Chapter Eight: You Get A Girl
Renko materialised at Callen's side, gun also drawn and a hunted expression on his face. "I've called for back up. Something spooked the other two sailors and when they tried to make a run for it your guy over there pulled a knife." He was careful to keep well behind Callen's wide skirt as the made their way forward.
"Federal agents," Callen called, flashing his ID. It looked as if none of the others had been forced to break cover, which was good. What was not so good was the fact that the Thai now had a knife pressed against Deeks' belly, and his other hand pressed firmly against the agent's false breasts, one of which was starting to appear above the top of his dress's neckline, like a small, pink jelly-fish seeking calmer waters. Deeks' head was back and his Meg Ryan hair do was causing his captor no little difficulty, as stray pieces kept making their way into his mouth, so that he was continually having to spit them out.
"Take those damn stupid shoes off," Renko hissed. "Platforms may be right on trend this season, but you're not going to be able to do much in the way of pursuit in them, are you?"
Muttering under his breath, Callen had to admit that, for once, Renko actually had a point. He fiddled fruitlessly with the tiny straps for several heart-pounding seconds before he finally managed to undo them and was able to remove his shoes. While they might not have added to his ability to run, they were certainly chunky enough to cause some serious damage and Callen briefly contemplated flinging them at the Thai sailor's head. With some regret he left them lying at the side of the dance floor, missing the extra six inches they gave him in height, although his toes relished the freedom from being cramped into a pointed shape. Glancing down, he realised with chagrin that his left big toe had punctured a hole right through the fragile material of his pantyhose. All of a sudden, pedicures made sense, as his toe nail gleamed an unattractive shade of dingy yellow in the lights of the club. First thing he was going to do when he got home was hunt out the mail clippers, Callen vowed. Well, maybe after he'd washed all this makeup off his face. And maybe after he'd knocked back a couple of stiff drinks. But it was definitely on his to do list, that was for sure. He thought that the next time he was at the mall, he might pluck up the courage to stick his feet in one of those tanks with the fish in them, the ones that were supposed to nibble away any hard skin. After all, now he'd paraded around in drag, how much more ridiculous could life get?
"Put the knife down," Callen yelled, and simultaneously had this vivid image of how ridiculous this must appear – a short sailor threatening to stab a drag queen who was channelling his inner Meg Ryan (with a fair degree of success, it had to be said) and was a good foot taller than him into the bargain, while another an agent who looked like a crack-dealer's nightmare vision of Marilyn Monroe on methamphetamine sidled towards him in his stocking soles, like a crab with vertigo. It wasn't exactly his finest hour, Callen thought drearily, although at least his wide skirt wouldn't hamper any movement, unlike Deeks who was pretty compromised by his tight skirt. Scanning the scene rapidly, he realised his wig was impeding his peripheral vision, and in complete exasperation, plucked it off and threw it away. It landed underneath a table, where it sat looking not unlike a peroxide blonde rabbit in a huff.
The sailor merely smiled at him and poked the knife a little further into Deeks' stomach, just enough to break the skin. Callen could see Deeks tried hard not to wince, but his eyes grew wide with horror and Callen could see a small spot of blood begin to seep out and stain the sea-foam green satin. All of a sudden, in the wink of an eye, things had stopped being funny and the operation had turned deadly serious. There was no time to waste. He looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows an infinitesimal amount.
Sam reached out a long arm towards the back of the man's head, hoping to grab him around the neck from behind, but the stealthy movement was betrayed by the jangle of bracelets on his wrist and he lost the element of surprise. There was a strangled bellow as the knife was thrust into Deeks' belly as far as it would go and was then twisted brutally, followed by some most unladylike swearing from Deeks and some even worse obscenities from Kensi. And then all hell broke loose.
As Deeks sank slowly down to the floor, arms clutched protectively around his stomach, Sam burst into action, like a whirlwind in shades of violently clashing shades of violet and scarlet. Twirling around like a dervish, he found that the high heels actually gave him extra impetus on his spin, and allowed him to kick his leg out and up with even more force than normal. However, the round-house kick he aimed squarely at the sailor's face was accompanied by a loud tearing sound, as the skirt of his dress ripped apart at the seams. As the smaller man bent forwards with the shock of the blow, Sam found himself instinctively clutching the tattered remnants of his dress around his loins in an attempt to preserve whatever shreds of dignity he had left.
Simultaneously, Callen started to run forwards, keeping his head well down, charging like a bull that has seen the flutter of a red cape. Only in his case, the stimulus was pale green and lying much too still for comfort. Somehow, his headlong, almost blind dash was successful and he managed to head-butt his opponent right in the solar plexus, tipping him over backwards so that he went down like a nine-pin. Unfortunately, Callen's stocking feet did not give him enough purchase on the polished dance-floor to stop his wild sprint, and he slid fowards befoer becoming hopelessly entangled with the sailor's wildly thrashing legs. For a spilt-second Callen had that dreadful feeling that he was about to fall, and the equally bad knowledge that there was not a single thing he could do to stop it. Resigning himself to the inevitable, he let himself collapse forwards…
And found himself lying prone on the floor, spread-eagled between the sailor's legs, his nose a scant inch from the other man's crotch.
"Make one move, and I'll bite," he growled, and then showed his teeth for good measure, even as his ahnds moved into position.
The sailor made a reflexive movement that might have been a vain attempt to protect or even preserve his manhood, but unfortunately it coincided with a low moan of pain that Callen instantly recognised as coming from Deeks. That was it – the proverbial last straw that blew the remnants of his patience into the four winds. "I warned you!" he yelled and then bent his head down and sunk his teeth into the soft flesh, like a dog gnawing a bone.
The resulting wail had probably not been heard since the days of creating castratos had ceased, with a few notable exceptions, most notably in the marital home of one John Wayne and Loretta Bobbett. It could most probably have been heard for at least five blocks and it was a tribute to Callen's tenacity that he did not open his jaws one fraction, but continued to chow down doggedly. It certainly had the effect of spurring Kensi into action. While she had every sympathy (and indeed a certain admiration) with Callen's instinctive reaction, she knew she couldn't really allow him to continue to chew mercilessly upon the man's groin, while his hands squeezed the unfortunate sailor's balls as if he was on a mission to make a quart of lemonade as quickly as possible.
"Drop!" she screamed instinctively, and Callen came back to his senses to find himself on all fours, with his teeth firmly embedded in a man's penis, while Sam stood to one side, frantically adjusting his tattered clothing, which had ripped right up to his waist and was now exposing his control panties.
A blinding flash illuminated the scene, as Renko fired off a series of rapid photographs, immortalising it for posterity. Or at least for future blackmail purposes. Already he could see the front page of next week's National Enquirer, along with the resultant paycheck.
"Leave him to me," Kensi growled.
Slushy plot bunny says that he wants to me to adopt Callen's wig and bring it over to Scotland. I despair, I really do. So does Deeks, who is ever so slightly maimed. But you will be relieved to known his hair still looks good. So that's alright then.