250 slid the dossier back onto Boss' desk. "A stakeout? Seriously, what is this, Starsky and Hutch?"
"Can you imagine me in one of those tacky sweaters?" 300 shuddered, his face twisting into a grimace.
"Enough," snapped Boss, "Hassan is bringing in a squad of mercenaries from Kazakhstan. We think he's making a move against Gyldensted soon and we need to keep track of their movements. Traditional surveillance isn't going to be effective here."
She paced around to the the front of her desk and leaned against it, arms crossed. "Hassan has stayed under our radar for so long that he's had time to build up his defences unnoticed. His building is locked up tighter than Fort Knox and we can't get an undercover agent in to set any listening devices.”
“We're going to have to do this the old fashioned way. We have a car in the Section Q lot for you. Its been outfitted with directional microphones and a few other gadgets that Q thought you'd find useful. You'll get further briefing when you get down there. You're dismissed."
250 stood up and snapped the greying lady a crisp salute. "Anything for you, Boss," he chuckled, "come along, Fancy Pants, we need to get you a sweater."
The Section Q car park was littered with prototype vehicles, ranging from cheap American cars to expensive imports. Q was leaning up against a sleek Aston Martin DB9, when the Agents arrived. "Are you guys ever on time for anything?" she asked, a small smile on her impish face.
"Dinner and movies," laughed 250, "is this our car?"
Q took a glance behind her and giggled. "This? Oh no! Your car is over there!" She pointed across the room to a run-down Gran Torino.
"You have got to be kidding me. I'd rather have the ugly sweater," sighed 300.
"I'd like to remind you this is a stakeout in a low income area. Anything nicer and you'll stick out like sore thumbs." Q glared at 300, and began to walk over the the car in question.
"I've managed to fit a few neat items into it, despite its looks." She walked around to the front of the vehicle, "You have run-flat tires, carbon fibre reinforced hood, bulletproof glass, highly illegal mirrored tint, multi-directional microphones, remote controlled HD video cameras on all sides and the best part of all,” she looked up and grinned, “...an eight-track player.”
The Gran Torino as outfitted as Q described, but she neglected to mention the rest of the vehicle was in horrible condition. It was raining out and the agents learned there was a leak in the back window panel, one of the wipers didn't work and neither did the air conditioning. Both men were hot and grumpy as they started their third hour of waiting for Hassan and his hired thugs to make an appearance.
"I want ice cream,” said 250, fanning himself with his folder.
"We just ate,” 300 replied tiredly.
"I know, but I want some ice cream.”
"It's pouring out."
"I really want some..."
"You want me... to go out in the rain... to get you ice cream?
"I'll love you forever."
"You already do. I want a favor."
"Anything, if you'll bring me back a pint of Dulce de Leche."
300 took off his jacket and set it over the back of his seat, “Dulce de Leche, huh? Anything else?” he asked his partner.
“No, just that and I’ll be all set,” replied the older man, “well, maybe a kiss."
300 leaned over and gave 250 a quick peck on the lips.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. If anything happens, call me and I’ll be right back.”
“Sure, no problem. Thank you, you’re the best!”
“Don’t you forget it!” laughed 300 as he opened the car door, the sound of rain filling the vehicle along with a rush of cool air.
After three tries, 300 finally had 250’s ice cream and was headed back to the car.
The first store didn't carry the ice cream, the second was closed. But the third store...they were open, they had the ice cream and they also wanted nearly nine dollars for the pint.
After trying to argue with the owner for several minutes about the increased cost, he gave up and purchased the ice cream.
He took a shortcut back to the car through an alley, when he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle.
300 slowed his pace and slowly reached his right hand up to his breast pocket to get his gun, but the touch of cold steel on his exposed neck stopped him.
"Well, if it isn't her Majesty's secret lapdog," drawled a familiar voice.
"Ahhh, Blackman, why is it not surprising to find you in a dark alleyway?"
"Ha ha, 300. Better question is, why are you here?"
"Oh, just taking in the sights of our fair city."
"Don't suppose it has anything to do with that ugly ass Gran Torino parked 3 blocks away does it?"
"Gran Torino? No, doesn't ring a bell."
"Funny, because your husband is sitting in it, right in front of Hassan's office."
"What a strange coincidence"
"Nah, what's strange is that you left your partner alone in hostile territory for what," he looked at the bag in 300’s hand, “ice cream? Kinda stupid if you ask me."
"I didn't ask," said 300. He twisted and swung the bag of ice cream at Duncan's head.
Duncan threw up an arm and blocked blow.
"What the hell, man?" Duncan shouted as he prepared to strike 300 in the head with his crowbar.
300 flicked his hand forward and used the plastic bag to stop the crowbar in mid arc. The two stood at an impasse for a moment before Duncan released the crowbar and reached for his gun.
Duncan had a moment's head start on 300 and quickly had the gun pointed at his head. 300 slowly raised his hands and dropped the bag, the crowbar falling free to the ground with a clatter.
At the last minute before the ice cream hit the ground, 300 kicked the bag back up into Duncan's face. The semi frozen package hit Duncan square in the nose.
Duncan reeled backwards, dropping the gun, blood dripping from his face. He growled and rushed forward, tackling the Scotsman to the ground.
“Dat’s twice you’b busted by dose!” wheezed Duncan as he proceeded to punch 300 in the face. After the second strike, Duncan froze. 300 had managed to get his gun out of his jacket and had it pressed under Duncan’s chin.
“Blackman, be happy all I've done tonight is break your nose. Get out of here, before I make Natalie a widow. Now!”
Duncan, realizing that he was not going to win this fight rose up off of 300’s prone body, fumbled around for his gun and crowbar and stalked off. “I’m calling Niels, watch your ass, 300,” he yelled as he reached the end of the alley.
The young agent pulled himself into a crouching position and grabbed the plastic bag with the ice cream. He checked to make sure the ice cream was still alright, and once he was convinced that the container had suffered no damage, he stood up.
After waiting a minute to see if he was being followed, he made his way back to the Gran Torino via the alleyways. Once he arrived he paused for just a moment to check his reflection in the car’s tint. He had a bruise forming just under his right eye and his lip was bleeding. He straightened his tie and opened the car door.
“Hey, what took so....what the hell happened to you? Are you okay?” 250 reached over to touch 300’s face.
“I’m fine, ran into Blackman in the alleyway. He knows we’re here, so we need to be careful.”
“Alright, we can radio in to update Boss and we’ll find a new location”
300 nodded and held the battered bag out to the older agent.
“Thanks,” he said as he leaned over and kissed 300 on the cheek.
“Yeah, no problem,” said 300 softly.
The sound of rustling plastic filled the car, followed by the smell of sweet caramel. 250 sighed as he sniffed at the ice cream.
“Uh, where's the spoon?”