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sealieRating: Slash; h/c
Word count: ~3, 700
Warning:
Advisory: potty mouth; disability; IT’S A WIP.
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
Comments: British English spelling.
Spoilers: none, it’s an AU.
Betas: Springwoof – hugs and kisses. I did a word count the day before, and The Co-operative now tops 300,000 words. That’s a lot of betaing.
The first part is here,
The Co-operative.
By Sealie
Danny teased a comb through his wet hair. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Steve’s reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“Yes?” Danny said, in the face of that fond expression.
“We’re going to be late,” Steve said, “-- to the base,” he added, when Danny lifted an eyebrow.
“Oh, about that.” Danny moved a little over so Steve had a better view of his reflection. “Chin pointed out that the governor’s funeral will mean that I need a suit.”
Steve’s face was scrunched perfection.
“Okay, the reflection and your back to me is a weird combination. So why don’t you wear a suit?” he hazarded.
Danny pivoted on his heel. “I need a suit. I’ve got slacks and shirts. I bought them after the fire--” he shuddered, “-- at Walmart.”
“Ah,” Steve said realising. “The fire. Right. Okay, there is an excellent tailor’s on Kalakaua Street. I guess they can put a rush job through. No reason why not. I have an account.”
“Hang on, Mr. Moneybags.” Danny held up a hand. “Mrs. Yaayaa’s my tailor.”
“It will be faster--”
“We’re going to see Mrs. Yaayaa. She of the butt pinching tendencies.”
“Butt?” Steve echoed.
“I really don’t want to say ‘ass’ and Mrs. Yaayaa in the same sentence.”
“You just did,” Steve pointed out.
“Go change out of your very attractive uniform. Maybe we can find your Uncle Choi afterwards and speak to Mamo?”
Steve parsed that. “Okay,” he drawled. “Have you taken photos of the slides?”
“Did it before my shower.” Danny held up an imaginary camera, framed a shot of Steve in his uniform and clicked off a shot. “My Canon is in the museum office. I wrote a list of the order of the photos, best that I can remember. It’s next to my camera. Go download the photos from my camera and Oh’s computer disc onto your phone or something.”
“Or something,” Steve mocked. He saluted sloppily. “Yes, sir.”
~*~
To say that Mrs. Yaayaa was happy to have the opportunity to ogle his ass was something of an understatement. She had immediately sent her great-grandson out to retrieve as many of her husband’s old suits as possible so that they could choose the right one to modify.
Steve had lolled in the centre of the saggy sofa along the far wall of the workshop, arms outstretched along the back, enjoying the show as Mrs. Yaayaa checked the fit around Danny’s butt.
“What about a shirt?” Steve asked, and Mrs. Yaayaa was happy to oblige.
“My Gustav,” she pronounced, stroking Danny’s waist, “was a little broader. Your ratios are superb.”
“What’s that?” Ben asked from the windowsill, where he observed as tailor-in-training.
“Shoulders to waist are 1.618. The golden ratio.” Auntie Yaayaa smoothed a hand down the small of Danny’s back. “Here come see the curve. The icing on the cherry.”
Danny closed his eyes and tried to go to the special place as Steve sniggered.
~*~
“Don’t laugh,” Danny chided, as they walked towards Steve’s ridiculously large Ford.
“You’ve made a lovely lady’s day.”
Danny glowered.
“She was teasing you.” Steve grinned. “And actually also enjoying herself. You didn’t really mind, did you?”
Relenting his ire, Danny shrugged. On one hand her lascivious interest was annoying, but it was essentially harmless. Danny thought that when Mrs. Yaayaa looked at him, she saw her beloved husband. He guessed that she had teased him a lot. And loved him more than Danny could encompass with outstretched arms.
“Nah,” he decided. “I’m pretty sure if I told her to stop, she would.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Steve observed. “She likes teasing. And you bite so enthusiastically, it’s almost irresistible.”
“So, find Uncle Choi?” Danny said, changing the subject, because he was not going to agree with Steve. “Do you know where he’s at?”
“Yeah. I spoke to Chin’s little brother. Uncle Choi is patrolling the Aloha Tower--” The hazard lights on Steve’s truck flashed as he clicked the car alarm off. He stopped abruptly, turned on his heel and eyes, agate hard, scanned the street.
“What? What?” Danny stopped on a dime and looked frantically around. He didn’t see anything weird. It was a normal street, dotted with moving cars and trucks, parked vehicles, and a range of pedestrians -- from shoppers and office workers to tourists. “Steve?”
Danny didn’t touch. He wanted to, though. The straight line of Steve’s back spoke of a deep unease.
“I just felt….”
“That someone was watching us?” There were no unusual suspects, no cameras, or watchers tucked around corners. Danny kind of doubted that they would be that obvious.
Steve huffed, nostrils flaring.
“Let’s get off the street then,” Danny said, moving towards the truck.
Steve’s arm came out, mom-blocking Danny’s forward movement.
“What?” Danny asked.
“Someone,” Steve said slowly, “has interfered with the truck.”
“What!” Danny demanded. “A bomb?”
“Maybe.” Steve slid forwards, head cocked to the side as he scrutinised the black Ford.
