that.
Being around his son was making it harder for Jughead to stay safe.
FP stepped toward the window where the slight ladder had long since been unhooked and removed. He and Brandon had never asked Jughead how he'd gotten into the locked townhouse with Max, and now it seemed stupidly obvious that they should have. Who ever heard of a teenager who locked a window behind himself? Both Brandon and FP suspected that any attempt at forced entry might well have alerted the adults to Donn's presence.
"FP?" Brandon came back into the room, and FP realized that he wasn't sure how long he had been gone. "Fred's heading home to Riverdale. I told him Jughead was feeling worse."
"That's... good. It lays some groundwork," FP said numbly. "In case he never-,"
"No, no, no, FP." Brandon was suddenly in his face, grabbing his shoulders. "If I thought that I'd have left you asleep and called the FBI in right away for the bust. We'd have lost Rose to a million technicalities, but Jones is more important. We're not going to lose him. Rose is going to take good care of him, get the full Jones experience that he's so curious about, and then we're going to pick the kid up just as easy as you please. You're going in with me, we'll follow the plan, and we'll bust Rose. For good."
Brandon looked only more worried as he studied FP's expression. "You aren't supposed to know this, but I've got Jones' cell phone rigged. He's wired. He can't actively transmit from Rose's place, thanks to the never-ending arms race of spy/counterspy, but we're going to have everything we need. You have got to hold it together, though, and we need to keep your presence in Toronto under wraps until Wednesday. Sixty hours or so. You got that?"
FP could not fathom waiting sixty hours. He could not picture waiting a single hour.
"Maybe you should have taken Jughead and disappeared, back when you had the chance."
"FP, as Solomonesque as that notion is coming from you, Jones didn't want that. He begged me not to do that. Your son is done with living in fear, and we are very close to pulling this off. You're not thinking clearly right now because you're being pushed further than anyone ever should be - and that's legitimate - but whatever's going through your head right now is wrong; I've seen Jones through some wars, but you're the one who built a life that made him want to risk everything in order to come home for good. You cannot fall apart on him now."
Brand suddenly realized that he had a very compelling option available for bucking the older man up. "Come here and sit down for a second. Let me call Jones and put him on speaker, and we'll just check in. Rose knows I'm paranoid; he won't think anything's out of the ordinary, and you can hear for yourself that Jones is fine."
FP felt his expression twist in disbelief.
"He's not a prisoner, FP - we can keep in close contact with the kid. You need to keep your mouth shut, but I'll use one of those codes you hate so much. He'll know that you're listening."
00000
Jones had described the ornate room that Rose had set up for him, and declared that he was lying on 'the softest bed known to man' before Brand subtly clued him in that his father was on the call.
"I miss Dad. We've been away from him for too long."
Good. Jones already had a false narrative going.
"Yeah, he doesn't do well with separations." Brand ignored FP's glare. It was going to worry the kid, sure, but the whole point was to communicate what was going on. "I think he'll be better once he hears from you. Just a little while longer in Toronto and then we can touch base with him."
"I know. And it's not like I'm roughing it." Jones' voice was wistful. "I was really scared that someone would get shot, but I think it's all going to be okay. Sorry again about the window."
"We're definitely talking about that more later," Brand's voice was calm, though he was still frustrated about the avoidable breach in security, "but it happens. I'm just glad you're okay."
"Did you get it on video?" Jones suddenly realized that was likely. "You must have. You got Donn on video, breaking and entering?"
"Scaling the building, stealing your stuff, and quite obviously kidnapping you at gunpoint. Rose was wise to get rid of the dead weight," Brand confirmed.
"Whoa," Jones breathed the word, absorbing the magnitude of what that meant for the bust. Donn had not even been in view until now, and this development meant that it was all but assured that he'd be taken down. "It was kind of worth it, then."
Brand's eyes flew to FP, figuring that there was going to be an audible reaction to that gem. "Bite your tongue, kid. None of this is 'worth it' if you get yourself hurt or killed."
FP looked a little less like he was going to spontaneously combust now that Brand had given voice to his sentiment, but it was probably time to wrap up the call.
"I'm going to check in often. Text me, too. I want to see those eyes of yours." Photos of objects and rooms were not likely to set FP's mind at ease.
"I'll take selfies, even though you know that I'm not doing drugs. I drank some black tea, though, and now I can't sleep."
