Thanks to zenfrodo, max2013, Xenitha, hlahabibty, Caranath, Liz, Guest (sorry, limited Frank whump in this one; I'm trying not to damage the boys too much.) Apologies for the wait; writer's block hit hard...
Frank got to the comic book store at seven. Sleep had not come easily after Bob's text, but even only having dozed off and on, he felt alert and wide awake. Bob hadn't said what time to show up at the store, so he finally gave up on getting any real rest, got up, and dressed.
As Quest Star wasn't set to open for several more hours, he let himself in with the key he had gotten from Chuck the night before. Once inside, he relocked the door and headed toward the office to leave it on the desk, shivering slightly in the store's cool temperature and realizing the heat probably wouldn't kick in until just before opening.
Should have worn a sweater, he thought, taking a gulp of his coffee. But it's probably not in character. I can't see Zack in a cardigan... The thought broke off as he heard the back door creaking open.
"Eager beaver, aren't you?" Bob's voice boomed out in the empty store, echoing off the back walls. "I thought you youngsters didn't rise before noon? I wasn't expecting you for at least another couple of hours."
Frank shrugged. "Sister was driving me apeshit. Figured it was safer to get out of the house than see what happened if I stayed."
Bob choked out a laugh. "Older or younger?"
"Younger."
The man nodded. "I got one of them, too. Drove me crazy when we were kids. We get on all right now. Things change when you get older." He smiled when Frank snorted in disbelief, then pushed the door open and beckoned him inside. "Come on. Let me show you what we're going to be doing."
The table in the back held a handful of brown paper-wrapped parcels. Bob took a penknife, slit the string around the first package, glanced at it, then picked up the top item and placed it in Frank's open hand.
"What's this?" The side facing him looked and felt like thin cardboard. The side touching his palm felt vaguely plastic-like. When he turned it over, his eyes widened.
"You recognize it." The older man's voice held a note of amusement.
"Yeah." Frank swallowed. The other side of the cardboard was coated with a textured dark blue covering. A dark blue the exact same color as the passport in his desk drawer back home in Bayport.
"And?" The amused tone now held a hint of challenge.
Frank looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. "And…" He let out a deep breath, trying to control the tremor in his hand. "And I think if you want these to come out looking like they're the real thing, you're going to have to be paying me more than twenty an hour."
Bob regarded him in silence for a long moment, his tongue running over his front teeth behind closed lips. A second later booming laugh broke out from his mouth. "I knew I liked you, kid." He slapped one hand on the table in front of him, indicating Frank should sit down. "Come on. Let's negotiate."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
In the end, Frank managed to get him up to thirty-five dollars an hour. He knew he could have haggled for more, but he needed Bob to keep believing he was what he purported to be – a punk kid who was good with computers; nothing more, nothing less – so he could find out why the man had branched out from fake licenses to something that was potentially far more dangerous.
"So, now that we've got that all settled," Bob said, standing up from the table and reaching for one of the other parcels, "let's get started."
"Now?" Frank widened his eyes just enough to look surprised. "Okay. I was gonna go get some breakfast." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "Or lunch, at this point, but I guess… Your client needs 'em that fast? Who else is working on this? Randy? Or just me?"
The man stopped part-way through unwrapping the package in his hand. His expression stilled, and his eyes narrowed. "You ask a lot of questions, Zack. I'm hiring you to make these IDs, and that's all you need to know. You got a problem with that?"
Frank put his hands up in front of him. "No problem at all, boss. If it's just me that's fine. It's actually better. I work better without someone else stickin' their face in where it don't belong. And I don't like the guy." He shrugged his shoulders. "I just need to know how good you want them to be." He let out a breath. "Client needs 'em tomorrow, they're gonna look like crap. He needs 'em next week..." He shrugged his shoulders and let the rest of the sentence hang.
Bob nodded. "You got two weeks. I want them indistinguishable from the real thing. Understand?"
Frank grinned. "For what you're paying me? They'll be perfect." He paused for a moment. "Is asking why they need 'em a question I'm not supposed to ask?"
The man's face hardened. "We don't ask questions. We just provide the merchandise. Not following that basic rule can lead to… problems."
Frank raised his hands in front of his chest. "Message received. Loud and clear. Make good product. Don't ask questions. Got it." He took a box cutter from his back pocket, grabbed the package closest to him, and sliced open the wrapper. "Well, you want me to get started now, I'll get started now."
Bob eyed him curiously. "You always carry one of those around with you?"
"Be prepared," Frank said, nodding his head. "It's the Boy Scout motto." He stopped, his eyes going distant for a moment. "Someone did a song about that. My old man used to sing it when I was a kid."
