CHAPTER 73

GARCIA, CAN I SEE YOUR TUSH?

"Garcia, can I see your tush?" Reid started off Thursday with a bang.

He was way too headstrong to come out and ask people exactly what a 'tush' was. That would mean admitting the lack of knowledge about something and that, in turn, would be humiliating.

And he was too stubborn to let it go. That word had been bothering him since he had heard it. There was something about the way everyone had laughed about it, that bothered him. Reid usually didn't care when he was left out of funny jokes, because what most people considered funny, he considered low-class, boring or uneducated. And he was, for the most part, right about that.

But that tush comment was getting on his nerves. So, his best option was to play it off as if he wanted to see Garcia's. JJ had told him everyone had one and that he, himself, had a great one. One…what, though?

Rossi spit his coffee back into his mug, at the sound of Reid's innocent request.

The team had only been in the office for half an hour now, fresh and re-energized after the case and the flight back home the day before. Everyone was chill, minding their own business and being quiet.

And then there was Reid, now walking two steps behind Garcia, unknowingly following her tush to her work space.

"Shoo-shoo!" She made a hand gesture, shooing him away from her, not knowing that he was not even trying to make a joke.

"But, come on. Please!" He pleaded.

"I don't think you're ready to handle all that, Boy Genius. Shoo!"

"Please?" He repeated, only to have her smash the door in his face. Garcia had successfully retreated to her colorful dungeon, one she had no intention of leaving until the end of the work shift.


Clara, Angie and Kevin parked the car that the police station had kindly provided them with, in front of a building complex, in the outskirts of Havana.

"That's where the first three of our victims lived. The other two were from out of town." Clara pointed out, as if Angie hadn't already memorized the little info she had access to, on their way there.

Clara's papers were full of information, while Angie and Kevin's barely had any words on them. Everything was classified and 'beyond their clearance level', as SSA Garrett had kept on reminding them. And, while that sucked, it was still awesome to be out there, on the field, pretending to be one of them.

"Kevin – Diaz. Angie – Blanco. I take Delgado." Clara said calmly.

"Ok, what do we do to them?" The words escaped Angie's lips before she could register how weird that sounded.

"You braid their hair and ask if they're okay." Clara rolled her eyes, now stepping towards the first doors of the two-floor building that seemed like any standard, cheap American motel.

Kevin looked at Angie, still not getting it.

"You interview them!" Clara almost yelled out at them, their inability to catch on was frustrating to her.

"You know we're just a bunch of Trainees who, literally, got started like days ago?" Kevin argued, suddenly feeling panicked.

"Yup." Clara said, this time much more softly. "And this lil' one over here uncovered a fake crime scene and found out the dead girl that we planted in your minds, to be alive. In two weeks. So…"

Angie allowed a proud smile to creep on her face. It was hardly a work done fast, but at least it was something that everyone knew her for.

"Is there going to be a problem?" Clara shot a glance, only to Kevin.

"N-no, Miss Seger." Kevin stuttered.

"Then go find yourself the door of the Diaz family." Clara tried so hard to be harsh and give discipline, but she was failing at it. She seemed like the cool old sister who was mentoring them through life, or rather – through the FBI process.

"I also chose the two of you because you are fluent in Spanish and you can communicate freely here." Clara specified.

"I never said I was." Angie argued.

Nowhere in her papers did Spanish appear. Unlike Kevin's official papers, which listed him as fluent in Spanish and sign language. He had grown up with Latina babysitters and a step-sister who with impaired hearing.

Clara ignored her and decided to address something else instead.

"And, it's Agent Seger!" Both Angie and Clara said in unison, making Kevin feel double the idiot as he walked off, reading the signs on each door.

An hour later, Clara sent them both a text, asking them to join her in the car outside.

Kevin came over first, while Angie took another five minutes to roll up.

They compared stories and tried to find out something that linked the three victims. There didn't seem to be much, other than the fact that they were all poor and they lived in the same building complex. They all had different names, different hair, different body-build.

"Wait, didn't you mention the Delgado father speaking about a bembelequera?" Angie asked Clara.

"What's that?" Kevin questioned. His babysitters had been primarily from Chile and Peru, so he only knew slang from those parts of Latin America.

"In Cuban dialect, that's a person who gossips or spreads non-official news. Bemba on its own is slang for 'lips'." Angie shot out, like a human dictionary.

"The Diaz mother got cut off by her husband when she mentioned the word 'jamonero', but I don't know what that means, either. I suppose it is nothing like 'jamon', is it?" Kevin contributed.

"Oh, I love jamon!" Angie licked her lips. Ham was one of the yummiest things to her. "Twice smoked ham with brown sugar honey glaze. Oh God, yas, talk to me, baby!"

"Can you be any more random?" Kevin rolled his eyes. He was still new to all the weird things that surrounded Angie's persona.

