October 23rd 1975
"K'walski?" Private called, jogging towards Kowalski who was just exiting his lab. Private had a manila folder under his arm, which he promptly handed to the scientist as soon as he caught up, "I don't suppose you'd be able to replace these in the archives for me? I wasn't supposed to have borrowed them."
"Sure…" Kowalski answered, "Is this the Roberts file?" then the scientist paused, flipping through the pages as Private started to all but bite his nails, "How did you get this?"
"Oh, I borrowed them unofficially." Private lied.
"One second." The scientist excused himself re-entering his lab before Private could say anything and much to his younger teammate's horror, returning with an identical file. With a magnifying glass Kowalski inspected the two copies, finally looking down at the noticeably squirming private, "This is probably the best forgery I've ever seen. I wouldn't have known it wasn't the original apart from the fact I borrowed it officially this morning and locked it in my safe."
"I guess… maybe…" Private stuttered trying to find a suitable excuse, but eventually resigned himself to silence.
"There's a difference, though," Kowalski continued, showing Private the same page from both copies, "Notice the absence from the original of half a page of text describing Miss Robert's exploits as one of our agents, one of the few things she never was."
"I don't know!" Private denied almost childishly, "I had no idea what was in there I was just told to substitute this for the originals then destroy them."
"Anything else?"
"I was told to send this to the Daily Central as well, making it seem like it came from Jones," Private handed the scientist the letter, which was promptly opened and inspected with equal caution.
"Absolutely beautiful," the scientist complemented, seemingly more interested in the quality of the documents than the fact they were forgeries, "the writing is almost perfect and I consider myself a bit of an expert on that. If I didn't know they were fake I would have thought this was really written by Marlene Roberts the day before she died. Well, Skipper will certainly be interested in…"
"NO!" Private interrupted, actually standing between Kowalski and the hallway to the main room of the HQ, "They really don't do any harm. They actually salvage her reputation."
"But Private there has to be something else going on," Kowalski answered unmoved, "if it's who I think it is, and it's a 87.2234% chance it is, he doesn't just do good things out of kindness. Anyway, Skipper might be able to trace…"
"Kowalski, other K'walski knows all about Doris!" Private pleaded desperately, "the real Doris. Just replace the papers and forget we ever spoke."
"Private, are you blackmailing me?" The scientist questioned, equally unsure of weather he was dreaming or not.
"I'm not… Fine, I am!" Private snapped, "Put these in the archive or I'll tell Skipper everything about your boyfriend!" Private didn't know what he expected to happen next. This was something he'd never done even as Mr Tux and he certainly would never be able to bring himself to do again.
"This case must be driving us all crazy if little Private has abandoned his principles," the scientist sighed and proceeded to scribble a short note on his clip board.
"Where are you doing?" Private asked.
"This is my letter of resignation," the scientist replied dejectedly, "sure, I could replace the records, but however you found out, somebody else probably will the same way at some point, and what will they make me do? Anyway, it's not like I'd get much of a career stuck in golden boy's shadow."
"No you can't do that!" Private demanded, "Skippah needs you! Even if you never will get that promotion, what Skippah doesn't realise is that for a lot of stuff you're really the one in charge. If you hadn't been there he'd still be out there on his own running blind into traps."
"'Skippah' would be the first one to throw me off the team if he found out."
"Alright, K'walski, but you really ought to do something neater than a note." Mr Tux answered. Private could feel Mr Tux taking over; at least he convinced himself as much. It was easier to stay as squeaky clean as he prided himself on being when the times he did break his own rules, it was Mr Tux's fault, "I mean, Skippah will make you type up another one anyway. Actually, while you're at it, you can show me that new, what did you call it, word processor?"
"Well, I suppose so…" the depressed second in command answered, and began to describe various features in overly technical language as he moved back towards the lab. All Mr Tux had to do now was remember if it was the hot sauce or the ketchup that contained the amnesia spray, and everything would be right as rain.
"Skipper I honestly don't know what happened," the scientist frantically tried to explain, "I know I prepared some kind of notes, I just don't know where I put them."
"What I can't believe is that you're making excuses for forgetting your homework," Skipper answered, "and you call me golden boy behind my back. Well, you know it off by heart anyway; I can let you off once."
"Yes, of course I do, in fact, the statistics for…" the scientist paused, and for the first time in his life the numbers didn't seem to be there. The pride of his existence, his brain, was giving him nothing but file not found, "I'm sorry Skipper, I honestly can't remember."
"Well that's just wonderful. Absolutely beautiful. Jones is on vacation, his replacement, Roger of all people, is ordering me to add an extra fifteen minutes to your lunch breaks for singing practice, the Rats are… Put that down, Rico!" Skipper snapped, catching his weapons expert out of the corner of his eye as he attempted to replace a captured bishop on the chess board, "And now Rico is cheating at chess."
"Ba' morale's y' fault." The other Rico reminded
"Give me one reason why I still need you around." Skipper grumbled.
"Now that, I remember," the scientist interrupted, "your exact words were as follows: 'considering the fact K… K'walski – how can you switch accents so easily? – could break in and out of Hoboken in fifteen minutes…'"
"I know, Rico wouldn't last five minutes, K'walski would get him etc. etc. I said it!" Then Skipper paused, captured bishop in hand, and then replaced it by the side of the board. However, instead of returning to expressing his annoyance at the team's lack of efficiency, he took his own captured bishop from Rico, placing it directly in front of the weapons specialist's queen.
"Oo crazy?" Rico laughed, "Ah jus' gonna take it again."
"Go ahead," Skipper answered.
"A'right." The weapons expert replied. Skipper then reshuffled the pieces on the board so both pieces were completely surrounded, "Ey! Tha' cheatin'."
