Proving Ground

Chapter 3

Like most guys, he had never been a big fan of stuffed animals, although he had won quite a few for the cute girls he took to carnivals and street fairs when he was in high school. The hooker who loved pink had covered her entire bed with them. He scattered most of them onto the floor before collapsing on the bed fully clothed, but a dozen or so still surrounded him, and he had to admit they were kind of comforting. He was dead tired and grumpy, and pulled an ultra soft, long eared bunny to his chest, trying to let go of his frustrating conversation with Mosley. It had taken him awhile to realize she wasn't going to call him back, so he eventually gave in to his need for sleep. His face was buried in the big stuffed panda bear when he woke in the dark, sensing someone's presence. He reached across to the nightstand for his weapon, but it was no longer there.

"I should take a photo," a smooth voice intoned from the shadows. "Undercover tough guy sleeping with a bunch of stuffed animals. Probably ruin your street cred altogether, but the pictures might be fun to show around the office."

Deeks eased himself up on his elbow as the man turned on the floor lamp behind the overstuffed pink chair he was sitting in. A Glock was pointed at him and his own weapon rested on the side table. The man was slender and dressed entirely in black. His hair was shaved close to his scalp and his face was clean-shaven except for a mustache and tidy dark beard that encircled his mouth.

"If you were going to shoot me, you would have done it already," Deeks said.

"Mosley didn't say I couldn't," the man said. "You did tell her someone might be out to get you."

"So she sent you instead of calling back?"

"It would appear so."

"You want to lower the gun now?" Deeks asked, sitting up and swinging his legs over the end of the bed.

"Not yet," he replied. "I hear Max Gentry is dangerous."

"You got a name, or should I just call you douchbag?" Deeks asked, yawning as he tousled his hair.

"Call me Ishmael."

"Really? I like douchbag better," Deeks said, growing angry at the man's game.

"Interesting. That line usually gets a laugh, at least from educated people aware of the reference," he replied. "But Max is kind of a guttersnipe, isn't he? Too busy consorting with the local trash to read Moby Dick."

"You done?" Deeks asked as he stood up, his fists clenched.

"I don't think I am, Detective," he replied, motioning with the gun for him to sit back down.

Deeks didn't move as he worked to control the fury he was feeling. "Shoot me or get the hell out."

"Ah…a death wish," he said with a slow smile. "That is surprising considering what you managed to survive as a child."

Deeks remained very still. "What do you want?"

"Wrong question, Detective. Try again."

"Okay asshole. Why are you here?"

The man smiled brightly, the condescension plain. "I'm your new partner. For the moment anyway. Benjamin Teague. Formerly of the Secret Service."

"Seriously?"

"I'm pretty much always serious, Detective," Teague replied, finally lowering his gun. "Now, what part of my answer confused you?"

"No confusion, just a question of my own," he replied. "Why'd they kick you out of the Secret Service? They discover you're a condescending prick? Or maybe you pissed off the wrong people or screwed up so badly somebody got killed."

"That's two questions and a statement," the man replied tightly.

"Good for you…you can count," Deeks said with a grin that faded quickly. "Which is it?"

"Let's just say I'm an agent at large at the service of those in the higher echelons of power who are in need of someone they can count on in the field."

"Well, you can count," Deeks snarked. "CIA, then?"

"That, I'm afraid, is definitely above your pay grade," Teague replied. "As I'm guessing most things are."

"Mosley was Secret Service, yeah?" Deeks asked. "Do some of her dirty work?"

"You're out of her league, Detective," he said. "And you are definitely out of mine."

"I'm actually going to take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't."

"So let me guess. Mosley has decided to take me up on my offer," Deeks said.

"You are to introduce me to your contacts and I'll take it from there," he replied.

"I thought she wanted to test my skills?"

"Not if it means losing those Tomahawk missiles," Teague said. "She doesn't trust your so-called skills, Detective, so consequently neither do I."

