![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mrua7.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfu2019-03-12 11:42 am
The ABC Affair- 2019- G is for Gumbo!
Solo ducked behind a potted palm tree in the hotel lobby and immediately contacted Waverly to give him the bad news.
The Old Man wasn’t pleased at all, and by the tone of his voice he seemed ready to give his two best agents a dressing down, luckily he took a deep calming breath.
"There are two possibilities," he said. "your room has been bugged or there is a mole in the New Orleans field office. I suspect the former for the moment but that doesn't preclude the latter. The staff there in New Orleans is relatively new, all Section III agents, most of whom are just out of Survival School. There is the possibility that THRUSH had gotten one of them to turn traitor."
Solo and Kuryakin were ordered to check their room for listening devices and doing so they found it was indeed bugged. How THRUSH had discovered their whereabouts was a mystery, leaving the possibility of a mole definitely on the table as they’d checked in the field office upon the completion of their initial assignment. Scenarios the Old Man hadn't addressed were the possibility that their room was bugged and there was a mole as well. They only hoped that wasn't the case.
Before heading back to the field office to discreetly gather what intel they could on the satrapy...if there was any; they needed to find alternate accommodations as who knew how long they’d have to remain in the area.
Unlike headquarters a field office was small and lacked the creature comforts offered in New York. However, finding another hotel room would be easier said than done during Mardi Gras. The population of the city of New Orleans had swelled to tens of thousands, filled with both tourists and residents of the state of Louisiana who were in town for the festivities.
The agents left their hotel, though they paid for an additional night, leaving the possibility of THRUSH thinking they were still there.
Illya set up a small tape recorder and outside their room they recorded a brief conversation making it sound as if they were both going to bed early.It was set on a timer to play an additional recording that made it seem as though they were up and about in the morning, discussing where to go for breakfast. The device was left on the dresser with the timer.
They packed their suitcases in silence and bringing their luggage with them, they took up residence at a corner watering hole called the TruTone bar. There was something about the place that just called to them, or perhaps more to his partner.
Napoleon guessed it was the music as there was a live jazz band playing. Once inside they heard that even the owner would periodically join in the music, playing soulfully on an old upright piano. They also saw that food was served until midnight.
The agents made themselves as comfortable as they could on the wooden bar stools. It was after 10 pm and both men were hungry and tired. The bar had a nice menu of New Orleans delicacies and they both ordered a beer along with steaming hot bowls of gumbo.
Napoleon opted for the chicken and sausage variety, the sausage being made of pork and garlic called ‘andouille’. White meat chicken was used as it avoided adding a greasy flavor to the meal.
Illya, though not a big fan of fish, given his past imprisonments wherein he was forced eat nothing but fish broth countless times, opted for the seafood gumbo.
He requested no fish broth, and was quite pleased when his gumbo was made for him with shrimp, crab, crawfish, and oysters in a stock made from shrimp and clams. A sprinkling of Cajun spices added quite a kick to it, but Kuryakin’s legendary cast iron stomach was up to the task.
All in all their late night repast was what both of them needed, a hearty meal that would help maintain their strength, as who knew what would or would not be coming their way. The next thing they needed was sleep.
Napoleon struck up a conversation with the barkeep, who was apparently the owner.
“Know of any place where we might find a hotel room? There was a mix up with our reservations leaving us out in the cold, idiomatically speaking.”
“Oh I doubt you’ll find one as the city is more packed for Mardi Gras than I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been here for nigh on twenty-five years. That being said, I have a room upstairs that I could rent to you. You seem like a couple of decent guys. The name’s Cassius Pride and I own this place.” He offered his hand in greeting to both men.
He was judging the proverbial book by the cover as they weren’t drunk, and were dressed in suits...though the blond’s hair was a bit long, they appeared well groomed enough.
Pride wasn’t the most honest man himself, but he could still do someone a solid a once in a while. He’d already done them a favor by stowing their suitcases behind the bar.
