Chapter 6

See Chapter 1 for disclaimer

A/N: As promised, here is my normal Friday night post. There are some lighthearted moments in the beginning of this fic, but it gets very dark as it goes along. You'll see the tone start to change in the next few chapters.

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"Selling -," Charlie started to repeat, but Don held up a warning finger to cut him off. Don kept silent until they reached a less populated area, and stopped on a corner. The street they had been traversing was well lit and filled with people; the next street was dark and relatively deserted. Across the street and down a block, the road was adorned with lights and people again, but in between it was dark, and down the side street it was darker yet, and almost completely deserted. That seemed to be a pattern in this city; one had to watch oneself, or he might end up in a block that wasn't the healthiest place to be.

Don leaned casually against the brick wall of a corner shoe store, which had been closed for the night. He waited until some revelers walked by, then said quietly. "We're establishing our covers. We're out on the town, barhopping. As a drug dealer, I'm getting the lay of the land, checking out potential sellers and buyers. We'll do a lot of walking tonight, hit some bars; try to get a feel for dealers and their territories. Along the way, we'll meet up with Ian. He'll try to find us by using the trackers in our jackets to make sure they work. Around eleven, he and I are going to make a deal, a few blocks from here. You'll be back at the hotel again by then."

Charlie frowned. "A deal?"

"Drugs." Don fell silent as another group of partiers approached, and Charlie stared at him while they passed. One of them shot a nervous glance down the dark street, and they hurried across.

"Drugs?" Charlie managed, as soon as they had passed.

"Ian's hooking me up with one of Montreaux's dealers. I'm going to offer him a lead on one of my contacts, a potential buyer, for a fee."

Charlie looked only slightly relieved at that. "So you aren't going to actually sell him any drugs."

"No – I'm too highly placed for that. My cover is a middleman – I hook up buyers and sellers, and take fees from both for doing it. I wouldn't stoop to dealing."

"So, what happens if Montreaux's guy wants to sell to your buyer?"

"We have an agent who will pose as a rep from the buyer, if it gets to that. Our handler will call that in; get it arranged."

"Joe Bishop," affirmed Charlie. He and Don had been given their handler's name along with an emergency number by Rogan and Masters, and had been told to memorize it.

"Yeah," said Don. "C'mon, let's walk."

They stopped in a bar for a beer; then continued on, Don observing the patrons, the people on the streets, taking in information about which Charlie could only guess. It was now near nine, the French Quarter was decidedly more crowded, and the crowd was getting louder. People walked down the streets with plastic cups containing drinks; if there was an open container law, the police weren't enforcing it. And there were plenty of police, at least on the streets filled with people. They probably had enough on their hands with crowd control, thought Charlie. His thoughts slid back to Don's planned meeting with the drug dealer; the more he thought about it, the more he was taken with the urge to go with him. His own part in this operation would undoubtedly be rather boring – he'd be stuck away in a room with a computer, he had no doubt. This could be his one and only chance to see a little real action, and it sounded mundane enough not to be frightening, but just risky enough to be interesting. He sidled next to Don, and spoke quietly, his words covered by the din on the street. "I want to go with you tonight."

Don shook his head firmly. "No. There's no need for you to be there."

Charlie insisted, "We're supposed to work together, right? It might be good for me to see it."

Don glanced sharply at him, but before he could reply, his gaze was arrested, traveling over Charlie's head. At the same instant an arm fell over Charlie's shoulders; he jumped a little, and his head jerked around to see Ian's face next to his, smiling insouciantly.

"Charlie Archer!" Ian exclaimed, "How ya' doing?"

"Hey, Ian," returned Charlie, as Ian dropped his arm and fell into step beside them, jockeying his way among the crowd until he was between the brothers.

"Ian," Don murmured by way of a greeting. He spoke into Ian's ear, keeping his voice low enough so that Charlie couldn't hear. "Charlie just told me he wants to come along later. I don't think it's a good idea."