The smile reappeared on Bob's face, crinkling around his eyes. "Tom Lehrer. The man's a genius. I'll bring in some of his stuff so we can listen to it while we work. You'll appreciate the math song. It's brilliant. You don't mind music while you work?"
Frank shook his head and reached out to one of the remaining parcels on the table, his heart pounding in his chest. Well, dinner tonight's going to be interesting...
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
It was late afternoon when Frank got back to the apartment. It was empty, the lights off and no sound emanating from either of the bedrooms. Exhausted, he slid onto the sofa, tilting his head back and holding one hand over his eyes in an effort to slow down the thoughts racing through his mind. It didn't work. The conversation with Bob and the work he had started kept looping through his head. He sighed and leaned forward, elbows on his knees and eyes distant, his fingers tapping patterns on the coffee table in front of him.
Without realizing what he was doing, he stood and started pacing through the apartment, stopping at the sink to empty the dish drain and pausing in the living room to straighten the papers on the end table before grabbing a cloth from the hall closet and starting to dust everything within reach. From there he moved to cleaning, his hands methodically washing surfaces as his mind broke down the information he had learned over the course of the day and categorizing it.
By the time Vickers and Kara returned, he had run out of things to clean and had moved on to vacuuming. He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed they had walked in until he heard Vickers shouting at him.
"Jesus Christ, Zack. What the hell is going on here?" The older agent stood in the doorway, his arms full of grocery bags with Kara slightly behind him, her mouth open.
She wriggled around Vickers and moved to the sofa, her eyes wide as she took in the state of the apartment. "I'm pretty sure this place has never been this clean. Ever." She swallowed and turned to Frank. "Are you feeling all right?"
Vickers took one look at Frank's face, shoved the door closed with his foot and thrust a bag in Frank's direction. "Take this," he said, then he moved to the counter and turned the radio on to a classic rock station. Finally, he settled the other bag on the counter with a thump. "Get the milk in the fridge, and start talking. What happened?"
Frank took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion now that he had stopped moving. Slowly he started unloading the paper bag, filling the two agents in on what had happened as he mechanically placed things in the refrigerator and cabinets. There was silence when he finished.
"He's moved on to something bigger," Kara's voice was barely above a whisper. "This isn't his MO at all. Licenses, state IDs, that sort of thing. Stay somewhere a few weeks, then move on. What's he playing at?"
Vickers's jaw was set. He looked at Frank, his eyes worried. "How deep are you in, son?"
"Not deep enough." Frank sighed. "There's definitely something else going on, but I'm not sure what it is."
Kara looked at him, her gaze sharp. "Is Randy in on it? I'm meeting him tonight. I can try to get some information out of him."
"What? No." Frank swayed slightly, caught himself, then rubbed his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut. "That's tonight? Do you want me to go as backup?"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "What self-respecting teenaged rebel lets her older brother tag along on a date?" When all he did was blink at her, she let out a breath. "No. For starters, I actually want to try and get information out of him, and secondly, you look like you're going to fall asleep standing up. Why don't you go crash in my room? When I get back, I'll fill you in on what I find."
He looked at Vickers. "Sir?"
The man nodded. "You go rest. We'll reconvene when Agent Malone returns."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
Kara sat sprawled at one of the few booths in the coffee shop waiting for Randy, her back against the back wall of the building, her feet balanced carefully on the oversized sling backpack holding the beer she had appropriated for the meeting. The coffee shop was quieter than she had ever seen it. Must get less traffic in the evenings, she thought as she dragged her hand across her forehead in an attempt to dislodge a strand of hair from her eyelashes. The tips of her hair slid through her fingers. I need to re-dye them. They're starting to fade.
Movement from the store's entrance caught her eye, and, continuing to look like she was engrossed by her hair, she watched Randy scanning the room for her. Even with her eyes down, she knew the moment he spotted her; his shoulders went back, the expression on his face grew haughty, and his stride lengthened.
Insecure, she thought. The macho lady killer stuff is just an act. Or mostly... She frowned, wondering who he was trying to impress. The other guys in shop? Matt? Bob? More like everyone... Her eyebrows drew together. That had to be it.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Randy's voice had a smooth note to it, like he was trying to imitate a newscaster.
She smiled up at him and leaned forward, giving him a decent, but not extensive, look at her cleavage. "Just wondering if you were gonna show. Some guys tend to be all talk, no action. Ya know? Wasn't sure which group you fell into."
He grinned at her and pushed his hair off his forehead. "I guess that depends on whether this meeting is business or pleasure."
"It can't be both?" Kara tilted her head to one side and looked up at him through her lashes. "No reason why it can't start off as one and end as the other."
"You really are my kind of girl," he said. "Shall we find somewhere more private?"
