Prologue: A Bar Fight
Disclaimer: I own neither G.I. Joe nor Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego. For continuity, this story takes place in my Ronin Toad: Redux universe. Deputy Amy Cole and Agent Arkady Danilov are my creations. The character of Sergeant Michelle Barrera comes from a discussion with DarkTidings over Discord.
Summary: A seemingly run of the mill cross border smuggling operation proves to be something of an intelligence coup for both GI Joe and the ACME Detective Agency.
California 111 Freeway
Imperial County, CA
Deputy Amy Cole
17 January 2002, 2251
"2K16, Dispatch, 10-20." the radio crackled inside the patrol car. Deputy Amy Cole reached a slim hand towards the handset and keyed it.
"Dispatch, 2K16, I'm approaching the Noffsinger Road intersection." Amy replied as she looked out at the cluster of lights forming the small town of Niland in the middle of the Colorado Desert.
"We have a 415 in progress at Shotgun Mike's. Sending you there," the dispatcher replied.
Amy immediately keyed the switch to activate the patrol car's siren as she hit the accelerator, heart racing. 'Easy, easy girl, you're a trained Sheriff's Deputy…not some high school kid.'
"I'm on my way," Amy replied over the radio before setting the radio handset down, and gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
'415. Public disturbance. With Shotgun Mike's that could mean nearly anything!' Amy thought to herself as she shot through the town of Niland, running through multiple intersections with a blaring siren.
Merging onto Beals Road she pushed towards Slab City. 'What was that line from Star Wars again about a hive of villainy?'
Shotgun Mike's Bar and Grill
Slab City, CA
Agent Arkady Danilov and Taurus
17 January 2002, 2231
"A Turk and a Russian meet in a bar, it sounds like the start of a great joke," The powerfully built bald man with a red beard quipped in Russian.
"And what's the punchline? Another war?" the dark haired Russian sitting beside him replied.
"What else happens when Russians and Turks run into one another, Danilov?" The bearded fellow laughed before draining yet another green bottle of Heineken.
"Good point, Taurus," Arkady Danilov replied as he drained his own Heineken.
"Want one too?" Danilov offered before waving their server over for another.
"No thanks. I'm gonna head outside to the truck and have a smoke," Taurus said, tapping his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
Taurus looked in his partially empty pack only to notice his lighter was out of fluid. "Do you happen to have a match?"
Danilov handed him a matchbook from his pocket.
"Spaciba," Taurus replied.
"Nitchevo." Danilov nodded before going back into his drink.
That peaceful drink wasn't going to last. That much Danilov guessed as he noticed a trio of men headed his way. Instincts honed by years in the Spetsnaz summarized this in one word. Trouble.
He rose from the table glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one was sneaking up behind him. Locking eyes on the three men he sized them up as they approached. From their bullying swagger he could see they were brimming with a desire to fight, likely bolstered on by liquid courage.
"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?" Arkady Danilov asked as he faced the three men.
"We don't take kindly to terrorists out here," one of the three swaggering men said..
"What terrorists?" Arkady asked, looking to his left and right.
"We're looking right at him," the swaggering fellow replied, closing the distance as the pudgy older gentleman, the bar's proprietor, walked over to the three men.
"Look, fellows, whatever the problem is I…"
"Oh shut up Seymour!" the swaggering fellow said, tossing the bartender aside as he approached, drawing a knife.
"I'm gonna add some red to that faggoty blue and white striped T-shirt of yours!" The man said.
Raising his left arm to protect the side of his head, Arkady stepped forward to meet the man, throwing a straight right handed punch for the man's throat. With a gasp the tall, skinny fellow hit the ground as his compatriots charged.
Danilov turned and threw a fast kick at the man to his left, hitting him right between the legs, causing him to hit the floor. Then he felt an arm grab him over the neck.
Quickly he dropped his weight into a quarter squat, pulling down on the arm before standing and then throwing the man behind him over one shoulder and through the heavy plate glass of the bar's window with a loud crash.
The man he had kicked in the crotch was starting to crawl to the knife and Danilov stomped on his right hand as he calmly said, "You will regret this if you attempt anything further."
"Holy shit!" Deputy Amy Cole exclaimed loudly as she saw the front window of Shotgun Mike's Bar and Grill burst apart, raining shards of glass into the parking lot thanks to a pudgy fellow flying through it. She put the cruiser in park before grabbing the handmike and making a report, "Dispatch, 2K16, responding to a fight in progress. 11-41, over."
"Roger 2K16, routing an ambulance your way, now," the radio crackled.
She rushed over to the man, crouching to one knee, recognizing him as Randall Duncan, a local deadbeat. 'Cuts and bruises, possible concussion, but doesn't look like any glass got into a blood vessel, or his eyes or nose.'
