A/N: I own my mistakes, but I do not own Chuck.
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Harris was certainly pleased with himself. He had gotten rid of those annoying American agents. (Right, like that woman, Walker, could ever go undercover. Typical CIA Hollywood stupidity. The only place she would ever blend in was the swimsuit competition of a beauty contest and even then she would stand out. What in the world were these Yanks thinking? Hadn't they ever heard of the "grey men of the service"?) Now he had a free hand to deal with La Ciudad however he saw fit, at least until the auction was over and the Americans returned with their knickers in a twist. And he'd cowed that idiot boy scout Renny into submission. He wouldn't have any trouble with the man for the balance of the mission.
But mostly he was pleased that he was poised to get his hands on La Ciudad. After years of frustration with this bastard and months of chasing him across the world, he was really about to do it. While it was a feather in his cap professionally, he would also derive deep personal satisfaction. He knew the man had gotten under his skin in a big way. He was really going to enjoy this.
He and Renny surveyed the room full of black ties and ball gowns and looked for anything out of the ordinary. Overweight, spoiled Yanks and their spoiled wives. Nothing of interest. Eventually, Renny nudged him.
"Isn't that Yuri the Gobbler?" he asked.
"It bloody well is," said Harris. "Wonder what he's doing here. He's Volkoff's pit bull."
"Well, we're not going to find Volkoff here. Yuri must be freelancing," said Renny.
"No way. He wouldn't freelance on Volkoff. That's suicide. Much more likely that Volkoff lent him out...to La Ciudad," said Harris with excitement rising in his voice.
"Why would Volkoff lend him to a competitor?" asked Renny.
"I don't know. Peace offering? Joint venture to collect the plutonium? Spy in the enemy's camp? Who cares? What I do know is it's not a bloody coincidence. Watch him."
"He's talking to a man at the bar."
"I see. They seem friendly. La Ciudad maybe?" asked Harris. "Here comes a woman, and a second bodyguard. Exactly the sort of entourage you would expect from La Ciudad. Woman and two goons." They continued to watch the little party as they moved away from the bar to look at the art. The woman on the man's arm and the bodyguards shadowing them both.
"They are stopping in front of Water Lilies," said Renny.
"That's our man, Renny. That's La Ciudad." The music started and La Ciudad and his woman moved to the dance floor. "My God, Renny. What a pair of brass balls on that bloke. Fancy dress bash like this and he's having his woman teach him the tango. In front of all these people. Now that's self-confidence, Renny. Totally unconcerned with what the hoi polloi think. Arrogant bastard. Just look at that."
"When are we going to take him, Harris?" There was an eagerness to Renny's voice. As much as he may have disagreed with Harris on this mission, he too was caught up in the thrill of the hunt.
"Soon, lad," said Harris. "We look for an opportunity when he is away from the others. If nothing presents itself, we kill the Gobbler and his partner and take La Ciudad."
"And the woman?" asked Renny.
"Who cares? If she gets in the way we kill her, if not she can go home and begin the search for her next sugar daddy."
"Brilliant," said Renny brimming with excitement.
"We got him, Renny. We finally got him." Harris was exultant.
They stalked La Ciudad until the dance finished. As La Ciudad excused himself from his companions, Renny positioned himself outside the room to follow. To his astonishment, their target approached him directly and asked for directions to the loo. Renny led him to a quiet corridor where Harris was lying in wait with a taser. The rest was easy.
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Casey and Sarah looked at the vacant lot at the address in Long Beach that Harris had given them.
"Son of a bitch," she said.
"Limey bastard," said Casey. "I'm going to strangle the little shit."
"Not if I get to him first, because I'm going to rip his head clean off his scrawny body."
"Let's get back there."
"Yeah," she said. "I'll call Chuck and see if anything is happening."
A moment later she said into her phone, "Chuck, it's me. Call me when you get this. Harris faked us out. What's going on there?"
Meanwhile, Casey had turned the car around and put the gas pedal to the floor.
