Chapter 251: LA Veterans' Club
"Welcome to New York!" Tony excitedly raised his champagne glass.
"No, I should be saying that," Ron clinked glasses with him. "Welcome to America."
The Navigator slowly pulled into traffic, music thumping from the sound system. Ron didn't notice his phone ringing over the noise—it had slipped down between the leather seats where one of the women had settled heavily against him.
Tony and Ron were getting into the party mood, while the nervous and inexperienced Tommy could no longer watch the scene unfolding around him, awkwardly returning his attention to his phone game.
Meanwhile, back at FBI headquarters in Los Angeles, Hobbs slammed his phone down on his desk in frustration. "That son of a bitch never answers his phone!"
In front of him, several elderly men stood in a neat row, looking like a gentle breeze could knock them over. But Hobbs knew better than to judge by appearances—these same old-timers had taken out his entire tactical team the night before!
"Damn Ron, even when he's out of town, he's still screwing with me!" Hobbs cursed silently.
Of the elderly men, Andy—who dealt with Hobbs most frequently—spoke up. "Agent Hobbs, can we go now? The evidence clearly shows that unless your men were complete idiots, they'll provide you with a satisfactory explanation soon enough. But if we don't get back, we'll miss the dance, and several lovely ladies are waiting for us."
It had to be said that after spending so much time with Ron, Andy had finally learned to be assertive in his dealings with federal agents.
"You killed my people, and you expect me to just let you walk?" Hobbs was so enraged that if he were a bit rounder and balder, he'd look like a furious bowling ball.
But what choice did he have? Even without the final forensics report, just looking at the preliminary evidence, his years of investigative experience told him there was something very wrong with the agents who'd been killed.
"Fine, you can go back, but don't leave LA. I need to be able to reach you at any time." After considerable internal debate, Hobbs finally decided to release them.
"Don't worry, we're not going anywhere. If you need us, you know where to find us," Murphy assured him quickly. "Or you could join us for the dance. It's at the Special Operations facility."
"I heard from Ron that you're single these days. Maybe I could ask around, see if any of my friends have single daughters to introduce you to? My girlfriend's got a big extended family. Or hell, why don't you just call me 'Pops'?"
Andy couldn't resist getting in one last dig before leaving. Hobbs's eye twitched. "Get the hell out!"
Back to the previous afternoon, after Ron had left town.
At Ron's IRS Special Operations headquarters in Los Angeles, with Valentine's Day approaching, Ron had given most of the team the day off. Now only Andy, Hannibal, Mason, and Murphy remained at the facility—essentially turning it into a veterans' retirement club.
That's right. With the younger operatives gone, the place had become exactly that—a retirement community. Andy, Hannibal, and Mason, three confirmed bachelors, basically treated the place like home.
Hannibal and Murphy were discussing cooking techniques in the kitchen, while Andy and Mason had set up a chess board in the main room. A pleasant-looking older woman sat beside the board, watching Andy's moves with interest.
"Think Mason's lady friend has something going with Andy?" Murphy asked gossiping while he cooked.
"How the hell should I know? All I know is Mason and that woman seem to go way back. When he was inside, he mentioned setting Andy up with someone. At the time, I figured he was just talking."
"She seems nice enough."
"What do you think? Should I ask Mason to introduce you to someone too?"
"Nah, I'm good with Linda." Murphy thought of the woman who'd followed him from Chicago to LA, and his expression softened. "Why don't you ask him to set you up? You're flying solo too."
"No thanks, I'm already full up here." Hannibal placed his hand over his heart, remembering the brutal winter when he and his sister had survived on their own. His expression darkened.
But just then, a blood-covered figure stumbled through the door. Mason and Murphy immediately drew their sidearms, Hannibal gripped his chef's knife, and Andy pulled a shotgun from under the chess table, all weapons trained on the intruder.
"Identify yourself!"
"It's me..." The figure stepped into the light, and Andy put on his reading glasses, finally recognizing Ian.
"Ian, who the hell did this to you?" Andy exclaimed in shock.
Seeing it was one of their own, everyone finally relaxed and lowered their weapons. Mason gestured to the woman who'd been sitting beside Andy, indicating the situation was under control. She calmly moved her hands away from her waistband.
"It was Alonzo," Ian said weakly. "He's Jake's training officer, but he's actually dirty. When Jake wouldn't go along with their scheme, they jumped us. Jake's still with them. Please, get Hank and the others. I need to get him back!"
"Alonzo?" Andy frowned in thought. "Think I've heard that name before. He with DEA?"
"Yeah, please Andy, hurry. Ron said you guys could help if I ever needed it," Ian pleaded, grabbing at Andy's legs.
"Easy there, kid," Murphy helped Ian into a chair and examined his injuries.
While Ian's wounds looked terrible, they were thankfully mostly superficial cuts and bruises. Murphy quickly cleaned and bandaged them.
"I need the full story. Where are they? How many?" Andy, acting as field commander in Ron's absence, calmly assessed the situation.
"Five of them, all veteran narcotics officers, at some drug dealer's house they hit today," Ian said with difficulty. "We should call Arthur and Hank and the others, otherwise it'll be too tough to handle them."
"You sure there's only five?" Mason suddenly interrupted. Ian nodded, confused.
Then he noticed that everyone except him was starting to chuckle.
"If it's only five guys, we probably don't need to bother the young folks. Ian, you remember where this place is?" Ian nodded, and Mason turned a decorative vase on the table. With a mechanical click, a hidden panel opened, revealing an impressive weapons cache.
Mason selected an assault rifle, chambered a round with a satisfying "click-clack," and smiled after checking the action. "Which of you old bastards is free to come out and get some pre-dinner exercise?"
(End of this chapter)
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