"The Transportation Affair"~ for prompt #1 of "What's my line?"

[mlaw]

 Challenge: What’s my line?

Title: “The transportation affair.”

The prompt: The men from U.N.C.L.E. need transportation because...

Author: mrua7

Word count: Approximately 1500

                                   

To say it was a dark and stormy night was more of an understatement than anything. The days downpour started in the early morning hours, persisted throughout the afternoon and evening, with the rain continuing relentlessly to the following day.

It was nearly one a.m. as an unhappy Napoleon Solo leaned back on the red vinyl cushioned bench in an all night diner, sitting opposite his equally disgruntled partner.

 

Both men had been soaked to the bones and were now nursing their third cup of black coffee; staring at each other and periodically out through the rain covered window pane at the empty parking lot; not saying a word.

Their suits were still damp enough to have developed that mildewy-musty smell and were badly wrinkled. Though Solo's being the lighter colored material, and quite expensive to boot, looked more the worse for wear as it had been singed by the fire when their motor pool car had gone up in flames seemingly of its own volition.

No attack, no bombs, or enemy agents pursuing them for once and ironically, it seemed as though their U.N.C.L.E. transportation had decided to change sides, very nearly killing them.

.

The wipers blades had been squeaking furiously to clear the windshield as Kuryakin, behind the wheel of said car, tried to keep to the road. It was raining so hard that it made it difficult to see where he was going.

The engine suddenly exploded into flames with a startling BOOM!

He fought to control the sedan, finally swerving off the lonely country road, flying into a ditch and crashing into a rather large oak tree.

Napoleon was out of the passenger door in a flash,dashing to the other side of the car and pulling his unconscious partner from the burning vehicle. Glowing red embers flew into the air and fell around them as he dragged Illya to a safe distance. The rain was doing little to extinguish the blaze.

The Russian woke just in time to see Solo's right shoulder begin to smoulder. He dove forward, shoving the American to the wet ground and snuffing the flames before his partner was injured.

Illya and Napoleon slowly hiked themselves up from the muddy grass, in shock at what had just happened to them.

"Is this a bad dream we're having tovarisch?" Napoleon asked, wiping the rain from his face.

"If it is, wake me up now please?"

"What's that?" Napoleon asked, pointing at lights he spied in the distance." Head lights?"

"Nyet, they are stationary from the looks of them."

"Then that's where we're headed," Solo decided.

Wordlessly they schlepped along the road in the rain until they came upon an aged diner, basically in the middle of nowhere. It must have been built there when the road it sat beside was a truck route.

By the time Napoleon and Illya reached it they were completely drenched and looking quite pathetic.

Since their communicators were destroyed in the fire; the agents went straight to the payphone inside, and between the two of them they searched their pockets for change. Their wallets had been in the glove compartment for safe keeping. Big mistake.

"Sorry Mac, but the phone is out-of-order," the cook called from the pass through window, eyeing the puddles the two men were making where they were standing.

"Junior get a mop," he yelled to a skinny freckle-faced bus boy, who appeared instantly, cleaning up after the two soggy strangers. The young man stood there staring at them with his mouth hanging open.

"You had better close that or else a Musca domestica might get in there," Illya quipped as he and Napoleon headed past him, going to a booth.

"What's that Mister?"

"The common house flyyyyyy whoa!"

Illya's wet shoes sent him flying to the linoleum floor, landing quite hard on his 'dignity.'

"Hey Mister, watch out for the wet floor," Junior gave it back to him.

"I will endeavor to do so," Illya tried not to growl as he quickly hopped up, trying to hide is red-faced embarassment.

It was now officially a comedy of errors, leaving that thought unvoiced as they sat down.


Napoleon looked worse than his partner who was dressed in his standard black-on-black turtle neck and suit and if the material had been damaged in the fire, it didn't show.

How was it the Russian's cheap off the rack clothing was rarely ruined while Napoleon's costly Italian suits almost always suffered some in some way? He could never understand that.