"Well, that wasn't bright." Brand rubbed the back of his neck. "Stay away from caffeine. And alcohol."
"And cigarettes, and-," Jones huffed a quiet laugh.
"And all of that, yeah. I'll be there to pick you up bright and early on Wednesday."
"Rose wants us to have lunch on Wednesday."
"You have an itinerary?" Brand figured that was probably a good sign, but it sounded nuts. "I guess I'll be joining you, then, because I'll be there bright and early. Keep your cell phone with you at all times, kid."
"I heard you the first million times." Jones' voice held a note of curiosity, though, and Brand was relieved: he'd finally caught that his godfather meant that as more than just a safety precaution. "I'll keep it charged and right with me."
"Good. I love you, and you know your dad would say the same thing if he were here."
"I love you too." Jones choked up a little on the words. "I'm okay; I promise. I'll text a lot."
"Good. Hey, one more thing before you go. Are you still glad we made the trip up here?" Brand decided to add one more brick to the foundation of FP's resolve. He already knew what Jones would say.
There was a brief silence while Jones silently thought through what Brand meant - and perhaps also what kind of message from FP those words might represent. "You mean… instead of a different vacation?"
"That's exactly what I mean."
"Yeah. I never wanted to go anywhere else. Donn can suck it; coming to Toronto was definitely the right call."
"Duly noted. Just checking. That's good to hear, kid." Brand's voice was filled with satisfaction.
Brand said goodbye and then handed the phone to FP, who left the line open in silence until Jones finally killed the call. A few moments later a text came in with a photo of the kid lounging in a bedroom that looked reminiscent of eighteenth century Versailles.
When FP reached to hand his phone back to him, Brand waved him off. "Hang onto that for now, unless a call comes in. Those texts are for you more than they're for me. If you get anxious, just send him a note and he'll get you proof of life. I hope you heard him, too: he wants to be here. Jones is glad you're here, and he's glad you stopped us from taking off. This is the risk he was willing to take, and he hasn't changed his mind."
FP nodded, but didn't seem ready to speak.
"Ready to break some rules?" Brand eyed him closely. "I think it's time. We've got work to do, and you're far too valuable to be sidelined any longer. We've got your presence in Toronto established, and now we've officially got our timeline for bringing you in to confront Rose."
"You're trying to pretend that I'm actually useful to this whole mission?" FP's tone was dark.
"Yep. So get it together, because I'm about to lay out the whole bust - wide open - just for you, and I expect you to have helpful input." Brand slapped FP's shoulder bracingly. "Do not tell anyone at the FBI about this. Ever. But I'd rather have you know all this than Williams or Wilson. Quinn's a closer call. But you're my ringer, and you need to be ready. Jones needs you to be ready."
FP's eyes were narrowed, but he seemed more interested now.
"First, though, let's get the Donn footage squared away so we can drop that along with the bust. He's going away for a long time. That's the end of his career with the FBI, and Jones deserves at least a few decades of knowing he's locked up for what he did."
FP nodded his agreement.
"Then I want to show you floorplans for Rose's house." Brand waited for FP to absorb that idea. "I want you to know where everything's located. Know your way around. It might come in handy."
"When I go with you to get Jughead."
"Exactly."
"Tell me everything."
00000
Clark and Max got back to the apartment with Trigger - and a fresh loaf of bread from the local bakery to replace the one that Max had demolished.
"Agent Williams likes bread a lot?" Max was amused by the purchase, and intrigued by the religieuses and eclairs that Clark had gotten as a treat. "You could have told me and I wouldn't have eaten so much of it."
"You were hungry. It's all good." Clark placed the pastries in the refrigerator. "Do you want some cheese or anything? You shouldn't just eat bread."
"Sure." Max went to the kitchen counter where they'd placed Trigger's bag of food, theoretically out of the dog's reach, and he took out a handful. "I bet Trig's hungry too. Will he eat out of my hand?"
"He'll eat off of your feet if you want him to. Not that I'm recommending that." Clark smiled as Max fed the dog food to Trigger and then washed off his well-licked hands. "Do you like smoked cheese?"
"Probably. But maybe not." Max came over to investigate the contents of the fridge. "Do you have pepperoni?"
"Nope. We're not quite that well stocked. We've got lunch meat, though, so maybe some ham?"
