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section7mfuSummary: Illya and Napoleon are meeting a contact at a bar in New Your, It turns out not to be routine.
Rating: Not Gen but not Slash either.
A sequel to 'Surprise, Surprise" http://link to: Surprise, Surprise: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/83299.html
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Solo and Kuryakin pushed their way into the small but crowded, smoke-filled club. Kenny’s Castaways on Bleeker Street, where the wanna be’s mingled and danced, blocking the way as the agents headed towards the bar.
The music was loud, with a band called the Kingsmen performing their big hit. Everyone loved the song, but were saying the band would be one hit wonders...
Louie Louie, oh no
Me gotta go
Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said
Louie Louie, oh baby
Me gotta go
Fine little girl waits for me
Catch a ship across the sea
Sail that ship about, all alone
Never know if I make it home
Both men stepped up to the crowded bar, with Napoleon raising his hand, getting the bartenders attention.
“What can I get you gents?”
“Scotch on the rocks and... ”Napoleon looked at Illya, who waved him off.” Just the Scotch then.”
“We could not have picked a quieter place?” Illya asked.
Napoleon shrugged. “Not our call.”
“I am going to wait over there,” Illya raised his voice, talking over the din of the band as he pointed to the wall at the far end of the bar. “
Three nights and days I sail the sea
Think of girl, constantly
On that ship, I dream she's there
I smell the rose in her hair.
Louie Louie, oh no
Me gotta go
Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said
Louie Louie, oh baby
Me gotta go
Okay, let's give it to 'em, right now!
A loud guitar solo, along with the patrons of the club clapping along brought the decibel level up enough to make Illya stick his fingers in his ears to muffle the noise. He loved music, but not quite this loud. He leaned against the brick wall that was covered in hand written messages left by patrons over the years. Harry I love you, Sally. Mary is a slut. Meet me at our special place Tom. For a good time call Shirley... with an accompanying telephone number... lots of phone numbers were scribbled there.
Together yet separated, Solo and Kuryakin waited for their contact who would send them on the next leg of their journey to a dead drop where they would retrieve information on a soon to be coup in South America.
The ebb and flow of the crowd blocked the Russian’s view of his partner, and Illya craned his neck, trying to maintain visual contact, but sometimes it just wasn’t possible for him to see past the masses of talking heads.
Solo remained hunched over his drink at the bar when a voice spoke to him, a very sensual voice...a little deep but very feminine.
“Hmm, I was wondering when I’d run into you again,” she said, leaning in very close to his ear, so close that her lips brushed softly against it, giving him momentary goose bumps, especially when he felt a large pair of breasts pressing against his back.
It was then it dawned on him as I recognized the voice. And slowly he turned to face her...bringing his lips dangerously close to hers. Her face was thinner now, and her auburn hair piled up into massive curls on the top of her head in a bouffant style. It was framed by a wide cloth headband covered in sparkling beads.
“Julie...or should I say Julius Jones. Did you have you ever get your surgery?”
“Come to my place and I’ll show you,” she cooed, trying to tempt me.
“Thanks but no thanks, I’m flattered but you’re just not my type,” he answered truthfully.
“That wasn’t a request Solo.”
Napoleon felt a sharp prick at the back of his neck, seconds later his eyes rolled backwards and the last thing he remembered was collapsing face down on the bar.
The bartender signalled for two of the house bouncers to get rid of another drunk. The men strong armed him off the stool, lifting the agent up between and taking him out the back door to unceremoniously dump him in the alley behind the club.
Julie Jones was waiting there for them with her car. She handed the bouncers a ten dollar bill, and they shoved him into the back of the black sedan for her.
“Thanks,” she said batting her long false eyelashes.”My boyfriend just can’t hold his liquor.” Julie was dressed in a tight glittery mini dress with mod red black and yellow geometric patterns. The skimpy outfit showed off her legs and her cleavage enough to make a man want to see more.
She got into the car, started it and hit the gas pedal, and with the tires screeching, she sped off into the night.
“That was one gorgeous bird man,” one of the bouncers sighed.
“Bird? That wasn’t no bird, it was a guy.”
“No freakin’ way...really? How’d you know?”
“There was a bulge where there shouldn’t be, if you get my drift.”
“Wow! I never seen one of those...what you call em, guys that dress like girls?
“A tranny, but this one did more than just dress up. Come on we gotta get back inside.”
.
The guitar solo went on for an interminable amount of time in Illya’s estimation until finally the lead singer broke into a verse again.
See Jamaica, the moon above
It won't be long, me see me love
Take her in my arms again
Tell her I'll never leave again
Louie Louie, oh no
Me gotta go
Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said
Louie Louie, oh baby
Me gotta go
Let's take it on outa here now
Let's go!!
