The Peaceful Meadows Affair, 2/? for the Lifecycle - Humor challenge

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: The Peaceful Meadows Affair, chapter 2
Summary: Napoleon and Illya begin to probe the weirdness of the Peaceful Meadows community while at its restaurant.


By Lucky_Ladybug

Illya looked derisively at The Restaurant of Peace. “They’re really trying to drill it into everyone that this is a peaceful community.”

Napoleon was amused as he pulled into a parking space near the door. “And suddenly that doesn’t seem like such an attractive picture?”

“It’s more that it seems that anyone who has to keep emphasizing it again and again is either ridiculously naïve or must have an ulterior motive in mind,” Illya replied. “Perhaps they know it is not truly peaceful, but they wish to make the residents believe it.”

Napoleon nodded. “I think that seems like a logical possibility.” He got out of the car, heading for the door. As he hauled open the door, Illya trailing after him, a cheerful and perky waitress with a blonde bob smiled at them.

“Hello! Welcome to The Restaurant of Peace. I’m Denise. May I get you a table?”

“Yes, thank you,” Napoleon replied, inwardly amused as he caught sight of Illya’s less-than-impressed reflection in a napkin holder. “Something near a window, if there’s anything available.”

“There is,” she chirped. “Right this way.” She came out from around the counter and led them to a booth near the window.

Illya settled in, picking up the menu that was already on the table. Napoleon slid in on the other side, examining another. Soon they had placed their orders and Denise was hurrying off to take said orders to the kitchen.

“Denise seems to believe that this truly is a community of peace,” Napoleon mused.

“Yes, she appears to be quite satisfied,” Illya frowned. “I wonder if she hasn’t heard about the disappearances.”

“Or worse, perhaps she has and she feels they’re in the best interest of Peaceful Meadows,” Napoleon said. “Some of the residents likely do.”

“I wonder what they think.”

Napoleon looked up with a start. The venom was back in Illya’s voice and Ecks and Wye were entering the restaurant. Another waitress, a brunette who wasn’t quite as perky, guided them to a table right next to Napoleon and Illya’s.

“Is there anything else available?” Ecks frowned, immediately catching sight of the U.N.C.L.E. agents and not being pleased.

“Most of the tables are reserved for our regular guests,” their waitress replied. “This is the only other one that isn’t.”

“Well, nevermind,” Wye quickly interjected. “This is fine; we’ll take it.”

When she was gone, Ecks half-buried himself in the menu. “I wonder if I would have disappeared if I had continued to contest sitting here,” he grumbled.

“That’s something we don’t need to find out right now,” Wye answered. “I’m sure some other poor sap will screw up soon.”

“Maybe even them.” Ecks nodded to Napoleon and Illya.

“Oh, we’ll do our best to hold to the rules. For now,” Napoleon added. “Perhaps in the future we’ll have to deliberately shake things up a bit and see what happens.”

“It shakes things up quite enough to have the two of you here,” Illya grunted, shooting a death glare at the former enemy agents.

“As I told you, we can play nice, if you will,” Ecks said.

“Very well.” Illya shook out his napkin stonily. “We will pretend that you are not here.”

Napoleon raised an eyebrow but nodded. He would go along. “At least, we had better pretend that we don’t know each other,” he cautioned. “It could create suspicion if they realize we’ve met before.”

“Excellent point, Mr. Solo,” Wye said. “Especially since this place is supposed to get filled up with people.”

It wasn’t long before that was exactly the case and the entire dinner crowd streamed in, taking up every available table. Illya, not pleased, slid closer to the window.

Napoleon regarded him in amusement. “We really need to socialize, Illya,” he prompted. “Otherwise it’s going to look like we’re the aloof and unfriendly new neighbors, and that wouldn’t go over well, either.”

“Mr. Wye is certainly throwing himself into the task of socialization,” Illya grunted, watching as Wye greeted each person to pass their table. Each one reciprocated, most seeming delighted to have new residents present.

“Well, that isn’t surprising, considering how he was very outgoing in London and gave nonsensical speeches to conceal information to his organization’s members,” Napoleon said.

“How do you do, Sir?” Wye exclaimed to one man. “My name is Allan and this is my chum Luther.”

Ecks nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “Hello.”

The man seemed pleased with Wye’s introduction. “Welcome to Peaceful Meadows, both of you!” he declared. “I’m Harley. I know you’re going to love it here!”