"Randall, I'm going to search and cuff you right now, you sit there on that curb until the ambulance gets here." Amy put a hand on the man's shoulder. 'There could be other injured people in here.'
"I didn't do nothin',"' the man slurred as he tried to get to his feet.
"Stay down!" Amy replied, guiding him to the ground.
She laid him on his stomach, running her hands along the man's legs, the small of his back and along his arms and back. Then she checked under his shirt, grimacing as she checked his crotch area for anything hidden.
'McDonald's receipt, a near empty dime bag, a box cutter…' Amy ran through what she had found, sticking them in an evidence bag which she stuffed into the small of her back.
Then she reached towards her belt and pulled a set of flexible zip ties from it. Gathering Randall's hands behind his back she zip tied them together before guiding him towards the curb at the edge of the parking lot, making him sit down and then zip tying his feet together with another set of flex cuffs.
"Stay here," she directed, pushing down on both shoulders to emphasize her point before running through the bar's front door, feeling the glass crunching beneath the soles of her boots. Pushing the wooden door open she saw the proprietor rising shakily to his feet, a bruise on the left side of his head.
A tall, skinny fellow lay on the floor, grabbing his throat, rasping. A knife lay about half a meter away from him on the bar's wooden floor. 'Marty Ricks. Petty thief and sometime drug pusher when he isn't using his own wares…'
A second fellow with a patchy blonde crew cut lay on the floor, one hand pinned against it by a foot shorn in a dusty blue Adidas sneaker.
"You will regret this if you attempt anything further." The sneaker's wearer said to the prostrate man in a firm tone.
'Definitely Russian.' Amy thought as she approached.
"Fuck you!" The man shouted only for the other fellow to push harder with his Adidas clad foot.
'Jared Hamman, another wannabe tough guy and petty thief. Well not so tough anymore,' Amy thought as she heard Hamman scream.
"Police! Step away from that man." Amy shouted with what she hoped was authority.
The dark haired man with the blue Adidas sneakers nodded and stepped back. She noticed he kept an eye on both men laying groaning on the floor.
The blonde fellow groaning stood shakily from the floor, cradling his right hand. Amy immediately ordered, "Step away from that knife, sir."
She headed over to where Marty Ricks lay on his side gasping. Dropping to one knee beside him, she heard him gasping, holding onto his throat. 'Airway is intact, given he's gasping. Doesn't sound like it's collapsed.'
"2K16, the fight at Shotgun Mike's ended…" Amy said over her walkie talkie as she took the knife in another evidence bag.
"He's fucking crazy!" Jared Hamman shouted, pointing with his good hand at the dark haired stranger.
Amy immediately stood up, moving to a place roughly between the two men, her back to the wall. She stepped forward one pace as the fletching from a dart sticking out of the dartboard behind her brushed against the nape of her neck, beneath her dark brown ponytail. Her hands moved to just above her duty belt. 'Hope I don't have to use any of this stuff right now.'
"What seems to be the trouble?" Amy asked.
"These gentlemen attacked me," the dark haired fellow replied.
"That's a lie! We were just sitting there having a few beers and this psycho attacked us!" Hamman protested.
"Nyet!" the Russian replied pointing at Marty, "This fellow said, and I quote, 'I'm gonna add some red to that faggoty blue and white striped T-shirt of yours!'. I simply defended myself."
As he spoke he pointed to the aforementioned blue and white t-shirt showing in the open neck of his green collared shirt with his right index and middle fingers.
"Arrest his ass! He attacked us!" Hamman protested, stepping forward.
"Stay back!" Amy ordered, holding her left hand out, her right hand sliding closer to the pepper spray canister.
Hamman stopped in his tracks and Amy turned her attention back to the Russian. "Let's see some ID."
"Da," the man replied, reaching into his back pocket and pulling his wallet out, and opening it, showing a badge of his own.
'ACME Detective Agency! The international law enforcement agency that made its name dealing with Carmen Sandiego in the 1990s.' Amy's mind raced.
"Agent Arkady Danilov, ACME. El Centro Field Office," the man replied, stepping over to a high top table and grabbing a mostly full Heineken.
"Sir, put the bottle down," Amy replied, keeping an eye on both Marty and Jared as she walked over to where the knife lay on the floor before kicking it further away from the three men.
"No point wasting a good beer, Deputy…" the man asked as he squinted, eyes focusing on a point just above her right breast.
"Amy Cole."
Agent Danilov nodded, and she noticed his eyes moved back to her face. 'Okay he wasn't checking me out. He was trying to read my name tag.'
"Agent Danilov, are you sure you should be drinking right now?" Amy asked with a raised eyebrow.
