Sorry it took so long. I got a lot of stuff going on in my life right now, so updating is difficult, but I'll do my best for the few who have deemed this story worthy of reading. (Thanks for that, by the way.) So, without further ado, Chapter 2.
Disclaimer: I do not own Chuck, the man or the show.
"I still don't think this is a good idea," Chuck said apprehensively.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "You heard General Beckman, Chuck. It will be fine. All you have to do-"
"Is take the briefcase and hand him the phone, yeah, I got that part," Chuck finished for her. "That's not what I'm worried about."
"Then what is it?" Sarah asked.
Chuck shoved his hands in his pockets. "The choice of venue."
Sarah paused. "Oh. Well, I guess I can understand that, but I'm sure the General has put plenty of thought into this. It will go off without a hitch. And no one would suspect anything like this to take place in a Buy More, so it should be safe."
"Should be?" Chuck asked.
"Will be," Sarah corrected. "Casey and I will be there the entire time, okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Chuck said, still hesitant. "But you're sure we can't do this anywhere else?"
"Absolutely positive," Sarah said, sounding more confident than she felt.
Chuck inhaled deeply. "Okay then. I guess I'll head back inside, then."
"Okay. Here's the phone." Sarah handed him a small, unobtrusive black cell phone, and he stashed it in his pocket. She flashed him a smile, hoping to keep him from thinking too much and freaking out. He returned it with a less than convinced smile that looked more like a confused grimace and walked back into the Buy More.
As he made his way back to the Nerd Herd hesk, he studied everyone that crossed his path carefully, hyper-aware of every movement they made. He reached the desk without accident and sat on the edge of his chair. His watch read 12:27.
He cursed mentally. The meeting in Castle had taken longer than expected, and his lunch break was over by almost thirty minutes now. He thought longingly of the sandwich he had stocked in the fridge, and his stomach growled.
He pushed the image out of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand. Beckman had called them together to discuss a trade that needed to take place. A member of the LA mafia was willing to come clean about his fellow underworld companions in exchange for protection from the rest of the mob, for both him and his wife. His name was Tony Hitchens, and he claimed to have information on every gang boss in the city, including a few from out of state.
Of course, the CIA jumped on his offer immediately. They needed a convenient meeting place that would be quick and easy to reach for Tony.
General Beckman immediately suggested a certain electronics store in Burbank, her reason being that there is no less interesting place to make such a trade. No one would suspect Tony to go there, and he agreed. Chuck was to be the intermediary, so he could make sure that Tony had come alone like he promised.
Sarah and Casey would be posted in the store and outside the front door, respectively, make sure nothing went horribly wrong. Beckman didn't want Tony to make any direct contact with any real agents, in case he backed out and revealed them to the mob.
Chuck saw no reason why this made him a better choice, since Tony could possibly mistake him for a spy and turn him over as well, but apparently, Beckman had no such fears for Chuck's wellbeing. This did nothing to boost his confidence as he waited for one o'clock to roll around. He was jumpy, flinching every time a customer addressed him. He was wary of every woman carrying a purse of firearm size, which described practically every woman in the store. He almost punched Morgan for coming up from behind and slapping his shoulder. And, worst, he was still on the verge of falling asleep.
"Wake up, Bartowski," Casey growled into Chuck's earpiece.
Chuck's head shot up. "I'm awake!" he shouted. He cringed a little when a family of three eyed him warily and moved a few aisles over. "I'm awake, Casey," he hissed, putting his watch near his mouth. "I'm just resting my eyes for when real trouble happens."
"Whatever you say, Chuck," Sarah laughed as she inspected a box claiming to contain a radio that could play without batteries or being plugged in. "Does this thing really work?"
"Does what work?" Chuck asked, searching the room for her telltale blond ponytail.
"This radio thing." Sarah peeked out from behind a wall and showed him the product.
Chuck squinted at it, then shook his head. "Nope. Total lie. I know this because Morgan tried it once and got so frustrated that he spilled a full glass of orange juice on it and still tried to return it the next day."
"Did they take it back?" Casey asked out of curiosity.
"Yep. Then they charged Morgan extra when they found out he returned a ruined product."
Sarah placed the box back in its spot. "Sounds like Morgan."
