A/N Sarah Bartowski, International Ice Cream Thief! John Casey, Assassin at large. Don't these roles seem just so much more appropriate for our heroes? Even Shaw was better as the Ring expert, rather than the jealous lover, yet another of the more grotesque scenes from canon. I swear I had no idea when I wrote the bar scene a few episodes back that it would be useful now. Plus a couple of my favorite lines and my first great twist. Reading it over I notice that Casey calls Sarah 'Walker', which seemed odd, until I remembered he's using a cover name in front of Shaw. Minimal Chuck in this one.

Carina pulled the rented car into the garage of a house she'd never seen before, not a bit surprised to see John Casey come into the attached garage. He lifted the unconscious and handcuffed body of Rafe Gruber with more than his usual level of grunting and carried it into the kitchen and through to an unused bedroom. A sturdy metal chair had been bolted to the floor, and after Casey put his cargo into it Carina set about securing the prisoner as Casey and the man whose house it was looked on.

"What is it about you and handcuffs?" said Casey.

"What is it about you and very large, long guns?" said she.

"Freudian banter aside," said Shaw, "I'm glad you called me in on this. A CIA holding cell is more physically secure, but if the Ring has a mole in the right place that means nothing." He activated the recorder, making sure the monitors were receiving a good signal. "It's a miracle you got a hit on his location. I don't suppose you can tell me how you managed it?"

"You'd be right."

Carina stood. "They played quick and dirty on this one, we just played quicker and dirtier back."

Even John had to admit that no one did 'quick and dirty' better than Carina.

"Do we know who the target is?" asked Shaw.

"Nope, although from the speed and sloppiness I'd have to say somebody high-level. We've got people looking at upcoming events, suddenly laid on."

Carina patted the unconscious hitman on the shoulder. "We could just ask."

"No, we can't. All we have is an alias and a traffic-cam photo, so until…" Casey stopped in mid-sentence and turned away. "What's that, Eagle-Eye? Roger that." He turned back to Shaw. "We've got positive confirmation that this is our man, so I guess we can let him wake up and volunteer to tell us everything he knows."

"He's not going to," said Shaw.

Casey lifted a large bag. "Counting on it."

"No, not really," said Sarah. "You were acting, but I wasn't. Aliasing a real person is much deeper than pretending to be a fake one. Most times when you fail the audition it doesn't get you killed. You have to become that person, act like them, respond like them, curse like them, if you want to survive. It's not how you act but how you react that matters."

"You aren't trying to tell me you really are an art thief…?"

"The 'art thief' part was acting, the snooty bitch part was aliasing. I have, unfortunately, met quite enough of those. Right now, though, I am Sarah Carmichael, international ice cream thief." She dug her spoon into the contents of the bowl in front of Hannah.

Hannah watched as Sarah put the spoon in her mouth. "You could have gotten your own, you know."

Sarah swallowed, and said, "I just did, you must have missed it. Here, let me show you again–" She lifted her spoon.

"Hey!" Hannah covered her bowl and pulled it away.

The unoccupied third chair buzzed at them.

"You gonna get that?" asked Hannah, when Sarah made no move.

"Why should I, it's yours."

"Mine? Who'd be calling me?" Hannah pulled out her bag from the pile of stuff.

Your young man. As her friend's part of the conversation progressed Sarah realized that wasn't the case. It looked like lunchtime was over. She signaled for the bill and another container, that ice cream was too good to waste. Being a good friend, she helped Hannah not waste any while she was on the phone.
"That was Dave," said Hannah after she hung up. Her afternoon boss. "He needs me back right away."

They stood. "What's up?"

"I don't know, but he sounded pretty upset."

Casey came out of the bedroom a lot earlier than anyone expected. No one was watching the monitor, not while having lunch.

"Did he break, or did you kill him?"

"Neither," he snarled, washing the blood off his hands. "He got a phone call, and I had to tranq him while I answered it."

"His contact?" asked Shaw.

Casey nodded. "I've got a meeting."

Hannah came through the doorway already shedding her coat. "Dave? I'm here. What's the emergency?"

Dave rolled back on his chair until he could see her through the door to his office. "Come on in, Hannah. There's no emergency, but you're gonna want to hear this."

Sarah watched her friend disappear into the building but phoned from the car. "Eagle-Eye, this is Telescope."

"Telescope, this is Eagle-Eye. Congratulations on a successful mission. How was your lunch?"

She could still taste the ice cream. "Expensive, but good. Gruber certainly doesn't stint on his accommodations."

"I hope you got the receipt. Being the–my job really doesn't pay as well as I hoped it would."

Like he would ever care about money. "Don't worry, cheapskate, it's mission-related. What's the latest?"

"He's not on-site. On advice, we brought in Shaw, who recommended a safe-house rather than a CIA cell." He gave her the address. "The gang's all there, waiting for you."

"Good, I've got Carina's doggy-bag with me."

"Hmm, not sure they'll have time for that, Perfection."

Casey walked into the kitchen, dressed in his hitman best, black pants, black shirt, black shoes. Carina was even willing to bet he was wearing black underwear and socks, not that she was willing to do any of the things she'd have to do to know for sure. "Looking good, Killer."

He almost smiled. "I was born to do this job."

"It does seem to suit you," said Shaw.

"Although I would have said 'stitched together' rather than 'born', I have to agree, it's you," added Carina.

