"The hell kind of a name is Marcello Suslov, anyway?" asked the driver as he pulled the Charger up outside of a nondescript warehouse. He put the car in park. "I knew a Marcello Martivini, and a Yuri Suslov, but not a-"

Michael interrupted in the interest of expedience. "Guess it's a nickname or something, Sam. If it's a cover", he said, pulling out a fat file, "then it sure as hell isn't a good one. It wasn't exactly hard to dig up some intel on the guy. Nothing surprising, of course. This one's about as easy to read as, uh..."

The woman smiled. "That file?"

"Sure, Fi."

"It's bothering me, though, Mike..."

"Really?" asked the woman, turning to fully face the man next to her. "I thought that Michael's explanation was more than sufficient. Then again, your thick-skulled and stubborn reliance on-"

"Hey, you hold on just a-"

"Ready, guys?" asked Michael, ignoring the bickering and opening his car door to signal to his friends to stop fooling around.

"Sure, Mikey. Sure," said the man in the front as he reached under his seat and retrieved an impressive shotgun.

The three exited the car, with Michael slightly in the lead and the other two following. The FBI getup had been abandoned in favor of a more naturalistic approach, with Michael in his prized suit and sunglasses and his companions in a Hawaiian shirt and sundress respectively.

The man 'accidentally' bumped into the woman, who 'inadvertently' whacked him in the back of his knee with her automatic. He retaliated by tripping up her foot without meaning to, and she calmly readied her gun to butt him in the back of the head when Michael realized what was going on and stopped walking. He turned around and shot his friends a frigid glare, one which they responded to by finally stopping their fighting.

The older man cocked his shotgun.

"Shock and awe, Mikey."

Michael smiled despite his aggravation.

"Yeah, yeah..."

Fiona pulled out and clicked the detonator, setting off several blasts around the building's perimeter. She followed it up by letting some bullets rip into the few windows the dilapidated building had that weren't already shattered.

The beams groaned and several clouds of smoke drifted up from the base of the old warehouse.

"I think we'd better hurry in before the whole damn thing falls straight to the ground," said the older man looking up at the building.

Michael nodded then kicked in the front door and entered, followed closely by his companions. Stunned gangsters lay scattered on the ground, clutching their bleeding ears. Michael, gun drawn and held in his right hand, strolled on through with one arm over his face in an attempt to avoid breathing in the smoke from the aftermath. Sam followed with a shotgun held loosely at his side, and Fiona behind him with a large automatic machine gun held lovingly in her arms.

"Marcello?"

The only response came in the form of groans scattered amongst the quiet sounds of dust settling and parts of the blasted wall falling to the ground.

"Marcellooo? No? No Marcello? I thought for sure he'd be here!" Michael kicked the ground and looked around. "Don't worry, you guys. The wounds should all be superficial. We're just here to pick up an acquaintance. We've got nothing against you all. We just want to know where Marcello Suslov is, then we'll be right on our way, alright?"

A man slumped against the wall seemed to try to say something, coughed, and pointed a bloodied arm to the right, towards a billiards table obscured by smoke.

Michael indicated to his partners to be quiet. They walked over to the table and all paused for a moment. Michael then suddenly kicked it over. Underneath it was, of course, Marcello, cowering and staring at the three, wide-eyed and horrified.

Michael smiled down at him genially.

"Marcello, man, you sounded a little freaked out at the café. We just wanted to make sure things were still cool between us. We're friends, right? Friends who would never send cars full of thugs after each other, right? They'd never, ever skip out on a lunch date, right?"

Marcello merely stared, mouth agape and countenance shocked at how deranged Westen seemed to have become.

"Oh, hey, by the way, these are my other pals, my real pals, pals who don't make me upset. They're Chuck and Fiona. Chuck, Marcello, Fiona, Marcello, Marcello-"

Marcello found his voice, though it shook with terror.

"Oh, man, please, don't kill me, I-"

The older man frowned and felt that he had to interrupt. "Hey, Marcello, quick question- is that your real name? Or is it, like, a nickname or, or a-"

"Who the hell are you people? I just did what I was told, Westen, I, I don't want no-"

"Do I need to break your fingers, Marcello?" asked Michael, playing it up.

"Yeah, okay, it's a nickname! I thought that it sounded cool, man! I'm nobody!"

"Not about that, you idiot!"

"What?"

"We were gonna help you, Marcello."

"Or, uh, whoever you are," said the other man, rubbing his chin contemplatively.

Michael waved his hand around, indicating the plethora of gangsters that littered the rubble,all of them either unconscious or moaning.

"We were gonna get you out of this."

Marcello shook his head fervently. "You're better than this, Marcello!" said Michael, now with a pleading expression on his face.

"Look, Westen, you guys ain't supposed to be into this revenge crap! I've, I've heard stories, man. You're supposed to be a buncha nice guys! I didn't think you'd come after me, not like this! What I did, I, I got sources, Westen, I knew it wouldn't kill you, I was just following orders, man, and I never thought that you'd-"

Michael threw back his head and laughed. He'd decided earlier to go with the unbalanced ex-spy gig, a role he unsurprisingly had took little effort to slip into.

Without warning, the woman took a syringe out of her purse and jabbed Marcello in the neck. He stared at her for a moment with an expression of pained shock on his features then slumped to the ground. The two men dragged him out the back door of the warehouse and around, leaving him next to their car. After he had been securely bound with duct tape, they deposited him in the trunk.

Roughly forty feet away sat a blue Toyota Echo hatchback parked somewhat conspicuously on a hill. It had been parked there since the group had entered the building, and its inhabitants had witnessed the entire event as it had transpired.

