Clinton Jones was completing a report at his desk Monday morning when he heard Peter Burke's voice. The advantage of being closest to the boss's office was that overhearing interesting stuff when the door was open. Today it was, "No, that's okay. If your doctor says you should stay home, then that's what you need to do."
The disadvantage of being closest to the boss's office was being the first person Peter saw when an agent called in sick.
Sure enough, a minute later Peter was at his elbow. "Jones, you wrapped up the Hugo case, right?"
Jones nodded. "Just finishing the paperwork now."
"I need you to fill in on the AWR case. Badillo is out with bronchitis." Peter provided the case details. A group known as American Writer Resources took advantage of authors desperate to be published. The organization seemed to exist entirely online, and finding the people behind it had taken months. Two weeks ago they got a credible tip that publishing magnate Nicole White-Ladd was pulling the strings. Last week they'd placed Neal Caffrey undercover in Nicole's office as her new personal assistant at boutique publishing house NWL. Agent Diana Berrigan had an appointment with Nicole this afternoon as an author whose novel obviously didn't meet the criteria for Nicole's services, and they suspected Nicole would push her toward the AWR and its outrageous fees. "Neal placed bugs in Nicole's office and conference rooms, and Badillo was listening in from the van. We need you to take his place in the van."
"Has it been fumigated?" Jones asked, not entirely kidding. He didn't want bronchitis.
"Better, it's been retired. The new van arrived over the weekend, and you'll be the first to try it out."
Jones leaned forward. "Are the rumors true? Better ventilation and A/C, ergonomic chairs that adjust to the height of the agent, less bulky equipment?"
"I've read the specs, but haven't seen it. In fact, I want a full report on the van before you head home tonight. We only have ten days to decide if we want to keep it."
#
At the vehicle depot, Jones stopped in his tracks when he saw the new van. The back two-thirds of the vehicle had the standard public utilities paint job. The front third had images of burgers and the logo PUB.
"No," Jones said.
Neal's friend Mozzie popped out of the driver's side door. "Isn't it magnificent? I arranged with the city for three Public Utilities Burger installations. Since I have expertise in the Fed's vans, I got the contract to have this one outfitted to my own specifications."
"Once," Jones said. "You've been in the van once. That does not make you an expert."
"Perfect recall," Mozzie said airily. "I remembered not only every piece of equipment, but also every opportunity for improvement."
"And outfitting the van means you know exactly how everything works in case we ever have cause to surveil you. In fact, I want a sweep to make certain you haven't placed any bugs inside the van."
"Naturally," Mozzie said, not sounding the least surprised or insulted.
Once inside the van, Jones had to admit that the new layout, while slightly smaller, was more comfortable. He slid a door at the front end to see a tiny kitchen. "It's barely bigger than a food cart," he observed.
"That's the inspiration." Mozzie sounded pleased. "In light of climate change, the extremes of heat, cold, and torrential rains will make traditional street carts nonviable in a few years. Food trucks are gaining popularity, but finding a place to park is a growing challenge. Public utility vehicles, however, can park with impunity. And voila, the PUB: a food cart housed inside a utility truck."
Jones could think of at least a dozen objections, but it was time to get rolling. After a brief argument about who should drive, they made their way to the brownstone that housed the NWL office.
The morning actually allayed several of Jones's concerns. His workspace was more thoughtfully designed than that of any FBI van he'd ever seen, and the upgraded machinery didn't put off as much heat as the old stuff did, meaning only a slight improvement in ventilation provided a significant improvement in comfort. When Mozzie started preparing burgers, the scent wafted into Jones's area, but it wasn't overwhelming. At least, not at first.
An hour of smelling burgers worked on his subconscious, making him hungrier by the minute, and also making him less satisfied with the cold sandwich he'd packed for lunch. He needed a burger.
Finally he slid the door open to the kitchen area. "Hey, make me one of those burgers," he requested, reaching for his wallet. He paused as he took in the view out the window. "What the hell?"
There was a line down the block. "I was about to knock on your door. I need you to pitch in," Mozzie said. "I didn't account for how popular this location would be."
Jones waved toward the back of the van. "I'm working here."
"You're listening. You can do that and flip burgers."
"You don't think it's going to look suspicious if I'm flipping burgers in a suit?"
"Then take off the coat and tie," Mozzie snapped. "We've got hungry people here. If I don't catch up, it could turn into a mob."
Jones had done a stint working for a fast food franchise during high school, and knew it wasn't as easy as simply rolling up his sleeves and pitching in. "I'm not licensed for food prep work," he warned. "You'll get in trouble if a health inspector shows up."
Mozzie pointed toward a carefully sealed pack of paperwork, and Jones could see his own photo.
"You got me a license?"
Mozzie rolled his eyes. "Of course. I knew you'd want to help."
"Do I want to know how you got me a license in the ninety minutes you had before you started lunch prep?"
"Probably not. There's an apron over there with the PUB logo."
Jones gave in and joined the lunch crew. As he cooked beef and black bean patties and placed them on potato or gluten-free buns, he considered the pros and cons to include in his report back to Peter.
On the plus side, sitting around in the van listening to bugged conversations could get boring. Agents often did sudoku or brought knitting or something else to do with their hands. Flipping burgers worked in much the same way.
On the minus side, his clothes had absorbed so much of the kitchen's greasy scent that he'd probably have to wash them multiple times before they stopped smelling like burgers.
He flipped another burger and heard Nicole tell Neal to get lunch for both of them. It sounded like she opened her wallet and was distracted by Neal while pulling out a credit card for him to use. He wondered what Neal found in her wallet, and then flipped another burger.
"Run this card for me," Mozzie muttered a few minutes later.
Jones looked around sharply. He hadn't run the credit cards for any customers, and was about to protest that he hadn't been trained on how the card system worked. Then he noticed the customer holding out the card was Neal.
"Got it." Jones grabbed the card and stepped into the back to take a photo and run a check on the card's usage. It was in the name of Rita Drawer, an alias they had not associated with their suspect. Jones smiled in satisfaction as a history of suspicious transactions flowed across a computer screen. Got her!
Moments later he handed the card back to Neal, with a bag containing two burgers and fries. He hadn't charged the card, so that Neal could slip it back into Nicole's wallet without her receiving any notification it had been used.
#
Later that afternoon, Jones and Diana returned to the office to deliver their report. Between the alias on the credit card and the heavy-handed referral Diana had received to the AWR, there wasn't a need to stake out the NWL offices anymore.
"How was the new van?" Peter asked after they presented the evidence they'd gathered.
Diana snorted. "When I stopped by, I found Mozzie helping Jones. Returning the favor, he called it."
Jones added, "I can live with the PUB concept, but the little guy is gonna drive me up the wall."
Peter nodded. "I'll tell him that if he wants to work in that van, he needs to provide a social security number and submit to a background check. That should ensure he hires someone else to work that kitchen."
Jones sighed a breath of relief. "It wasn't just the way he wanted to suggest half a dozen conspiracy theories we should investigate. He also roped me into assisting with the food service and kept me so busy I never got to eat a burger myself."
"Food cravings?" Diana asked.
"Like you wouldn't believe."
A/N: Now I'm hungry.