The song blessedly came to an abrupt end and the audience disbursed, quickly returning to their conversations and drinks. Illya looked across to the bar, seeing no sign of his partner, and wondered if he’d made a quick trip to the mens room. He made a beeline there, but upon opening the door he found only group of young men sharing a joint.
They quickly hid it, though the distinctive odor lingered, giving them away. Illya looked at them, shaking his head and saying before he left, “That will rot your brain." They paid him no mind.
He ducked into a dark corner in the back of the club, hiding himself conveniently behind a large decorative potted palm tree. “Channel F- Napoleon where are you?”
There was no reply, only static, and that made the Russian nervous. He approached the bar, asking the bartender if he’d seen what happened to his friend.
“Oh your buddy? Man he can’t hold his liquor. I had the boys help him out back. His girlfriend was with him.”
“Which boys?” He refrained from saying anything else.
“Over there by the back exit. Tommy and Vinnie.” The man pointed towards two burly men standing beneath a red exit sign to the left of the small stage.
Illya approached them, holding out a ten dollar bill he’d drawn from his wallet.
“You brought a man back to the alley a few minutes ago?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Describe him and the woman who was with him.” Illya said, handing over the money.
“He had dark hair, dressed in a nice suit, completely passed out from drinking I guess. She was a looker, but she,” he hesitated. “She was a he.”
Illya bit his lower lip. “Auburn hair, big...” He gestured with his hands.
“Yeah that’s her... a big pair of melons alright, shame she was a guy.”
“Thank you gentlemen.” Illya exited to the alleyway, finding no trace except skid marks on the concrete.
“Вот дерьмо, Наполеон. Что проблемы вы получали Вы в настоящее время_shit Napoleon, what trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”
He pulled his communicator again, calling headquarters. “Open Channel D- Waverly.”
“Yes Mr. Kuryakin?”
“Sir there has been a little problem. Mr. Solo has gone missing and I suspect it is the Thrush agent Julius...I mean Julie Jones who has taken him.”
Waverly huffed. “Ah Mr. Solo and a woman again?”
“No sir, I do not think that is really the case. Jones, shall we say is definitely not Mr. Solo’s kind of woman.”
“Hmm, quite. This is most unfortunate, but there is still an assignment to complete, or did you make contact...?”
“No sir not yet.”
“Well I’m sorry to say the mission comes first. Stay there until you meet with the contact, go to the dead drop when you’re given the location and retrieve the information and then return here to headquarters. In the meantime I will alert agents in the field to keep an eye out for Mr. Solo.”
“Yes sir.”
Alexander Waverly could hear the disappointment in his number two agents voice. "Try not to be overly concerned Mr. Kuryakin, as I’ve said in the past, Mr. Solo is a grown man and can take care of himself I’m sure. However, once you are finished with your current assignment, you have my permission to search for him. Out.”
Waverly left no opportunity for Illya to express his gratitude, though he was sure the Old Man knew. He grudgingly sat at the bar nursing his glass of vodka, having no choice but to wait for the contact to show.
Forty-five minutes later a balding Hispanic man wearing a dark rumbled suit sidled up next to the blond agent, giving the code.
“I hear it’s going to be a cold winter this year.” Given that it was mid-July, it was a phrase that stood out.
“Only if it starts to snow in August.” Illya gave the response. “May I buy you a drink?”
The man wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.
“Sí, I suppose Señor.”
“What’ll you have?” Asked the bartender as Illya waved him over.
“I’ll have a Tab porfavor.”
Both the Russian and the bartender looked at the man oddly.
Realizing a second later he wanted a soda, the bartender confirmed the order. “Tab it is Mac.” He offered to refill Illyas vodka, but the agent declined, covering the top of the glass with his palm.
The fizzy drink was served immediately and the man nervously gulped it down.“I thought I was supposed to meet your partner.”
“He was pulled away and is otherwise occupied at the moment.” Illya answered without batting an eye. “Now the location if you please, I am in a bit of a hurry.”
“Oh, ¡lo siento!...sorry. I’m new at this. Go to the corner of Lexington Avenue and 36th Street to Residence hall. There is an envelope at the front desk under the name of Smith. The Resident Assistant will give it to you, no questions asked.”
“Thank you.” Illya whispered, slipping off the barstool and disappearing into the crowd. Outside he gave a loud whistle for a taxi, with a checkered cab pulling up in front of him within seconds. He gave the address and the instructions to the driver to step on it, along with the offer of a better tip if they arrived quickly to the destination.
Illya retrieved the envelope at the address as he’d been instructed, hopped back into the waiting taxi and took off for Del Florias. He rushed into headquarters without so much as a how do you do to Wanda, delivered the envelope and gave a near breathless verbal report. Waverly saw that he was anxious, and released Kuryakin to begin his search for his partner.