"As I said before, Deputy Cole, no point wasting a good beer. Besides, I'm off duty," Danilov replied with a smile before taking a long pull and setting the green glass bottle back onto the high top.
She heard the sound of the bar's door opening, glancing over her shoulder just in time to see a bald and heavily muscled fellow with a red beard walk into the room. 'That guy's biceps are thicker than my legs!'
"Sir, stay back," Amy began.
"Deputy…" the man began, eyes flickering downward towards her chest.
For the second time that night, Amy introduced herself.
The bald man nodded. "Agent Danilov is with me."
"And you are?" Amy asked.
"Staff Sergeant Varujan Ayvazyan," the man replied.
'I've seen boulders smaller than this guy.' Amy thought before composing herself.
"I will need statements from both of you," Amy managed.
"Okay, I'll start mine. I went outside to smoke a cigarette before I saw someone fly through the window…"
Then a loud 'awoogah-awoogah' sound chimed into the air of the bar. The hulking man reached into a pocket and pulled out a small grey cell phone which he flipped open.
"Hey Sarge, it's Taurus. Yeah, we got some trouble here. Fight kicked off, and our Russian friend got into it. Okay, we'll wait here for you." The man closed the phone.
Amy heard a crackle over her radio. "2K16, got a bus enroute escorted by another deputy."
"Acknowledged," Amy replied, keying the shoulder mounted radio handset.
"Our boss is enroute," Taurus replied, surveying the bar before striding over towards Danilov.
"Alright," Amy replied before glancing outside in time to see the ambulance pulling into the parking lot escorted by another squad car.
As the squad car stopped right at the entrance of the bar she saw a compact, no nonsense Mexican-American woman with graying jet black hair stepping out of it and striding purposefully towards where Randall was still sitting on the curb.
'Crap! Can this night get any worse?' Amy thought before forcing her mind back to what was going on in the bar.
"Well, looks like the punchline of your joke came true, Danilov, a war did break out," Taurus joked before reaching behind the bar and pulling another Heineken from the cooler before setting some cash down on the bar.
"At least it wasn't between Turks and Russians this time," Danilov remarked before finishing off his own drink.
"No, this one was a mini-Cold War between one Russian and three Americans," Taurus shot back before popping the cap off the Heineken and taking a pull.
Amy looked quizzically at the two men as Taurus replied, "Hey, might as well have one more before the Boss turns up."
'I'm going to be doing a lot of paperwork when I get back to the station. Talk about a Hell of a third day on the job,' Amy thought to herself as she heard footsteps coming into the bar.
She turned around to see Sergeant Michelle Barrera, her old training officer approach. At around the same time Jared Hamman groaned, "Oh fuck…"
"Talk to me, Amy," the woman said as she approached, motioning her till she was still within sight but out of earshot of the men.
"From what I gather, Marty Ricks' crew apparently started a fight with Agent Danilov over there," Amy replied.
"Who?" Barrera asked.
'God I feel like a trainee all over again,' Amy thought before she blinked her eyes and jutted her chin to the right, towards one of the high tables near the bar, "That Russian guy in the green shirt. He's apparently with the El Centro ACME Field Office."
"Okay. What else?" Barrera said as she followed Amy's line of sight.
"I was about to get statements from these guys, starting with Agent Danilov, when you guys came in," Amy replied.
Both of them watched the paramedics checking over Jared and Marty before Barrera gave a nod in recognition, "I know that big fellow over there, Taurus, he's from that military base further into the mountains."
"I'm gonna take Agent Danilov's statement, unless you want to…" Amy began.
"It's your scene, Amy, I'm just your back up," Barrera said evenly.
"Agent Danilov, can you come here for a moment," Amy called over. She could feel Barrera's eyes boring into her as she did so. 'Just like when she was my training officer not even a week ago.'
Danilov promptly took one more slug of the Heineken before setting the empty green bottle down atop the high top. He took purposeful strides towards them, stopping short of the two.
"Privet," he said.
"Neither of us speaks Russian, Agent Danilov," Amy replied.
"Sorry, force of habit." Danilov stood, crossing his hands in front of him, just above his beltline.
'Classic field interview stance.' Amy thought before she began, "It's for your statement, but before we begin I need to know, are you carrying?"
Danilov nodded before uncrossing his hands, reaching for the front of his shirttail and pulling it up. Amy saw the reddish brown bakelite handgrip of a Makarov PM pistol protruding just above the man's belt.
"I didn't know ACME issued Makarov pistols to their field agents," she remarked.
"They don't. It's my off-duty weapon," Danilov replied as he lowered his shirt and smoothed the front over the grip of the weapon.
"Alright. Now, what happened here, exactly?" Amy replied.
