Dinner and a Show
By Brate
ATF Universe
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, just using them for fun.
Notes: This is for my sister whom I curfew. And thanks, Gem! A-Team fans may recognize the plot from the episode, "Without Reservations."
Part One
JD Dunne looked around the office at his fellow agents. He had told Chris he'd be helping out at Mancino's tonight, and hoped to convince his fellow agents to stop by. He became friends with Carla and Sal Mancino a few months ago, and offered to help them out at their restaurant once in a while. He'd waited at a restaurant back in Boston while he worked his way through school, and could always use some extra spending money for Casey. Chris didn't mind his infrequent moonlighting as long as he remained on call.
Vin Tanner and Ezra Standish had decided they could use a break, and when they heard JD would be working, decided that Mancino's would be just the place to have a nice relaxing dinner. Chris, Buck, and Josiah were going over to Buck's place to watch the game, while Nathan was to be out on a date with Rain.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
"So what do you suggest, JD?" the sharpshooter asked. The two agents had sat in their favorite booth where each could keep their eye on the place.
"Everything's good, but Carla spent a little extra time on her lasagna tonight," the youngest answered.
"Sounds good ta me," Vin decided, as he returned the menu.
"And I as well," agreed the Southerner. "I'd also like a nice Merlot, and a side Caesar salad."
"Great! I'll get your order in."
JD walked toward the rear of the bistro to place his friends' order. Sal was standing at the bar counter, talking angrily on the phone, but hung up when JD approached. "We're now short a cook," he told the young agent. "Guido's called in sick." The older man looked around at the nearly empty restaurant. "Every Monday it's the same thing. The football, she comes on, the customers, they stay home."
"What about the pizzas, Sal?" asked Sal's wife, Carla, coming out from the kitchen. "I can't make the dinners and the pizzas."
"Hey, JD. Do you know how to make pizzas?" the owner asked.
"Heck, I was born in a pizza parlor," the youth replied cockily.
Sal smiled, "There's your pizza man if we get in a rush, eh?"
JD turned to a man approaching the counter. "Would you like a table, sir?"
"Yeah, that one," he said pointing to the center of the restaurant. "My party will be joining me shortly."
"Right this way," JD said, leading the red-haired man to a center table. "I'll come back in a few minutes." He handed the man a menu and left one at the empty place setting. On the way through, he asked the young couple he had seated moments before if they would like any drinks. Then he continued to the bar, telling Sal, "The couple over there want a vodka martini and a club soda."
He watched his boss make the drinks and leaned over to say, "Hey, you know what you should do? Get a small TV for over the bar, then you could get some customers back on football nights."
"That's why I like you, JD. You got good ideas. Know where I can get one for about fifty dollars?"
"Yeah, right," JD smiled. He took the drinks and delivered them to the couple, passing a tall, gaunt man, who joined the redhead at his table. The acting waiter walked over to the table of the two men, taking out his order pad.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Could I get you a couple drinks before dinner?"
"Just water," answered the thin man.
As JD wrote it down, the redhead was leaning over to pick up a napkin he dropped on the floor, and the young agent spotted a large handgun tucked into the man's waistband. "What, uh, what kind of water would you like?"
"I don't care...tap water," snapped the redhead.
"Right away." The young man hurried to the bar. There he grabbed a basket of breadsticks and went to his friends' table.
The youthful Bostonian set down the breadbasket and took out his notebook. He leaned in, pretending he was discussing their order. "You see those guys sitting in the middle?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," answered both his comrades.
"Big tippers?" Ezra asked.
"No, big hitters. I just saw the guy in the dark suit reach over the table. He has a .357 Magnum tucked in his pants."
"How do you know it's a .357?" the sharpshooter asked.
"Because I've seen you carry a .357. Look, there's been some robberies in this neighborhood and I think these guys are getting ready to come down on this place."
Standish looked over at the men again, with a practiced eye. He surreptitiously watched the marked men as they checked their watches and looked toward the entrance. The slender man said something to his redheaded companion that made him laugh uproariously.
"Might they be officers of the law, Mr. Dunne?"
"Cops don't dress like that." He appealed to his friends, "What do you say?"
Ezra contemplated his friend's request. "Perhaps we should contact the proper authorities."
"Uniforms might spook 'em," the sharpshooter added.
"And I don't want Sal or Carla getting hurt. C'mon, help me out here," JD pleaded.
The Texan glanced quickly at the men. "I don't like 'em."
Ezra faced his tablemate. "Since it seems Mr. Tanner and I are of the same opinion, let us take care of this particular problem." The Southerner leaned in and conferred in a low voice, "Mr. Dunne, why don't you go and fill that gentleman's water glass?"
JD looked confused for a moment until understanding dawned. He smiled widely, "I believe I should."