"Holy Hell!" said Shawn, turning toward the Charger with his binoculars and watching Marcello get dumped in the car. "What heinous haphazard hoodwinkery-"

"This is no time for alliterations, Shawn! What just happened?"

"Some tiny, tiny lady just knocked out and dragged a big dude into a Charger!"

Gus gestured to Shawn's binoculars. "Where'd you get those?"

Still looking through the scopes, Shawn shook his head. "Where do you think?"

"Oh, okay, so not only is Lassiter gonna kill us, but your d-"

"Wait, where'd she go?"

"Who?"

"The lady! Chuck's partner from the café! She shoved the guy into the car, circled around to the driver's seat, and I thought she got in, but the-"

There was a knock at the passenger window of the small blue car. Both men jumped and turned. Fiona leaned down, her head directly in front of the window, waving a handgun flippantly back and forth. She gestured for the men to roll down their windows down. Gus shook his head from side to side and Shawn shrugged and smiled.

"Hello, boys."

"Hello there!" said Shawn, waving with his hand that held the binoculars, realizing what he was doing, and quickly attempting to hide them by throwing them in the back seat.

"What are those for?" asked the woman conversationally through the glass, gesturing down toward them.

"What are what for?" asked Shawn. She tilted her head to the side and frowned.

"Oh, the sombrero and DVDs? Oh, haha, well, we were going to have a fiesta. I mean, we were on our way, but the car broke down right here, and-"

She shook her head. "The binoculars."

"Aha, ah, those silly things! Sightseeing!" said Shawn.

"Sightseeing?" she asked, still frowning.

"We broke down, and after I got bored playing tic tac toe, well, because, you see, my friend here is truly awful at it, no challenge in the game at all, so, well, sightseeing. That is my story and I am stickin' to it, ma'am."

The older man, impatient, ambled up, lifting up his black sunglasses and shaking his head.

"Fiona, what're you doin'? We've gotta move!"

"Just a moment, Sam." she said, smiling, before busting through the back passenger side window window with her gun, reaching in, and retrieving the binoculars. Sam and Gus yelled in shock and both hysterically attempted to unlock their doors and escape, but Fiona raised her gun threateningly and prevented any exit.

"The hell're these yahoos?"

She shrugged. "No idea. They're the same yahoos from the café, though. Michael isn't going to like this."

"Yahoos? I take offense to that misnomer, good sir! We are not just any yahoos. I am Hernando Concerto Cacahuete Rodriguez and this is my partner, T-Bone."

"Sure," said Fiona, before proffering the binoculars to the man. He took them and glanced through and about.

"Hey, these are nice!"

From his Charger several yards away, Michael could see his friend adjusting the binoculars, his other friend sticking her head in the window and chatting it up, and Gus desperately attempting to get as far away from her as possible in his tiny car. Michael could also see that the building they'd kidnapped a man from was starting to awake and miss its former occupant- lights were turning on and people were moving about, alarmed. They had to get back to the loft, and quickly. After several seconds he felt were several seconds too many for whatever the hell his friends were doing, Michael got out of his car and ran up to see what was going on.

"Sam! Fiona! What the hell's going on?"

Fiona gestured to the Echo and its inhabitants.

"These guys can't be here!" said Michael, clearly agitated. He pursed his lips, glanced back at his car, looked in the distance towards the planned meeting place, looked at his watch, then yelled, "Out of the car!"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Look. guys, if you think that we're going to be intimidated by kidnapping ring made up of Twiggy, an over-the-hill Patrick Warburton, and, uh, ah, and, and some guy with overpriced sunglasses and a curiously shaped head..."

Michael frowned.

"I like the shape of your head, Mike..." said Sam, doing all he could to hold back a laugh.

Michael sighed. "Well, Mr. Rodriguez-"

"Senor!"

"Senor Rodriguez, see, we've got a problem. We're not a kidnapping ring."

"Ha, well, that's funny, because my friend T-Bone here is actually a petite Asian woman, and I-"

"We're not kidnappers, Mister, ah..." Michael motioned for Fiona. She smiled, produced two wallets, and handed them over.

"Mister... Spencer! And a one Burton Guster. Psychic detectives. How cute!" He pocketed the wallets despite protests from the two. "Anyway, guys, we're in the middle of a very delicate operation and at risk of an entire compound coming to through the haze and being on our asses and really, really need to move. Since we can't just leave you here as witnesses, I guess you're coming with us."

"Can't we talk this over, amigos?" asked Shawn, nervously eying the various weaponry in the hands of the three that had his partner and himself surrounded.

"I'm afraid not. See, guys, there's a time and place for everything. So, the time is later, and the place is, well, back at my place. Then we'll have all the time in the world to figure out why you two were tailing us three and why you pulled what you did back at Café Cubano. Right now, though, we're gonna borrow your car so that the folks here are going to have twice as hard a job tailing us."

Michael ran back to the Charger, drove it up alongside the Echo, and transferred the unconscious dealer over before buckling himself in in, playfully saluting his friends, and driving off.

Sam gestured for Shawn to unlock his door. Shawn shook his head. Sam narrowed his eyes.

"Why don't you just let us chill out and take our chances here? I mean, you sure you wanna be carrying two potentially two lethal threats along with you? For all you know, we're deadly mercenaries who could murder you with a mere thought, man. A thought. Think about that."

"Haha, good one!" laughed Sam. "Now get out."

"Fine, fine.."

"Hey, Fiona, you have any of that, uh, that-"

"Yes, Sam."

"Good."

Fiona produced another syringe.

"Lights out," said Sam, smiling.