Seminar

Part 2

The Judge, it turned out, heard about it almost immediately. The dreaded phone call came ten minutes after the seven had arrived back at the office.

"Larabee. Talk to me. Oh, hi, Judge." Chris grimaced and held the phone slightly away from his ear as he kicked his office door shut. The rest of the team promptly rushed over and pressed their ears to various points of the door, almost falling over when Chris jerked it open.

"Sit!" he hissed, pointing at their desks. They sat, reluctantly. Chris slammed his door shut again, and, after waiting a few seconds, the team approached and stopped at a relatively safe distance. Unfortunately, they weren't quite close enough to hear everything, so they had to content themselves with snatches of the conversation that were said loud enough to float over to them.

"Nitwit..." "...lame-brain..." "Mindless..." And then, very clearly, "... father is in the government?!"

The team exchanged glances. So *that* was why the idiot had been allowed to give a lecture to every local law enforcement agency. Come one, come all, one day only kind of thing.

"No! No *way*!" Chris sounded slightly frantic. He lowered his voice abruptly, probably having been chastised by the Judge - "Don't you raise your voice to me, boy!" seemed possible - and consequently the rest of the conversation was too muffled to make out, so the would-be eavesdroppers were forced to sit down and pretend to work.

Eventually, Chris emerged from his office, looking distressed.

"What's up there, boss?" Buck gestured to a spare chair. "Was he really mad?"

Chris sat down heavily. "Yeah. Said if I ever pull a stunt like that again he'll have my hide hanging on his office wall." A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth for a second, then vanished. "Apparently, however, Mr. Maxwell -"

Josiah held up a hand. "Who's that?"

Chris narrowed his eyes at him. "The guy that gave the lecture. Were you already reading that book when he introduced himself?"

Josiah grinned sheepishly. "Oh, *that* Mr. Maxwell. Please continue."

"Well, he thinks I was right."

"He does?" JD's astonishment was reflected on the faces of everyone present.

"Yes. Which presents a problem."

"How so?"

"He's decided he wants to gain some... what were the exact words used... ah. 'On the spot experience.' And he wants to get it from working with us."

"What?! Why?"

"He was impressed by the way I handled him," Chris replied sourly. "So he got hold of our records, and discovered that not only do we solve 98% of our cases, which is impossibly high, we also use unorthodox methods to solve them, which he found fascinating, and we also solve many cases that aren't even ours, hell, aren't even *cases*, usually while on vacation, *and* - this was the clincher as far as he was concerned - we have the highest injury rate. In fact, the Judge informed me that even if we had twice as many people in this team than we do, the injury rate would still be abnormally high, and it's a miracle we aren't all dead, and please will we keep this man alive as his father would be very upset if we don't. " Chris abruptly stopped talking and gasped for breath, having not inhaled for the duration of his reply.

"Who is his father?" Nathan did not look happy at the prospect of working with Maxwell. Then again, neither did anyone else.

Chris held up a hand until he'd finished gulping for air before answering. "He's a sort've semi-high ranking government official that pampers his son disgustingly. Judge wouldn't tell me exactly who."

"I hate nepotism," Ezra reflected.

"Yeah, well. We're stuck with this guy on the bust on Thursday."

The team was speechless. But not for long.

"But, Chris! We've worked on that for three months! We can't afford to have some no-brained idiot with an indulgent father screw that up!"

"I told the Judge that. He said it's my fault for losing my temper, and our fault for being so good at our jobs and being shot so much. And he agreed with us, but there's nothing he could do."

"That's not fair!"

"Life isn't fair, kid." Buck ruffled the kid's hair and sighed. "I guess we'll just have to keep him out of the way as much as possible."

"What's his first name?"

"Keith."

"Keith Maxwell?" Nathan shook his head with a sigh. "My father always told me not to trust people with two first names."

"I always thought your father was a very smart man."

"Agent Larabee, this is Keith Maxwell."

The Judge had insisted on meeting them at a neutral location to hand Maxwell over to them.

"We've met." Chris ignored the hand that Maxwell was holding out, merely staring at it until the poor disliked chap pretended he'd only been trying to swat a fly.

"Indeed," the Judge agreed dryly. "But this time, I don't want any violence. Understood?"

"What, not even a little?"

"*Understood*?"

"Yes, sir."

"And he's promised to obey every order given to him, without exception. Now introduce him to Team 7."

Chris turned to his team. "Everyone, Keith Maxwell. Keith, everyone."

"Chris!"

With a sigh and a put-upon look, Chris introduced everyone by name, except Ezra, who was getting ready to slip into his usual undercover role.

"Good. Now, I'm going to go, and you're going to be nice to Mr. Maxwell, or his father will hang your head above his fireplace."

Chris raised an eyebrow. Judge Travis sighed.

"Okay, but you're not to kill him, or injure him very much, and you have to include him. Show him your procedures. That sort of thing. And I'm holding you responsible if anyone on your team causes him harm."

The Judge eyed Chris critically for a moment, making sure he'd obey his orders, before leaving.

Chris glared at Maxwell in silence for a full five minutes, until Ezra arrived, looking spiffy, at which point he shifted his gaze to Standish.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be. Almost, anyway."