“Lucius,” he called to one of the employees,” take over the bar for a couple of minutes will you?”
“Sho boss, “a white haired black man answered him.
Illya shrugged his partner a ‘why not’ look, and after Solo nodded his agreement, they followed Pride to a back room and up a narrow flight of stairs.
They were let into a large room, illuminated by the light of neon signs glaring in from the street. It was filled with wooden crates and brick a brack. On the floor was a large mattress with a few pillows. There were fresh linens laid nearby along with some blankets.
Cassius flicked on the light switch. “It’s nothing fancy but it’s clean, and bug free. I can vouch for that personally. Some nights when I’m too tired to head home I’ll stay here.”
“It’ll do fine; so how much?” Solo asked.
“How does six dollars a night sound? I figure that’s fair as Motel 6 charges the same, though this isn’t as fancy, still not a bad rate for Mardi Gras.”
“That’s more than fair,” Illya said. He pulled out his wallet.
“How long you gents looking to stay?”
“For a week most likely, perhaps longer,” Napoleon answered as he peeked out through a curtained window, “but a week for now.”
Illya opened his wallet and doled out forty-two dollars. “We will need a receipt.”
“No problem, I’m guessing you’re not just here for the Mardi Gras then? We usually don’t see revelers dressed in suits asking for receipts.”
“Just here on local business,” Illya answered.
Pride folded up the money, shoving it into his trouser pocket. “I’ll send Lucius up with your receipt and suitcases. Toilet and sink is through that door,”he pointe.” Pleasure doing business with you...say I didn’t get your names.”
“I’m Eddie Stark and my friend here is Nick Dominski,”Napoleon said. “We’re in the novelty trade. Our company supplies a lot of the beads and so forth that the Krewes give out from their floats.”
“You don’t say? A couple of traveling salesmen... I always wondered where those baubles came from. Is it a good business, selling novelties that is?”
“Good enough,” Illya said. “We are on the road a lot so being here should have been a bit of a respite for us; it turned out not to be so after losing our hotel room. You have helped turn our luck around sir.”
“My pleasure son.” Pride headed to the stairs, closing the door behind himself.
“Enjoy your stay. Laissez le bon temps rouler!”
“Yes, let the good times roll. J'espère,” Illya called back to him, but repeated himself in English, "I hope."
Kuryakin joined his partner, nosing out the window and looking at the crowds below. There was the din from there as well as the sound of the live music below in the bar vibrating up through the floorboards.
“I have a feeling we’re not going to sleep very well tovarisch,” Napoleon sighed.
There was a knock at the door. “It’s Lucius,” the man called.
Illya slowly opened the door, keeping his gun hidden behind himself.
“Evenin’. I has yo bags and da receipt for ya’ll and here, da boss sent these up. On da house.”
Lucius held out two bottles of Dixie beer.
Napoleon accepted the drinks and receipt while the man set the suitcases down on the floor.
“Enjoy yo stay in da Big Easy gentlemen,” Lucius said before closing the door after himself.
“I will take that,” Illya snatched the receipt from Napoleon and promptly stuffed it into his wallet.
“Don’t get your knickers in a bunch tovarisch, and don’t say it... you’ll get what’s owed you.”
Illya lowered himself to the mattress, resting with his hands behind his head and crossing his legs.
“You realize we are better off staying here until tomorrow evening so as to not being seen out there. I suspect Thrushies will still be looking for us. Better to lay low during the day.”
“Are you kidding me. It couldn’t be any easier for us to go out. All we have to do is wear the Mardi Gras masks and top hats we purloined from the float.”
“Napoleon, I really think it is in our best interests to stay out of sight in the daylight hours when it might not be as crowded. People will be sleeping it off I suspect.”
No sooner did Kuryakin utter those words when Napoleon’s communicator warbled.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Tomorrow's chapter is one I'm really proud of. Will post between 11:30-12:00 noon.
no subject