Danny could not see what Steve saw. It was entirely possible that there was nothing to see -- that it was all about feelings. Steve crouched to scrutinise the key lock on the passenger side. He scowled. Danny wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when Steve dropped down into a push up, his tiny backpack bouncing on his shoulders, and peered under the truck. A lady with a toddler in a stroller gave them a wide berth as she rushed by.
“Dropped his keys,” Danny fudged, but she didn’t look back.
Steve shimmied like a snake and craned his head under the engine block. He jack-knifed to his feet -- in no way that should be described as hot -- and marched around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.
“What?” Tentatively, Danny came a little closer, and then it occurred to him—if the truck was going to blow up, shouldn’t he be chivvying people away?
Through the windows, he could see Steve examining the inside of the truck. Danny didn’t have a clue what had caught his attention and kindled his suspicions. Danny lifted his hands and mimed a shrug through the window. Steve glanced at him, and Danny widened his eyes: come on tell me. Sighing, Steve pointed at the lemon scented air freshener hanging from the mirror in the centre of the dash. It was swinging fractionally, as if knocked a few moments ago.
Steve did another World War II searchlight scan of the immediate area.
“Maybe,” Danny said loudly, “a heavy truck drove by?”
“There’s a scratch on the passenger lock. You don’t use keys to get into the truck. It was picked.”
“Really?” Danny bent over to have a closer look. He couldn’t see anything, so he huffed a breath over the shiny polished metal trying to see if that helped, and an edge of the heel of a palm appeared in the condensation below the lock, and then disappeared as it immediately dried in the warm Hawaiian air. “Babe!”
“Don’t touch anything!” Steve came back around the truck with alacrity.
“We got a print!” Danny pointed in the general area.
“What?” Steve crouched, as Danny breathed on the lock.
“Okay, that’s not professional,” Steve said, tone disgusted. “Do it again.”
Danny breathed, and Steve snapped off a shot of the heel print with his BlackBerry.
“Okay, so we’ve got evidence and shit? Shouldn’t we be calling the bomb squad? I mean, you know, someone’s interfered with your truck, and not in a good way. At least, I’m assuming that.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“Yay. Fuck My Life,” Danny said.
~*~
“We found a bug, Commander. No bomb.” The camo-bedecked officer strode towards them behind the barricade of Army Bomb Squad vehicles. He had a walrus-bushy moustache.
“Excuse me?” Steve demanded.
The moustache, Danny guessed, and that he was a good few feet away, made the officer difficult to understand.
The army guy stopped, well on the other side of the barricade, and stared at them. The label over his right breast pocket gave his surname as Velasquez.
“We conducted a search of your vehicle.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, back towards the Ford, and continued speaking, “We found the bug in the music system.”
Steve snapped a glance at Danny, annoyed and frustrated.
“Major, report,” Steve rapped out, and strode around the barricade, straight into the man’s orbit.
The major spun on his heel, head jerking back as he clocked Steve’s invasion of his personal space. Almost at attention, he repeated his observations in short staccato sentences.
“Where’s the bug now?” Steve asked, after he dissected out the meaning of the major’s words.
“We secured it in one of the bomb boxes, as ordered,” Velasquez said. “They’re insulated. No electronic signals. I figured NI would want it.”
“Yes, NI will want it.”
“Yes. Lieutenant Commander Rickety asked for it.” Velasquez pointed to the other side of the road where a brown sedan was parked.
“Thank you,” Steve said tersely. “And, Major Velasquez, your facial hair is not regulation.”
Steve marched over in a direct line to Rickety’s car; all and sundry got out of his determined way. Danny hared after him because this was going to be incendiary. He waggled his eyebrows at Velasquez’s expression as he passed. Danny guessed that Steve was in the right, but it was hard for an Army guy to swallow a passive aggressive reprimand from a Navy guy.
“Rickety!” Steve rapped out.
The strawberry blond-headed Lieutenant Commander was just about to reverse out of the parking space.
“Commander?” He eyed them through the open driver’s window.
“Where are you going?” Steve demanded.
“I’m heading back to the base.” Rickety patted the box on the passenger seat.
“Why did you authorise removal of the bug?”
“Because it’s a bug,” Rickety said, as if talking to a moron.
“Where’s NCIS? My Ford needs to be checked. There’s a print on the front passenger door. There could have been residual evidence associated with the bug. Even the placement could have told us something about the operator that placed it.”
Rickety’s face fell.
Frustrated beyond belief, Steve threw his hands in the air. “Get NCIS down here to take my truck for processing. Now!” He spun on his heel, pale skin flushed.
“Hey, hey.” Danny caught the hem of his t-shirt.
“Fucking idiot,” Steve swore uncharacteristically. “Even if it’s highly unlikely that Wo Fat wasn’t aware that we had found the bug so we could have provided false intel--” Steve gestured at the public crowd on the other side of the police barricade, well outside of the Army’s sphere of action, “--we could have pinged it. Seen if we could get a location.”
“Steve,” Danny began.
Steve almost twisted out of Danny’s grasp. “Why aren’t you calling NCIS, Commander?” he demanded.
Flushing, Rickety got his phone out and started making calls.
“Look, he’s an idiot.” Danny tugged Steve away, and Steve followed the draw of his fingers. “But he’s obeying you. Okay? Let’s go over to the truck and make sure that no one touches it more before NCIS gets here.”