"Well I arrived here with my friend, Taurus at about 2150 for a few beers after work," Danilov replied before glancing at the face of a mechanical wristwatch with a cracked face. He lightly squinted as if performing some kind of calculation in his head before he dropped his left hand back for a field interview stance.
"At about 2230 Taurus wanted to go outside for a cigarette and these three came over to me and called me a terrorist. As I said earlier, one of them said that he was going to add some red to my shirt. The proprietor, Seymour I believe his name is, tried to stop the fight only to be pushed aside," Danilov replied.
"Where were you standing?" Amy asked.
Danilov pointed to just behind the high top about a meter from the wall where Taurus was sitting. "I was in the seat nearest to the wall. The three were between me and the exit and I had the wall behind me."
"How did this turn physical?" Amy asked.
"Well the skinny fellow pulled a knife to make good on his threat and I punched him in the throat to neutralize him. At about the same time his other friends went to try and flank me. I kicked the first of them in the crotch to check his movement only to be grabbed from behind. I threw the man who grabbed me through the window just before you arrived, Deputy Cole." Danilov replied.
'Brutal! Christ he could've killed those three,' Amy thought to herself.
"Do you want to press charges?" Amy asked.
"No. I think they have a fair share of consequences to deal with. And I do think they'll be much more discerning if they want to start trouble in the future," Danilov replied with a smirk.
The sound of the bar's door creaking open caused Danilov to glance over one shoulder. Through the door walked a broad shouldered man wearing a faded olive green sweater, jeans and sneakers with a black moustache and short cropped black hair. She could just make out the faint USMC on the chest of the sweater.
"Sergeant Slaughter," Barrera remarked before approaching him.
"Michelle," Slaughter said with a nod, stopping inside the bar once he cleared the doorway.
"One of your guys got into a scuffle with our local wannabe thugs," Barrera began, indicating Marty and Jared being escorted to a local ambulance.
"I'll have a few words with him," Slaughter replied.
"My deputy is talking to him now. Looks like they started the fight and he finished it," Barrera replied.
"Alright, that's fair enough." Slaughter nodded.
"I am concerned your men had a few drinks in them, though." Barrera indicated the table with quite a few empty Heinekens on it.
"I'll make sure they get back to base in one piece," Slaughter replied.
"Thank you. Gotta escort the local not-so-toughs to hospital to see just what damage your Russian friend did," Barrera replied, seeing the paramedics leading the two injured fellows out.
Meanwhile Amy saw her Sergeant approach and turned to face Barrera.
"Amy, you got things handled?" Barrera asked.
"Yeah, I'll get the three wannabe thugs' statements at the hospital once I finish up here," Amy replied.
"Okay," Barrera replied and followed the paramedics into the parking lot.
Amy turned back to face the Russian once again. "Well, Agent Danilov, you're free to go unless you have anything else to say."
"I'm sure we'll run into each other again," Danilov replied with a toothy grin, before handing her his business card.
"As long as you're not tearing up another bar," Amy countered, sticking the card into her hip pocket.
"I'll endeavor to be more varied with any future mayhem then, Deputy Cole. Good evening." Danilov turned on one heel and walked over to where Taurus and Sergeant Slaughter were waiting.
'Did he really just say that?' Amy thought to herself before laughing to herself briefly. The Russian clearly had heard it because he waved from the doorway before walking into the parking lot, a big smile on his face.
'I'm glad Sergeant Barrera didn't hear that.' Amy thought to herself as she watched the three men leave and then turned to have some words with Seymour about the fight.
The Pit, Desert Annex
A.K.A. The Slaughterhouse
Red Dog and Mercer
18 January 2002, 0255
"Well, Sarge, Taurus and Russkie are on their way back," Red Dog said as he hung the phone up. The powerfully built Samoan crossed the small command room of the Desert Annex's administrative facility and headed towards a small refrigerator.
"Let me guess, we're banned from Shotgun Mike's?" Mercer replied.
"No, actually we aren't. Let's just say Seymour was rather impressed about how our Russian friend handled the local deadbeats." Red Dog opened the refrigerator as he spoke.
Mercer let out a snort through his nostrils, as he leaned back against his seat, "Kinda stupid how those three morons decided to kick one off with a former spetsnaz soldier."
"Yeah, for damn sure." Red Dog reached into the fridge and pulled a six pack of Pepsi out of it. He pulled one can from the ring and gestured towards Mercer.
"Sure I'll take one," Mercer replied.
Red Dog pulled a second can and tossed it towards Mercer who caught it. Just as he did so the police radio scanner in the command post went off.
"Dispatch, 2K16, got the statement from the fight. On my way to Pioneers Memorial to have a few words with our local deadbeats."
"2K16 sounds pretty cute, huh?" Red Dog remarked.