"That's fine. You don't know me, and I don't know you, and neither do the men who can introduce you to the hijackers," Deeks said, as Teague stood and tucked his weapon into a shoulder holster inside his jacket.

"So tell me Teague...What's gonna make them trust somebody they've never heard of?"

"I hear you're quite the talker," he replied. "I'm sure you'll come up with something. After that I'll make my own way."

"Yeah, but if you talk to my contacts the way you've been talking to me, you'll be dead before you can tell them how fucking wonderful you are."

That seemed to give the man pause and he briefly looked away as if in thought. Deeks' fist hit him square in the mouth, knocking him back down into the chair. He thought of going for his gun, but instead took a step back to let Teague collect himself, ready for any retaliation.

"You want in? I'll get you in, but only as a weapons buyer," Deeks said. "They're in the market to sell those missiles. Max Gentry is a facilitator. You as a buyer will get us in if you come up with the right story, and don't act like the obnoxious dick you are."

"You ever hit me again, Detective Deeks and I'll make you think fondly of the torture you endured from Sidorov," Teague warned, wiping blood from his mouth.

Deeks stared unblinking at the bastard and held out his hand. "Give me my gun, Teague."

"Do you have it in mind to shoot me, Detective?"

"Max would…without blinking," he replied.

He waited for the man to comply, his anger deep and unsettling. Mosley had given this guy all of his files, including those he thought had been sealed long ago. He felt naked in front of a man he now despised, a man he was supposed to work with and trust to have his back. There was no respect between them. Mosley had seen to that. She knew Teague, so she knew he would use the information revealed in his files to gain an advantage and keep him out of balance and off his game. One more test. One more hurtle in her little made up obstacle course for him to overcome. But one thing had changed. The op was now real and they didn't get to the men with the Tomahawk missiles without Max Gentry.

Deeks let his alias settle inside. He allowed the darkness to mushroom unchecked. Max's callousness replaced his own vulnerability. He became coldhearted and calculating and mean.

"Fuck you, Mr. Teague," Max said and walked over and picked up his weapon. "You comin'?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Tucking his gun behind his back, he grabbed up his leather jacket and slid into it, slamming out the door and down the stairs. If he was going to put up with this asshole, he needed coffee, and lots of it.

"I won't forget that punch, Detective," Teague said behind him as he shove through the outside door.

He stopped abruptly and turned to face the man. "Your little game of one-upmanship is over. Right now. You're supposedly a professional, so cut the crap. Start calling me Max or we'll both end up dead."

He saw Teague's eyes change slightly as he appraised the change in his character, but he didn't really care anymore. At least Max didn't.

"Come on Benny. There's a little hole-in-the-wall place around the corner. Probably ain't your cup of tea, but at this hour of the morning it will pretty much be empty."

"Don't call me that," the man snapped, but followed him.

He ignored him, smiling softly to himself. Max had a way of aggravating people, and he looked forward to irritating the hell out of this prick. If this op went well, and he came out alive, he'd have to deal with the fallout Mosley was sure to rain down on him. But right now, they needed him, and that gave him leverage.

"I kinda like the name Benny," he said as they approached the small cafe. "Got a last name you want to use, or is Teague already an alias?"

"Shay said you were annoying," he replied.

"Wow. First names and everything. How fuckin' cozy."

"I can see why she wants to get rid of you," he shot back, sounding just a little pissed.

"I can go home right now, if you like," Max offered as he held the door open for the man. "Let me know how the op turns out."

The death glare he got in return made him smile widely. He was starting to enjoy himself, but knew he shouldn't push it too far. He was a professional too. And he wanted to recover those missiles.

Teague headed for a booth in the back as Max stopped to order two coffees. He needed the caffeine before putting food in his stomach. Just being around this guy made him nauseous, and they had to make plans if this was going to work. Luckily there was only one other person in the diner, and he seemed to be glued to his cell phone in the opposite corner. Max picked up the two mugs of coffee as soon as they were poured and joined Teague in the booth.

"Charming place," the man said with utter contempt.