"Enough!" Casey said sharply. "We need to focus on the mission."
"Oh, come on, Casey," Chuck said. "You make these things so boring. You know, putting just a little effort into small talk might make people like you a bit more. You always come off a little… what's the word?"
"Intimidating?" Sarah offered.
"Yeah, that works," Chuck said thoughtfully. "You see, Casey, people don't like you if they can't get to know you. They get to know you if they talk to you. They won't talk to you if you constantly look like you're going to punch them in the face if they try."
"But I might," Casey hedged, sounding confused.
"That's not the point," Chuck said, exasperated.
"Doesn't matter now," Sarah said urgently. "Tony's on his way in."
Chuck's head whipped toward the door and he sat up ramrod straight, watching for Tony to walk in. "Calm down, Chuck," Sarah warned quietly. "Look normal." Chuck nodded and tried to look busy, picking up a pen and bending over a piece of paper. He glanced up every few seconds and froze when Tony walked in.
Chuck immediately flashed, a series of images bombarding his brain. Tony Hitchens, 37 years old, married to Mary Hannah Hitchens, 35 years old. Suspected as a member of the LA mob and for several thefts. He had never been linked to any murders, although he was linked to a revengeful mob boss who most definitely was connected to several shootings and so on.
Chuck came back to the present in time to see Tony walk up to his desk. He stood quickly and met his eyes. Tony was about Chuck's height, although the way he carried himself seemed to add a few inches. His eyes were dark brown and placed close together over a badly broken nose. His thin lips were twisted down in a perpetual frown, set in a severe jaw line and an impressive chin. His light brown hair was cropped close to his skull.
Basically, he looked as stereotypically gangster as he could possibly get.
Chuck smiled nervously. "Uh, hi, Tony?"
Casey chuckled darkly. "Smooth, Bartowski."
Tony didn't return the smile. "That's me. You the agent who was sent to meet me?"
"Well, not exactly," Chuck hedged. "But I-"
Tony's small, deep set eyes narrowed. "If you're not the agent," he growled, his hand migrating slowly toward his hip, "then who the hell are you and how do you know who I am?"
Chuck's heart began to speed up, beating quickly and erratically as Tony's hand neared where Chuck was sure there was a weapon of the dangerous, very lethal kind. "Whoa, there," he said, struggling to remain calm. "There's no need for any violence." He emphasized the last word to make sure Sarah and Casey understood exactly what was going on.
"What? What's going on?" Sarah asked. "Chuck?"
Tony's hand stopped on his hip. "Then answer my question." He glanced down at the name card on Chuck's shirt. "Charles Bartowski. What kind of name is that, anyway?"
Chuck frowned. "Okay, first of all, that's rude, I had no control over what my last name is, and secondly, I happen to like my last name." He let his eyes briefly skip over Tony's shoulder to make eye contact with Sarah, who was waiting at a safe distance. She asked him a question with her eyes, making sure he didn't need immediate backup, and he subtly shook his head before returning his attention to the large man in front of him.
"Good for you. Who are you?" Tony asked again, his voice dangerously low.
"Ah, right," Chuck choked out. "I'm not an agent, no, but I-" Tony began reaching under his jacket for something, and Chuck sped up desperately. "I'm on your side, don't worry! I was sent here by the CIA to handle this whole… trade off thingie, whatever you want to call it."
Casey sighed. "Idiot."
"Not helping, Casey," Sarah hissed at him.
Tony was still studying Chuck. "How can I know you aren't lying? How can I know that you aren't just setting a trap for me?"
Casey came in through the front entrance and turned off to the left, keeping his eyes on the situation at the Nerd Herd desk.
"Well," Chuck said slowly. "For one thing, if I were setting a trap for you, why would I still be talking to you? I mean, you've already identified yourself as Tony. You couldn't have dressed more like a mob boss if you had tried, and you're clearly carrying the briefcase we came to get." Chuck gestured to Tony's outfit-leather jacket, black shirt, blue jeans, heavy boots- and the brown briefcase he was gripping tightly. "I mean, you even have the thing handcuffed to you," Chuck continued. "Could you be any more obvious?"
Tony considered his clothing. "So?"