“Oh, we already do,” Wye assured him. “Lovely place you’ve got here. Very striking. I’m impressed with everything you’re doing to keep out the criminal element.”

Harley puffed up with pride. “I’m on the Homeowners’ Council,” he said. “We do our best to make sure Peaceful Meadows remains peaceful for everyone seeking a pleasant and orderly place to live.”

“Hmm,” Napoleon mused. “Perhaps Harley is someone to keep an eye on.”

Illya nodded. “Didn’t we receive a brochure with the names of everyone on this Council?”

“As well as a detailed list of all the rules and regulations,” Napoleon said. “I suppose we had better study it when we get home.” Then, seeing the people looking their way, he decided that Wye had a good idea going. He leaped up and greeted the crowd.

“Why, hello, all you wonderful people of Peaceful Meadows! My friend Illya and I, Napoleon, are honored to be in your jolly presence. We knew as soon as we heard about Peaceful Meadows that it was the place for us, and your warm welcomes have proved us right! We’re looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you. Thank you, thank you.” Grandly bowing to the onset of applause, Napoleon sat down again.

“Isn’t it interesting,” Illya muttered, “that none of those wonderful, warm people actually gave us a welcome, aside from Denise the waitress.”

“Well, sometimes you have to be the one to make the first move,” Napoleon replied. “Let’s see what happens now.”

At first, nothing much happened, and Napoleon and Illya ate in peace, with Ecks and Wye staying true to their word and pretending not to know them. Then, gradually, as the other diners finished eating, they came over to say Hello.

“It’s really refreshing how many people are starting to come around to our way of thinking,” one cheery woman with bleach-blonde cropped hair gushed. “Gated communities have such an unfair stigma about them.”

“Yes,” Napoleon pounced. “It truly is a pity. Just because we want to live where our neighbors are neat and tidy and where criminals won’t get in so easily, we’re branded paranoid hermits.”

“And worse,” Illya added.

“And you are . . . ?” Napoleon smiled at the woman.

“Oh! Marietta Crabtree.” Far from seeming suspicious, Marietta looked from their booth to the next and proclaimed, “How exciting to have four new residents all in the same week! And you’re direct neighbors too, aren’t you?”

“We seem to be,” Napoleon answered.

Wye glanced up, pretending to just be tuning in now—even though he had surely heard everything. “Eh? Neighbors?” He snapped to, feigning cheerfulness. “Why, yes, we are at that. Saw each other leaving for this fine establishment, we did.”

“We should all end up getting along just fine,” Ecks added.

“I’m sure you will. And as a member of the Homeowners’ Council, I’d like to invite you to the next open session of our community meeting,” Marietta beamed.

“Fine,” Napoleon said with an easy smile. “And when will that be?”

“Tonight at 8,” Marietta proclaimed. “We meet at the school. And of course, everything will be over promptly at 9. Can’t be late for our curfew!”

“Excuse me, curfew?” Illya repeated. “I don’t remember reading on the gate about a curfew.”

“Curfew is at 10,” Marietta said. “It’s so that people won’t be disturbed by cars coming in and going out at unreasonable hours.”

“We haven’t had time to read our brochure yet,” Napoleon said, “but that seems reasonable.”

“I know you’ll be assets to Peaceful Meadows,” Marietta smiled. “I’ll see you all at 8!” With that she scurried off.

“Hmm.” Illya folded his arms. “I was under the impression that gated communities made sure all prospective applicants knew the rules before they joined.”

“I was under the same impression. And yet this one signed us right up without briefing us on much of anything and gave us the brochure almost as an afterthought,” Napoleon mused. “We only managed to hear about some of the rules beforehand, such as the flamingo one. I believe that’s almost universal among gated communities.”

Ecks turned to look over at them. “If you want to know the rules before you get home, we can brief you on some of them,” he smirked.

“Thank you, but what guarantee would we have that you would tell us the right ones?” Illya retorted. “You might tell us exactly the opposite of whatever they are in order to make us disappear.”

“Interesting thought,” Wye said, “but being the professionals you are, I’m sure you could spot a phony rule.”

“The question I’d like to know is, why weren’t we briefed on the rules?” Napoleon said. “Could it be that they’re hoping a lot of people won’t read the brochure and immediately make some silly mistake?”