Rating: Not Gen but not Slash either.
A sequel to 'Surprise, Surprise" http://link to: Surprise, Surprise: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/83299.html
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Solo and Kuryakin pushed their way into the small but crowded, smoke-filled club. Kenny’s Castaways on Bleeker Street, where the wanna be’s mingled and danced, blocking the way as the agents headed towards the bar.
The music was loud, with a band called the Kingsmen performing their big hit. Everyone loved the song, but were saying the band would be one hit wonders...
Louie Louie, oh no
Me gotta go
Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said
Louie Louie, oh baby
Me gotta go
Fine little girl waits for me
Catch a ship across the sea
Sail that ship about, all alone
Never know if I make it home
Both men stepped up to the crowded bar, with Napoleon raising his hand, getting the bartenders attention.
“What can I get you gents?”
“Scotch on the rocks and... ”Napoleon looked at Illya, who waved him off.” Just the Scotch then.”
“We could not have picked a quieter place?” Illya asked.
Napoleon shrugged. “Not our call.”
“I am going to wait over there,” Illya raised his voice, talking over the din of the band as he pointed to the wall at the far end of the bar. “
Three nights and days I sail the sea
Think of girl, constantly
On that ship, I dream she's there
I smell the rose in her hair.
Louie Louie, oh no
Me gotta go
Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said
Louie Louie, oh baby
Me gotta go
Okay, let's give it to 'em, right now!
A loud guitar solo, along with the patrons of the club clapping along brought the decibel level up enough to make Illya stick his fingers in his ears to muffle the noise. He loved music, but not quite this loud. He leaned against the brick wall that was covered in hand written messages left by patrons over the years. Harry I love you, Sally. Mary is a slut. Meet me at our special place Tom. For a good time call Shirley... with an accompanying telephone number... lots of phone numbers were scribbled there.
Together yet separated, Solo and Kuryakin waited for their contact who would send them on the next leg of their journey to a dead drop where they would retrieve information on a soon to be coup in South America.
The ebb and flow of the crowd blocked the Russian’s view of his partner, and Illya craned his neck, trying to maintain visual contact, but sometimes it just wasn’t possible for him to see past the masses of talking heads.
Solo remained hunched over his drink at the bar when a voice spoke to him, a very sensual voice...a little deep but very feminine.
“Hmm, I was wondering when I’d run into you again,” she said, leaning in very close to his ear, so close that her lips brushed softly against it, giving him momentary goose bumps, especially when he felt a large pair of breasts pressing against his back.
It was then it dawned on him as I recognized the voice. And slowly he turned to face her...bringing his lips dangerously close to hers. Her face was thinner now, and her auburn hair piled up into massive curls on the top of her head in a bouffant style. It was framed by a wide cloth headband covered in sparkling beads.
“Julie...or should I say Julius Jones. Did you have you ever get your surgery?”
“Come to my place and I’ll show you,” she cooed, trying to tempt me.
“Thanks but no thanks, I’m flattered but you’re just not my type,” he answered truthfully.
“That wasn’t a request Solo.”
Napoleon felt a sharp prick at the back of his neck, seconds later his eyes rolled backwards and the last thing he remembered was collapsing face down on the bar.
The bartender signalled for two of the house bouncers to get rid of another drunk. The men strong armed him off the stool, lifting the agent up between and taking him out the back door to unceremoniously dump him in the alley behind the club.
Julie Jones was waiting there for them with her car. She handed the bouncers a ten dollar bill, and they shoved him into the back of the black sedan for her.
“Thanks,” she said batting her long false eyelashes.”My boyfriend just can’t hold his liquor.” Julie was dressed in a tight glittery mini dress with mod red black and yellow geometric patterns. The skimpy outfit showed off her legs and her cleavage enough to make a man want to see more.
She got into the car, started it and hit the gas pedal, and with the tires screeching, she sped off into the night.
“That was one gorgeous bird man,” one of the bouncers sighed.
“Bird? That wasn’t no bird, it was a guy.”
“No freakin’ way...really? How’d you know?”
“There was a bulge where there shouldn’t be, if you get my drift.”
“Wow! I never seen one of those...what you call em, guys that dress like girls?
“A tranny, but this one did more than just dress up. Come on we gotta get back inside.”
.
The guitar solo went on for an interminable amount of time in Illya’s estimation until finally the lead singer broke into a verse again.
See Jamaica, the moon above
It won't be long, me see me love
Take her in my arms again
Tell her I'll never leave again
Louie Louie, oh no
Me gotta go
Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said
Louie Louie, oh baby
Me gotta go
Let's take it on outa here now
Let's go!!
