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In Spades, Mag7 ATF AU, 4b/6

and again due to post size, part 4b...

[Part 1a][Part 1b][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4a][Part 4b][Part 5a][Part 5b][Part 6a][Part 6b]



JD sat opposite the conference room’s window that looked out into the Oak Falls’ Police Station Bullpen. He glanced up from his computer screen from time to time, as was his habit, scanning his surroundings. He was going over the copies of the books Ezra had sent a while ago, looking for useful information.

Henderson sat to his left, looking through the file he had been given earlier, obviously impressed with the amount of information that had been gathered by Standish to date. Vin and Buck sat at the far end of the conference table looking over the DEA’s file intently. Chris, Nathan and Josiah had left the conference room minutes before, not saying where they were going. Not that it really mattered; there wasn’t much to the station other than the bullpen, a small interrogation room, the sitting area in front of the front desk and the holding cells next door to the conference room, which were all currently empty.

JD scanned through another page of entries that he didn’t fully understand, and started a search on some of the acronyms that Sheppard seemed to favor. He had just hit ‘search’ when he looked up again, scanning his surroundings.

His breath caught in his throat and his brow furrowed in concentration as he glanced towards the front desk and waiting area, where two uniformed officers were leading a cuffed man through the doors. Even JD could see from here that the man was sporting some sort of contusion to the left side of his face, near his eye.

“Shit,” he hissed quietly, immediately garnering the attention of the other three men in the room. Vin and Buck were the first to look where the kid was staring, followed by Henderson, whose face remained a question as to what the problem was.

“Dammit,” Buck said, getting up from his chair. Vin’s arm shot out to stop him from leaving the conference room. When Buck shot him an angry look, Vin just nodded towards where Larabee was coming out of the Chief’s office. The arrival of the new guest hadn’t escaped his attention.

“We’ll see how he wants to play this,” Vin said.

JD had come up to stand next to Vin and Buck. “See his face?” he asked quietly.

“Yup,” Vin said.

“And so does Chris,” Buck added.

“Is that your man?” Henderson asked as he came to stand next to the other men.

Vin sighed. “Yep.” They better not have fucked this up by arresting him.


Ezra dragged his feet as he was led into the police station. He’d be damned if he was going to make this easy for them. Especially if they jeopardized this case by this arrest.

The two officers followed him in, stopping at the front desk. They pushed Ezra into the counter roughly, but making it look like it was Ezra’s fault. The two officers then relayed to the woman at the desk his name, where he had been arrested and what for. She documented his arrival in the computer, which pulled in the info that the officers had entered in the field, keeping the record accurately and in real-time. Standish would be processed shortly.

His gaze was drawn to the blond man standing in a doorway to the right, off of the bullpen. As their eyes met, Standish gave a small quirk of the eyebrow, partly in apology and partly in a question of ‘what now?’

With no immediate answer, Ezra broke eye contact as “Jimmy” escorted him through the bullpen and back toward the holding cells.

He saw three of his friends and a man he didn’t know staring at him through the conference room window.

Oh good, an audience.


Chief Owens came up behind Larabee as he watched the cuffed man being led away to the holding cells at the back of the station.

She had recognized the man from his photo that had circulated, knowing that this was the man the ATF had specifically asked her and her force to lay off of.

“Oh, dammit,” she said from off to Larabee’s side.

Chris turned to her and she shot him an apologetic look. “I told them… I specifically told them to lay off of him.”

“Apparently, they didn’t listen,” the blond said as he turned away from her.

“Or he did something else they picked him up for.” Without waiting for any sort of reply, she pushed her way past Chris and hollered, “Craine! O’Connor! My office, now!” She turned and walked past the blond, who had moved out of the doorway. “You’re more than welcome to stay and hear what they have to say.” Her tone conveyed that she would rather he not be there, and Chris was sure there would be some sort of dressing-down of the two officers.

Chris smirked. “You can tell me after you’re through with them.”

“You got it,” she said, and continued into her office, not looking back.

The two officers she had bellowed for followed her into her office, and as the door shut, Larabee could hear them begin relaying their story, but was cut off by the no-nonsense pitch of the Chief.

Chris made his way to the conference room where his men were waiting. Josiah and Nathan had returned to join the group, apparently having gone out to the truck to retrieve a couple of files they had left there.

“Boys,” Chris said in greeting as he entered, leaving the door open behind him.

“What’s the story?” Buck asked.

“I don’t know yet,” he said, looking back over his shoulder to the empty bullpen. “But I aim to find out.” He turned and headed out of the room. Vin followed wordlessly.

“Hey,” Henderson interjected. “If you’re going to talk to him, I have to be there.”

“You’re turning out to be a bit of a pain in the ass, Henderson,” Buck commented. The man turned and stared at the mustached agent, seeming about ready to offer some sort of rebuttal, when Buck simply said, “Go.”

Henderson caught up to the two men two steps outside of the conference room. If Vin and Chris noticed that they had been joined, they didn’t let it show.

They entered the holding area, a space about the size of a studio apartment with three holding cells. Only the far one was occupied; the other two stood empty with their doors open, ready for use.

The man sitting on the small cot in the far cell looked up when the three visitors walked in. He shook his head once and let out a small chuckle. “Gentlemen,” he said in greeting. “Do forgive me if I don’t get up.”

“You still cuffed?” asked Vin, incredulously.

“It would appear so,” he replied impassively, resting his head on his knees. Both of his feet were pulled up onto the small cot, close to his chest. His arms were still bound behind his back, and he looked very uncomfortable.

“Why didn’t you pick ‘em?” Vin asked, motioning that Ezra should come to the bars to be freed.