Kara took her legs off backpack, making the bottles to clink together as she did so. Her lips quirked into a smile when she saw him try to stifle a sudden surprised expression. "I brought something to liven up the party. Didn't think you'd mind." She undulated off of the bench, then made a show of bending over to hoist the backpack to her shoulder. "After you."
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
After a few beers downed in quick succession, Randy's words started coming faster, and Kara was fairly sure he was no longer able to be as careful about what he was saying. Surprisingly, he hadn't tried anything with her past throwing an arm around her shoulders when they sat down on the sofa in his apartment. Yet, she thought. Just because he hasn't doesn't mean he won't.
"So," she said, speaking carefully to give the impression she was getting tipsy, "is it time for business yet?"
He tried to raise and eyebrow at her and instead leaned his chin forward into the palm of his hand. "Boy, you are direct." His words had a somewhat studied precision. "And here I thought we were just here to have fun."
"Fun has being… has been had, but I'm going to need to get home soon." She put on a pout. "You think my brother's bad? You haven't met my father." She leaned into him. "I get home too late, he won't let me out again. And you seem like someone I'd like to get to know better. And maybe go places with." She made sure to emphasize the last five words.
Randy's cheeks flushed, and he sat up straighter, removing his arm from her shoulder. "Well, then. Business time it is. Tell me exactly what you're looking for."
"Why don't you tell me what you offer?"
He looked at her. "Depends on what you want to do."
What I want is for him to come right out and give me a price for an ID. Without this being entrapment, shethought. "I want to go back to Boston, but that ain't happening any time soon." She let out a breath. "So, since I'm stuck here for the time being… I want to have fun. Go out dancing. Drinking. Be with people." She pushed her face closer to his. "And to do that I need something that gets me into those places. Is that, or is it not, something you can help me with? If not, I'll take my beer and be on my way."
He blinked at her a few times, trying to focus his eyes. Their noses were almost touching, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. Turning his head to the side, he slumped back against the sofa cushion. "It'll be three hundred dollars." The words were a whisper.
Kara also leaned back, then took another sip of her beer. "I didn't quite get that. How much?"
"Three hundred. He usually charges three-fifty." Randy swallowed. "But I'll do you a favor since you brought the beer."
"Really?" Kara forced her voice up into an excited squeak. "That'd be so awesome!" She threw her arms around Randy and gave him a squeezing hug. "Oh, I can't wait! You totally rock!"
He gave her a strained smile. "What did you say your curfew was again?"
"I didn't," she said, "but I'm sure I still have..." He held out his phone and showed her the time. "Shit! I have to go." She put her beer down, pulled a small bottle of mouthwash from the backpack, and swished it in her mouth before swallowing it with a grimace. Then she pulled the backpack to her shoulder and started walking, stopping when she reached the door. "Oh, when do you need the money?"
"Quicker is better." His face had a red cast to it. "And I'll need to get a picture of you."
"I can get it for you tomorrow. Will that work?"
He nodded. "I can meet you in the coffee shop in the afternoon."
"Great! See you then!"
o-o-o-o-o-o-o
"How did it go?"
The voice was so quiet, Kara wasn't sure Frank had actually spoken. "Why are you still awake? And where's Agent Vickers?"
There was a yawn and the noise of blankets shifting. "Burst pipes on the third floor. He's not sure when he'll be back." Another yawn. "And I'm not still up. I slept in your room for a bit then took a shower and came out here. Figured you'd want your bed back."
She giggled, for a moment feeling more like Carrie than Kara. "Good call on that one." She lowed the backpack to the floor. "Surprisingly well," she said, rubbing her shoulder. "I got him to quote me a price without asking him directly what it was for." She could see Frank nod in the shadows.
"Good call." He let out a breath, and she could tell there was something else on his mind.
"Anything else you want to know?"
There was another breath, then, "Did he try anything?"
For a moment, Kara felt a flash of anger. And there's the protectiveness again. I can handle myself. Then she calmed down. Given what Frank had told her about Randy's behavior at the bonfire, it was a valid question.
"Kara?"
"No, he didn't. He was pretty much the frat boy version of a perfect gentleman."
"Meaning?" The word drawled out into another yawn.
"Meaning he looked with appreciation but didn't touch." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Kind of shocked the hell out of me. I gave him opportunities, but..." She let the sentence hang.
"Good," Frank murmured. She could hear him reclining back onto his pillow. "Now I don't have to pretend to try to kill him tomorrow..." The words faded off as Frank's breathing deepened.
Quietly, Kara tiptoed around the couch to the hallway and her room. Once there she looked back toward the living room and rolled her eyes. "Big brothers," she said, shaking her head.