"Where the hell have you worked that didn't entail going to off-beat places like this?"

"Classified, Mr. Gentry," he replied, ignoring the mug of coffee in front of him.

"You prefer something stronger?" Max asked as he sipped at his lukewarm coffee.

"I don't drink."

"Seriously? Even if it pisses off a mark offering it to seal a deal?"

"I'm quite good at talking my way around that," Teague replied.

"You're a white collar guy," Max realized. "No dirty lowdown ops for you, right? Just potentates and politicians with their hand in the wrong pocket. Am I right?"

"Have you ever worked a dirty politician, Mr. Gentry?"

"No Benny. I have not."

"You wouldn't like it, or them. They're sleazy and pompous. So damn sure they're above the law," he said, sounding almost human and decidedly bitter. "They are, to be blunt, self-righteous bastards. And…they don't have just one hand in the wrong pocket, they have both of them down their pants, jerking off the country with a smile on their face."

"Sounds specific," Max said as he finished off his coffee.

"And highly classified."

"No more Secret Service after that, I'm guessing."

"I've moved on, and so should we," he replied. "Let's make a plan, shall we?"

"Sure, Benny. You're in charge," Max said with a grin. "Oh wait…that would be me."

"I don't like you or Max."

"I don't care and Max sure as hell doesn't."

The man's eyes narrowed and became introspective. "I once worked a case in Morocco as an international arms dealer. I used the name Lorenzo Benedetto. He resides in Rome, with a summer villa on a hill outside Orvieto in Umbria. The alias has a complete legend and updated papers. If they were to check those locations there is a record of Benedetto's holdings, and he still has a presence on the dark web. He has a reputation for paying and getting top dollar for the weapons he procures and sells."

"Does he speak Italian?"

"Fluently."

"Of course he does," Max said with a hint of irritation.

"What about you, Mr. Gentry? Speak anything other than street slang?"

"I can hold my own in Pig Latin, if that helps," he replied, surprised when he saw a thin smile.

"It won't," he replied. "Now…how do we make contact with your low life friends?"

"Hold on, Benny," Max said. "We need to establish how Max came to know an international gun runner from Rome."

"I believe that's your problem, Mr. Gentry," he replied stiffly. "Consider it part of Mosley's test."

"You mean like working with you?"

"I'm not here to help you pass so you can keep your job," he spit out. "I'm the solution to a much bigger problem, in which you play a minor role."

"I think you mean an integral role…Benny," he replied. "I think we've established that a royal prick like you won't get past the introductions without Max Gentry. It's why you're sitting here not drinking coffee with me. And just to clarify…if they shoot you, I'm pretty sure I can come up with a damn good story about why and how that happened."

"Are you threatening me?" Teague growled.

"That's Max for you. Guttersnipe extraordinaire," he replied. "Now why don't you wait here and smell the coffee, while I go look for the two assholes who can get you to the men with the missiles."

"How do I contact you?"

"Come on, Benny. We both know Mosley put a tracker on the burner phone she gave me. How else could you have known where I crashed last night," he said, smiling as he slid out of the booth. "I'll call her when I have something and she can tell you where to meet me."

Max Gentry sauntered out of the diner, pleased with the look on Teague's face. Both he and Mosley had underestimated him, big time, and that didn't sit well with him. Did she really think he was so stupid he wouldn't figure out she was tracking him? He watched for tails as he headed back up to his room, sure that even though she had a tracker on him, she'd want eyes and ears too. Once he closed the door, he checked for any bugs Teague might have placed, finding one under the pink chair and another behind a framed photo on top of the dresser. After checking out the window, he quickly left the room, not trusting he had found every bug, and needing someplace private to call Kensi. Hearing voices downstairs he reached for his weapon, but when he heard laughter, he realized it was just Orlena's girls returning from their evening. He was about to head down the stairs when a door opened across the way.

"You come out to watch the parade, Sugar?" Orlena asked as she leaned against the doorframe dressed in a leopard-patterned dressing gown.