"You've been saying that all night. Her voice sounds cute, but she could be built bigger and badder than Taurus or you for that matter," Mercer quipped back.
"Well we can always ask Sarge, Taurus and Russkie when they get back in, oh, ten minutes or so," Red Dog replied.
"I will bet you a case of beer and twenty bucks that she's this butch cop built about as wide as she is tall with muscles bigger than Taurus and an Adam's Apple." Mercer laughed before wiping some soda foam from his dark beard with the back of his hand.
"I'll bet she's every bit as cute as she sounds. And that case of beer is as good as mine!" Red Dog smirked.
"Bullshit! I guarantee that if we did a chromosome check on that one it would be an XX pairing," Mercer joked.
"Shows how much you know, men are XY pairings and women are XX pairings," Red Dog replied.
"Yay, you learned something when you were at UCLA other than football." Mercer slowly clapped his hands sarcastically.
"Hey, man gotta keep those grades up to keep playing," Red Dog countered.
Mercer rolled his eyes before glancing out the window, seeing the headlights of Sergeant Slaughter's Jeep and the beige 2001 Chevrolet Avalanche pulling into the parking lot. "There's Sarge and Taurus, and it looks like Russkie didn't head to his apartment either."
Mercer and Red Dog stepped out of the command room into the hallway and stepped towards the lobby just in time to hear Taurus laugh.
"Were you actually flirting with that Deputy?" Taurus asked.
"I was making joke, after all!" Danilov replied.
"Hey, so heard you got into a bar fight, Russkie," Mercer began.
"Da, local idiots decided to start something, so then I finished it." Arkady turned to his left to face the two men.
"Oh forget the bar fight, what about that deputy?" Red Dog interjected.
"What about her?" Danilov shrugged.
"Was she cute?" Red Dog asked.
"What's it to you?" Danilov countered.
"Oh come on Russkie, just want your opinion on the deputy. Was she short, squat and ugly?" Mercer asked.
"There's beer riding on it, plus twenty bucks," Red Dog added.
"Well, I would say easily in the very cute camp." Danilov shrugged again.
"Really?" Mercer asked, "Did you have to drink her into that camp?"
"Had a few Heinekens," Danilov replied.
"Alright, Taurus, what did you think?" Red Dog asked.
"I agree with our Russian friend here, easily a real cutie," Taurus grinned from ear to ear.
"Damn! Maybe I better ask Sarge…" Mercer groaned only for Slaughter to glare at him, "Or not."
Sergeant Slaughter headed out of the lobby, before crossing the parking lot to a house partially built into the side of a mountain with a half wrecked aircraft protruding from the mountain top muttering about grown men acting like frat boys.
"I don't know about you, but I'm going to get some sleep. I'll head to my apartment tomorrow morning," Danilov replied before heading towards the parking lot, towards the house and its bunk room.
Imperial County Sheriff's Station
Brawley, CA
Deputy Amy Cole
18 January 2002, 0627
"Hey Amy, heard you busted up a bar fight," Deputy Tyler Jimenez said as he leaned against the hood of his squad car.
Amy put her right hand over her mouth, yawning as she stretched her left arm. She nodded and said, "Yes, Ty, there was a bar fight but it finished before I got there really."
"What happened?" Ty asked, sipping a cup of coffee.
"It all started with someone flying through the window at Shotgun Mike's…" Amy began, and after a second yawn proceeded to tell Ty everything that had happened.
"And then he goes, 'I'll endeavor to be more varied with any future mayhem then, Deputy Cole. Good evening,' with this shit eating grin before turning around and walking away. God it was just so cheesy…I'm glad Barrera didn't hear me." Amy pinched the bridge of her nose and laughed.
"Yeah, Mighty Mouse might've given you an earful," Ty replied with a laugh of his own.
"And why would Mighty Mouse give you an earful?"
Amy turned around just in time to see Sergeant Barrera standing behind her. 'Here comes the hurricane.' Amy thought before she turned around.
"That was some good work you did there, Amy," Barrera began.
'Wait! What? I've never heard you praise anything I did in the twelve weeks I trained under you!' Amy clenched her jaw, barely avoiding having her mouth hanging open with surprise.
"And you have to have a sense of humor on this job or it'll eat you alive," Barrera replied before she turned around and walked right into the building.
"Whoa." Amy stood dumbstruck for several moments before she felt Ty squeeze her arm.
"You alright?" Ty asked, brows scrunching together in concern.
"Just I can't believe I heard that just now," Amy replied.
"Yeah, me neither. Don't take this the wrong way but some of us thought you'd put in your two weeks notice after they assigned you to Barrera." Ty smirked, then stepped back with his hands raised as Amy glared at him.
"Believe me there were days I wanted to," Amy groaned.
