A/N1: Maybe we should talk to Pete Acosta about ownership of Chuck. He seems like a pretty competent guy.
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Later that same evening, Acosta and Sofia found themselves overdressed for the venue. He was wearing a business suit and tie, with well-shined shoes. She was in a simple black cocktail dress with a light jacket over her shoulders and a string of pearls around her throat. With the two of them out for the evening, there were two body men following along, Teddy and Mitch. After this errand, Acosta and Sofia intended to have dinner at Spago to celebrate their success in finding the exculpatory evidence for Jim. And, anyway, although he might not readily admit it, dressing sharp was generally expected of the men in his family. They had a certain image to maintain. An image that had proven useful in the past.
The bar was called the Gin Mill. It was noisy and somewhat boisterous on the Saturday night. There was a DJ playing dance music and a few couples bumping into each other on a small dance floor. A few bored bouncers stood around trying to look big. There was no noticeable ripple of attention as Acosta's party entered. People were busy with their own stuff and paid no attention to the newcomers.
Acosta made his way to the bar and found an empty enough spot for him to shoulder past the other patrons. The body men stood back with Sofia while the boss did his thing. Acosta caught the eye of the middle aged, sour looking woman tending bar.
She made it over to him and, by the look on her face, seemed to judge him poorly for the suit and tie. "What can I get ya?" She didn't say it with an air of gracious welcome.
"Good evening, Ma'am," said Acosta with a smile. "I'd like to speak to the manager, please."
"No," she said and began to turn away.
"Ma'am, I'm afraid it's very important. I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist," said Acosta. He didn't raise his voice, but his tone was appreciably less polite than his first request had been.
"Order a drink or get lost," she snarled at him.
"That was just rude. You're making me think that you aren't totally fulfilled with your life choices. Now get me the manager," he said. The last sentence was no longer a polite request.
She glanced over her shoulder and made a gesture with her head. Suddenly, one of the bouncers was standing next to him. The man was about 6'4" and probably close to 300 pounds.
He said, with a depth of voice commensurate with his size, "Time for you and your friends to leave, buddy."
The crowd separated around them, not eager to get caught up in any unpleasantness. Acosta turned sideways to address the man and said, "Evening, Sir. Perhaps you can help me. I need to speak to the manager and your friend behind the bar is not prepared to ..."
"Yeah, whatever," the guy interrupted, reaching out. Acosta stepped back a few inches and raised both hands to chest level, palms out towards the man, seemingly conciliatory. His right hand was only an inch or so from the bigger man's chest. Acosta's body man, Teddy, began to step forward, but saw how Acosta was standing and changed his mind, motioning for Mitch to stay put as well. Anyone watching him might have seen a small smile on his lips.
"Don't start with me, big guy. If you do, I'll respond accordingly," said Acosta, his voice hard.
The bouncer wasn't the brightest crayon in the box and, for most of his life, had relied on his size to intimidate or subdue his opponents. He totally failed to recognize the danger he was in. He reached out and grabbed Acosta by the upper arm to drag him away from the bar.
Acosta barely seemed to move, but the palm heel of his right hand, from an inch away, connected with the bouncer's chest. The man stumbled backwards about three or four feet and fell to the ground, lying flat on his back. He'd knocked some people aside as he went and the resultant commotion caused the DJ to stop the music.
Only then did Teddy move to put himself between Acosta and the remaining two bouncers, facing them, his back to his boss. Mitch stayed with Sofia, but appeared prepared to move in any number of different directions if necessary. The other bouncers hurried across to their partner, but Teddy held up a single finger and waggled it side to side, saying, "Uhn, uhn, uhn." The men got the message and stopped in their tracks, eyes somewhat wide.
Acosta squatted down next to the flattened bouncer and said, "You know, you have a lot to learn, my friend. One thing any half-way decent tactician can tell you, is never enter into combat without knowing as much as you can about your opponent. You didn't even bother to ask my name." Acosta looked into the confused man's eyes and said, "In case you're interested, my name is Peter Acosta."