“I wouldn’t put him in charge of a girl scout jamboree,” Steve groused.
~*~
Steve watched glumly as NCIS towed his truck away to preserve any residual evidence and to process thoroughly back at the lab.
“Going to have to get it recalibrated,” he grumbled. “Towing damages the wheel alignment.”
“I’m sure there’s a cousin somewhere that will do it for you,” Danny mused. He guessed that there were probably ten cousins that could do it.
Steve grunted in agreement as he fiddled with his BlackBerry.
“You texting Uncle Choi?” Danny craned his head to look at the screen.
“Next. I’m sending the photo of the heel print to Dr. Hewson.”
“Who?”
“Head of the NCIS labs. You met her, the first time I took you.”
Danny nodded, remembering the lady with the long hair plait. He had got the impression that she was a long standing friend of Steve’s, which probably related to the stuff that Steve had done with Naval Intelligence.
“So where next, Kemosabe?” Danny asked. “How are we going to meet up with Choi now we’re without wheels?”
“What?” All of Steve’s attention was abruptly focused on Danny. “Chemo-Babe?”
“Kemo-sa-be,” Danny enunciated.
“I prefer ‘Babe’,” Steve said petulantly.
“Noted. But why didn’t we get a lift back to Seolh with one of the fifty or so cops that checked on us to make sure that we were all right?”
“Because we need to go and find Uncle Choi, Danny,” Steve said, tone a little perplexed.
“Yes, mission,” Danny said, and hand-waved, because despite it being barely one o’clock, he felt like it had been a whole day. And he had been standing out in the hot sun and humid air for a long time. Wilting into a puddle seemed like a really good idea.
Steve shrugged his backpack off his shoulder, and hauled out a plastic bottle of water. Mutely, he proffered it.
“Aw, thanks, Babe.” Danny glugged down a healthy mouthful. It was warm, but so very, very good.
“I forget that you’re not used to the sun and heat.” A little tentatively, Steve reached out and touched the tip of Danny’s nose with his finger. “You’ve caught the sun.”
“Must have sweated off my sun block.” Danny resisted touching his nose. As soon as Steve mentioned it, he could suddenly feel the stretch of over-exposed skin across his cheekbones.
“I thought that we could walk to the Aloha Tower.” Steve lifted his chin in the direction of the white clock tower rising far in the distance. “But let’s get a taxi instead, get you out of the sun and grab some lunch. Uncle Choi can join us.”
“What about Wo Fat?” Danny asked, and he couldn’t help looking around.
“He wants to bug us for intel, Danny. Not shoot at us.”
~*~
They got out of the taxi at the entrance to the Aloha Market Place. Steve was hovering, which was altogether weird. That was Danny’s role in the scheme of things.
“Stop looking at me like that, Babe.”
“You’ve gone really, really red,” Steve said worriedly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Danny waved his almost empty water bottle. “Food wouldn’t go amiss.”
Catching him by the elbow, Steve towed Danny over to a placard map next to the harbour wall of the Aloha Tower Market Place. It was mounted on a stubby podium.
“Hey, stop with the pulling!” Danny protested.
“Here.” Steve helpfully pointed to the portion of the map that listed the various food emporiums inside the market, just in case Danny hadn’t been able to understand the way that the colour co-ordinated map was set up.
There were a lot of choices. Top of the list was ‘Aloha Sushi’. Danny didn’t want sushi no matter how much Steve adored sushi. He wanted something familiar and comforting after their morning bomb scare.
“Hooters?” Danny said out loud.
Steve looked a little horrified, but covered instantly. Danny made a mental note to play strip poker with him sometime in the near future.
“Let’s try the Brewery Restaurant,” Danny decided. He wasn’t familiar with the chain -- Gordon Biersch -- or even if it was a brand. But a long, cold beer sounded awesome.
Carefully, Steve led them through the maze of shops and store fronts, his pace slower than his normal march. Danny caught a glimpse of his reflection in a mirrored shop façade, and was surprised at the deep rosy flush over his nose and cheekbones, making his blue eyes pop out. Blond, pale and Hawaii didn’t mix very well. Aloe vera was in Danny’s future. Suddenly, his shirt was tackily uncomfortable against his back.
The restaurant was busy, but a table for three was available. Tucked in the far corner, it only provided a sparse view of the harbour, but it was cool and in shadow. Their young waitress was clearly responsive to Danny’s neon-glowing skin.
“I’ll let you guys look at the menu, and come back with a pitcher of iced water.”
“And beer!” Danny said to her retreating back.
“I don’t think that beer is a good idea,” Steve said.
“Beer is an excellent idea,” Danny refuted, going straight for the drinks portion of the menu. There was a light Golden Export that was just what the doctor prescribed.
“Hmm.” Steve was rooting in his backpack. Triumphantly, he pulled out a small screw topped jar of his moisturiser. “You want?”
“Yeah, actually, yeah.” His skin was pinching. He took it and stood. “I need the bathroom, as well. Order me a Golden Export when that delightful young woman comes back.”
Danny trotted off before Steve could lecture him on the evils of alcohol and sunburn. If the beer wasn’t there when he returned, he would simply order it when she came back to get their food order. Mentally, as he pissed in the urinal, he prepared his harangue if Steve didn’t obey orders.