Ty tossed his keys into the air before catching them again. "Well we have a shift change to get through."
Amy yawned again, holding her right hand over her mouth as she walked through the station's front door. "And I can go home."
As she walked into the multipurpose room where shift briefings occurred Deputy Dieguito 'Diego' Reyes called out, "If it isn't the Woman of the Evening."
"Hey dummy, are you trying to call Amy a kept woman?" Ty interjected from behind Amy.
"No?" Diego said with a raised eyebrow, "I'm just saying Amy handled that barfight in Slab City."
"Does the whole station know about this?" Amy asked as she walked into the room.
"Oh Hell yeah! Every deputy's been talking about it all morning," Diego replied before giving Amy a good natured pat on the shoulder with a massive hand.
"Oof!" Amy coughed. 'If Diego calls that a love tap I'd hate to see what a full blow from him would be.'
"The Gentle Giant is big on muscle, not much on vocabulary," Ty smirked.
"Pendejo!" Diego shot back.
"Hey, language!" Amy interjected as she walked into the room and took her seat. Ty took his own seat to her left and Diego the one to her right.
She yawned just before Sergeant Barrera stepped to the front of the classroom.
"Looks like we had a good night shift, ladies and gentlemen. But before I go any further I'd like to highlight our own Amy Cole for handling that bar fight last night." Barrera began, pausing as she let both shifts give some applause.
Amy blushed and bashfully smiled, hearing a couple 'way to go' shouts from the back of the room.
As the accolades died down, Barrera went about describing events that evening. Mostly the typical rural area policing. Traffic stops. A domestic dispute at one farm. Then the brief was over.
Amy stood up from her seat, heading for the women's locker room. Heading for her own locker she changed out of her uniform into a pair of comfy jeans and sneakers and her favorite blue and yellow University of California, Irvine crew-neck sweater.
With another yawn she walked to the employee parking lot. Diego waved from his pickup truck as he drove out and she walked towards her car.
She saw Ty standing by his 1972 Chevelle with the half rusted front fender. "You still good to babysit tonight?"
"Of course, Ty, you and Summer enjoy your date night. I'd never back out of babysitting," Amy replied with a laugh.
"Gracias, Amy. I figured you'd want to take an evening off after that bar fight."
"De nada," Amy replied, "Just let me get some sleep and I'll be just fine."
"Kayla and Alvaro always have a good time when Auntie Amy comes over," Ty replied as he unlocked his car door and stepped inside. Closing the door he started the engine and the Chevelle roared to life.
Amy stepped into her own car, started the engine and put it into gear. Despite how tired she was, she smiled. 'What a Hell of a third night on the job.' Amy thought as she drove home through the Brawley downtown.
Pistol Pete's Diner
Niland, CA
Arkady Danilov and Charlie Ledbetter
18 January 2002, 0957
"Is everybody talking about that Goddamn bar fight?" Arkady Danilov asked after he took down a mouthful of coffee.
"Yeah, John was pretty pissed off when he got the call," Senior Agent Charley Ledbetter countered.
"I ascertained when I called him about it last night," Danilov replied. 'You would think Inspector Arnold would be more understanding, given he was in the American military.'
Charley chuckled. "I'd move your weekly admin day at El Centro by twenty four hours. Let me calm ol' Volcano down."
"You would think Inspector Arnold would understand that old American scatalogical reference," Danilov replied with a raised eyebrow.
"You mean 'Shit Happens'?" Charley quipped as he knocked down some more coffee.
"Yes, that." Danilov replied.
"You really gotta get better with your idioms, man. I mean your English is solid, but you sound like a stereo installation manual sometimes," Charley quipped.
"Noted," Danilov replied before knocking back some more of his coffee.
"Anyway, back to that fight you got into last night, I will need to get a statement from you." Charley pulled out a clipboard and pen from his briefcase.
"Well, I went out for a few beers with one of my colleagues in G.I. Joe. He went out for a cigarette and three local miscreants decided to pick a fight…" Danilov began and as he watched as Charley scribbled down his response. 'Typical bureaucracy. Get into one fight and paperwork out the asshole.'
"Couldn't you have tried leaving the place?" Charley asked.
"As I explained to the Imperial County Sheriff's Department last night that wasn't an option," Danilov replied.
He proceeded to explain the story of the fight for the second time in twenty-four hours. And after he finished he said, "For further details you can ask the Imperial County Sheriff's Office, namely one Deputy Amy Cole who responded to the fight."
"Alright. Also, John's gonna want that police report, stat." Charley clicked off his pen and put it back into his pocket.
"Alright, I'll ask for it when I go give that intelligence briefing on Monday evening." Arkady nodded.
"John should be off the ledge by then," Charley replied.
