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"Pardon, monsieur le captain. Je ne parle pas anglais—je ne comprends pas. Est-ce que vous voulez le restaurant de chinois?"
"Brown." Simon Banks attempted to muster the last remnants of his patience. Not to mention his sanity. "Brown, I know it's you."
"Pardon, je dois aller. Au revoir—"
"Brown, don't you dare—"
Click.
Simon slammed the receiver down with a growl. Then lifted it and dialed yet again.
It was answered after two rings. "Sandburg."
Sounding more like a cop every day. "Blair, is Jim there?"
"No, as a matter of fact..." Some slight annoyance in the way he trailed off. "He said he had some things to take care of at the station. And he took my car," Blair added in an irritated mutter.
"He wouldn't have mentioned what he was doing, by any chance? Have you called him recently?"
"Ah. So how are things going at the Golden Wok?"
Well, one question answered. "Then they're doing it to you, too," Simon made sure.
"Yup. Every time I try to call Major Crimes, the receptionist transfers me to the Golden Wok—"
"And then when you try their celphones..." Simon continued.
"Yeah, I didn't realize Jim was still so fluent in Chopec. Brown's French isn't bad either."
"Joel's German could use a little work, though. I wonder where Rafe picked up the Japanese? And Megan—what was that, Swiss yodeling?"
Small chuckle from the anthropologist. "Aboriginal, if I don't miss my guess. Or actually New Zealander, but I'm pretty rusty."
"So..." He took two seconds to calm himself enough to be intelligible, "what the hell is going ON?"
"Sorry, can't help you there. Your birthday's not for a couple months, right?"
"And neither is yours." The captain pondered the mystery. "You don't suppose..?"
Blair paused for a moment. "That was weeks ago."
"Yeah, well—'a dish best served cold' and all. I mean, you couldn't really expect them to forget being locked in a holding cell for a couple hours."
"Actually I thought it was more like five."
Simon winced. Now if only Jim Ellison's memory wasn't as sharp as his partner's...
Unfortunately it was. Especially about things such as this.
"Maybe we should check it out..?" Blair suggested.
"That's probably what they want," Simon decided. "Drag us out in this weather—no. Anyway I promised Daryl we'd do something together—this rain cancels the fishing trip so we're going to take in a movie."
Blair sighed. "Have a good time. I guess I should get to work on those midterms now...can't wait to see what they've got for us tomorrow."
"I can," Simon muttered as he hung up. What a perfect way to start Monday, with a surprise from some of the most talented practical jokers in the city. If there was one thing the detectives of Major Crimes excelled at (other than their job, of course), it was revenge.
Four hours later Simon thankfully shrugged out of his soggy coat and watched in displeasure as it slid off the hook to land in a damp puddle on his carpet. Good that he had gotten Daryl back to his mother's before the storm had really gotten going. Driving through torrential downpours of monsoonic proportions was bad enough; he at least knew his son was safe. And dry.
On his way to brew a much-needed pot of coffee he flicked on the television. "And it's still coming down," reported the newsman rather unnecessarily. "Sorry, folks, but we're looking at another two to three days of this. More than half of Cascade still is blacked out—" Simon glanced up in surprise, "and flooding has prevented repairs. Citizens are urged to stay indoors and off the streets, as to not further hinder the repair and rescue operations."
Simon frowned at the map that flashed up, showing the power losses. In particular he glared at the center of the area. The precise location of the station. Damn.
Right on cue the phone rang. "Banks."
"It's Blair, Simon. Have you heard—"
"It was just on the news. I take it Jim's not back yet?"
"No, man, and the cellulars are all on the fritz, of course, and the lines went down with the power." And he was worried. About the only mother hen Simon knew bigger than Blair was the kid's partner.
There probably wasn't anyway to convince him to stay home. "I'll pick you up in ten minutes, how's that?"
"Great! Uh—thanks, Simon."
"Whatever." His sarcasm was missed; Sandburg had already hung up. The captain shrugged back into his sopping raincoat, grumbling about Sentinels, partners, and Major Crimes detectives in general.