"Kids, don't make mama hungry now!" Clara chuckled, but something hit Angie in the heart, like a sword.

Instantly, her eyes gave Clara an icy look and her lips pursed, showing disapproval in her choice of words.

Clara felt that right away and she sunk into the driver's seat, hoping that Kevin would be dumb enough to change the topic.

Which, he was.

"The Diaz guy almost shoved his wife into a corner when she dared utter that word." Kevin spoke at the right time.

"Jamonero is a creepy, touchy-feely guy. Cuban slang, again." Angie said, trying not to sound pissed, for whatever reason.

"So, we have a girl who spills secrets and likes to gossip…and a mysterious creepy man whom people are not allowed to talk about." Clara summed it up nicely.

"The Blanco victim's mother mentioned a 'yumo'. And before you ask - this is a word used to describe a foreigner and especially a white or blonde one. It would usually not be used for foreigners from elsewhere in Latin America. Unlike 'gringo', which refers only to a person from the United States, a 'yumo' can be from anywhere in the world, but Latin America." Angie spoke, keeping her eyes at Kevin and refusing to even grace Clara with a look.

"That's good enough, for now. We have enough information to give to Monty. We should be careful about those words when we interview the other two victims' families, which is where we are heading off to now." Clara said while driving in direction, opposite to the center of Havana.

Half an hour later they arrived at another, similar building complex. It was a bit more broken down and dirty.

Clara strategically let Kevin go talk to one of the families, while she kept an eye on Angie, dragging her with herself to the doorsteps of the home of the second family.

"What's your strategy, going in?" Clara asked, sounding much like the teacher she was in the Auditorium, just days ago.

"Talk." Angie shrugged.

Clara was not having any of it. She hated asking a question and not getting a reply. She considered that rude.

"Be polite and show sympathy, not empathy. Be relatable. Be firm with what you give out as information and be kind when seeking such. Open questions only. No leading questions. No option-posing questions. Keep an eye out for the Unsub being part of the family...you never know. And last, but not least – smile." Angie shrugged, giving up only half of her real strategy.

"Good. Very good. Keep up with the open questions strategy and keep in mind we do not want to confuse them, nor to inflict any more pain to them, even if we think they might be hiding something." Clara said.

"Do we…" Angie shot her a glance before she could knock on the door. "…think that they are hiding something?" She added, making her question a bit more clear.

Clara nodded hesitantly.

They walked in and only spoke to the victim's father. The mother busied herself in the kitchen, which Clara found to be a very odd thing. If they were two foreigners, speaking in English, she could understand why this was intimidating to the woman. But, given how they both spoke perfect Spanish, even though Angie denied being able to, there was simply no reason why the woman would not be interested in hearing what they had to say.

Ten minutes into the interview, Clara was getting frustrated. The man was giving them no useful information and anything he said served to further confirm her suspicion that the families of the victims were hiding something.

Angie caught on that, too, so she came up with her own plan of action.

"Hola, yumo!" She greeted cheerfully, picking up the phone which had not even ringed. Kevin had sent her a text message, which made the screen light up and she jumped at the chance to play out a little scene.

With her right hand raised up, as a sign to excuse herself from the living room, she walked to the door and leaned against it comfortably, giving out the impression that she was talking to someone she was well familiar with.

As soon as she heard that word, the mother dropped a pan, full of food, which soon covered the kitchen floor and would surely stain her already dirty shoes.

The father shifted in his seat, his face now matching the off-white curtains on the window near him. He gulped and suddenly stood up, kicking Clara out and urging Angie to take one more step from where she was standing, so she would now be on the other side of that door. Outside.

He slammed the door in their face and Clara started walking towards the car triumphantly.

They did not exchange any words while waiting for Kevin to join them, some ten minutes later.

A lot was on Clara's mind as she drove in silence, back to the police station in Havana. First of all – she had to disregard all the useless information the parents had given her, and she now had to only take into consideration all the things they had communicated to her, non-verbally. Second – she wanted a Mojito. Third – she wouldn't mind sipping said drink with a hot Cuban macho.

First thing she did when they joined Garrett and Mae was to briefly tell them about her suspicion.

"That is…" Mae said in disbelief, when Clara stopped speaking. She could not even think of a word to describe what it was.

"It could just be someone who hates America…" Garrett spoke up, regarding the UnSub.

"No." Clara was convinced. "If he hated America, he would not be enveloping each victim with the flag. That's a sign of patriotism, not hatred."

"What about the fact that the girls were alive when wrapped in the flag, which he then proceeded to turn into emmental cheese with his knife?" Mae suggested, having just come back from the morgue, where she had been able to perform an autopsy on the latest two victims.

"Are you sure about that?" Clara asked.