The man's eyes widened in surprise and fear. His mouth moved but no sounds came out. Finally, he managed to croak out, "Acosta?"
"Yes," said Acosta, nodding.
All the blood drained from the man's face and he looked like he might pass out. Instead, as a quick glance by Acosta at the man's khaki slacks disclosed, he had urinated on himself in terror.
The two remaining bouncers looked to Teddy, who confirmed with a nod of his head that his boss was, in fact, Acosta. The men visibly paled.
Acosta stood up and said to one of the remaining bouncers, "Get your friend out of here and clean him up." His voice before had had the tone and timbre of polite request. Now, it was unmistakenly one of command. The bouncer didn't hesitate and bent to help his friend off the floor.
Acosta turned to the other one and said, "Manager. Now."
The man scurried away to comply.
Acosta raised his voice and said to the DJ, "No need to stop the music, my friend. Keep playing."
The music started again immediately and people began to go back to enjoying their Saturday night. More than a few wondered why the name 'Acosta' elicited such a reaction and made a note to google it when they got home.
A well-groomed man of about thirty came through the bar with the bouncer speaking urgently in his ear. He was moving as quickly as possible given the crowd.
By the time the man had gotten to Acosta, Sofia had joined him. Both Teddy and Mitch hung back a few steps.
"Mr. Acosta, I'm the manager, Bill Parsons. What can I do for you?"
"Teach your staff to be more polite and accommodating. That would be a good start," said Acosta, harshly. He gestured around him. "This bullshit was totally unnecessary."
"Very sorry, Sir. I can assure you that they did not recognize you," said the manager.
Acosta looked at him like he was the village idiot and said, "You do understand that that just makes it worse, right?" The man stammered a bit before Acosta said, "Listen, I don't have time to educate you on how to run a bar. We need to talk to you privately."
"Certainly. Come with me," he said, looking scared.
They entered a small office with a desk and a computer. Acosta got down to business immediately and said, "You have four cameras counting the one outside."
"Five," said Parsons. "There's one by the back door."
"Ok, forget the outside ones. I want to see the feed for the three inside cameras for Monday, December 8, between 6:30 and 8, please," said Acosta.
Parsons was visibly startled. Knowing the Acosta's reputation he'd expected something quite different and much worse. "What? Why?"
"Because I said please," said Acosta, his voice harsh. "Would you like me to ask again?"
Parsons said "No, no, no," turned immediately to his computer and began to push keys and move the mouse around. Shortly he said, "Ok. Here we are. Which one first?"
"Can you run them all at once, on a split screen?" asked Sofia.
"Yes," he said, and set it to do so. One view was of the dance floor. One was of the bar, with much of the view taken up by the area behind the bar, keeping track of the bartender. The final one was of the other side of the bar, looking at the patrons.
"Is there music at that time on Monday nights?" asked Acosta.
"No," said Parsons.
"Ok," said Acosta. "Run all three at triple speed." They all understood that, at triple speed, it would take a half an hour to run the requested footage. While Parsons sat in his seat baffled by what was happening, Acosta and Sofia stood watching the screen. Although their eyes flicked once in a while to the empty dance floor or behind the bar, for the most part they were watching the screen showing the bar's patrons.
After ten minutes or so (half an hour of real time, so around 7pm on the tape), Acosta said, "There."
Sofia agreed and said to Parsons, "Slow to normal speed, please." He did so.
They watched Jim Robertson on the screen come into the bar and take a seat. Sofia said, quietly, "Boots."
"Yeah," agreed Acosta.
Robertson got a draft beer and sat sipping it and minding his own business. Not five minutes later, a blonde woman with glasses came in and sat next to Jim. She was wearing a skirt and blouse and high heels. She wore a jacket that she draped over the back of the bar stool.
"Bingo," said Acosta. To Parsons, he said, "Slow to half speed and go back to when she enters. Do you recognize her?"