Ian gave him a nod, turned his face away from Charlie, speaking quietly. "I heard. He could, but there's no real reason for him to be there, and there's no sense taking an unnecessary chance." He grinned at Don, cryptically. "I think I can fix this. Your jackets work fine, by the way." He led the way to another bar, a raucous place on a corner with the two outside walls open to the evening air.

They found a place at the bar. Ian and Don were standing and conferring quietly, and Charlie, who was beginning to feel a little ignored, spied a bar stool that had just been abandoned, and dragged it up next to them and sat. He glanced around at the crowd; the ubiquitous Hurricanes were being served here also, in real Hurricane glasses instead of plastic cups, and he wondered idly what they tasted like. A young college kid wearing a Tulane sweatshirt had just gotten two of them, and Charlie watched as he waded through the crowd and handed one to his girlfriend. She grinned at him, took a drink from the straw, and then chewed on the end of it coquettishly. She had dark hair, and reminded him of Amita.

The bartender approached Ian, who turned to Charlie, his voice a near-yell over the din. "What are you having, Charlie?"

"A Hurricane!" Charlie yelled back, and Ian raised an eyebrow; then grinned and nodded.

Ian turned back to the bartender as Charlie glanced back at the crowd, and spoke quietly. "One Hurricane, triple the liquor." Ian ordered two beers along with it, and then turned to Don. "That ought to take care of him. One of them is bad enough – a triple will put him to bed for the night." He grinned, a little wickedly. "It was the perfect thing for him to order - it's hard to taste the alcohol because of the fruit juice. It's a good thing he's sitting down."

Don felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at Charlie sitting, blissfully unaware, on the barstool. "I don't know," he muttered. "Maybe that's not such a good idea. He really needs to keep a clear head, here."

Ian looked unconcerned. "For what? There's nothing happening tonight as far as he's concerned, and it won't hurt your covers – it may even help. Plus, it gives us an excuse to exclude him later tonight – that's better than exposing him to unnecessary risk."

Don sighed, and nodded reluctantly. Even Charlie couldn't argue that he should be allowed to go along if he wasn't thinking straight. "This is my last one, myself," he said. "I've got a couple hours before the meeting – I need to clear my head."

"The guy you're meeting sells product for Montreaux to bigger retailers," replied Ian, keeping his voice at a level that only Don could hear. Even so, he kept his language generic – 'product' instead of drugs, 'retailers' instead of dealers. "He may bring along a buddy – and you can bet that they'll report back to Montreaux on their impression of you. I think it'll be pretty low risk – this is simply a scouting mission. If Montreaux likes what he hears, he'll probably proceed with the sale to your buyer. If that goes well, he may proceed with another deal first, or he may ask to meet Charlie. It depends on how much time he has, and how comfortable he feels with the two of you."

Don nodded. He was well aware that first impressions would dictate whether Montreaux would want to set up dealings with him, and even more importantly, with Charlie. If he screwed this up, Charlie would never get his foot in the door. All the more reason to make sure Charlie stayed at the hotel, he told himself, as he watched the bartender set a Hurricane in a large glass in front of his brother. One less person meant one less chance for things to go wrong.

The bartender set their beers in front of them, and Ian spoke again as the man moved away. "We're being watched – Montreaux's got another guy here. I knew about it, but you're not supposed to. Just wanted to give you a heads-up."

"Don't tell me who – not now," said Don. He didn't want to risk making eye contact and making the man suspicious. "I take it he's not close enough to hear anything – maybe you can fill me in on who I'm meeting later."

Charlie shot another glance at Don and Ian. He was straining to hear the conversation, but could make out nothing over the din, and was afraid to try harder. He didn't want to appear too interested – so he acted uninterested instead, which was no great feat; he was a little bored. He slouched on his bar stool, idly sipping his drink and watching a television set on the far wall, which was running a basketball game. The sound was either turned down or drowned out by the crowd; he couldn't tell which. The college kid in the Tulane sweatshirt showed up at the bar again for another round of drinks, and Charlie realized that both he and his girlfriend were on their way to out-drinking him two-to-one. He'd been taking his time with his drink; it tasted strong to him, but as he looked around, he realized that the young man's girlfriend looked none the worse for wear, and he decided that the drinks must not be as strong as he thought. He wasn't a big drinker to begin with, and was definitely out of practice, he told himself.