"Good. Get going."

Ezra nodded and left, followed by the rest of his team and Maxwell.

The team was scattered around the first floor of a warehouse, very effectively hiding behind all sorts of crates and things (except for Ezra, for obvious reasons, and Vin, who had managed to find an excellent sniper's position on the second level of the warehouse), and were listening to the conversation between Ezra and the arms seller by way of those tiny headphone things they use. They were all considerably stiff, as they had been holding their positions for three and a half hours, since they had arrived very early to check the lay of the land, and had been delighted to find absolutely no-one on guard. Their target was a very trusting - or naïve - person, it seemed. The other teams had arrived later and had had to content themselves with taking up positions outside.

"What do you think?" the seller, Ian Maugham, asked anxiously.

"It's quite delightful," Ezra replied reassuringly. "The décor is so original. Quite unique."

"Really? Only I've always thought warehouses were so... cliché."

"Not at all. I've seen my fair share of warehouses, and this one is singularly, er, remarkable. The crates are arranged so well."

Satisfied with the praise of his building, Ian got down to business. "100 assault rifles, 50 surface-to-air missile launchers, and 300 hand guns."

"Only the best, I assume."

"Of course. You saw the sample. You have the money?"

"Naturally."

Chris listened apprehensively. He didn't like Ezra going in alone, but Maugham had insisted that he only bring in his men to help transport the weapons, after they were paid for, so he'd had to content himself with being as close as possible.

Maxwell had strict instructions to stay put, on pain of death, which is why Chris was astonished and horrified when he heard Keith's voice in his ear (via the earphone-thingy) saying, "I want to get a closer look."

"Maxwell, stay put," Chris hissed furiously.

"I'll be quiet! I can't see from here!"

Chris mentally cursed himself for not cuffing the man to the nearest large, heavy object instead of sticking him near the back of the upper level of the warehouse. And what had possessed him to not put Josiah next to him to knock him out at the first sign of trouble?

"Damn you, Maxwell, you'll screw everything up! Get back to your position!"

But it was too late. Maxwell had stealthily crept out from behind his crate, tiptoed behind another, tripped over a crowbar lying carelessly on the floor, and fallen noisily down some stairs.

Chris licked his lips, wondering whether to move in, or let Ezra handle it. He glanced up and across to where Vin was hidden, and the sharpshooter's voice spoke into his ear. "Don't worry, I've got him covered for now."

"Okay." Chris crouched alertly and waited.

One of Ian's henchman dragged Maxwell over and dropped him in front of his boss. "Caught him spying."

Ezra noticed with well-concealed relief that Maxwell's headphones had fallen off in his fall.

"Keith, Keith, Keith." Ezra stepped in smoothly, voice gently chiding, with no hint of surprise. "I told you to stop following me."

Maxwell made like a guppie, opening and shutting his mouth a few times.

"I did inform you that Mr. Maugham wished to meet in private." He shook his head sadly, turning to Ian. "My chief of security. He takes his job too seriously."

Ian frowned. "Would it inconvenience you terribly if I killed him?"

Ezra furrowed his brow, allowing a concerned expression to settle on his face. "Yes, rather," he said mildly. "He's not all that bright, if you get my meaning, but he can be somewhat useful on occasion."

Maxwell finally caught on, but not enough. "Sorry, Ezra."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "Ezra? I thought your name was Eddie?"

Ezra gave Ian a convincingly embarrassed laugh, and Keith a death glare. "Yes, well. Eddie is the name I use when dealing with less than perfectly honest people."

Ian nodded, but his henchman looking thoughtful. "Eddie Sanders... not Ezra Standish?"

"Er..." For once Ezra had no snappy comeback.

The henchman scowled. "Standish! I've *heard* of you!" He turned to his boss. "He's a member of that really famous ATF team that's in the papers all the time!"

Ezra gave a sickly smile. "It's so hard to find incompetent help these days... Perhaps I could lend you Keith."

Chris hurriedly gave the order to move in.

"ATF! Everybody freeze!" Nobody did, of course, and for the millionth time, as he looked around for a handy crate to duck behind to shelter himself from the bullets that were suddenly flying around the warehouse, Chris wondered why he even bothered to say it.

Ian was looking terribly hurt. "You're ATF? But I trusted you! I befriended you! We played video games together! I... I let you use my *sauna*!"

Ezra shrugged, whipped out his gun. "All's fair in love and law," he said.

"That's not how it -"

"I'm going to have to place you under arrest."

The irritatingly competent henchman aimed his weapon at Ezra, and was promptly shot by Vin.

"Okay, that's... four..." murmured Vin, taking a moment to pull out a knife and make a notch on his gun, before taking down a goon that had Chris cornered. "Five," he corrected himself in a satisfied tone, and made another notch. This, he reflected, was really an excellent sniper's position. And no-one had even found him yet-

"Sniper!" yelled one of the goons, pointing in Vin's direction before dying painfully.

"Thank you, Chris," Vin said into his headphones.

"Seven," said Chris smugly.

"Six, actually, the one on your left is still breathing."

"Oh... damn..."