"So," Chuck said, his tone saying that the conclusion was obvious, "therefore, if this was a trap, we would have already gotten you."
Tony thought through the logic of this for a few seconds. "Oh. Yeah, I guess so."
Chuck heard Sarah crackle in his earpiece. "Oh, he's smart, isn't he?" she asked sarcastically. Then her voice began to crackle and fuzz out, like there was bad connection. "I bet… top of… class… parents... proud... him."
Chuck's eyebrows drew together. They were literally within twenty feet of each other. Why would there be bad connection? He didn't have time to ponder this, however. Tony nodded, as if he had figured something out. "Okay. I guess we go ahead and trade, then?"
Chuck waited for a beat, ready for Casey to give him the all clear, but there was nothing but static on the other two lines. This was concerning, but, again they were all within the same building. He had no real reason to worry. But, even as he thought this, he realized that Casey had walked out of eyesight. This thought made him feel slightly more vulnerable.
He nodded. "Yeah, let's do it."
Tony leaned forward a bit and whispered, "Do you think we could do this in a more private room?"
Chuck didn't understand why Tony was suddenly concerned about being secretive now, after they had been talking for a few minutes in the open already, but he didn't hear any objections from his partners, so he shrugged. "Sure. Let's head to the back." He tried to get a glimpse of Sarah or Casey as he turned away, but they were not in sight.
As he led the way to the back, he tried to discreetly whisper into his mike. "Sarah? Casey? Are you there?" There was no reply, and, although he knew there was no real reason to worry, he couldn't quell the butterflies in his stomach. Casey usually never missed an opportunity to tell Chuck what to do, or to sarcastically insult him. It was slightly disconcerting that he was so silent. And Sarah was always at least narrating the entire time, making sure Chuck didn't freak out for any reason and always knew what to do.
He forced these thoughts out of his head, however, and opened the heavy door for Tony, who ducked past him. Chuck followed him into the darker room and checked the store behind him briefly for some sign from his partners that he was making a huge mistake. He couldn't look for too long, for fear of looking suspicious and scaring off the biggest lead the CIA had, so he kept it short and shut the door softly behind him.
"Okay, so what now?" he asked. He turned to look at Tony, who was studying the space. He eyed the part enclosed in chain-link fence.
"What is this?" he asked, gesturing to the cage.
"Oh, that?" Chuck said nervously. He wanted to get the whole ordeal over with as quickly as possible. "It's nothing, really. Just a little room, you know, inside another, uh, room. You know, I don't actually understand why we have it in here." A thought struck him. There was a small click from the direction of the door, but he ignored it. "Oh, well, I guess it protects all the stuff in there, maybe. Although, on second thought, there really isn't much in there to protect. And maybe a different choice in fence would be a… good idea." Chuck trailed off when he saw Tony frown at him.
"I don't really care, Birtooski. All I want is a promise that me and my family are gonna be safe if I give this to you." He unlocked the briefcase and took out a simple black flash drive.
"Actually, it's 'my family and I will be safe'," Chuck corrected, unable to stop himself. Tony levelled a death glare at him, and he gulped. "And what is that, exactly?" Chuck asked, trying to change the subject and not daring to also correct his name.
Tony laid it out on his palm. "All the information you asked for is on this. It's the only copy I have, and my former employers would kill for it."
"Oh," Chuck squeaked. "Would they?"
"Yeah, they would," Tony repeated slower, as if he were talking to a six year old.
"Do you mind if I, uh, check that real fast?" Chuck asked.
"Check it?" Tony growled. "Why? I already told you that everything's on here."
"I know," Chuck reassured him. "It's just that my employers want to be very sure that what you're giving me is, you know, the real thing. Not that I'm doubting you," he added quickly.
Tony grinded his teeth together. "How do I know that you aren't just going to take it and turn me in?"
"I guess you'll just have to trust me," Chuck said. "You can trust me, right?"
"I don't know, can I?" Tony repeated threateningly, but Chuck forced himself to be brave. He slowly reached toward the larger, heavier, scarier armed man and took the flash drive. "Yes, yes you can," he said. "I'm just gonna go plug this into the computer right over there, okay?"
