A/N: A little time has passed and Dean has been kept busy hunting Gordon Walker. Well, he's got to do something to keep his mind off Sam...

The Pompatus Box (Chapter 23: Enodrome Diner) by frostygossamer

Dean hoofs it straight in the diner right across the street from the Technopolis spacedrome. He has spent the last week following the figurative vapour trail of the crooked flier Walker. He really needs to see the ashes of that damned Pompatus Box once and for all before he can bring himself to report back to Captain Harvelle that it's lost for good.

He can be a little anal about completing a job sometimes. He's not used to failing. Besides, he needs someone to answer for his lost bonus, not to mention the beating he took from Benny and his pirate crew. Someone owes him a few broken bones.

The Enodrome Diner is a known hangout for working fliers and SOMEONE in here today is going to tell Dean exactly where Walker is, if he has to throttle it out of them.

First he needs a beer, or two beers or maybe six.

Dean has been on this hunt for days, and he has left his heavy boot prints across the seamy side of all three moons. So far he hasn't snagged even one of Walker's tail feathers. Dean's luck has been anything but good. He hates to think maybe he left his lucky talisman back on Terra.

He stands at the bar and deliberately asks the petite but curvaceous chick bartender to get him the strange label beer from the highest shelf of the cooler. He does that so he can admire the way her skirt rides up and shows her lace panties, as she stretches on tiptoe. When she serves his drink, he rewards her with his trademark smile and a good tip.

Above the bar a digital message board flashes up Satellite News headlines from Terra. Minor anti-Terra demonstrations on Eno - Random Australasian bush fires - Political hostages exchanged in Eastasia - Royal Wedding announced in Campobello - Cute puppies rescued from a flash flood.

Dean smiles to himself. Sounds like Sam has moved on. Good for him. He sips his cool beverage and turns around slowly, taking in the room. There are several guys and chicks he knows, fliers, mechanics. He's pretty sure that a few of them are buddies with Walker. In fact, where to start?

Then - "Gah!" - he nearly chokes on his beer.

That ratfink Walker is sitting there bold as brass chomping on a beefsteak right in the booth by the front window. How did Dean not see him before? He has been showing the guy's mugshot around for so long and yet he walks right by him? Huh! He guesses the joker thinks he's safe hiding in plain sight.

He is so NOT.

Walker's eyes are part-closed in pleasure as he eats, oblivious to the world around him. Dean silently slides onto the bench opposite and remains unnoticed for a couple seconds. When Walker opens his eyes to slice another mouthful of steak, he does a double-take. He quickly slaps on a toothy grin.

"Jeez, Dean, you're not, uh... How you been?"

"Thought I was dead, huh Walker? Almost. But I came back."

Dean's tone is deadly dry. Walker swallows nervously.

"You, uh, still working on that diplomatic balls-up?"

"Nah," answers Dean.

Walker visibly relaxes, but Dean isn't finished.

"Wasted a buttload of time on the case but, uh, turned out some mother had already freakin' nuked the Pompatus Box. Cost me one goddamn FAT finder's fee."

The hairs on Walker's neck bristle.

"Them's the breaks, I guess," he hazards, weakly.

Dean nods in silence for a moment before suddenly reaching over, grabbing Walker by the back of the neck and slamming his devious face in his creamed potatoes. Walker scrabbles to escape his grasp but Dean keeps him down.

"A little bird told me some butthead in this very diner was responsible for destroying the sucker, and I am so NOT a happy camper."

Walker chokes, flailing in his plate of food. Other patrons start to notice and look concerned. Dean shoots them a laser-like glare that keeps them at a distance.

"Since when you been in bed with freakin' terrorists, Walker? Damn Selenitists?"

Walker struggles to speak. "I- I wasn't. I- I didn't. Dean, ugh. Lemme up, man."

Dean isn't feeling lenient. "Yeah? It's down to YOU I lost out on a big-ass win. You gonna repay me for that, huh?"

"Yeah, yeah." Walker gurgles in his gravy. "Listen. I got money. She gave me plenty for it."

Dean lets him sit up. "She who? Paid you plenty for what?"

Walker leans back and takes a deep breath. He tries to clean himself up with a handful of paper napkins.

"Miss Meg Masters. She paid me a mega-wad of credits to get the box back off of Benny Lafitte, fake burning it and get it to her instead. Her plan all along."

"You DIDN'T destroy it?"

Dean wasn't expecting that. He needs a second to take in the plot hitch.

"So you're telling me you were working for Meg freakin' Masters?"

Walker nods emphatically. "Since day one. You saw me talking with her on the transport after the dogfight, right?"

Dean nods. He remembers seeing them chatting together but he's still confused.

"Masters has the box now? Then why'd she even hand it over to Benny? Why not hang onto it and just tell the guy she'd destroyed it? Why the game of 'Hot Potato'?"

Walker chuckles. "'Cause Benny is freakin' paranoid. He doesn't trust anyone he can't buy. Meg told me she'd had to let the Selenitists have the real box and she'd pay me to go infiltrate the group and snatch it back for her. Said she'll need it as insurance after the crap hits the fan."

"Insurance?" Yeah, that sounds about right.

Walker blows his potato-filled nose on a damp napkin.

"And don't ask me what's in it. Masters told me she wanted the seal intact. Reckon she thought it would jinx the deal to open it up."

Yeah, that does sound like the hard-nosed yet superstitious businesswoman Dean met. She wants to let Benny think he's running things but she's playing him all the damn time. And now she has something she can use against him in the future.

"Dude, I'm getting to think jinxing that freakin' deal would not be a bad thing."

Dean is suddenly wistful for a time when everyone wasn't motivated only by money. No angel himself, at least he would never have gotten into something that could actively bring 'War on Terra' simply for the cold hard cash. Dean still has some of the principles his military man father instilled in him. They don't make men of character like John anymore.

As Dean's eyes mist over a little, Walker sees his chance and makes a dart for the door. But Dean is too fast for him and grabs him by the collar of his duster coat before the door-jingle has stopped jangling.

"Not so fast, Gordon buddy. There's the little matter of my lost credits."

Walker exhales wearily. "You let me go, I can go get you the credits. I'm not exactly hauling them around in my back pocket. Got a secret account in the Technobank of Eno under the name of Sterling Brown."

Dean scoffs. "You never heard of bank runs in time of war, huh?"

That gibe seems to motivate Walker, who twists around and catches Dean with an unexpected knee to the groin. As he folds up, Walker follows through with a stamp on Dean's foot. This also connects with bone, owing to Walker wearing the same heavy boots Dean wears. He gleefully leaves Dean crumpled up on the sidewalk and makes his escape.

Cursing, Dean pulls out his pocket intercommunicator and has Baby patch him through to Enoan Security. Between winces, he gives them an anonymous report on a certain rogue flier with an illegal bank account full of illegitimate untaxed funds.

That'll teach the douchebag!

TBC

A/N: Ooh! Nasty knee to the ahem. So, the Pompatus Box WASN'T destroyed. Aha! The game is still afoot. More soon.