Casey sneered at her, refusing to dignify her comment with a grunt, and pulled out his phone, on speaker. "Walker? What's your ETA?"

"Ten minutes. Hannah got ice cream."

Carina rolled her eyes.

Whatever. "Not good enough. You're gonna have to meet us there." He gave her the address.

"Do you see her Porsche?"

The van had no windows in the cargo area, of course, but the monitors inside did the same job even better. "In this neighborhood? Be kind of hard to miss, provided it hasn't been hauled off to a chop-shop already."

Shaw made the call. "Agent Carmichael, give us your location please."

"If that's your tastefully-decorated and completely non-obvious CIA-issue black van that just drove past me, well, you just drove past me."

"Check our six."

"I see a company POS back there, engine warm. Could be her."

An arm stuck out of the driver's window of the car behind them and waved.

"It's her."

"You think?" Casey threw it into reverse and backed the van up in front of Sarah's…vehicle. She lost no time leaving her car and climbing into the van. "Geez, Walker, you must have picked the only car in the lot that they'd take to a chop-shop to fix."

She ignored his blinding wit. "I can't go in there with you. There was a bit of an incident here a few weeks ago and they might recognize my face."

"How big an incident are we talking about here?"

"I don't really remember. I think there was a fight."

"That was here?" said Carina. "She was tanked, Casey, no way they'll have forgotten her by now."

Casey was starting to get a headache. "Great. Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to go into this one?"

"A Casablanca quote, Casey? I'm impressed."

"You know Ronald Reagan was considered for the role of Rick, don't you, Walker?"

"No, but why am I not surprised you do."

"You sound too much like Chuck when you do that, you know. The nerd's rubbing off on you."

Silence reigned at the obvious straight line. After a second, Casey turned, Sarah turned, even Shaw turned to look at Carina, who looked at no one.

She unclenched her fingers. "Nope, not gonna say it."

"Thank you," said Casey. "Shaw…?" He looked to his right. "You really don't look the part."

Shaw looked down at himself. White shirt, black tie, not the look of a man who traded in casual violence. "No, I don't think so."

Casey looked in the rear-view. "Carina, you'll have to be my arm-candy, I guess. I know it's a step up for you, but do you think you can pull it off?"

"You're so funny, Casey."

"Well, at least somebody in this van appreciates humor. Let's move it, people."

The first thing 'Rafe Gruber' saw when he entered the bar was muscle. The thug took a deep thuggish breath, coincidentally showing off the gun in its holster, and held out a hand for Casey's weapon. John grabbed two fingers, broke them, and dragged the thug down to the floor for a quick interview with his kneecap.

'Strike first, strike hardest.' The Han Solo rule.

Ever the gentleman, John offered an arm to his escort to brace herself as she stepped over the body. Her high heels rang loud on the tiled floor, her gum-chewing was louder. John did his best to ignore her.

Two men sitting, four left standing. They looked like…gangsters. What the hell is the Ring doing, working with gangsters?

"Rafe Gruber, we meet at last." The man in charge didn't bother to get up, or offer to shake hands. "The last time we worked together for our mutual friends you were less forthcoming."

Anyone who sees my face dies. Didn't these dimwits realize that their 'mutual friends' had just sold them out? Casey took the soon-to-be-dead man's espresso. "Consider it an honor." He tossed the drink back, enjoying the bitterness. "I don't like to waste my time meeting or talking. Who's my target?"

"Wow," said Shaw. "Casey was right. He was born to play this role."

"He's not playing," said Sarah.

"You got any relatives in Philly?"

Probably. "Nope."

"'Cause you seem really familiar to me."

"Having 'one of those faces' is useful in my line of work, like a straw in a haystack. Nobody recognizes me because everybody knows someone who looks like me."

"Yeah, I guess…"

"Hey, Mr. Gruber," said the second man, jumping into his boss' hesitation, "I'm a big fan of your work. Do you mind if I ask what your toughest assignment was?"

John moved like lightning, slamming the heavy coffee cup down on the table in front of the two men. It exploded under the force if the impact, shooting out pieces in all directions. "It's gonna be this one if I don't get a name!" He stood back, turned up his hand, revealing the fragments of pottery imbedded in his palm. He started pulling them out, casually tossing the bloody pieces onto the table. "If I don't get a name, I'll just have to make one up for myself, and I got a couple of ideas right now."

"Sure, sure thing, Mr. Gruber," said the second man. "It's–"

"Now I know you," interrupted the first man in triumph. "I knew a sniper, back in the day. Had some nerve damage to his palm, loved to do that cup trick to scare people." He pulled out his own gun. "Name Alex Coburn ring a bell?"

"Dammit! They think he's a fake, we've got to get them out of there now!"

"How?"

Casey looked around, saw a bunch of suspicious looks and guns aimed his way. Even with Carina at his back, they were going to have a tough time getting out of this. He had to stall, give Walker and Shaw some time.

"Wait a minute," said a loud female voice. Carina walked around Casey slowly. "Are you saying that this guy, my guy, is not who he says he is? That he's not the greatest assassin in the country?"

"Yeah, missy, that's what I'm saying."

"Good." She snatched his gun out of his hand, whirled and smacked Casey in the face. A follow-up kick pushed him back against the bar, and Carina was turned completely around again before anyone else had even moved. "Otherwise, who would I be?"