Vin watched the young agent travel to the kitchen. He nodded to his companion. "I'll take care of the gunman. Can you handle his friend?"
"I assure you I'm quite capable of rendering that miscreant harmless."
The Texan winked and rose as he saw JD returning with the water pitcher. Vin started strolling toward the restroom.
JD walked over and "accidentally" spilled water onto the lap of the gunman. The man jumped up to pat down his pants and started yelling at the agent, making a move to grab JD's throat. Immediately, Vin was there. The sharpshooter punched out the man with his left hand, grabbing the gun from the man's waistband with his right as the man fell.
The fallen man's companion reached inside his jacket, but was stopped by the feel of cold steel against his neck. "I would recommend you remain seated," drawled the Southerner. Ezra looked over to see his partner grinning.
"Piece of cake," Vin smirked, holding the confiscated gun out to the side.
Ezra heard a soft shot and watched Vin stagger backwards, wearing a look of astonishment, before falling to the floor. He whipped around, confronting a stocky, balding man with a silencer-equipped gun pointed at the undercover agent. "I suggest you put your gun down if you don't want to join your friend," the newcomer sneered. The young woman in back shrieked, and Carla came out of the kitchen to see what happened. "I want everyone to shut up and be quiet, now!" the man shouted at the people in the restaurant, waving his gun.
Ezra relinquished his weapon and moved to join JD on the floor next to Vin. JD had taken some napkins and tried to stem the flow of blood from Vin's wound. "I think it's bad, Ez," JD murmured worriedly. He pressed down on Vin's upper chest, eliciting a groan from the injured man. The Texan tried to push away his friend's hands, but his attempt had very little force behind it.
"Hold still, Mr. Tanner. We need to stop the bleeding." He turned to the man holding the gun on them. "This man requires help."
"Tough," replied the criminal.
Ezra tried again. "He needs a doctor without delay."
"He won't need a doctor if he's dead," countered the man, pointing the weapon directly at the sharpshooter's head. Ezra remained silent at the threat to his partner. "Angelo," the leader shouted to the man Ezra had threatened. "Check these guys out!"
The felon patted down the agents, finding both Vin and Ezra's badges and Ez's cell phone. Vin had not been carrying his phone, and his gun had already been seized.
"Hey, these guys are feds!" accused the slender man.
The balding man grabbed Ezra by the lapels, "What are you doing here; who knows you're here?"
Standish strove to remain calm as he watched the blood flow from his partner's wound. "If this man dies, you will be charged with the murder of a federal agent."
The man hit Ezra across the face. "I asked you a question," he snarled.
"My companion and I were merely enjoying a night's repast when we saw this waiter being accosted," nodding at JD.
The man's focus was changed. He confronted the young waiter, "And you are?"
JD thought fast, using his friend's cover story. "I'm just the waiter."
The man in charge pushed JD away, then turned and directed his comments at everyone. "I have a job to do. Once that is accomplished, you may all leave and return to your dull and boring lives. Until then, you do as I say, or you will die." He glanced around at the patrons before fixing his gaze on Ezra. "Any questions? No? All right. Take the hero to the back. I want everything looking normal, and don't want him scaring away the customers."
Vin became aware as his friends lifted him. Trying to limit their friend's discomfort, Ezra and JD stretched Vin's arms across their shoulders, and began to carry him into the kitchen. The sharpshooter could feel the wound pulsing, and sense the blood rolling down his body. Vin tried his best to help JD and Ez move him, but his legs didn't seem to want to work properly.
"Angelo. Wake Eddie up, then you check around. You make sure no one noticed this fiasco."
"Okay, Victor." Angelo bent over his buddy and slapped him across the face. The redheaded partner roused, looking around in confusion.
"Eddie," that bald man snapped, as Angelo marched out the front door. "You watch the customers here while I take care of the hero and his friends."
"Yes, boss." The redhead shook off his dizziness. He trained a watchful eye, and his reclaimed weapon, on the people.
Carla had asked permission to go ahead to the kitchen, and she placed some tablecloths on the floor for them to lay the wounded man upon. She brought over some more tablecloths and started ripping them into strips for wrapping Vin's injury. The Texan collapsed onto the pallet of cloths with a moan. His fellow agents slowed his descent, and Ezra checked the gunshot wound.
"The bullet's still in there," he announced. They rewrapped the wound with the tablecloth strips.
"I never even saw that guy," gasped Tanner.
"Neither did I, my friend," admitted Ezra.
Vin wheezed, "Chris is gonna kill us."
"I'm sure Mr. Larabee will know it was not our fault," Ezra commented.
"Oh, it never is." Vin chuckled; the sound quickly became a groan of pain.