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The hood was pulled off Chuck's head and he blinked in the sudden light. He was bound to a chair with plastic ties at wrists and ankles. It seemed to be a hotel suite in the Wiltshire Strand Hotel, upstairs, but he couldn't tell what floor. He was facing two men. His tuxedo jacket and tie had been removed leaving him in the shirt and suspenders. Both men had also removed their jackets and ties, although the younger of the two, probably Renny, had also rolled up his sleeves.
With a nod from Harris, Renny punched Chuck in the face, splitting his lip.
"WHAT THE HELL, GUYS? AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO ASK A QUESTION FIRST? JESUS CHRIST!" Chuck yelled. His face and lip hurt and he was deeply shocked. Which, some part of him realized, was exactly the point.
"Wanted to get your attention," said the older one, with an English accent, probably Harris.
"Ever think to try saying, 'Excuse me'? It's always worked in the past," said Chuck.
"You're a funny man, La Ciudad," said Harris.
"Oh, this is good. You see, you picked up the wrong guy. I'm Charles Bartowski...people call me Chuck... I'm not Mr. Ciudad...Polish, not Spanish... Wrong guy. So, you guys can let me go and go look for your Spanish friend. If I see him, I'll be sure to send him your way."
Renny hit him again. "GODAMMIT. STOP THAT." He looked at the blood dripping onto his tuxedo shirt. "Does blood come out of cotton? Because this is a new shirt and I don't want to have to replace it."
"Talk to us. You know what happens if you don't," said Harris.
"If I don't? This guy will keep punching me, I guess. Are you the brains? And he's a thug? Hey, did you know where the word thug comes from? India. The British Raj. The thugees were a death cult worshipping Kali the goddess of death. See, as British guys I thought you'd appreciate that." Renny pulled back his hand to punch once again. Chuck said, "STOP, ok...ok...listen. I think we got off on the wrong foot here. I am not Ciudad. Your Spanish friend. I am Bartowski. I don't know you and you don't know me. You obviously have me confused with someone else. Common mistake. People are always saying I look like somebody else. Happens to me all the time. Bet it happens to you too. You have a common face. You both do. But, see? In this case, you have made a mistake."
Chuck knew Sarah and Casey were gone for a while at least. Harris had sent them on a wild goose chase. But once they realized that, they would come back with a vengeance. He hoped he could stall these guys long enough.
He felt a strange metallic taste in his mouth and realized it was his own blood. He looked around the room. "Guys, could you move that garbage can over here, please?"
"Why?" asked Renny.
"Because I want to spit the blood out of my mouth and I don't want to spit on the hotel's carpet."
Renny looked to Harris in confusion. This was a new one on him. Hundreds of interrogations, and no one had ever made such a request. Harris shrugged, so Renny moved the can over. Chuck spit into it.
"Thanks," he said.
"So, let's get down to business, shall we?" asked Harris.
"By all means," said Chuck. He knew he could stop this simply, just by telling them he worked with Sarah and Casey, but that would put the team in a bind trying to explain who he was and why he was previously undisclosed to the MI-6 guys. He was counting on the fact that British Secret Service agents were the good guys and they would beat him up, but not maim or kill him. He didn't particularly want to take a beating, but it was preferable to disclosing the Intersect secrets.
"What is your name?"
"Charles Irving Bartowski...people call me Chuck."
"Where are you from, Chuck?"
"I'm from right here in Los Angeles. I've lived in a few areas in town, but right now I live in Burbank."
"And what do you do, Chuck?"
"I play video games. Read a lot. Watch movies with my friends when I can. Oh, and I listen to a lot of music. Do you guys listen to music?"
Harris sighed in mock exasperation and motioned to Renny, who drew back a hand to punch Chuck again, "WAIT. Do you mean what do I do for a living? Ok, I fix computers. I work at the Buy More in Burbank. At the Nerd Herd desk...I'm the supervisor there. I fix computers...I make $11 an hour. I don't know what that translates to in Euros...oh, wait, you're English you don't use Euros...Pounds...I don't know how much it is in Pounds, but it's not a lot of American money, so I'm a little strapped for cash... that's why I'm worried about this shirt, you see. It's new...oh, I told you that already."