He took the opportunity to throw cold water on his face after washing his hands. The cool splash felt awesome against his heated skin. Peering closely, he didn’t think that he was badly burnt, just a little singed. The moisturiser was oily and gloopy, so he used it sparingly, preferring not to look like a shiny troll doll. It did help his tight feeling skin. There was a line of heat between his shirt collar and his hair line. He dampened a paper towel and laid it over the back of his neck with a hiss.
“Sunburn,” he grumbled.
~*~
The beers -- one light-coloured one for him and a darker, amber beer for Steve -- and a large pitcher of water were on the table when he returned.
“Have you ordered food?” Danny sat and reached for the beer at the same time. It slipped down very easily. The knot at the base of his skull unravelled.
“Didn’t know what you’d want.” Steve passed over a laminated menu. “There are a lot of fried foods to choose from.”
“Hah!” Danny scanned the menu, checking that there would be something for his own favourite picky eater. They had a good and varied choice. “Oooh. Oooh. Oooh. It all looks great. Have you decided?”
“Miso Mahi,” Steve said.
Finding it on the menu, it appeared healthy to Danny’s eye. He wasn’t entirely sure what mahi or the quinoa kale pilaff side was, and to be fair, he didn’t really care because the Kobe cheeseburger was beckoning. Danny was also going to try the advertised legendary garlic fries. Not wanting to wait a second longer, Danny waved their nice waitress over.
She dimpled a smile at Danny as he made his order, and told her what Steve had chosen.
“Hello, boys.” Uncle Choi came around the table from behind the young woman.
“Officer!” The waitress jumped. “Uhm, is everything okay?”
“I’m taking my lunch break with my nephew,” Uncle Choi said easily.
“Oh, okay.” She blinked. Deliberately, she poised herself, stylus and mini-tablet ready to finish their order, striving to find comfort in routine. “Do you know what you’d like? Oh, sorry, you haven’t had a chance to look at the menu.”
“It’s okay, keiki. I’ve been here before. Beer battered fish and chips.” Choi moved around to the far side of the table and sat with a clump, his heavy utility belt hitting the back of the chair. “Root beer. Thanks.”
“Coming right up.” She beetled off, tapping at her notepad as she moved.
“Hi, Uncle Choi. I’m glad you could come,” Steve said. “You remember Danny, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Hi, Danny. You keeping Stevie in line?”
“Of course.” Danny toasted Choi with his beer. He was a funny old guy. He had this lazy drawl as if he was onto his tenth beer of the day.
“How are you doing, kiddo?” Choi lolled back in his chair. “You weren’t well the last time I saw you?”
Blushing, Steve scratched behind his ear. “Moved too fast. Won’t happen again.”
Choi shook his head, avuncular. “It will, kid. But don’t let it stop you. So what’s up?”
Leaning to the side, Steve fetched his BlackBerry out of his back pocket. Thumb flicking, he scrolled through the picture files, and then passed over his phone to Choi.
“Do you recognise this man?”
Choi scrutinised the screen, holding it at arm’s length and turning it from side to side.
“I think that’s Koji. Yeah, Koji Noshimuri,” he finally said.
“Relation to Hiro Noshimuri?” Steve stretched across the table as far as he could, and grated, voice low, “The Yakuza boss?
“Younger brother.” Choi grimaced, as he handed the phone back to Steve. “What’s this about?”
Angling the phone so that they could both see the screen, Steve scrolled through to the second photo of the man. Automatically, the pictures rolled over to the Mercury Marquis. Steve thumbed it back to Koji’s photograph.
“Are you sure, Uncle Choi?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“How do you know him?” Danny plucked the phone from Steve’s hand, curious because the man’s face was half hidden by the car door. “These are old photos.”
“He was a cop.” Choi said leaning in close. “That’s your dad’s old car, you know.”
“I remember it well,” Steve said hollowly. His changeable eyes had shifted to storm-grey.
“And so you should, son.” Choi smiled a sad smile. “Why the interest in Koji?”
“Koji Noshimuri.” Steve took his phone from Danny’s hand. “I’m guessing he was a mole for the Yakuza? Dad was investigating him, as part of his Yakuza investigation?”
“It was a nasty business. The investigation--” Choi grimaced, “--died with your dad. But Koji left soon after, ‘cause it was an open secret that he was Yakuza, and he started working for his brother. Security.”
“Dad was investigating him? Why’s he getting into Dad’s car then?” Steve asked.
“What’s weirder is why’s that photo in your mom’s sequence of photos?” Danny tapped the phone with his fingernail.
Steve stared at his phone as if he had found it in the bottom of a nasty garbage can.
“Babe?” Danny asked.
“Babe?” Choi echoed.
“My mother--” Steve stared at Danny, eyes wide and hurt, “--was running surveillance on my dad?”
~*~
Tbc
Part ninety three
Word count: ~3, 700
Warning:
Advisory: potty mouth; disability; IT’S A WIP.
Disclaimer: writing for fun not for profit.
Comments: British English spelling.
Spoilers: none, it’s an AU.
Betas: Springwoof – hugs and kisses. I did a word count the day before, and The Co-operative now tops 300,000 words. That’s a lot of betaing.
The first part is here,
The Co-operative.