"Sometimes I wonder how you guys won the Cold War with men like John." Danilov replied as he finished his coffee mug.
"Easy, they had guys like me as well," Charley replied. As their server came by asking if the two men wanted more coffee he nodded. He noticed Arkady also held his own coffee mug out.
"Gracias," Danilov said to the server. 'I have no problem taking on a man like John Arnold in a fair fight. But even fighting the way the Spetsnaz taught me would challenge me if I were inclined to fight Charlie.'
"Up to grab the ol' gloves and spar a bit?" Charley said with a smirk.
"Boxing is fine, but perhaps you'd be interested in some sambo, my friend?" Danilov replied.
"So you get to toss me around the mats again?" Charley said.
"Konechno." Danilov grinned toothily.
"Tebe povezlo, chto ya nemnogo govoryu po-russki." Charley shot back.
Danilov shrugged. "Your accent is actually not bad."
"It's better than your coffee mug." Charley raised an eyebrow and pointed at the offending drinking vessel.
"What's wrong with my mug?" Arkady asked, canting his head to one side.
"Uhm, for one the fact that it still is perpetually stained with coffee," Charley snapped back.
"It's what it's designed to hold, I still cannot see why it troubles you." Arkady snorted a chuckle nasally.
"Well, for one the permanent dark brown staining in the mug. And the fact that you found it covered in cobwebs and a layer of dust when you first moved into your place." Charley cringed.
"Hey, I washed it three times and sanitized it by boiling as many times for about a half hour each boiling," Arkady protested, hefting said mug.
"Bro! I'd have gone to the nearest convenience store and bought a 24 pack of Solo cups before I used that thing no matter how many times I cleaned it!" Charley remarked.
"Okay, Solo cup packet costs what, $4.00, give or take sales tax? I can maybe use it once or a few times in a day…versus a permanent mug which is much more durable and I only need to wash it a couple times a day." Arkady smirked.
"You're risking your health to save a measly $4.00?" Charley countered.
"For an ex-Marine you sure are spooked by a few germs," Arkady joked back.
"You aren't combat effective if you've got your stomach contents going out of both ends, pal." Charley quipped.
"Been using it for eight months, haven't had a single issue," Arkady replied. He hefted the mug and pointed to the phrase, Ask Somebody Who Gives A Shit.
"I admit, pal, it's a funny turn of phrase but I still question your sanity about your choice in drinkware among other things…" Charley replied.
"I think we've had that questioning of my sanity on a few different occasions," Arkady laughed as he pushed his now empty plate towards the edge of the table.
Charley picked up his part of the check and stood up. "Dasvidaniya."
"Davai." Arkady replied before sipping some more of his coffee as Charley left the room. 'A bit formal of a goodbye versus 'paka', but not bad. His Russian has been getting better.'
Sculpture Park
Moscow, Russia
Carmen Sandiego and Nikolai Mishkin
18 January 2002, 2057
The raven haired woman in the red trench coat and fedora kept to the shadows among the statues of fallen Soviet icons. She passed by the half rusted seal of the Soviet Union, hearing the light crunch of her high heeled red stilettos against the crusted ice and snow in the grass.
'A woman with high heeled shoes and a long coat isn't exactly out of place in Moscow. Even a red one.' She thought to herself as she walked around behind a statue of Lenin lying on its side. With a sigh she saw the smoke rise from her breath, in spite of the scarf wrapped around her face.
'For all anyone in Moscow knows, or even cares to know, I'm just a lady of the evening.' The woman thought to herself as she walked around the fallen statue of Lenin, seemingly just loitering in the area.
A man wearing the uniform of the Militsiya walked by, about five meters away. As she watched the tubby lawman amble away she thought of about a dozen different ways to deal with the man. 'Nothing I want to even think about right now.'
Years on the run honed her awareness and she'd known that an officer of the Militsiya patrolled this particular part of the park. The man plodded closer and the woman had about a few different contingencies ranging from talking her way out to…'If I have to do that, everything has gone ass upwards. Three meters away now and closing.'
The ponderous bulk of the Militsiya officer lumbered closer. Closer. Two meters away. He was looking towards her. Looking up and then down, and then up again, and with an approving nod he walked closer. A false smile to hide a rapidly beating heart. One meter away. Then walking further down the path, away from her.
She saw movement from around the shadows around a cluster of statue parts piled in a rummage sale fashion with the fallen head of Josef Stalin at the top, the nose long since broken away by a sledgehammer or some other large heavy bludgeon. The first sign she saw was steam from exhalation.
The man sauntered into the light of another street lamp. He looked older than when she had last seen him, a little more than a decade earlier. As he approached she could see flecks of gray and a widow's peak in what was once a full head of hair and a neatly trimmed beard replaced a once clean shaven square jawline.