“So they’re setting out to make people disappear in the first place?” Illya frowned. “What on earth for?”

“It would be interesting to find out,” Napoleon said, trying not to say too much. Even though Ecks and Wye probably suspected what Napoleon and Illya were doing there, Napoleon didn’t want to come right out and admit it for certain.

Almost on though on cue, one of their communicator pens went off. Realizing it was his, Illya slid out of the booth, trying to hold his hand over the pen to muffle the noise. “Excuse me a moment,” he said, half to Napoleon, half to the staring crowd. He escaped into the restroom, praying it was empty.

“Kuryakin here,” he said as he uncapped the pen.

“Mr. Kuryakin, are you and Mr. Solo settled in at Peaceful Meadows?” came Mr. Waverly’s voice.

“Yes, Sir,” Illya said, trying to relax. “We’ve just been invited to a community meeting at 8 o’clock tonight.”

“Excellent! Does anything seem out of the ordinary yet?”

“Quite a few things, not the least of which is the fact that Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye are also staying here.” Illya glanced again at the stalls and then at the door, willing everyone to stay out until he left.

“Mr. Ecks and Mr. Wye?” Illya wasn’t sure if Mr. Waverly was surprised or exasperated or both. “Mr. Kuryakin, haven’t you figured out what those two are up to yet in general?”

“I’m afraid not, Sir,” Illya admitted. “They’re very good at covering their tracks. And we never seem to be in New York long enough to piece things together between cases.”

“Well, see that you uncover what their role is in this mess,” Mr. Waverly instructed. “Do you think they might be involved in the disappearances?”

“It’s possible, but I get the impression they’ve moved in the same as we have,” Illya said. “Whether they’re also investigating is another matter.”

“And if so, who hired them,” Mr. Waverly frowned. “Alright, Mr. Kuryakin. Stay alert at that meeting.”

“Yes, Sir. Goodbye.” Quickly Illya capped the pen and headed back out of the room. To his relief, no one seemed to be looking his way.

He was so intent on taking note of that, that when someone else crashed into him and they spilled to the floor, it was a complete shock. “Oof!” Illya gasped. He had landed on the bottom.

“Kuryakin!” Ecks all but wailed in frustration. With arms and legs and trenchcoat wrapped up with Illya’s limbs, he wasn’t in a much better position.

Illya tried to pull an arm free and push his enemy back. “You should watch where you’re going!” he scolded. “This is exactly how I was able to stab you in London—you weren’t alert enough!”

“If this had happened in London, I probably would have accidentally gutted you!” Ecks retorted.

“Alright, children, alright. Time to go.” Illya recognized Napoleon’s much-too-calm voice as he hurried over and began to disentangle Ecks and pull him back.

Wye assisted. “He’s right, you know,” he said to Illya, at last dragging Ecks away and to his feet. “That wasn’t your best piece of spy work.”

Illya glowered up at them. “Let’s say neither of us were at our best and leave it at that,” he snapped. “I am not going to accept full blame for this.”

Something akin to embarrassment flashed through Ecks’ eyes. “Alright, Kuryakin. I’m sorry.” He abruptly turned. “We’re getting out of here. We’ll be at the meeting at 8.”

“And no more pratfalls,” Wye scolded, pointing at Illya, who fumed.

Napoleon watched them leave before turning to help Illya up. “Mind telling me how that happened?” he asked.

Illya had already pushed himself mostly to his feet. “I wasn’t paying attention to Mr. Ecks because I was so focused on making sure I wasn’t being seen by the rest of the customers,” he said in annoyance. “Apparently Mr. Ecks wasn’t paying attention to me for reasons unknown. And thus we made contact.” He felt to make sure his communicator pen was intact. “You know I rarely get angry, Napoleon. But those two have been managing to make me come dangerously close to that point ever since Ecks started stalking me in New York.”

“I know.” Napoleon glanced to the other diners. “Well, they’ve certainly noticed you now. Hopefully they’ll just accept that little spill as an accident and move on.”

Illya sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Hopefully I will as well.”

Napoleon peered at him. “You don’t think he ran into you on purpose?”

“No, not really, not when nothing seems to be missing. Then again, maybe he meant to take something and he botched it.” Illya headed back to their table. “Nevermind. Let’s finish dinner. We should have just enough time to look over that brochure before we need to be at that meeting.”

Amused that Illya was going right back to thinking of food, Napoleon followed.