By Sealie
Danny teased a comb through his wet hair. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Steve’s reflection in the bathroom mirror.
“Yes?” Danny said, in the face of that fond expression.
“We’re going to be late,” Steve said, “-- to the base,” he added, when Danny lifted an eyebrow.
“Oh, about that.” Danny moved a little over so Steve had a better view of his reflection. “Chin pointed out that the governor’s funeral will mean that I need a suit.”
Steve’s face was scrunched perfection.
“Okay, the reflection and your back to me is a weird combination. So why don’t you wear a suit?” he hazarded.
Danny pivoted on his heel. “I need a suit. I’ve got slacks and shirts. I bought them after the fire--” he shuddered, “-- at Walmart.”
“Ah,” Steve said realising. “The fire. Right. Okay, there is an excellent tailor’s on Kalakaua Street. I guess they can put a rush job through. No reason why not. I have an account.”
“Hang on, Mr. Moneybags.” Danny held up a hand. “Mrs. Yaayaa’s my tailor.”
“It will be faster--”
“We’re going to see Mrs. Yaayaa. She of the butt pinching tendencies.”
“Butt?” Steve echoed.
“I really don’t want to say ‘ass’ and Mrs. Yaayaa in the same sentence.”
“You just did,” Steve pointed out.
“Go change out of your very attractive uniform. Maybe we can find your Uncle Choi afterwards and speak to Mamo?”
Steve parsed that. “Okay,” he drawled. “Have you taken photos of the slides?”
“Did it before my shower.” Danny held up an imaginary camera, framed a shot of Steve in his uniform and clicked off a shot. “My Canon is in the museum office. I wrote a list of the order of the photos, best that I can remember. It’s next to my camera. Go download the photos from my camera and Oh’s computer disc onto your phone or something.”
“Or something,” Steve mocked. He saluted sloppily. “Yes, sir.”
~*~
To say that Mrs. Yaayaa was happy to have the opportunity to ogle his ass was something of an understatement. She had immediately sent her great-grandson out to retrieve as many of her husband’s old suits as possible so that they could choose the right one to modify.
Steve had lolled in the centre of the saggy sofa along the far wall of the workshop, arms outstretched along the back, enjoying the show as Mrs. Yaayaa checked the fit around Danny’s butt.
“What about a shirt?” Steve asked, and Mrs. Yaayaa was happy to oblige.
“My Gustav,” she pronounced, stroking Danny’s waist, “was a little broader. Your ratios are superb.”
“What’s that?” Ben asked from the windowsill, where he observed as tailor-in-training.
“Shoulders to waist are 1.618. The golden ratio.” Auntie Yaayaa smoothed a hand down the small of Danny’s back. “Here come see the curve. The icing on the cherry.”
Danny closed his eyes and tried to go to the special place as Steve sniggered.
~*~
“Don’t laugh,” Danny chided, as they walked towards Steve’s ridiculously large Ford.
“You’ve made a lovely lady’s day.”
Danny glowered.
“She was teasing you.” Steve grinned. “And actually also enjoying herself. You didn’t really mind, did you?”
Relenting his ire, Danny shrugged. On one hand her lascivious interest was annoying, but it was essentially harmless. Danny thought that when Mrs. Yaayaa looked at him, she saw her beloved husband. He guessed that she had teased him a lot. And loved him more than Danny could encompass with outstretched arms.
“Nah,” he decided. “I’m pretty sure if I told her to stop, she would.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Steve observed. “She likes teasing. And you bite so enthusiastically, it’s almost irresistible.”
“So, find Uncle Choi?” Danny said, changing the subject, because he was not going to agree with Steve. “Do you know where he’s at?”
“Yeah. I spoke to Chin’s little brother. Uncle Choi is patrolling the Aloha Tower--” The hazard lights on Steve’s truck flashed as he clicked the car alarm off. He stopped abruptly, turned on his heel and eyes, agate hard, scanned the street.
“What? What?” Danny stopped on a dime and looked frantically around. He didn’t see anything weird. It was a normal street, dotted with moving cars and trucks, parked vehicles, and a range of pedestrians -- from shoppers and office workers to tourists. “Steve?”
Danny didn’t touch. He wanted to, though. The straight line of Steve’s back spoke of a deep unease.
“I just felt….”
“That someone was watching us?” There were no unusual suspects, no cameras, or watchers tucked around corners. Danny kind of doubted that they would be that obvious.
Steve huffed, nostrils flaring.
“Let’s get off the street then,” Danny said, moving towards the truck.
Steve’s arm came out, mom-blocking Danny’s forward movement.
“What?” Danny asked.
“Someone,” Steve said slowly, “has interfered with the truck.”
“What!” Danny demanded. “A bomb?”
“Maybe.” Steve slid forwards, head cocked to the side as he scrutinised the black Ford.
Danny could not see what Steve saw. It was entirely possible that there was nothing to see -- that it was all about feelings. Steve crouched to scrutinise the key lock on the passenger side. He scowled. Danny wasn’t the slightest bit surprised when Steve dropped down into a push up, his tiny backpack bouncing on his shoulders, and peered under the truck. A lady with a toddler in a stroller gave them a wide berth as she rushed by.
“Dropped his keys,” Danny fudged, but she didn’t look back.