"If you are so strapped for cash, Chuck," Harris said his name like it was a foreign object that had lodged in his throat. "How are you here? How did you obtain an invitation to this auction?"
"I didn't."
They looked at him with disbelief. "I didn't, guys. I snuck in. I waited until enough time had passed, went to the sign in desk and read the names upside down. One of the attendees had not checked in yet, so I said I was him. They don't check ID's or anything at the desk, so they waved me through. It's easy. I've done it a dozen times at other big parties. It's easiest to do at weddings, so long as you leave after the cocktail hour."
"You don't carry any ID on you. Only cash, house keys and your phone."
"Of course not. If I'm sneaking in someplace under a fake name, I'd be really, really stupid to carry something that said Bartowski, now wouldn't I? I may not be a superspy," Harris and Renny looked at each other, "but give me a little credit for crissakes. That would just be dumb."
"Are you an art lover, Chuck?"
"Oh, hell no."
"Then why sneak into an art auction?" asked Harris.
"To get laid," said Chuck.
"What?" asked Harris. He and Renny looked at each other.
"To get laid. Come on guys. You know what that is right? What do they call it where you come from? Shag? Boink? You know, fornicate? Make the two backed beast? Visit the happy valley? Hit a home..."
"Alright, alright. We get it, Chuck. Could you explain how you think an art auction is … conducive to that?" asked Harris.
Chuck spit more blood into the garbage can and said, "Women love the tux..but I don't have to tell you guys that, right?... and a nice party...and you act all sophisticated and stuff .. look, I'm not saying it works every time...but maybe one out of three...one out of four...even if it doesn't work and I don't score, there's an open bar and enough free hors d'ouerves to make dinner."
Renny and Harris looked at each other again. Harris said, "Stay here, Chuck." and smiled at his own little joke.
"Yup," said Chuck. "Right here. I'm having so much fun talking with you both. I really don't want to leave. Right here. Hey, can I get a beer?"
They went into the ante-chamber by the door to the suite and had a whispered conversation. Chuck heard the murmur of words but couldn't make out what was being said.
They came back into the room and Renny punched Chuck in the face again. "GODDAMMIT. And I was just starting to like you guys," said Chuck. He felt his right eye start to swell shut. He made a decision that, provided he survived this, he would never take up the sport of boxing.
Harris spoke with fierce anger, "Enough bullshit, Ciudad. We don't have time for this. Tell us about Yuri the Gobbler."
"Yuri? The Gobbler? What, is he a turkey?" Renny drew back. "NO, NO, NO. Don't hit me again. I met Yuri at the bar. We were talking about a band we both like. Seems like a nice guy. What?"
"So, you mean to tell us that he's not your bodyguard?"
"Bodyguard? Me. Have you seen this body? Who would guard it? No, he was with Malena. I was hitting on her. In a nice way, of course. I'm not a jerk...She's a really classy girl...woman..classy woman. See, they don't like it if you call them girls...it's demeaning. And pretty, huh? She's really pretty. And she has a sexy accent and dresses really nice. Did you guys see? I thought I was doing pretty well with her until you assholes...sorry, that just slipped out...gentlemen, crashed the party looking for your Spanish friend."
Harris got right into Chucks face and hissed in fury, "This is bullshit. You are La Ciudad."
"Listen, guys. I want to help you. I really do. If this Ciudad guy looks like me, maybe he's still downstairs and you can find him." Chuck was careful not to reveal that he knew that they didn't know what Ciudad looked like. Or that he was a she. Or that she was Malena. Or that Sarah was going to beat the living shit out of them for punching him in the face repeatedly. Casey would probably join in too, just on general principles or maybe just for fun.
"You are La Ciudad. You brought your woman and two bodyguards with you to this auction. Tell us what you were going to bid on."