The song blessedly came to an abrupt end and the audience disbursed, quickly returning to their conversations and drinks. Illya looked across to the bar, seeing no sign of his partner, and wondered if he’d made a quick trip to the mens room. He made a beeline there, but upon opening the door he found only group of young men sharing a joint.
They quickly hid it, though the distinctive odor lingered, giving them away. Illya looked at them, shaking his head and saying before he left, “That will rot your brain." They paid him no mind.
He ducked into a dark corner in the back of the club, hiding himself conveniently behind a large decorative potted palm tree. “Channel F- Napoleon where are you?”
There was no reply, only static, and that made the Russian nervous. He approached the bar, asking the bartender if he’d seen what happened to his friend.
“Oh your buddy? Man he can’t hold his liquor. I had the boys help him out back. His girlfriend was with him.”
“Which boys?” He refrained from saying anything else.
“Over there by the back exit. Tommy and Vinnie.” The man pointed towards two burly men standing beneath a red exit sign to the left of the small stage.
Illya approached them, holding out a ten dollar bill he’d drawn from his wallet.
“You brought a man back to the alley a few minutes ago?”
“Yeah, what of it?”
“Describe him and the woman who was with him.” Illya said, handing over the money.
“He had dark hair, dressed in a nice suit, completely passed out from drinking I guess. She was a looker, but she,” he hesitated. “She was a he.”
Illya bit his lower lip. “Auburn hair, big...” He gestured with his hands.
“Yeah that’s her... a big pair of melons alright, shame she was a guy.”
“Thank you gentlemen.” Illya exited to the alleyway, finding no trace except skid marks on the concrete.
“Вот дерьмо, Наполеон. Что проблемы вы получали Вы в настоящее время_shit Napoleon, what trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”
He pulled his communicator again, calling headquarters. “Open Channel D- Waverly.”
“Yes Mr. Kuryakin?”
“Sir there has been a little problem. Mr. Solo has gone missing and I suspect it is the Thrush agent Julius...I mean Julie Jones who has taken him.”
Waverly huffed. “Ah Mr. Solo and a woman again?”
“No sir, I do not think that is really the case. Jones, shall we say is definitely not Mr. Solo’s kind of woman.”
“Hmm, quite. This is most unfortunate, but there is still an assignment to complete, or did you make contact...?”
“No sir not yet.”
“Well I’m sorry to say the mission comes first. Stay there until you meet with the contact, go to the dead drop when you’re given the location and retrieve the information and then return here to headquarters. In the meantime I will alert agents in the field to keep an eye out for Mr. Solo.”
“Yes sir.”
Alexander Waverly could hear the disappointment in his number two agents voice. "Try not to be overly concerned Mr. Kuryakin, as I’ve said in the past, Mr. Solo is a grown man and can take care of himself I’m sure. However, once you are finished with your current assignment, you have my permission to search for him. Out.”
Waverly left no opportunity for Illya to express his gratitude, though he was sure the Old Man knew. He grudgingly sat at the bar nursing his glass of vodka, having no choice but to wait for the contact to show.
Forty-five minutes later a balding Hispanic man wearing a dark rumbled suit sidled up next to the blond agent, giving the code.
“I hear it’s going to be a cold winter this year.” Given that it was mid-July, it was a phrase that stood out.
“Only if it starts to snow in August.” Illya gave the response. “May I buy you a drink?”
The man wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.
“Sí, I suppose Señor.”
“What’ll you have?” Asked the bartender as Illya waved him over.
“I’ll have a Tab porfavor.”
Both the Russian and the bartender looked at the man oddly.
Realizing a second later he wanted a soda, the bartender confirmed the order. “Tab it is Mac.” He offered to refill Illyas vodka, but the agent declined, covering the top of the glass with his palm.
The fizzy drink was served immediately and the man nervously gulped it down.“I thought I was supposed to meet your partner.”
“He was pulled away and is otherwise occupied at the moment.” Illya answered without batting an eye. “Now the location if you please, I am in a bit of a hurry.”
“Oh, ¡lo siento!...sorry. I’m new at this. Go to the corner of Lexington Avenue and 36th Street to Residence hall. There is an envelope at the front desk under the name of Smith. The Resident Assistant will give it to you, no questions asked.”
“Thank you.” Illya whispered, slipping off the barstool and disappearing into the crowd. Outside he gave a loud whistle for a taxi, with a checkered cab pulling up in front of him within seconds. He gave the address and the instructions to the driver to step on it, along with the offer of a better tip if they arrived quickly to the destination.
Illya retrieved the envelope at the address as he’d been instructed, hopped back into the waiting taxi and took off for Del Florias. He rushed into headquarters without so much as a how do you do to Wanda, delivered the envelope and gave a near breathless verbal report. Waverly saw that he was anxious, and released Kuryakin to begin his search for his partner.
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