"Yeah…no. Just need to make a private phone call," he replied with an embarrassed smile.

"It ain't private enough in your room?" She said, looking skeptical. "Or did you bring back your own honey last night?"

"No...no, no. All that pink was giving me a headache."

"If you say so, sweet cheeks," Orlena said, but he knew she didn't believe him and was fishing for information. "You have breakfast yet?"

"Just a cup of bad coffee."

"Come on in before the girls see you," she laughed. "Or I'll end up feedin' alla you."

He followed her inside, unsure what to expect. The apartment was quite large and the entire living room was white, including the sofa and chairs, the thick rugs and the tables. The only color was in the large oil paintings on the walls. All nudes and not too bad.

"Did a trade out with the artist," she mentioned as she led him through to the kitchen. "He had a hard on for one of my girls, but no money to satisfy his urges. So…I let him pay with what he did best. I was just lucky the horny little shit had talent."

The kitchen was a lot homier than the living room, with personal items scattered around, and photos stuck on the door of the refrigerator.

"Relatives?" He asked.

"Those my grandkids, Sugar," she said with a sad smile. "Had a private investigator track down my son a few years ago. Had to give him up for adoption when I was sixteen. Lives in Wisconsin. He don't know what I do. We only ever talked on the phone, but he sent me lots of pictures of his kids. Never held it against me that I gave him up. Least that's what he told me. He a good boy. Good job too."

"I'm happy for you, Orlena," he said truthfully.

She didn't say any thing, just began to pour pancake batter into a skillet. He sunk down into one of the chairs, and realized how tired he was. He was grateful when she set a mug of coffee down in front of him. It was the smell of bacon that made him finally feel hungry. Drinking deeply of his coffee, he struggled with the residual anger he felt from his conversations with Teague. He wasn't sure what to make of him, and wished the team was here so they could talk about this whole, god-awful mess.

"Who was the dude in your room last night?" Orlena asked.

The question rocked him and he stared at her as she calmly flipped a pancake.

"I got state of the art surveillance here, Sugar. Well hidden, too," she said. "You got a sweet smile, boy, but there ain't a gay vibe in your body. So, who was he? Need to know if he gonna bring trouble here. Can't have that."

"We're working a case together," he said. "He's a Fed."

"Why he pick the lock, if he workin' with you?" She asked as she shoveled two pancakes on a plate and placed it in front of him. "You lie to me, boy, and you can clear out after breakfast."

"I just met him myself," he replied, as he lathered butter and syrup on his pancakes. "He's a hard-ass douche, but I don't have a choice. I'll lose my job if I don't work with him."

"What kinda job we talkin'?"

"A secret one," he said with a soft smile. "Good pancakes by the way. Are you sharing the bacon?"

"Only if you promise not to get yourself killed, Sugar," She said as she put a plate of bacon down in front of him. "I forgot how much I liked you."

"Thanks, Orlena. For everything," he said.

"You clean up when you done now, and make that private call of yours," she said. "I'll be in my bedroom, so ain't nobody gonna hear nothin' or bother you."

He really couldn't express how much her unexpected kindness meant to him. She seemed to know though and left him to finish his breakfast. After polishing off the pancakes, he pulled out his personal burner phone and called Kensi.

"Can you talk?"

"Where are you, Deeks? Are you okay?" She sounded stressed. "Sam was pissed you cut him off and you scared the shit out of me."

"Slow down, sunshine," he said, smiling softly at her concern. "I'm good. I miss you. Actually, I miss all of you right now."

"What can I do? We all want to help. You know that," she said softly.

"Even Sam?"

"He's on your side, Deeks," She said firmly. "Now what's going on? You said some old friends showed up. Who are they?"

"Are you at work?"

"No. It's not even six, baby."

"Can you gather the troops? I need to tell this once, cause this isn't a fake op anymore. It's a real case."

"What case? We haven't been given a new case," she said, sounding confused.