Buck cheerfully clobbered a crook on the noggin with his empty gun. "Extra clip, please, JD?"

JD threw his friend a clip. "Buck, I *told* you to pack spares! When are you going to learn to listen to me?"

"I did! I've used them all! Anyway, I don't need to carry spares - I have you!" Buck fired over his shoulder, taking down another bad guy and narrowly missing an agent from one of the other teams.

"Brother Nate," said Josiah, thoughtfully, bear-hugging the last standing criminal into unconsciousness, "Have you noticed that lately we seem to be awfully... cavalier about all this sort of thing?"

"I suppose it's because we have better things to worry about - You got that guy, Ez? Okay - like what the Judge will say when he finds out we killed 70% of the felons that we were supposed to arrest. Everyone okay?"

"No!"

Nathan looked around. "Vin? What's wrong?"

Vin appeared in front of him, holding up his index finger. "I cut my finger... got a Band-Aid?"

Nathan sighed heavily, produced a plaster. "That's what you get for making notches on your weapon like that. It's sick, I tell you," he lectured, wrapping the dressing around Vin's finger.

Vin shrugged. "Thanks. You're right, I should keep a written record, like you."

Josiah shook his head. "I'm in the company of savages."

"I couldn't agree more, Mr. Sanchez." Ezra walked up, pushing a handcuffed Ian along in front of him.

Buck slapped a female agent from Team 5 on the shoulder, said, "See you Friday then," and joined his friends, JD tagging along.

"Hey all. These other teams have everything under control. We can go now."

"Shouldn't we stay?" JD felt a bit guilty leaving straight after the fun part.

Buck smirked. "Naw, it's our prerogative, being the best around and all."

Chris staggered up, looking flustered, shaking his hand. "Ouch... dammit..."

Nathan pounced. "Whassamatter?!"

Chris took a fearful step back. "I just bashed my hand on a crate! It's fine!"

"You should get it X-rayed. It could be broken, or fractured, or bruised, or-"

"It's *fine*."

Nathan subsided. He knew better than to argue with that tone.

"Now... where is our friend Mr. Maxwell...?" Chris scanned the room with narrowed eyes. "Ah-*ha*!"

"Now, Chris, you promised the Judge..." Team 7 anxiously followed their leader as he stalked across to where Maxwell was hiding behind one of those crate-like objects that so often crop up in stories like this.

"You... you... you little weed!" Chris leapt on the hapless human, punched him very hard, picked him up and started strangling him. "I'm gonna kill you! Right now! Say your prayers..."

All Maxwell said, however, was, "Graaaaargh," because that was all he could get out.

"Chris!" Vin and Buck joined forces to pull him off. "What will Mary say!"

Larabee struggled furiously against their restraining hands. "I'm gonna kill 'im - lemme go!! He deserves to die! I... am... so... mad!"

Think Cartman, from South Park.

Josiah gave Keith an encouraging push. "Get out of here, man! Go, while you still can! I don't know how long we can hold him!"

Keith gave them a terrified look, then fled. The team immediately fell about laughing.

Even Chris managed a smile - that frightened expression had made up for a great deal. "Let's blow this joint," he sighed, making a mental note to get his hand X-rayed after all- hitting Maxwell had hurt quite a lot.

Chris emerged from the Judge's office with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Well?" demanded his team, chewing on doughnuts paid for by Travis.

"Maxwell has resigned from law enforcement and taken up a position as a baker. According to the Judge, that's what he always wanted to do anyway. The Judge had a grand old time saying "I told you so" to everyone that would listen, I had a grand old time saying the same thing to the Judge, and now everyone seems to be happy. Oh, and Maxwell wants a restraining order against all of us, just in case."

Buck shook his head. "And what makes him think we'd touch him with a ten foot pole?"

Josiah grinned broadly, draping his arms over the shoulders of JD and Vin. "Everything seems to have worked out for the best."

"How about a celebratory drink?" This suggestion from JD was met with enthusiastic agreement.

As the team wandered off to the saloon, Nathan suddenly remembered something. "Vin, have you changed that Band-Aid? That cut could get infected -"

He was cut off by a friendly bagel launched very accurately at his head.

"And then that idiot screwed everything up, and you cut your finger and I hurt my hand, and..." Chris sighed and took another sip of his whiskey. "That was a terrible bust."

JD arrived from the bar, carrying a beer, and flopped into the seat next to Chris. "That sure was a great bust!" The kid sighed contentedly.

His boss stared at him. "What? Why?"

"Well, hell! We caught all the bad guys - and only killed half of them! - confiscated a large shipment of guns, discovered the location of a *huge* weapons shipment, confiscated that, and none of us got hurt! Well, beyond a cut finger and a bruised hand. And we didn't even have to help clean up. *And* that Maxwell guy now has a nice safe job in which he can't hurt anyone."

Chris glared at the team's youngest member. "Damn it, JD, do you have any idea how hard it is to avoid being optimistic around you?" He shook his head in disgust - if he wasn't careful he'd start being happy all the time, and then where would his reputation be? He was then forced to get extremely drunk in an attempt to keep from smiling, only to fail miserably. But then, that's life.

The End

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