A few minutes later Max was cutting up the remainder of his loaf of French bread and making sandwiches for both him and Clark.
"Do you have milk? And chocolate syrup?"
"Wow. You know what's good. You and Jones must have gotten along well." Clark returned to the refrigerator. "We have milk, but no chocolate syrup."
"We did get along. But then I got really mad at him." Max stopped assembling the sandwiches. "He said we're still friends, but…"
"If he said that, I'm sure it's true." Clark pulled out the milk. "What did you get mad about?"
"It was dumb."
"I get it. Sometimes the biggest fights are over something dumb." Clark gave him a sympathetic grimace and then poured two glasses of milk. "I've had some doozies over the years."
Max went back to making the sandwiches. "Did you use a knife?"
"For the milk? No. Why would I-," Clark suddenly realized what Max meant. "Uh. Did you use a knife?"
"Yeah. I mean, nobody got hurt, and Jughead even said that he knew I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I was just... serious. People don't always listen to me. I have to make them listen."
"Oh. Okay." Clark eyed the knife that Max had used to cut the bread, which was now lying on the table right in front of the teen.
Maybe they should have asked Fred Andrews a few more questions.
"Do you have a gun?" Max picked up the knife and sliced each sandwich in half.
This whole line of questioning was suddenly making Clark very uncomfortable.
"Max, we don't need to talk about-,"
"I just wondered."
Clark wished that he'd never seen the film The Bad Seed. This conversation was probably entirely innocent, but it was giving him chills.
And then there was a knock on the door.
Max's eyes went wide; before Clark could say anything, he'd darted into their shared bedroom, grabbing Trigger by the collar as he went, and closed the door softly behind himself.
Clark had just enough time to notice that the knife had gone with the teenager before the knock came a second time.
"Just a minute!" Clark called toward the door. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and went to see through the glass peephole who was there.
Oh, good grief.
"Special Agent Donn?" Clark did not open the door, but he called through it to his former boss's boss. This might be an official visit, but things had been so weird during the Southside case that he was reluctant to even unbolt the door.
"Hi Clark. Want to let me in?" Donn smiled into the glass where he knew Clark was looking.
A squeak behind Clark alerted him to Max's reappearance in the kitchen. The boy looked entirely panicked, had the knife raised, and was shaking his head hard.
"Uh, actually, I can't. Sorry. I've got very specific orders." Clark motioned to Max and they both moved away from the door so that Donn would not be able to see them if he attempted to peer in.
Max whispered to Clark. "He's a liar. He's not an agent. And he has a gun. Are you sure you don't have one?"
"I have one," Clark whispered back. "But I don't think we need it. We'll keep the door locked and I'll call Agent Quinn."
"No. That will take too long. They won't get here in time, and they might not believe me. We have to-,"
Donn knocked again. "Clark, I'm on a schedule. Can we get this cleared up? Do you want to see my badge?" His tone was faintly teasing. "I know all about Quinn's assignment, and I know that you're overseeing Max and need someone to take him stateside so that you three can continue your work here. I even appreciate the dutiful attention to protocol. But if you're going to make agent, you're really going to have to learn to make some judgment calls."
Max was shaking his head harder and looked like he was about to cry.
Clark thought for a moment. Agent Quinn was probably still below Special Agent Donn in the chain of command, and something was very wrong if Max even knew who Donn was. Getting Agent Quinn on the phone might blow things up, too, by removing the modicum of protection Clark currently had from following her orders.
But there might be a third option.
Clark hit a number that he'd saved in his phone, even as Max tried to grab it from him. He whispered to him: "Trust me, Max."
Max gripped the knife more tightly, and Clark really hoped that he wasn't about to be gutted by a serrated bread knife.
And then someone picked up on the other end.
Clark moved further away from the door and kept his voice low, but made sure that he would be heard through the phone. "Hey. I'm worried about losing a good snake. I've got the door locked, but there's this guy and he's got a gun and I don't think we've got time for the police to sort out which side they're on. Is there any chance you can help us out?"
Max was suddenly gazing up at Clark as though he were Superman.
As if.
At least the bread knife wasn't stuck between his ribs yet. Clark would take that as a win.
00000
I'm not sure if they're in over their heads, but the water's getting fairly deep... And I'll enjoy hearing your thoughts immensely as I start working through chapter 22!
Aaaand I hope you have a lovely weekend! :)
-Button