"Oh man, I HATE RAIN!" shouted one completely drenched Guide, his pitch escalating with every syllable.
He shut his yap as soon as he caught Simon's glare. The captain was no less intimidating when soaking wet. Matter of fact he seemed in an even worse mood than he might normally have been in after being forced to walk ten blocks to the station. Seeing as his car was trapped in the center of 74th Street by the biggest traffic jam the city of Cascade had ever experienced, at least as far as Blair was aware. He had never realized how under-appreciated traffic lights actually were.
Both men breathed a sigh of relief as they ducked into the station garage. The yellow emergency lights eerily illuminated the empty lot. Only a dozen cars were scattered around the cruisers, belonging to the emergency staff manning the station.
And all of the vehicles of Major Crimes, from Megan's rental—was she ever going to actually buy one?—to Joel's sturdy station wagon.
Only one auto was conspicuously absent: Blair's baby, his classic, his Volvo. That Jim had so politely asked to borrow, giving some halfway believable excuse about his truck being in the shop because of a dent. Blair hadn't questioned it; after all, hardly a week went by that Jim didn't add a dent to his precious truck's frame.
Okay. So maybe he parked it on the street. Because Jim certainly knew what Blair would do should something actually happen to his trusty old vehicle. That was a minor point; he had come here to check up on Jim, not on his car.
They proceeded to the stairs. They proceeded to observe the stack of tires in front of the elevator. Four, a matched set. Blair blinked. Tried to tell himself they didn't look familiar.
Behind him Simon seconded the recognition with a soft, "Uh-oh..."
Blair hit the stairs running, made it up almost four flights without a pause and barely touching a single step. He stopped at the landing and gave Simon a chance to catch up. The captain was grunting something about elevators and emergency generators and why the hell was Major Crimes so damn high anyway? but didn't complain aloud. Actually he went remarkably quiet when he looked into Blair's face.
Ignoring this, Blair continued his headlong dash up the next three flights. He crashed into Major Crimes with a force approximating that of the hurricane storming outside.
The five detectives present looked up from their poker hands. Saw the observer framed in the doorway and rose as one, strategically positioning themselves in front of Captain Banks' office.
"Hi, Sandy!" Megan said brightly.
"Don't call me Sandy," Blair responded. Then turned to the others, "Now where is it?"
Simon came up behind him, but the detectives hardly acknowledged their boss's presence. "Well, Chief..." Jim began, but was cut off as his Guide pushed past the group and into Simon's office, where he stopped, mouth agape.
In place of chairs there were three seats, the two front and the back bench seat of a car. Comfortable perhaps, but hardly standard. The horror dwelt in what car they had been removed from—he knew those stains and bent springs all to well. In front of the driver's seat the steering wheel had been carefully placed.
Worst of all, in front of that, where Simon's desk belonged, lay a large blocky metallic assemblage of pistons, sparkplugs and gaskets that Blair recognized immediately. Even if it wasn't under the hood of his car where it belonged.
The entire engine. He couldn't believe it. How had they even—had they been careful to—did they know how to put this thing back for pete's sake?
Slowly he turned to the detectives. Watched with distant surprise as they all shrank under his glare. At another time he would have been impressed; he was too furious to care at the moment. Floating across his subconscious were visions of tire irons...blood...the dismembered corpses of his coworkers...
"Oh man." He took a deep breath, spoke under it. "This sucks." In the corner of his eye he saw Jim take a step back, knew he had been overheard. I'm letting this go, I'm letting this go...screw it.
Pointing at the vestiges of his beloved car, he said, in a voice dangerously quiet, "That is not funny." And before he acted on any of the unspeakable impulses running through his mind, he shoved past the shocked detectives and strode out of the station.
His hair dripped a trail of water behind him.
Jim swore wordlessly and followed his Guide.
In their wake Simon muttered respectfully, "That kid's been taking lessons from his partner." Glancing once more into his office he shook his head and turned to his men and woman. Slightly satisfied to see them draw back and cower under his gaze as well. "Detectives. If Sandburg's car is in there...where is my office?"