"Yes. The stab wounds are consistent with the ripping of the material. Plus, I found tissues from the flag, deep inside the victims' bodies, suggesting that they had been stabbed through the cloth, not before being enwrapped in it. This goes for both girls I examined. I can't say about the previous three victims, as it is too late and the bodies are already buried."

"So quickly?" Clara gasped. "All the families are poor. How did they manage to get the funds so fast?"

Angie looked over at Kevin, clearly having something to say. Kevin just shook his head at her, urging her to keep quiet.

"You two? You're not only here to grace us with your beauty. Speak up." Garrett commanded and Clara could not believe how rude he was.

"Don't talk to them like that!" She jumped at the chance to defend her two chosen ones.

"Well, they are barely of any help at all. The way I see it – we're babysitting a bunch of teenagers." Jack rolled his eyes.

"God, give me the strength not to punch him out!" Angie's inner voice screamed at her, while on the outside she tried to seem composed.

"Chill!" Clara mouthed to her, because, clearly, she did not seem as composed as she thought she was.

"Actually…" Clara then directed her words to Jack. "They did really well today and they saved the IRS valuable time for questioning. While I was not able to follow Kevin personally, throughout his interview, he did give back important information. I entered with Angela for her second interview and she was composed, well-behaved and very efficient with her questions and the technique she used. She was also familiar with Cuban slang, hence able to connect to the families and make them think of her as one of their own, which is crucial when we are interviewing foreigners, which, we always do. So, please, shut up and stop putting pressure on them. Look at them!" Clara pointed at Angie who was now biting her nails and Kevin whose gaze was shot down to the edge of the table. "They're scared to even say a word. That's not what we stand for, Jack! When I came in, I was young and inexperienced and you welcomed me and you stood by my side and-…"

Clara was on a roll. She had a short fuse and she had a good enough relationship with her boss to be able to stand up to him like this.

Yet, when she made the reference to the past, and the way he had treated her, she finally understood what his problem with Angela was. Stopping mid-sentence, Clara sighed and sat back in her chair, receiving a smug smile from Jack, who would later on have to fess up to a few things, since he was sure Clara wouldn't let it go so easily.

"Uhm, may I point out that I'm hungry?" Mae said sweetly, shifting the conversation from the mess that it was, back to a topic they surely all enjoyed. Food.

She had already eyed a really nice Cuban restaurant, on her way back to the police station earlier.

Ten minutes later, the team was sitting on a table, near the window. Maybe with some food in their systems, the grown-ups might start acting like such. Although, to Angie and Kevin, Clara's little outburst had been quite entertaining.

Angie took her time in choosing what she would like to order. Surely her food tickets would not be of any value in Cuba, and with the cash she had on her she could only order…

"Papas fritas, por favor." She said to the waiter, giving him a tiny smile and feeling like trash.

Everyone else had ordered at least two things from the menu, which was fancy and most of it sounded really intriguing to her.

"¿Bebida?" The waiter asked and she shook her head. She had no money for a drink to accompany her 'huge' order of a portion of French fries.

"Ella comerá lo mismo que pedí." Clara stated and there was absolutely no chance Angie would be able to argue that decision of hers. Not when Clara was now staring at her with eyes, ready to jump out and explode in Angie's face, if she dared say anything.

When the waiter came back with the food, Angie gasped. She hadn't paid much attention to what everyone else was ordering earlier, so she was pleasantly surprised to find out now that Clara had chosen two of her favorite dishes. And since Clara had told the waiter that Angie would eat the same thing she ordered, this meant that two identical plates then landed in front of Angie. Plus, a fruit juice. If Angie were five years old, she would now be jumping at Clara and kissing the ground she walked on. But it had been a long time since Angie was five, or a child, and she was not going to show any sign of affection, not even to someone who was now forcefully feeding her amazing food, one that Angie could not pay for and prayed that she would not have to pay for at the end of the meal. But, for the time being, she consoled herself with the fact that she could dive in and finish every bit of food on both of her plates.

"Can I get a Coke?" Kevin asked, earning himself a very nasty look by the waiter.

"Ehm, dude, Cuba is, like, one of the two countries in the world where Coca Cola is legally banned." Angie laughed at him, once again making him feel like an idiot.

She liked him. She did. But it was so much fun messing with him.

They spent the next twenty minutes eating in silence, before Garrett spoke up.

"So, we go back to the police station and squeeze another couple of hours of work. Then we head out to our hotel, it's quite close, actually, we can simply just walk there and leave the car at the police parking lot. With my previous experience in Cuba, that would be a wise choice, unless we want to find broken windows in the morning. They don't really like Americans around here. Especially if they are dumb enough to ask for a Coca Cola…" He looked at Kevin in disbelief.

"Any special requests? Anyone wants a single room? Anyone wants to bunk together? Let me know before I confirm the rooms." He then added.