Steve shimmied like a snake and craned his head under the engine block. He jack-knifed to his feet -- in no way that should be described as hot -- and marched around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.
“What?” Tentatively, Danny came a little closer, and then it occurred to him—if the truck was going to blow up, shouldn’t he be chivvying people away?
Through the windows, he could see Steve examining the inside of the truck. Danny didn’t have a clue what had caught his attention and kindled his suspicions. Danny lifted his hands and mimed a shrug through the window. Steve glanced at him, and Danny widened his eyes: come on tell me. Sighing, Steve pointed at the lemon scented air freshener hanging from the mirror in the centre of the dash. It was swinging fractionally, as if knocked a few moments ago.
Steve did another World War II searchlight scan of the immediate area.
“Maybe,” Danny said loudly, “a heavy truck drove by?”
“There’s a scratch on the passenger lock. You don’t use keys to get into the truck. It was picked.”
“Really?” Danny bent over to have a closer look. He couldn’t see anything, so he huffed a breath over the shiny polished metal trying to see if that helped, and an edge of the heel of a palm appeared in the condensation below the lock, and then disappeared as it immediately dried in the warm Hawaiian air. “Babe!”
“Don’t touch anything!” Steve came back around the truck with alacrity.
“We got a print!” Danny pointed in the general area.
“What?” Steve crouched, as Danny breathed on the lock.
“Okay, that’s not professional,” Steve said, tone disgusted. “Do it again.”
Danny breathed, and Steve snapped off a shot of the heel print with his BlackBerry.
“Okay, so we’ve got evidence and shit? Shouldn’t we be calling the bomb squad? I mean, you know, someone’s interfered with your truck, and not in a good way. At least, I’m assuming that.”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“Yay. Fuck My Life,” Danny said.
~*~
“We found a bug, Commander. No bomb.” The camo-bedecked officer strode towards them behind the barricade of Army Bomb Squad vehicles. He had a walrus-bushy moustache.
“Excuse me?” Steve demanded.
The moustache, Danny guessed, and that he was a good few feet away, made the officer difficult to understand.
The army guy stopped, well on the other side of the barricade, and stared at them. The label over his right breast pocket gave his surname as Velasquez.
“We conducted a search of your vehicle.” He turned and looked over his shoulder, back towards the Ford, and continued speaking, “We found the bug in the music system.”
Steve snapped a glance at Danny, annoyed and frustrated.
“Major, report,” Steve rapped out, and strode around the barricade, straight into the man’s orbit.
The major spun on his heel, head jerking back as he clocked Steve’s invasion of his personal space. Almost at attention, he repeated his observations in short staccato sentences.
“Where’s the bug now?” Steve asked, after he dissected out the meaning of the major’s words.
“We secured it in one of the bomb boxes, as ordered,” Velasquez said. “They’re insulated. No electronic signals. I figured NI would want it.”
“Yes, NI will want it.”
“Yes. Lieutenant Commander Rickety asked for it.” Velasquez pointed to the other side of the road where a brown sedan was parked.
“Thank you,” Steve said tersely. “And, Major Velasquez, your facial hair is not regulation.”
Steve marched over in a direct line to Rickety’s car; all and sundry got out of his determined way. Danny hared after him because this was going to be incendiary. He waggled his eyebrows at Velasquez’s expression as he passed. Danny guessed that Steve was in the right, but it was hard for an Army guy to swallow a passive aggressive reprimand from a Navy guy.
“Rickety!” Steve rapped out.
The strawberry blond-headed Lieutenant Commander was just about to reverse out of the parking space.
“Commander?” He eyed them through the open driver’s window.
“Where are you going?” Steve demanded.
“I’m heading back to the base.” Rickety patted the box on the passenger seat.
“Why did you authorise removal of the bug?”
“Because it’s a bug,” Rickety said, as if talking to a moron.
“Where’s NCIS? My Ford needs to be checked. There’s a print on the front passenger door. There could have been residual evidence associated with the bug. Even the placement could have told us something about the operator that placed it.”
Rickety’s face fell.
Frustrated beyond belief, Steve threw his hands in the air. “Get NCIS down here to take my truck for processing. Now!” He spun on his heel, pale skin flushed.
“Hey, hey.” Danny caught the hem of his t-shirt.
“Fucking idiot,” Steve swore uncharacteristically. “Even if it’s highly unlikely that Wo Fat wasn’t aware that we had found the bug so we could have provided false intel--” Steve gestured at the public crowd on the other side of the police barricade, well outside of the Army’s sphere of action, “--we could have pinged it. Seen if we could get a location.”
“Steve,” Danny began.
Steve almost twisted out of Danny’s grasp. “Why aren’t you calling NCIS, Commander?” he demanded.
Flushing, Rickety got his phone out and started making calls.
“Look, he’s an idiot.” Danny tugged Steve away, and Steve followed the draw of his fingers. “But he’s obeying you. Okay? Let’s go over to the truck and make sure that no one touches it more before NCIS gets here.”
“I wouldn’t put him in charge of a girl scout jamboree,” Steve groused.
~*~
Steve watched glumly as NCIS towed his truck away to preserve any residual evidence and to process thoroughly back at the lab.
“Going to have to get it recalibrated,” he grumbled. “Towing damages the wheel alignment.”