Ezra sat up on the cot, feet flat on the floor and sighed. He seemed about to say something flippant, then reconsidered and approached the bars where Vin was waiting with a handcuff key. As he got to the bars, he sighed again, then turned around.

Vin reached for his bound wrists and stopped. The cuffs had been closed so tight on his friend’s wrists that the fingers were swollen and bordering on discolored. “The fuck is this?” Vin asked, hurrying to release his hands.

Chris looked over, taking in the sight, but saying nothing.

“I think the officer wasn’t too fond of me,” he said flatly. He sounded tired. “They recognized me from the video.”

“Is that what happened to your face?” Chris asked stonily.

Standish gave a half grin. “I’m sure I was resisting in some way.” His sarcastic tone relayed that he disagreed. He rubbed his wrists as he moseyed back over to the cot and sat down, taking up a position much like before, only this time his arms rested upon his updrawn knees as he massaged his hands.

“Ezra,” Chris began.

Ezra cut him off. “Is that it then?” He blew out his breath and ran his hand down his tired face before looking at the third man, who had remained silent. Pointing at the man, he said, “DEA, right? You move fast… I only fucked up a half hour ago.” His smile held no humor. He tentatively touched the side of his eye, fingering the small swelling. “I figured I would get at least an hour.”

“George Henderson, DEA,” the man announced.

“Pleasure,” he drawled, resting his head back against the concrete wall.

“I’m sure,” Henderson replied, his tone laced with contempt.

Chris and Vin exchanged a glance; this was not the same attitude as the DEA agent showed before.

Before anything could escalate, Chris took over the conversation and directed it where he wanted it to go. “Ezra, what happened?”

Ezra chuckled from across the cell. “Would you believe, I hit a deer?”

“What?” Vin asked.

“I know, right? I hit a deer.” He blew out his breath. “Fuckin backwoods hicktown. Left the thing there. Didn’t know I hit it…”

“Left the scene of an accident,” Chris said knowingly, closing his eyes in realization.

Ezra nodded as he set his feet on the ground and leaned over, resting his arms on his knees.

“Damn,” Vin said quietly.

“Whatever, it’s done,” Ezra said, waving his hand in dismissal. He sat up, looking directly at his boss. “So, what now?” he asked, holding his hands out in askance.

Chris took a breath to answer, but was cut off by Henderson. “Was your cover still intact when you were picked up?”

Standish shot a glance at the man, and then back at Chris. Looking at the DEA agent again, he shook his head and asked, “I’m sorry, what was your name again?”


“Henderson, yes,” he replied, his tone conveying that he had no intention of remembering this man’s name. He stood and took a step closer to the bars. “And are you running this op?”

“I-,” he began confidently, but wasn’t able to continue.

“I have been on this case for two months straight,” the southerner said, his voice calm but his displeasure evident. “That’s two months that you were sitting at a desk, eating donuts and doing fuck knows what all else, while I was dealing with a man that, as proven recently, would kill his employees at the drop of a hat.”

“Ezra,” Vin hissed quietly, trying to derail his train of thought.

Chris just smirked from where he stood.

“Listen,” Henderson tried again.

“So, until you put in more than, say, a few days on this case, do not act like you know the ins and outs of it. And do not presume that I will ever answer to you.”

Chris stowed his smirk. “Ezra…”

“Of course my cover is intact you imbecile!” he snapped, looking only at the DEA agent. “I was fucking arrested, wasn’t I?” He held his hands out to his sides in a question.

Vin snorted.

Henderson said nothing.

Chris let out a sigh, and then turned to Henderson. “Why don’t you wait in the conference room? We’ll be back in a few.”

Henderson looked at Larabee, his eyes angry, but he kept his tongue. He nodded once, then turned to Standish, shooting him his best glare before leaving.

When they were alone again, Ezra let his hands fall to his sides and leaned his head against the iron bars, closing his eyes.

Vin snorted again. “Man, you’re a peach.”

“Shut up,” Ezra replied quietly, but with a smile.

“So,” Chris said. “Was your cover left intact?”

Heaving a sigh, and not moving from his position leaning against the cool bars, he replied, “As far as I know.”

“Why couldn’t you have just said so?” asked the blond with a smile.

Ezra chuckled. “Cuz… fuck him.”

Chris snorted in amusement. Ezra looked up at him, shooting him a lazy half smile.

“It’s good to see you Ezra.”

A moment’s pause, then, “It’s good to see you as well. You have no idea.”

“You look like shit though.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He stood up straight and took a cleansing breath. “So, now what?”

[Part 1a][Part 1b][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4a][Part 4b][Part 5a][Part 5b][Part 6a][Part 6b]


( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
Aug. 13th, 2012 09:04 pm (UTC)
I admit, I'm hoping Henderson turns out to be just a jerk, not a mole... but I love Ezra's attitude, it's uncrushable...
Aug. 13th, 2012 09:26 pm (UTC)
i love writing him with a bit of attitude. tough as nails, but still loyal to his friends and able to keep some humor with them.
Aug. 15th, 2012 05:46 am (UTC)
Ha, love Ezra in this chapter. DEA man has fallen down the like scale significantly though.
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
People spend thousands of dollars on therapy; I just beat shit with a hammer.


Monsters do exist. Ghosts too. They live inside us and sometimes they win.
~Stephen King


Better to write for yourself and have no public, than write for the public and have no self...
~Cyril Connolly


Oh! An Irishman's heart is as stout as shillelagh,

It beats with delight to chase sorrow and woe;

When the piper plays up, then it dances gaily,

And thumps with a whack to leather a foe.



"Yes," I said, "for the love of God!"

~The Cask of Amontillado


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