As if reading his mind, Ian leaned over and smirked, "Taking your time with that girly drink, aren't you, Archer?"

Charlie shot him a dirty look, and took a healthy swig. Ian and Don were over halfway through their beers, and Charlie, not to be outdone, attacked his drink with renewed energy.

Several minutes later, Ian glanced over to see that Charlie's drink was nearly gone, and spoke in an aside to Don. "I think he's probably pretty well primed by now. You may want to start walking him back to the hotel while he still can."

Don glanced at Charlie and raised a dubious eyebrow. His brother actually looked fine; Don couldn't determine any adverse effects of the drink. Charlie slid off his stool easily as he saw Edgerton put money for the drinks on the bar, and Don murmured to Ian, "I'm not so sure your strategy worked."

Ian sent him a grin. "Have you ever had one of those? Trust me, he downed it pretty fast. It'll kick in – more than likely before you get back."

In fact, Don noticed the effects before they even made it out of the bar. As they stepped out from under the confines of the roof to the sidewalk outside, he could see that Charlie's steps were slightly unsteady. He stepped up beside him, exchanging a glance with Ian as he did so. "Doing okay, there, Chuck?"

Charlie could feel a floating sensation that wasn't entirely unpleasant, and he glanced up at Don to see his brother smiling down at him, with an amused look. 'Not Don,' Charlie corrected himself, mentally. 'Undercover Don.' Undercover Don, with his cool, knowing look, and even cooler demeanor. Streetwise, sharp, savvy. Undercover Don. He beamed at his brother. "I'm fine," he said emphatically. "How're you?"

Ian looked away to hide a smile, and Don stifled his own grin. "C'mon, Charlie, let's walk," he said.

They moved off down the sidewalk, strolling more slowly for Charlie's sake, who was having a little difficulty navigating the crowd. Charlie was beginning to realize, belatedly, that the drink was hitting him harder than expected, and he had to concentrate in order to think and move normally. As they reached the next block, he could see three tall, striking women on the street corner, all dressed similarly in miniskirts, heels and short jackets, all of them with long luxurious manes. As the three men crossed the street, the women eyed them appreciatively. Ian and Don ignored them; in fact, they gave them a wide berth, but Charlie passed by a little closer and one of the women reached out suddenly and grabbed him by the jacket sleeve with a manicured hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong; either that, or the alcohol really had him off-balance, and her grasp spun him around.

"Hey, sugah," she purred in a deep Southern accent. "You're a cutie." She tossed her long blond hair, and Charlie, whose vision was beginning to blur a little, looked up at her, and got a wavering impression of red lips and white teeth, bared in a smile.

One of the others, a dark-skinned black girl, licked pastel-glossed lips. "I could just eat him up," she said, in a low throaty voice.

Charlie heard no more, another hand yanked him by the sleeve, and he found himself stumbling after Don. "C'mon, Charlie, you don't want to mess with them."

Charlie smirked at Don and Ian as they moved down the block. "You're just jealous. I think they liked me." He was weaving a little more, and his words were becoming thicker, slower.

Ian shot him a cryptic smile. "You can have them. Of course, maybe you like men."

Don had to fight down laughter as Charlie's face fell, and his mouth dropped open. "No way," Charlie said, and he jerked his head around to look back at the supposed women, almost stumbling. Don caught him by the arm, and he swung back around, wearing a stunned expression. "Wow."

A mercifully short four blocks later, they were back at their hotel. Ian headed across the street to wait, while Don ushered Charlie into the building and down to their room. As soon as they were inside, Charlie plopped on the edge of a bed, and ran a hand over his face. "Man," he said, as if in prelude to something else, but he stopped there, swaying slightly, eyes closed.

Don had been about to give him the news that he wasn't going along, but he realized that it probably wouldn't even be necessary. Instead, he pulled off Charlie's shoes, and helped him lie back on the bed. "Here, Chuck," he said, "why don't you lie down for a while?"

He left the room only five minutes later, and Charlie was already out.

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End Chapter 6