"That's cause Mosley's handling it herself," he replied. "Using me and one of her old operatives. She doesn't want you guys to know or be involved."

"I'll call the others. Call me back in a half hour," she said, sounding like the professional she was, but her voice softened. "Deeks? Please stay safe, okay? I love you."

"Me and Max are trying, Sunshine. Love you."

When Kensi ended the call he felt cold, both physically and mentally. He was tempted to go back to his room and take a hot shower, but couldn't risk that it might change the perception Fuentes and Baldo had about Max. He used smell as part of all his characters. Arty, the homeless guy was the grossest example, while Sven was at the other end of the spectrum, a sweet smelling cleanliness fanatic. Max never struck him as someone who cared much about his grooming habits. He was a rough and tumble guy, all sweat and spit, so whatever soap was in that all pink bathroom would sure as hell make him suspicious to the men he was going to contact.

He shoved the last piece of bacon in his mouth and cleared the table, making plans as he washed the dishes. When he turned to leave Orlena stood in the doorway dressed in a pale lavender blouse and white pants. Behind her was a black man with mini-dreads. He was big and built like a linebacker, which he must have been at some point.

"This here is Lamont. My muscle," she said. "He watches out for me and for my girls. Told him to do the same for you."

"You don't have to do that, Orlena. Really."

"Already told you, Sugar. Can't have no trouble here, so he part of my house rules," she replied.

"Whatever you need, man," Lamont said in a low rumbling voice.

"You sure about this?" He asked, looking at each of them in turn.

When they nodded, he let out a long sigh. "I need a used pickup with plates that can't be traced back to anyone here. Preferably one that isn't stolen."

"I ain't no thief, man," Lamont said. "I ain't stupid neither."

"Good to know, but I had to make that clear," he replied. "I'm a cop. She told you that, right? That gonna be a problem?"

"Not unless you make it one," Lamont said.

"Fair enough."

"When do you need the truck?"

"Soon as possible."

"Might need some cash," Lamont said.

Deeks gave him all he had and the kid nodded and left. When he looked at Orlena she wasn't smiling. "Shoulda never let you stay here. From now on, Sugar, you come and go out the back. I'll be in my office. You stay here till Lamont gets back."

"I appreciate all this, Orlena," he said as she turned to walk away.

She stopped, but didn't turn around. "Don't you get that boy in trouble. He going to UCLA on a football scholarship. His mama an old friend, if you know what I mean."

"I'll leave as soon as he drops off the car."

"No need for that. I owe you, and I pay my debts," she said as she walked away. "Just keep any bad shit outa here."

He felt immensely grateful, but a sense of dread lingered. Teague knew this place now, and that might be dangerous for Orlena, and for Lamont if he confronted him. He didn't think the man would come here again, but he couldn't count on it. He fished out the phone Mosley had given him and called her.

"Tell Teague to stay the hell away from the place I'm staying, or I'm out," he said, finally venting his anger.

"I don't appreciate the ultimatum, Detective," she replied curtly. "Teague is a seasoned operative, and I trust him. You should too."

"Yeah? Well I don't, and if you want access to Max Gentry's contacts, then you'll keep Teague away from here."

"And just where might that be?"

"Are you seriously asking me that question? You know exactly where I am," he shot back. "And you know what we talked about from the bugs you had him place."

"You surprised him," she said. "Didn't think that was possible."

"Max is one of a kind."

"So is Teague. He's good, Deeks. A bit arrogant, but a master undercover."

"I'll have to take your word for it," he replied, hoping what she said was true. "Are you putting my team on the case?"

"No. I have other sources on it."

"What other sources?" He asked.

"That doesn't concern you right now," she said curtly. "Just do your job, Detective, and leave the rest to me and to Teague."

She ended the call before he could respond and he almost threw the phone across the room. He closed his eyes and thought carefully about his situation. Even though he'd worked undercover alone before, working with a team on an assignment of this magnitude was not only safer, but needed. If they were going to recover those missiles, they would need overwatch and backup at a moments notice, and he had no idea who was even working the case.