He pointed to a computer on a desk in the corner, and Tony narrowed his eyes before nodding his consent. Chuck let out an inward sigh of relief and started toward the desk calmly.
A loud bang sounded in his right ear. It was short and sharp and very familiar, although it sounded like it had been cut off at the end a little. He flinched heavily and yelped, his gaze darting around the room to find the source. He saw nothing.
"What was that?" Tony asked roughly.
Chuck hesitated, extremely confused. "I- uh, I don't know. You didn't hear anything?" Tony shook his head no, and Chuck glanced around one more time. "Huh."
He tried to dismiss it, but as he walked, his brain suddenly placed the familiar noise as something he had heard a dozen times, now that Bryce had ruined his life.
A gunshot.
His brain raced as he sat at the desk. He punched the power button, and the computer slowly started to power up. He smiled nervously at the thug standing behind him, but Tony was pacing around the small room and didn't acknowledge him. A few more seconds passed, then another shot exploded in his ear. He managed to contain his reaction to a small flinch that Tony didn't see.
As the computer booted up, there was static and intermittent shouting. Chuck's heart rate skyrocketed as he listened. He forced his hands to stop shaking and tried to smile reassuringly at Tony before staring at the computer screen. There was a loud thud outside the door and a distant crash.
Chuck's head whipped toward the door, but Tony was standing in front of it. "What?" he asked, subtly crossing his arms.
He suddenly looked too much like a club bouncer for Chuck's comfort. A bouncer who, instead of keeping people out, kept them in, instead. Tony smiled threateningly at him. Chuck's blood froze.
"So, Tony," Chuck said, his voice surprisingly steady. "Who are your friends out there?"
Tony cracked his neck to the side menacingly. "None of your concern."
The computer finally woke up completely with a soft ding. Instead of plugging in the flash drive, Chuck gathered his courage to speak. "I beg to differ, actually," he said, again staying surprisingly calm. "It seems that someone out there is shooting up my store. I think that makes it my concern."
He immediately regretted his words when Tony walked up to him. He put his hands on his hips, pushing back the bottom of his jacket to reveal the glint of the handle of a pistol. "I seriously doubt that this is your store," he said. "No one would ever believe that you're just a worker here. The CIA wouldn't send in some poor schmuck like you unless you were some kind of special agent. So cut the bull and tell me who you really are."
Chuck eyed the gun, his feigned confidence completely abandoning him. "Actually, I am just some poor schmuck that works at a Buy More, and I don't completely understand what's going on here, so if you could just-"
Tony slammed his hand on the desk. Chuck jumped and almost yelped. "Stop lying to me!" Tony shouted. He got in Chuck's face, his crooked nose almost touching Chuck's. "Tell me who you are, or I will shoot you, then I will go out there and shoot everyone in this building." As if to reinforce this point, there was another dull crash outside.
Chuck gripped the flash drive in his fist tightly. "This isn't real, is it?"
Tony flashed his yellow teeth. "It is very real, and if you're not even going to check it, then you might as well drop the facade and show me where you work."
"'Facade'," Chuck repeated. "Big word for someone with your brain capacity."
Tony's face hardened, but before he could react, someone pounded on the door. "Hey, Tony!" he shouted, his voice muffled by the door. "Let me in!"
Tony grunted and shoved off of the desk. "Who is it?" he said, annoyed that he had been interrupted.
"It's Rizzo!" the man replied. "Open up before I kick the door in!"
"I'd like to see you try," Tony muttered, but he started to unlock the door. Chuck didn't remember seeing him lock it in the first place, but, watching Tony struggle with the lock, he suddenly realized that he would only have a few more seconds until he was surrounded with multiple raging psychopaths instead of just the one.
He quietly slipped the flash drive in his pocket and rotated the chair toward the door that led out the back of the store. Keeping his eyes on Tony, who's back was now fully turned on him as he wrestled with the door, Chuck had time for one final thought. I am so glad Big Mike was too lazy to fix that lock.
Then he took a deep breath, marshaled any remaining courage he had left, and shot out of the chair toward the exit.
So? Any good? Please review, it lets me know if I'm doing a good job or not. Also, it just makes me feel good and get motivated to keep writing. But you're busy people, so I'll stop talking now. Thanks for reading.