"Ummm. I don't know what you want me to be bidding on. There are something like twenty pieces downstairs. If I start guessing and guess wrong do you have him punch me for every wrong answer? Cause that's probably ten punches or so. I mean, you know, the laws of probability and all that. I mean, I could guess right the first time and save myself a punch in the face, or I could be unlucky and get punched nineteen times before I guess right. Overall, this isn't a game that I stand a good chance of even breaking even. Can we do this differently? Can you tell me what you want me to bid on and I'll bid on it? I don't have any money, but I don't really care right now. I've never actually bid on something before. Hey, if I bid, do they charge Carmichael, the guy I'm pretending to be? Cause if that's the case, I'll bid on everything. Right? Who cares then?"
Renny punched him in the face again, but this time Chuck saw it coming and moved his head at the last instant, so the punch slid off his cheek. But he still yelled, "ASSHOLE. Shit...I meant me. I'm the asshole, not you. See I'm an asshole for coming to this auction. It's sort of like theft. So, this is like payback for me stealing. It's like a karma thing."
With calm calculation, Harris took his Browning out of its shoulder holster and began to screw on the silencer. Chuck, observing that with wide eyes, said, "No, no, no...guys, you don't want to kill me. Let's think about this for a minute. Ok? Let's just stop and think. Ok, there are two choices. Either I'm Ciudad or I'm not. Right? Those are the only two choices. Ok...so if I'm Ciudad, and you kill me, this is over and you can't ask me your questions...whatever questions you have...or...maybe I'm not Ciudad, right? If I'm Bartowski and you shot me, you really haven't accomplished anything cause you killed the wrong guy. So, either way, killing me is a mistake. See? So, put that gun away."
"You don't understand, Ciudad," said Harris, bending down to talk to Chuck with his face right in Chuck's face. "I learned my business fighting the IRA. They had a nice little punishment. They would take an electric drill and destroy your knee cap. It was lovely. All over Belfast you'd see lads limping for the rest of their lives. The knee was never the same after that. So, you see, La Ciudad, I'm not going to kill you," he put the end of the silencer against Chuck's right knee, "I'm just going to shoot you here. Renny, count for me."
Renny said, "Three...Two..."
Chuck screamed, "WATER LILIES."
"Ah," Harris said. "Yes, kneecapping focuses the mind very well. Yes, Chuck. Tell me about Water Lilies." He removed the gun from Chuck's knee.
"Look, I know what you did. I know about the switch. But I swear I didn't tell anyone. I didn't. I know how it is...you had your reasons. And I won't tell anyone. I know a lot of criminals...It's no big deal...Look how hard it was to get me to talk to you...and I would have just been telling you about the switch that you did...and I still didn't say anything...right?"
"Tell me about the switch, Chuck," said Harris.
"You switched paintings. This one is a fake.. a forgery...not the original painting. You are pulling a scam...which is fine...I have nothing against..."
Harris interrupted, "Wait...what? Why are you saying that?"
"The picture in the paper. The picture that illustrated the article about this auction, was a picture of the Water Lilies painting, but it had a different frame. The painting had a different frame. You switched them. But listen, it's ok...I won't tell anyone."
Harris and Renny looked at each other in confusion. This was not going the way they planned. While they stood there indecisive, the door buzzer rang.
Renny moved to the door and out of Chuck's sight. He heard the sound of the door opening and a man's voice and a woman's voice from the hallway. Yes, thought Chuck, with a mental fist pump. It wasn't a kind thought, but he sort of hoped that Sarah and Casey would let him watch while they beat up Harris and Renny.
There was a noise like a metallic mechanical bang and Renny stumbled back into the room with a hole in the center of his chest. The Yuri clone followed him in with a silenced pistol held out in front of him at arms-length. Harris, his gun already in his hand, raised it and fired. The noise was the same sort of mechanical bang. A small part of Chuck's brain registered the fact that a silenced pistol does not sound like the pppfffftttt from TV. The Yuri clone fell dead with a bullet in his head. Yuri himself followed into the room immediately behind his partner and shot Harris right between the eyes. Malena entered last, her pistol in her hand, but unfired.
"Hi, Chuck," she said with a pretty smile.
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