"No," said Parsons.
They watched the woman enter the frame and walk to the bar. Sofia said, "She's not used to the heels. Too high for her to wear comfortably." The woman climbed up onto the barstool next to Robertson. Sofia said, "And the skirt is too short for her. She keeps pulling at it so too much isn't on display."
"Then why wear it?" asked Acosta, to which Sofia merely shrugged.
They watched the woman get a glass of wine and strike up a conversation with Robertson. She was laughing at what he had to say, touching his arm, leaning in towards him. One hand was fiddling with her hair. She held her phone in one hand near her waist at some point.
"What's she doing with her phone?" Sofia asked.
"Jesus," said Acosta. "She's taking pictures of his boots while talking to him."
"Shit," she said.
They kept watching.
"It's a wig," said Sofia.
"How do you know?" asked Acosta.
"I just do. Trust me," she said.
After a few more minutes, the woman on the screen leaned over and whispered something to Robertson. He pulled back and looked at her with a look of surprise. She smiled and leaned in to whisper something again. This time Robertson smiled at her in return, but shook his head with seeming amazement. He said something to the bartender. Leaving their drinks on the bar the woman took his hand and led him away and out of the frame of the camera.
Acosta said to Parsons, "Mark the time and fast forward until they come back into the picture."
Parsons did so and when they returned, "Eleven minutes," he said. By this point he was thoroughly interested in the goings on with the couple on the screen.
"Well," said Sofia. "That's a quickie for sure."
Acosta said, his voice harsh, "Long enough for the bitch to get what she came for."
Once Robertson and the woman with the blonde wig returned, she drank the rest of her wine in a single gulp, gave him a very passionate kiss, and left the bar.
Robertson picked up his beer and finished it, gesturing for another.
Sofia and Acosta looked at each other. He said, "Do you want to see it again?"
"No. Let's go," she said.
Acosta turned to Parsons and said, "Copy this camera's feed to a CD. I want the part from when the black guy came into the bar to when the blonde left. Just that bit."
It didn't take him too long to accomplish the task. The CD disappeared into a pocket of Acosta's suit.
"Can you tell me what this is about?" he asked them.
Instead of answering the question, Acosta said, "Two police detectives will be here tomorrow. Names of Booker and Chen. They will tell you what they can and they will want to see what you just showed us. Don't be afraid to tell them we were here. They will probably want to speak to anyone who was working that Monday night, so it might save some time to have that contact information available for them."
"Um, okay," he said. He wasn't supposed to be working tomorrow, but he determined to switch with the other manager for the day. He would be driving himself nuts with curiosity until then.
Acosta stuck out his hand and said, "Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Parsons."
"You're welcome. Sorry we got off on the wrong foot," he said, sincerely meaning every word as they shook hands.
"It happens," said Acosta with good nature.
Both body men were waiting in the hallway outside the office and the four of them left the bar together.
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Once outside the Gin Mill and in the back of the dark SUV, heading to their dinner reservation, Acosta took out his phone and a card from his shirt pocket. He had to turn on the light in the back of the car to read the numbers, but shortly he entered them into his phone and pressed send.
"Booker," said the man answering the phone.
"Good evening, Detective. This is Pete Acosta,"
"Good evening, Mr. Acosta. What can I do for you?" asked Booker.
"I was wondering if you and your partner would be my guests for breakfast tomorrow morning. I have some information about the Peralta murder I'd like to share," he said.
"Of course. When and where?" said Booker.
"You know the Utopia Diner on Wilshire?" asked Acosta.
"I do," said Booker.
"Good. How about 8AM? Early for a Sunday, I know, but I think you're going to want this information as soon as possible," said Acosta.
"Can you tell me now? Over the phone?" asked Booker.
"I could, but it's visual. You have to see what I need to show you," said Acosta.
"Okay, Mr. Acosta. Alan and I will see you there and then. Have a good night," said Booker.