When he submitted the expense report, accounting was going to have his head...as this was the third suit this month.

"I wonder if Waverly's sent out the cavalry in search of us, since we missed our hourly check in with headquarters?"Napoleon asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer from his crabby Cossack friend.

He presumed the Old Man hadn't sent out a search party quite yet, since the diner being the most obvious place in the area not far from where the remains of their car, now sat in a blackened heap, with no one from headquarters having appeared yet.

The waitress, wearing a dark brown wig that sat a little crooked on her head, approached them again for the umpteenth time. Snapping her gum in her mouth; she freshened up their coffee and asked if they wanted to order anything to eat...a not so subtle hint.

The rumbling of Illya's stomach was a clue as to how hungry he was, but since there was barely enough money between them to pay for the coffee; they declined.

This time however, the waitress felt sorry for them and marched over to the counter, coming back with a couple of bologna on white bread sandwiches and two plates with slices of apple pie.

"I can't stand looking at you two anymore. Here, this is on the house."

Napoleon tried mustering a smile and his thanks, but they weren't up to his usual standards of enthusiasm.

Illya mumbled, or was it more like grunted a thank you, not hesitating to dive into eating his sandwich.

"So boys what happened to you? You're looking worse than two wet hound dogs that crawled out of a river and you're starting to smell like them too," she joked, sniffing the air.

"Our car broke down and we were caught in the storm," Illya managed to finally speak.

"Well, why didn't you just stay in your car until it stopped raining?"

"Good question...why did we get out of our car chum?" Napoleon prodded with amusement; leaning on this elbow and resting his chin in his hand.

"Ummm, I guess we thought it had stopped raining but it poured again just as we reached town?"

Solo frowned; he was expecting something more creative from his partner.

"Oh," the waitress nodded at that logical answer."Well Pete's Garage in town can help tow your car but he doesn't get to the shop until around 6 am.

"And how far is town may I ask?" Illya said, swallowing the last of his sandwich and readying to tackle his slice of pie.

"Oh 'bout ten miles or so yonder," she pointed with her thumb behind her. "Pete does stop in for breakfast before then though. He'll be driving Bessy his old tow truck so we can pull him aside and let him know your predicament."

"That my dear...Gladys," Solo read her name tag," sounds like a very good plan."

"Well tell you what fellers, we have a back room that you can lie down in for a spell until sun up. I can come get you before my shift ends and let Pete know what happened."

"That is mighty generous of you Gladys," Napoleon flashed his most charming smile at her this time.

"Nothing fancy mind you, just sacks of potatoes and some grain you can lay on."

She showed them their 'accommodations' and left them there to their own devices, wishing them, "Pleasant dreams."

"So what are we going to do when this Pete wants to tow our car? If you recall it went up in flames, and now we are in need of transportation because…"

Napoleon cut him off.

"You know what Illya, I'm too tired, disgustingly damp and smelly to think about it right now. I'll have a plan in the morning, I promise...Scouts honor."

His words fell on deaf ears as his Russian friend was already sitting on the floor leaning against the sacks of potatoes with his arms crossed in front of his chest and snoring rather loudly, mind you.

"Good idea tovarisch." The American sat down, did the same and closed his eyes.

Yes, he'd worry about getting transportation for them once the daylight hours arrived.

Their suits would be dry, though nasty and wrinkled. Maybe they could weasel another meal out of Gladys and maybe this fellow Pete had a telephone that was working?

That was a lot of maybes...

Mr. Waverly was not going to be happy about the loss of yet another car,though it wasn't their fault...that on top of the lost communicators, another one of his ruined suits and a mission that was over before it even began.

Still, at least he and Illya were around to tell the tale, and to be able have words with the motor pool mechanics...something the Amercian made a solemn promise to do when they got back to headquarters.

Whenever that happened.

"Sigh...

"