"I had thought of shaving it, just hadn't gotten around to it," the man replied as he approached.
The woman smiled genuinely this time. "Zdravstvuyte, Nikolai."
"Zdravstvuyte, Carmen." Nikolai returned the smile.
"It's been a long time." Carmen took the final two steps before the two embraced.
"Sometimes I wish you would just write or send a postcard, or email. Though I have to admit that was a nice touch with the dead drops around Moscow," The man replied, his arms still around her.
'Post Soviet Russia clearly hasn't been kind to you, Nikolai.' Carmen thought to herself, smelling the aroma of stale cigarettes and a cheaper brand of aftershave.
Disentangling themselves from each other's arms the two of them regarded one another for a moment before Carmen broke the silence. "Echoes of Prague."
"1986," Nikolai toothily smiled.
'Prague, 1986.' Carmen thought to herself, smiling as she remembered a nice restaurant by the riverwalk.
"We were both younger then." Carmen mused, her smile becoming more of a wan look.
"Both of us were more idealistic too. And in my case, a good bit slimmer," Nikolai replied, patting a slight bulge in his gut through the thick black leather jacket he wore.
"With different allegiances, too. ACME for me, KGB for you." Carmen added with another sigh.
Nikolai gestured towards the statue park, "And now we're two sentimental middle aged adults talking amongst the ruins of a government I once loyally served."
"Echoes of Prague," Carmen replied. 'It was one great year I spent there.'
"We will always have Prague." Nikolai smiled wistfully.
"One of my happier memories," Carmen smiled again. 'And one of my happier years.'
"Before I stopped a bullet in Afghanistan in 1988." Nikolai's expression wore a rueful air as he tapped his right thigh.
"I heard about it and I couldn't sleep for two days until I knew you were alright." Carmen said with a sigh.
"I certainly appreciated the gift of two cans of caviar and two good chocolates. I saved one caviar and one of the chocolates for my parents when I left the hospital and I also shared the other half with two other patients in my ward. They appreciated it."
"I knew you wouldn't hoard all of my care package," Carmen replied. 'I would have been terribly disappointed if you didn't share it.'
"You know me all too well," Nikolai replied.
"I would like to think so, after 16 years, as of last week." Carmen smiled, closing her eyes briefly, and taking a deep breath of the cold Moscow winter air.
"So what's the deal, Carmen? I doubt you had me following a complicated pattern of dead drops all over Moscow simply to rehash old times." Nikolai's expression grew serious.
"Did you bring what I asked?" Carmen countered.
"How Socratic of you," Nikolai replied, reaching into his jacket and handing Carmen a roll of microfilm.
"Spaciba, Nikolai." Carmen somberly nodded, taking the microfilm and dropping it into a hidden inner pocket of her red trench coat.
"Nichevo." Nikolai laconically nodded.
"So what are your plans since the KGB put you to pasture?" Carmen asked.
"And I thought you were far brighter than that, you know the KGB split into two different agencies, the Foreign Intelligence Service and the Federal Security Service after Soviet Union ceased to exist." Nikolai chuckled.
"Maybe a sense of nostalgia prompted me to refer to your former employer by its old name," Carmen countered. 'In many ways those were simpler years.'
"It isn't like you to vacillate," Nikolai replied.
"Again, you know me all too well. Do you have any plans?" Carmen asked. 'Did I really intend to phrase the question that way?'
"In what sense?" Nikolai said with a grin.
'I honestly wouldn't mind that.' Carmen thought to herself and returned Nikolai's smile with one of her own.
"Well if you can solve this, you'll be able to find where I plan to be in three days." Carmen handed Nikolai a card.
He nodded and smiled. "Well, I know where I'll be in three days."
"Whether we meet again in three days or not I do want you to consider something," Carmen began.
"Leave Russia," Carmen began simply.
"You realize I cannot simply pack up and leave, Carmen. Apart from logistics…This. Is. My. Home." Nikolai declared, spreading his right arm over the park and the Moscow skyline.
"By helping me with that microfilm you have made your life in Russia that much more dangerous," Carmen replied.
"It is a risk and one I take knowingly and gladly. There is that old saying, 'home is where the heart is'," Nikolai replied.
'Ever the patriot. I just hope it doesn't get you killed. I don't know if I could live with myself if…' Carmen thought to herself. She threw her arms around him and Nikolai returned the embrace. Holding one another briefly they parted.
"Take care of yourself, Nikolai," Carmen said. 'I'll worry.'
"Paka, Carmen." Nikolai turned and walked away into the Moscow night.
TBC
Author's Note: I'm canon blending as far as the Carmen Sandiego and GI Joe canon are concerned, borrowing aspects from many different incarnations of both franchises over the years.