"You too," said Acosta, disconnecting the call.
Sofia took his hand and they smiled at each other.
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The next morning Chuck and Sarah were lying in bed next to each other when Chuck said, apprehensively, "Sarah, are you awake?"
Eyes wide open, she rolled over to look at him and said, "Are you thinking about the wedding?" Like him, she looked nervous.
"It's exactly one week away. One single solitary week," he said.
"Chuck, what if it rains?" she asked.
"That's good luck, right?"
"Well, what if it doesn't?" she asked.
"Are we freaking out? We're freaking out. That's normal though," he said. "It's normal to freak out a little bit a week before a wedding."
"Unless...?"
"It's cold feet? No...no...no, because I want to marry you."
"I really want to marry you too," she said. "It's just ... the hotel...and exchanging intimate feelings in front of a crowd."
"Wait, what if we did a dry run?" he asked.
"A dry run?"
"Yeah, you know, a dry run. That way we can work out the kinks. You know, no people. No cameras. Practice makes..."
"Perfect." Her troubled face broke into an adorable smile and she said, "We'll be ready for anything."
A few minutes later, Chuck and Sarah were standing face-to-face in their sunlit living room. Chuck had on his tux jacket over his pajamas. Sarah had pulled on a light white capelet over her pajamas. Chuck perched a piece of lace onto her head to mimic a bridal veil and, although it wouldn't stay on, it made her giggle.
"Ok," said Chuck.
Putting down the lace, Sarah reached for a single piece of paper on the table next to her and brought it out. She cleared her throat in preparation for reciting her intended vows.
"That's all ya... all ya got there?" Chuck asked. "I mean these are our wedding vows after all."
"I think I covered the bases," she said sweetly.
"Ok, great. Well, good. You go, then I'll go," said Chuck. "And then we'll have a little note session afterwards."
"OK," she said, "I'm just gonna..." She was turning to the paper in her hand.
"Ok, ok," he said.
She began to read. "Chuck. You're a gift. You're a gift I never dreamed I could want or need and every day I will show you that you're a gift that I deserve. You make me the best person I could ever hope to be and I want to spend and learn and love the rest of my life with you." Chuck was struck dumb by the incredible beauty of her vows. He stared at her open mouthed for longer than expected. "Talkie?" she asked.
He shook his head, still in a stunned state from her words. He had tears in his eyes and he whispered, almost too quietly to hear, "Perfect." A moment later he said, louder, "So perfect. Oh, my God..." he reached out and pulled her into a hug.
She was grinning with delight that he had liked what she'd written when they broke the hug.
"Sarah, oh, Sarah," he said, looking down at his own notes for his own vows. "Mine are a tear down. This is a page one re-write. I scripted a wardrobe change and a pause for applause."
Sarah smiled at him with love and said, "Chuck, don't freak out. Whatever they are, they will be perfect."
They stood silently looking at each other and expressing their soul-deep profound love. Slowly, smiling, they came together and melted into a kiss.
And at that moment, on that new day, all was right with the world.
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A/N2: Bruce Lee was famous for many things. One of them was the fabled "one-inch-punch," a devasting strike delivered from a mere inch away from the target. It's not a myth and I know from personal experience that it really works. Acosta's similar feat was totally plausible.
A/N3: The entirety of Chuck and Sarah's practice vows were shared here word for word from canon. As all my long-time readers know, there's a lot I'd fix about Chuck and I'm not at all shy about doing it. But not that scene. The loving, fun, happy look on her face with the silly lace perched on her head. The words of love and hope and happiness from her heart. The unshed tears in his eyes when he fully grasped her feelings for him and their future. I wouldn't change a word. (Well, ok, I changed 'church' to 'hotel' to reflect the change in venue in New Day, but you know what I mean.) It may be my favorite scene in the whole show and I felt the need to recreate it here verbatim. I can only hope that you guys liked it as much as I did.
A/N4: How am I doing, guys? Love to hear from you.