"Sonofabitch."

He felt a deep need to be with the team right now, but with Mosley tracking his phone it was risky even to try. He could leave the phone here, but if she called and he didn't pick up, she would instantly know that something wasn't right. He didn't want a slew of Federal agents to come down on Orlena and her business. Every member of the team could be tracked to their locations, so it would take some complicated maneuvering to overcome that. But, then again, they all were pretty good at going dark without anyone knowing.

It had almost been a half hour so he called. "Kens? I need to see you. Callen and Sam too."

"But Deeks, if Mosley finds out she'll fire you," she replied.

"She put a tracker on the burn phone she gave me, but I have a way to deal with that," he said, ignoring her concerns. "You guys will have to leave your phones at home…"

"Deeks, this is crazy. Can't you just brief us over the phone?"

"If you don't want to see me just say so," he shot back.

It was Max's voice that came out of his mouth, and Kensi realized it before he did.

"Deeks. Baby? Take a breath. I want to hold you more than anything in the world right now," she said softly. "I know you're stressed and feeling alone. I understand, okay? Callen and Sam should be here any second and we'll see what we can work out."

"No, you're right," he replied. "It's a crazy idea."

"We're good at crazy, Deeks."

"I miss you, Kensilina."

"I miss you too, baby," she said softly. "Callen and Sam are here. I'm putting you on speaker."

"Tell us what you got, Deeks," Callen's strong voice was good to hear.

"Met with a couple of Max Gentry's former associates. They told me a truckload of Tomahawk missiles had been hijacked from a convoy out of China Lake," he began, but was immediately cut off by Sam.

"That's news to us," Sam said. "You sure about this?"

"They sought me out, Sam. The guy they're working for thought I might screw up his plans."

"They threaten you?" Sam asked.

"Something like that," he replied.

"You tell Mosley?" Callen asked.

"Yeah. She sent an old friend of hers to my room last night. Held me at gunpoint while telling me what a shitty agent I was," he said, feeling anger with every word. "Says he's my new partner. At least for the moment."

"I think I just saw smoke coming out of Kensi's ears," Callen said.

"Did he tail you?" Sam asked.

"No. Mosley gave me a burn phone with a tracker on it," he replied. "She also gave the prick all of my files, even the ones sealed by the Juvenile Court."

"Why would she do that?" Kensi asked.

"She's playing hardball," Callen said. "And she wants Deeks to know it."

"Why aren't we on this case, G?" Sam asked. "What the hell is she doing?"

"She says she already has a team on it and this guy Benjamin Teague is suppose to run the undercover," Deeks said. "This guy's a real piece of work. Arrogant and condescending as hell. He and Mosley used to work together in the Secret Service until he pissed off the wrong politician."

"We'll get Eric and Nell to dig into this guy," Callen said.

"She doesn't want any of you involved," Deeks said.

"She's not going to know we are," Callen said.

"And Nell can find out what team she's using," Kensi added.

"Deeks? Where are you?" Sam asked.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?" Sam said, sounding irritated.

"You can't come here," he replied. "I won't put these people at risk anymore than they already are."

He could hear Sam grumbling in the background and figured Callen had pulled him aside to calm him down. It felt as if they were no longer functioning as a cohesive team, the trust once taken for granted now damaged. He was alone on this, and he thought they knew it too.

"You're not alone, baby," Kensi said as if reading his thoughts.

"Yes I am, Kens."

"No you're not, Deeks," Callen said. "I'm not letting Mosley keep us out of this now that you're in the middle of it. We need to meet somewhere."

"Why? She'll know. She's tracking me."

"And we want to track you too," he replied. "Did you forget how good I am at going rogue? Trust me, Deeks. She won't even know we met."

"Okay. Now tell me why," he replied, feeling a glimmer of hope.

"Overwatch spray. Remember?" Sam said. "Even if Mosley loses track of you, we won't. We've got your back, Deeks. Always."