“I’m sure there’s a cousin somewhere that will do it for you,” Danny mused. He guessed that there were probably ten cousins that could do it.
Steve grunted in agreement as he fiddled with his BlackBerry.
“You texting Uncle Choi?” Danny craned his head to look at the screen.
“Next. I’m sending the photo of the heel print to Dr. Hewson.”
“Who?”
“Head of the NCIS labs. You met her, the first time I took you.”
Danny nodded, remembering the lady with the long hair plait. He had got the impression that she was a long standing friend of Steve’s, which probably related to the stuff that Steve had done with Naval Intelligence.
“So where next, Kemosabe?” Danny asked. “How are we going to meet up with Choi now we’re without wheels?”
“What?” All of Steve’s attention was abruptly focused on Danny. “Chemo-Babe?”
“Kemo-sa-be,” Danny enunciated.
“I prefer ‘Babe’,” Steve said petulantly.
“Noted. But why didn’t we get a lift back to Seolh with one of the fifty or so cops that checked on us to make sure that we were all right?”
“Because we need to go and find Uncle Choi, Danny,” Steve said, tone a little perplexed.
“Yes, mission,” Danny said, and hand-waved, because despite it being barely one o’clock, he felt like it had been a whole day. And he had been standing out in the hot sun and humid air for a long time. Wilting into a puddle seemed like a really good idea.
Steve shrugged his backpack off his shoulder, and hauled out a plastic bottle of water. Mutely, he proffered it.
“Aw, thanks, Babe.” Danny glugged down a healthy mouthful. It was warm, but so very, very good.
“I forget that you’re not used to the sun and heat.” A little tentatively, Steve reached out and touched the tip of Danny’s nose with his finger. “You’ve caught the sun.”
“Must have sweated off my sun block.” Danny resisted touching his nose. As soon as Steve mentioned it, he could suddenly feel the stretch of over-exposed skin across his cheekbones.
“I thought that we could walk to the Aloha Tower.” Steve lifted his chin in the direction of the white clock tower rising far in the distance. “But let’s get a taxi instead, get you out of the sun and grab some lunch. Uncle Choi can join us.”
“What about Wo Fat?” Danny asked, and he couldn’t help looking around.
“He wants to bug us for intel, Danny. Not shoot at us.”
~*~
They got out of the taxi at the entrance to the Aloha Market Place. Steve was hovering, which was altogether weird. That was Danny’s role in the scheme of things.
“Stop looking at me like that, Babe.”
“You’ve gone really, really red,” Steve said worriedly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Danny waved his almost empty water bottle. “Food wouldn’t go amiss.”
Catching him by the elbow, Steve towed Danny over to a placard map next to the harbour wall of the Aloha Tower Market Place. It was mounted on a stubby podium.
“Hey, stop with the pulling!” Danny protested.
“Here.” Steve helpfully pointed to the portion of the map that listed the various food emporiums inside the market, just in case Danny hadn’t been able to understand the way that the colour co-ordinated map was set up.
There were a lot of choices. Top of the list was ‘Aloha Sushi’. Danny didn’t want sushi no matter how much Steve adored sushi. He wanted something familiar and comforting after their morning bomb scare.
“Hooters?” Danny said out loud.
Steve looked a little horrified, but covered instantly. Danny made a mental note to play strip poker with him sometime in the near future.
“Let’s try the Brewery Restaurant,” Danny decided. He wasn’t familiar with the chain -- Gordon Biersch -- or even if it was a brand. But a long, cold beer sounded awesome.
Carefully, Steve led them through the maze of shops and store fronts, his pace slower than his normal march. Danny caught a glimpse of his reflection in a mirrored shop façade, and was surprised at the deep rosy flush over his nose and cheekbones, making his blue eyes pop out. Blond, pale and Hawaii didn’t mix very well. Aloe vera was in Danny’s future. Suddenly, his shirt was tackily uncomfortable against his back.
The restaurant was busy, but a table for three was available. Tucked in the far corner, it only provided a sparse view of the harbour, but it was cool and in shadow. Their young waitress was clearly responsive to Danny’s neon-glowing skin.
“I’ll let you guys look at the menu, and come back with a pitcher of iced water.”
“And beer!” Danny said to her retreating back.
“I don’t think that beer is a good idea,” Steve said.
“Beer is an excellent idea,” Danny refuted, going straight for the drinks portion of the menu. There was a light Golden Export that was just what the doctor prescribed.
“Hmm.” Steve was rooting in his backpack. Triumphantly, he pulled out a small screw topped jar of his moisturiser. “You want?”
“Yeah, actually, yeah.” His skin was pinching. He took it and stood. “I need the bathroom, as well. Order me a Golden Export when that delightful young woman comes back.”
Danny trotted off before Steve could lecture him on the evils of alcohol and sunburn. If the beer wasn’t there when he returned, he would simply order it when she came back to get their food order. Mentally, as he pissed in the urinal, he prepared his harangue if Steve didn’t obey orders.
He took the opportunity to throw cold water on his face after washing his hands. The cool splash felt awesome against his heated skin. Peering closely, he didn’t think that he was badly burnt, just a little singed. The moisturiser was oily and gloopy, so he used it sparingly, preferring not to look like a shiny troll doll. It did help his tight feeling skin. There was a line of heat between his shirt collar and his hair line. He dampened a paper towel and laid it over the back of his neck with a hiss.