"And thats how we catch him. Rico, can you think of a good excuse for your new best friend to arrive very noisily in New York?"
October 26th 1975
Lola stared into her glass, doing her best to ignore the noise of the rest of the club. Yes, it was water. He'd be proud of her. She wasn't sure what it was that snapped her out of it, but somehow she felt she needed to fight again.
"May I have this dance, ma'am?"
Lola spun around. She stared for a few seconds before accepting the outstretched hand. She could recognise those cold blue eyes even after a good decade and a bit, which was why she was for once caught without a sarcastic remark. They moved towards the dance floor. Neither of them knew any of these strange new dances, but what did they care?
"I'm proud of you." Kowalski stated. It was just that, a statement of fact, though Lola could read more out of it. It was an apology for the last time they'd met. Lola found it somewhat comical to watch the undercover officers, Will had told her they were there, search the crowd though the object of their search had walked right past them.
"You do know this is a trap." It was a warning and an acceptance. They'd both gone too far the last time they'd spoken, though things might be very different now for a lot of people if they hadn't. Some people might even be alive.
"I believe it is preparation for one, a dress rehearsal of sorts," he replied, though his attention was solely focused on the door.
"You're not half bad." Lola complemented adding a slight flourish to the next movement.
"So I've been told." He frowned slightly, and Lola hazarded a glance over her shoulder. However the man she saw, the bright red hair and scar crossing the side of his face made her blanch. She stumbled, missing a step. Immediately she apologized.
"It's understandable." He led her off the dance floor by the arm around her waist to the seat she had previously occupied. She took a sip of her drink.
"Will pulled through." She informed. Apparently it was taken as an accusation, at least from the look she got. Kowalski was trying to think of a way to explain the series of incidents, as well as the fact everything was going to plan when he was pulled forward in a manner that was painfully similar to the times Doris would whisper 'shut up science boy' and interrupt one of his lectures in the only way he didn't mind.
"I was under the impression we were both off the market permanently." The scientist interrupted, finally having processed the situation enough to push her away. However, in explanation, Lola motioned behind her to where a boy she'd recognized from Will's description to be 'Private' was disappearing into the crowd, "What, it works in the movies, and don't pretend you didn't like it."
"We both know I find you absolutely infuriating which can only be made worse by your sense of humour." Not funny bone in his body unless you were also fluent in Feynman diagrams.
As was usual, the conversation lapsed into silence and she could see him scanning the room, documenting everything and everyone.
"So how's life?" Lola interrupted the silence, one thing she found particularly awkward. That's why she'd always sit in the club, because when there was complete quiet, she could almost hear the rustle of papers as Tony did the bills, or the sound of boards creaking as he paced the room over whatever was on his mind, "actually, don't tell me. Talk about what you've blown up in the lab or something."
"I assume your secret admirer hasn't given you any trouble. One of his agents seems to be in quite the hurry to report your last action."
"No, he's been focused on Julian lately," Lola smirked, "You aren't here because you're worried about me, are you?"
"If your statement is correct then Newton's first law of motion has just been disproven," the scientist scoffed, "I'm here because I wanted to prove a point and walk into a trap. Have you noticed the headline in today's Central? Miss Roberts has been revealed to have been on an official undercover assignment for Nigel and was killed by me not Skipper to keep her from talking."
"Fine, you've successfully demonstrated that you care about everyone but me and feel the need to have the last word in an argument from 1959," Lola answered, "All jokes aside, I've got one question."
"Yes?"
"Did you kill all those people?" Kowalski's face set in a hard line, and his eyes froze on one man in the crowd, "did you murder my husband?" Finally his eyes returned to Lola as he considered an answer, "Will says you did."
"This is by no means my reply, but I'm interested to know what you would do if I said yes?"
"I'd probably… Am I boring you?" Lola demanded as she noticed she had ceased to occupy even half of his attention.
"He never learns." Kowalski muttered. He hadn't paid much attention to the act, some singer with a voice that had nothing on Lola. In fact, he wouldn't have known it was the same young brunet who approached Rico's table, his target's table, if it wasn't that her costume was noticeably more ornate than the other scantily costumed women in Julian's employ.
"She's pretty." Lola commented. Unlike her when she was in a similar position, the woman seemed to be the one making the majority of the advances.
"She works for me," Kowalski replied, watching with equal intensity. Lola being one of the few who could see through the mask and read the broken fragments behind didn't need to ask if she was acting under orders. Even the main suspect behind the Herring Bank massacre wouldn't do that.
Kowalski had read every report, questioned every witness, and had his agents in every forensics team to do with the 1956 Knight homicide. It was knowing these details so well that he could almost put together a synthetic memory so real it was as if he'd been there himself that made his hand tighten around Lola's wrist as the young bartender sailed across the bar and pushed through the crowd towards the unusual couple. The positions were wrong, the bartender was too far to the right and was too tall, and Rico shouldn't have already stood up, but the similarities were close enough that he wasn't even trying to calculate a better position, or a way to get out before either of them spotted him. 15.72 seconds later, the first punch was thrown.
Kowalski's hand went to his pocket and he had just started to move in the direction of the fight when Lola pulled him back. Her hand was immediately snatched away, but he didn't get much farther after that.
"One scream from me and you can tell Tony how much I miss him." Lola threatened.
"That's a dangerous bet to make, doll," Kowalski warned, knowing all too well Lola would go through with her threat, "What if you're wrong?"
"Why would you care?"
"I don't." Lola's motive was pretty clear: she wanted Private to kill Rico and he could tell there was no talking her out of it. To her it was probably a safe bet to make namely because Rico had been under house arrest for the last month and therefore would be unarmed, but she didn't know Rico. Rico always had something up his sleeve.
One minute later the weapon appeared and the sound of a single gunshot left the floor once again stained with blood.