"Well, no one could ever bunk as good as Matt did…" Mae trailed off, missing her old partner in crime. They had the sweetest relationship, ever since they went through the FBI Academy together, years ago. They were a version of Angie and Bryan, or Emily and Morgan. Or Morgan and Garcia, sans the sexual element to their verbal interactions.

"But I guess we shall see?" Mae added, looking at Kevin in a way that she hoped would not be interpreted as anything more than professional-borderline-friendly.

"Yeah, it would be nice to share a room with a girl, for a change." Kevin laughed. He was unfortunate enough to have an idiot for a roommate at the Academy. Nothing Mae could do would ever annoy him, even half as much as that guy back at Quantico.

"Guess that leaves us two sharing then?" Clara looked at Angie.

Mae had suspected Clara would choose Angie, that was why she chose Kevin first, making Clara's choice easier for her. There was something…just something about Clara, when she was around Angie.

Jack was too busy to notice that, as all he saw when he looked at Angela was…someone else.

It was obvious to everyone that the IRS Unit Chief would have a room for himself only, so it all worked out perfectly.

"Why would the families be involved with the death of their daughters?" On their way back to the police station Jack questioned Clara's earlier deduction once again.

"Whoever the UnSub is, we can be fairly sure he is of American descent. He is luring poor families, promising them things and sometimes even making good on those promises-…" Clara started off but Angie cut her off and continued.

"The Diaz patriarch had an expensive watch. 400 dollars, easily. And the mother from the second family – I caught a glimpse of her earrings, and let me tell you this much – it wasn't cubic zirconia." Angie ended off with a smile.

"Hmm…" Jack started being interested and Angie thought it had been the mention of the earrings, so she jumped at the chance to tell them something they did not need to hear.

"Cubic zirconia is the cubic crystalline form of zirconium dioxide, that's ZrO2, to be precise. The synthesized material is hard and usually colorless, but may be made in a variety of different colors. It should not be confused with zircon, which is a zirconium silicate. In fact, cubic zirconia is simply just CZ, while zirconium silicate is ZrSiO4, which shows much more complexity and obviously, the price goes up. Now, zirconium dioxide, sometimes known as zirconia, is a white crystalline oxide of zirconium. Its most naturally occurring form, with a monoclinic crystalline structure, is the mineral baddeleyite." She stated calmly, as if she was reading it out of a book.

Jack's jaw nearly dropped. At first glance, she looked nothing more than a girl who was bored with her life, so she decided to try out for the FBI, on a whim, so she could then tweet about it and get more followers. She looked way too young and way too Barbie-like to even be taken seriously down the halls at Quantico. And that damn stupid bow, to top it all…

Clara just stood there, arms crossed, taking in Jack's confusion and staring back at him with that smug smile she had promised him, her eyes screaming 'I told you so' at him.

"Please, be my best friend!" Mae grabbed Angie's hand and raised it up, as a sign of appreciation. She had never been able to find someone who liked chemistry as much as she did.

"I thought I already was!" Angie chuckled, her slim fingers locking with Mae's.

She was so easy to relate to and so hard to hate. No wonder Mae gravitated towards her from the moment they met. They were both kind of the same, when it came to character.

"I believe the UnSub somehow makes the family trust him and they trade their own daughter, for goods. Which, clearly, sounds horrible. But those people are poor and uneducated about the risks they are taking. Now, about the fast burial, I bet the UnSub helped speed that process up. He probably paid everything, covering up his tracks this way." Clara went back to the actual topic of the conversation.

"Speaking of paying…" Jack waved the waiter down, asking for the bill.

Angie pursed her lips and emptied her wallet on the table. Seven American dollars, that was all she had.

"What are you doing?" Clara asked, for two reasons. One – did she not think of the fact that they were in a country with different currency? Two – did she think 7 dollars were going to cover it all? Actually, three reasons, the third one being – why did she think she was supposed to pay anyway?

Jack swiped the work card and paid for everything. That was when it hit her – it must be amazing to be an FBI Agent and to get all expenses paid when traveling, food included. She wondered if that card could be used at a bar, too.

Angie saw Jack shake his head at her cute attempt to pay for herself. There was also one more thing that caught her curiosity…was that a smile, threatening to appear on his face?

They spent three more hours, talking victimology and case-linkage. Monty, even remotely, was able to dig up some files from the end of the Summer, where two more girls had been found in the outskirts of Havana, but instead of being wrapped in the flag, they were holding it with one hand. Both girls were Cuban citizens, from poor families. That brought the Unsub's victims to seven, if that was even all of it. Having limited access to computers, a lot of the local cases were filed on paper, leaving no digital breadcrumbs for Monty to follow.

Once they stepped into the hotel, hours later, they felt a wave of exhaustion. The heat, the overseas travel, the jet lag – it all hit them the moment they were given their room keys. Without much talking, they separated and would not see each other or talk about work before breakfast, the day after.