Megan looked at Joel who looked at Brown who looked at Rafe who looked back to Megan as if in this cycle they could somehow escape revealing the truth. Simon watched their silent exchange and deepened his frown. "I'm waiting..."
Of course he wouldn't stop outside the Major Crimes office, or even at the lobby once he had pounded down seven flights of stairs—he had to charge outside into the freezing pouring rain. Jim hadn't known how hard it was coming down, realizing after the fact why both Simon and Blair had been soaked. Now he was storming down the street—"Hey, Chief, wait up!"
Of course he didn't. Jim jogged after him, "Chief, hold on, hey, Blair." Finally he stopped, though he didn't turn around. Jim addressed him anyway, "Chief, it was just a joke..."
Blair whipped around. "A joke?"
"Yeah, a joke—kind of like locking someone in a holding cell for five hours!"
"That was temporary, man! I didn't touch your truck—that car—"
"Is a classic, I know. We're going to put it back together, geeze Sandburg, you didn't think I'd let them do something permanent to it, did you?" Honestly somewhat taken aback that his partner trusted him so little.
Blair shook his head, shoved his wet mass of hair out of his face. "I know. You're sure?" When Jim nodded he sighed. "Yeah, I did know. But you could've at least answered your phone!" Off on another tangent and just as angry. "Told us you were all right, but no, you had to drag us out here, in the rain, with no electricity, and this traffic—" He waved his arms at the honking automobiles lined up and down Cascade's streets. "We had to walk half a mile to the station, and then I find you tearing apart my car!" As if to emphasize his points he sneezed loudly.
Jim looked at his dripping friend. "Sandburg," he said warningly, "you better not be getting sick."
Blair rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine, that's the least of my worries—how am I supposed to get to class without a car?"
"It'll be fixed by then," Jim assured him. "Brown's got a cousin who's a mechanic, he's coming by tomorrow. I scheduled an appointment with him to make any tune-ups, you mentioned that clacking noise..." When Blair glanced at him he shrugged. "Well, I figured since we were taking it apart, the least we could do was put it back together better..."
"Thanks, man," Blair murmured. Then looked up at his partner. "But you guys still owe me big."
"Yeah, well..." Jim paused a moment. "We're going to owe Simon, too..."
Blair's eyes narrowed. "Yeah...where'd you put his stuff anyway, down in storage?"
"Not exactly..." Jim looked up thoughtfully. The rain poured into his eyes. Better than meeting his Guide's sharp gaze though. "Ever noticed how big the bathroom down the hall is..?"
"You didn't." Blair's eyebrows shot up into his hair. "Oh man, look me in the eye and say that..." He suddenly turned away, shoulders shaking.
"Chief?"
"Oh man..."
"Hey—" Jim suddenly heard a small hysterical noise, then another, another...he identified it after the fact as laughter, right around the time Blair lost it completely and threw back his head, shouted up into the rain, "Oh man, unbelievable! When he finds out—Simon's gonna—you guys—you are dead!" he finally managed to finish a sentence between snickers.
Jim sighed, agreeing with the prognosis, and wondering how the hell he had been talked into this anyway. "So, Chief, we're okay?"
Blair brought himself under control, straightened and asked, "The car's going to be all right?"
"Scout's honor."
"Totally, completely, better than ever?"
"Sandburg, I swear—"
Blair grinned. "Then don't tell them I said so, but it would've been pretty funny to see his face when he walked in tomorrow morning. Almost as good as some of my undergrad jobs... So the holding cell thing's over with?"
Almost as good? Jim allowed himself to smile. "I'd say the debt's been repaid."
"Actually, I think they paid some collateral, now that you mention it—I mean, my car still is in pieces..."
Jim threw an arm over his partner's shoulder, glad to have his partner back at his side. On his side. And to assure himself of that, as they started heading home through the wind and rain he asked, "So about payback, what exactly do you have in mind?"