The Southerner noticed the owner's wife standing by. "Mrs. Mancino?" She came and knelt by the wounded agent. "Could you please place your hand here," Ezra said moving her hand over the bandage. "We need to keep pressure on the wound." Vin fell into unconsciousness with a moan at the force on his injury.
Victor watched the fuss with amusement. He was planning on killing everyone here tonight anyway, but the best way to keep control was to let them have the illusion of helping their friend. He walked over and checked to make sure the rear door was locked; he didn't want any more surprises. On the way back, he ripped out the kitchen's phone. "All right, that's enough. I want you in the front with the rest."
"He needs looking after."
"The woman can stay. You've wrapped his boo boo; he'll be fine. Out...now," he reiterated with a wave of his gun.
Ezra and JD reluctantly left their friend. Vin tried to smile to ease their minds, but he was having a hard time breathing, and it was all he could do not to yell out in pain. His partners saw his struggle, and each vowed to end this predicament soon. Mr. Mancino was directed to clean up the mess the agents had made. Ezra was motioned to his booth, and JD was told to stand behind the counter. Eddie was instructed to go and stay in the kitchen, while Angelo returned to his center table and kept watch over the Southerner.
Victor stood next to JD at the bar counter, giving him instructions. "If anyone calls, you will tell them Mancino's is closed for a private partywith one exception." He pointed down the reservation list at a name. "This person calls, you will confirm his reservation, and let him know all is well."
Dunne's eyes widened when he viewed the name. "You can't be serious. You'll never get away with hurting him."
"My dear boy," Victor uttered, "I don't plan on hurting him, I plan on killing him."
The criminal announced to everyone in the place. "I want you all acting normal; you're out to dinner having a great time. Anyone tries anythingyou're dead." He gestured with the gun to make his point.
JD worked hard to contain his panic. In less than an hour, Judge Travis and his wife were going to walk through those doors and die. This was all his fault; he had to do something. Just then, his salvation walked through the front door: Buck Wilmington. The ladies' man was wearing headphones, listening to the ball game as he strolled to the front counter. "Hey, kid. I need a large pizza to go."
"What do you want on it?"
Buck looked at his roommate curiously. "Lots of everything," he answered.
"No problem, I can do that."
Buck watched JD enter the kitchen, then went to sit with Ezra at the booth. "Hey, Ez, how's dinner?"
Ezra observed Angelo seating Sal at the table behind Buck. The felon took out his gun and pointed it at the old man in a silent warning to Ezra. "Dinner has been unusual."
"Where's Vin?"
"Mr. Tanner is in the lavatory." Buck nodded and replaced the headphones in order to keep track of the game.
JD went into the kitchen and stopped to check on Vin. The Texan was still unconscious but he was shivering, so the young agent snagged his coat from its hanger and placed it over his friend.
Eddie leaned over, watching him work. "What's going on out there?" the felon questioned.
"Some guy came in and ordered a pizza," JD answered.
"Well, give him one already made." Eddie backed off, munching on some breadsticks.
"He says it hurts when I press on this," Carla said to JD, nodding at the bandage.
"I know, but it's necessary. Where's the other pizza?"
"There's a plain one on top of the counter," she told him.
The young agent moved to the counter and, while he stared at the cheese-covered pizza, he got an idea. He threw some pepperoni and ham on, and then grabbed some anchovies, placing them around the pie. He hoped his roommate would notice his message. He stuck the pizza in the oven for a few minutes to melt the cheese. He knew Victor would be expecting some kind of signal, so he decided to give him one. Keeping an eye on the man watching him, he snatched a stack of napkins; writing on the bottom one, "Call police."
JD placed the pizza in a box and put the pile of napkins on top. He nodded to Angelo as he passed. Pushing open the door, he smiled and tried to catch the eye of his roommate, but Buck was too intent on listening to the game on his headphones. "All right, baby. Broncos are trouncing the Lions by twenty! Too bad you guys aren't coming to watch the game." He saw JD coming with the pizza and stood to meet him. Noticing the stack of napkins his partner had brought for him, he chuckled. "Hell, JD, I ain't that messy!"
Victor saw the young man trying to convince Buck to take the whole thing. "Why don't you leave those here, then. I'm sure the Mancinos wouldn't like to waste their money." He took the mound off and laid it on the counter while Buck paid his tab.
"Thanks, JD. See ya, Ez." And without another thought, the mustached man walked out of the establishment.
When Buck was gone, Victor backhanded JD. "And what is this?" he asked holding up the written-upon napkin. "I told you not to try anything; maybe I should teach you a lesson. Should we see if your friend would like another hole in him?"
"No," JD whispered, aghast. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ezra start to rise before being shoved back down by Angelo as he moved from the table behind.
"I guess I can allow you one error," Victor magnanimously decided. "But that was it. Next time, your friend won't need an ambulance...he'll need a hearse."
