Gibbs felt a small amount of pleasure at the oomph coming from the young man as the breath was knocked out of him when the marine slammed him onto the hood of the car. The agent even almost – almost – cracked a smile when the kid winced as Gibbs fastened the handcuffs around his wrists a little more forcefully, and a little tighter, than necessary.
"Shut up!" Gibbs snapped when the young man started to protest as the agent began searching him.
Kicking the kid's feet further apart when he continued to struggle, Gibbs effectively cut off any further protests by grinding the guy's face firmly into the hood of the car. The kid wasn't going anywhere as one hand held his head down and a leg kept his feet spread, the agent's body weight immobilizing him as Gibbs's other hand patted him down.
Not that he would ever admit it, but Gibbs's satisfaction was from more than causing the guy any discomfort he could. After chasing the punk six blocks, not including shortcuts through alleys and a small restaurant, and then the scuffle, Gibbs had worked up a sweat. Only to himself, the marine would say the kid could brawl. An aching jaw, some sore ribs, and a knee that would hate him even more in the morning reminded Gibbs that he wasn't as young as he used to be. The difference was that he had the training, and this guy's down and dirty style said he'd learned to fight on the street.
"Well, well, well…What do we have here?" Gibbs taunted.
After emptying the young man's pockets of keys, a wad of cash, some loose change, and a pocketknife, Gibbs found a handgun tucked into the waistband of the kid's jeans.
"'s n't m'ne." The reply was garbled since half the guy's face was still pressed into the hood.
"Oh yeah?" Gibbs's tone was dripping with sarcasm, but dangerously sharp. "Then whose is it wiseass?"
Even with his face smooshed between the agent's hand and the vehicle, the young man's shit-eating grin was still clear as day, especially with the mischievous spark shining in his eyes. But his mumbled reply was too unintelligible.
So Gibbs moved the hand that had been holding his head down and raised him a fraction off the hood by his collar. "What was that?" he growled into the kid's ear.
Grinning as he looked at Gibbs out of the corner of his eye, the young man repeated slowly as if talking to an idiot, "I said, it's your mama's."
Roughly, Gibbs hauled the guy up and turned him so they were face to face. Inches apart, Gibbs's icy glare bore into the bright hazel one staring back at him.
Fists tightening their hold on the kid's hoodie, Gibbs lowered his voice to the scary quiet that had most people running. "You think you're a tough guy, don't ya?"
But this guy just kept grinning, and chuckled, "Well, yeah!" His tone had a definite 'duh!' quality to it.
Gibbs narrowed his eyes before allowing a small smirk.
"We'll see how tough you are," he muttered as he stepped back, dragging the chuckling kid with him before throwing him in the backseat of the sedan.
"Tell me you got something Abs," Gibbs said as he entered the lab.
"Of course I do Gibbs," the forensic scientist replied easily, hitting a few buttons on her keyboard as the agent set a Caf-Pow! down in front of her. "Meet Tommy DeMarco," Abby said as she put up a file on the big screen, a picture of the young man Gibbs had arrested staring back at them.
Though the date of birth listed said the guy was twenty-eight, Gibbs thought his description of 'kid' fit much better.
"What do we know about him?" Gibbs asked, while also taking note that the scowl the kid was wearing in the mug shot looked more natural than the cheeky grin that had been almost constant since Gibbs had slapped the cuffs on.
Gibbs scowled, but Abby's smile remained firmly in place.
"In that charming bad boy sense," she clarified. "But he's definitely a jock." She said it as if that was a deal breaker, and Gibbs gave her a look. "Right, moving on," she smirked. In a more business-like tone, Abby continued, "Multiple priors including assaulting a police officer, a couple drunk and disorderlies, and – you're gonna love this – drug trafficking. He did four years for the trafficking charge. Did time as a kid too. He's got a juvenile record for assault, possession, and armed robbery."
"Career criminal," Gibbs sighed. Turning back to Abby, he asked, "Any connection to our dead petty officer?"
"Not that I can find," Abby admitted before smiling reassuringly. "So far. But – " she added in a drawl. "His last known address is only a couple blocks from the bar where Petty Officer Patrick was last seen."
"Good work Abs," Gibbs told her, kissing her cheek on his way out.