“Sunburn,” he grumbled.
~*~
The beers -- one light-coloured one for him and a darker, amber beer for Steve -- and a large pitcher of water were on the table when he returned.
“Have you ordered food?” Danny sat and reached for the beer at the same time. It slipped down very easily. The knot at the base of his skull unravelled.
“Didn’t know what you’d want.” Steve passed over a laminated menu. “There are a lot of fried foods to choose from.”
“Hah!” Danny scanned the menu, checking that there would be something for his own favourite picky eater. They had a good and varied choice. “Oooh. Oooh. Oooh. It all looks great. Have you decided?”
“Miso Mahi,” Steve said.
Finding it on the menu, it appeared healthy to Danny’s eye. He wasn’t entirely sure what mahi or the quinoa kale pilaff side was, and to be fair, he didn’t really care because the Kobe cheeseburger was beckoning. Danny was also going to try the advertised legendary garlic fries. Not wanting to wait a second longer, Danny waved their nice waitress over.
She dimpled a smile at Danny as he made his order, and told her what Steve had chosen.
“Hello, boys.” Uncle Choi came around the table from behind the young woman.
“Officer!” The waitress jumped. “Uhm, is everything okay?”
“I’m taking my lunch break with my nephew,” Uncle Choi said easily.
“Oh, okay.” She blinked. Deliberately, she poised herself, stylus and mini-tablet ready to finish their order, striving to find comfort in routine. “Do you know what you’d like? Oh, sorry, you haven’t had a chance to look at the menu.”
“It’s okay, keiki. I’ve been here before. Beer battered fish and chips.” Choi moved around to the far side of the table and sat with a clump, his heavy utility belt hitting the back of the chair. “Root beer. Thanks.”
“Coming right up.” She beetled off, tapping at her notepad as she moved.
“Hi, Uncle Choi. I’m glad you could come,” Steve said. “You remember Danny, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Hi, Danny. You keeping Stevie in line?”
“Of course.” Danny toasted Choi with his beer. He was a funny old guy. He had this lazy drawl as if he was onto his tenth beer of the day.
“How are you doing, kiddo?” Choi lolled back in his chair. “You weren’t well the last time I saw you?”
Blushing, Steve scratched behind his ear. “Moved too fast. Won’t happen again.”
Choi shook his head, avuncular. “It will, kid. But don’t let it stop you. So what’s up?”
Leaning to the side, Steve fetched his BlackBerry out of his back pocket. Thumb flicking, he scrolled through the picture files, and then passed over his phone to Choi.
“Do you recognise this man?”
Choi scrutinised the screen, holding it at arm’s length and turning it from side to side.
“I think that’s Koji. Yeah, Koji Noshimuri,” he finally said.
“Relation to Hiro Noshimuri?” Steve stretched across the table as far as he could, and grated, voice low, “The Yakuza boss?
“Younger brother.” Choi grimaced, as he handed the phone back to Steve. “What’s this about?”
Angling the phone so that they could both see the screen, Steve scrolled through to the second photo of the man. Automatically, the pictures rolled over to the Mercury Marquis. Steve thumbed it back to Koji’s photograph.
“Are you sure, Uncle Choi?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
“How do you know him?” Danny plucked the phone from Steve’s hand, curious because the man’s face was half hidden by the car door. “These are old photos.”
“He was a cop.” Choi said leaning in close. “That’s your dad’s old car, you know.”
“I remember it well,” Steve said hollowly. His changeable eyes had shifted to storm-grey.
“And so you should, son.” Choi smiled a sad smile. “Why the interest in Koji?”
“Koji Noshimuri.” Steve took his phone from Danny’s hand. “I’m guessing he was a mole for the Yakuza? Dad was investigating him, as part of his Yakuza investigation?”
“It was a nasty business. The investigation--” Choi grimaced, “--died with your dad. But Koji left soon after, ‘cause it was an open secret that he was Yakuza, and he started working for his brother. Security.”
“Dad was investigating him? Why’s he getting into Dad’s car then?” Steve asked.
“What’s weirder is why’s that photo in your mom’s sequence of photos?” Danny tapped the phone with his fingernail.
Steve stared at his phone as if he had found it in the bottom of a nasty garbage can.
“Babe?” Danny asked.
“Babe?” Choi echoed.
“My mother--” Steve stared at Danny, eyes wide and hurt, “--was running surveillance on my dad?”
~*~
Tbc
Part ninety three
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Date: 2014-05-24 10:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-24 10:50 am (UTC)It is a very delectable bum.
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Date: 2014-05-24 11:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-24 11:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-24 11:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-25 09:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-25 10:03 am (UTC)I really enjoyed even the teensiest hint of Danny being the one who needed a little taking care of - Steve gently touching his nose made me smile.
A lovely chapter, as always. This has such wonderful re-read value, as I love your characters. :)
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Date: 2014-05-25 09:57 pm (UTC)Poor Danny he was badly done by in this ep -- picked on, teased, sun burnt, he almost didn't get his beer....
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Date: 2014-05-25 05:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-25 09:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-26 05:01 pm (UTC)And why was Doris running a surveillance on her husband??
Is this Uncle Choi the same one, but different, to the one we saw on the show?