title: What Have They Gotten Themselves Into Now?

author: lisa roquin

rating: eh, 13.

fandom: Boondock Saints/BtVS

series/sequel: Saints of Retribution Verse

characters/pairings: Paul Smecker, "Baby"/ "Honey".

disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.

summary: Smecker's having one of those days, and he knows exactly who to blame.

warning: language

author's note: haven't put anything up at twistedshorts for ages and this fits this weeks challenge, part of the verse which has had bunnies chomping on the backs of my ankles for a few months now.

wordcount: 1304



 

Agent Paul Smecker entered his house immediately sensing something was off. Someone had been here.

He wasn't sure if they were still here, but someone had been here.

The door to his office was cracked open.

The door to his office was always locked tight. Not even the over-zealous Mrs. Poppadopalous set foot in there. And that was the woman who regularly balled him out if he spilt something on his own fucking carpet--not that she had to do anything but call Stainmaster or whatever the carpet cleaning company's name was and have him billed for it if it bothered her that damn much. Which it did. Which she did, and he would have if she didn't. But his cleaning lady was a fucking dragon who had no concept of how employee/employer relationships should work, or that the employee really shouldn't be balling out her employer as if he were her teenage grandson with a failing grade on a test.

"Baby, he's home,"

Paul drew his gun at the sound of a female voice.

"And done, let's get out of here, honey," a second female voice.

Paul inched toward his office...he kicked open the door gun ready to fire...

And no one was there.

Windows were not only shut, but locked and he would have heard them closing or opening. There was only one other way in or out of the room besides the windows and he was standing in the middle of that way.

His computer was on. His file cabinet drawers were not completely shut. Neither were his desk drawers.

Baby and Honey seemed to have disappeared into thin air.

Hell his chair was still warm from what had to be Baby's ass as she worked on the computer.

He pulled a pair of tweezers from his pocket noticing the strand of hair on the black leather back of the chair. Hair that most certainly wasn't his and not anyone he could possibly think of.

A very very long copper red hair. Natural red hair, it was the same color at both ends, ends weren't split or damaged. Straight very very long copper red hair, not permed or curled or what the fuck ever most women did to their hair.


"Well, okay. Baby's a redhead." Paul said to himself and sniffed. "And one of them likes freaking expensive perfume."

The expensive perfume was more likely Honey, Paul thought since the scent was strongest by the door way and Baby was the one who he was sure was at the computer. Honey had been the lookout if their conversation was anything to go by. Three words from one and eight from the other weren't enough to call a conversation but it had certainly given away their likely positions enough.

"How the fuck did they disappear into thin air?" Paul looked around.

He bagged Baby's red hair then pulled gloves from his pocket and carefully opened his file cabinet for the finger print kit.

The doorway and wall around it dusted. Where Honey had most likely been standing lookout. He got a few prints, including a palm print and a smudge of makeup from the wall. Definitely not enough of the makeup, foundation, to get anything from but the pale color of the foundation said that Honey was Caucasian likely, as was Baby with her long straight red hair.

He pulled prints off the file cabinet, desk, drawers, chair, keyboard, desk, computer and monitor. Satisfied that there had to be at least a few that weren't his own, judging by the size of the palm print he managed to get from the wall and from the desk. Baby and Honey were definitely female, even the female sounding voices and the makeup left just enough room for doubt. Never assume. But the female voices, the makeup and the fact that he'd seen twelve year olds with bigger palms than the one that had to make the print on his desk top, Baby at least was definitely female and the palm print from the wall by the door was a bit longer but very slender. He'd bet anything Baby and Honey were both 100percent female.

And what had they done to his computer?

He sat and instinctively went for the "Saints" file. He was officially the head of the Saints task force. Baby and Honey disappearing into thin air--that was just fuckin weird and the logical place to start were the pair of crazy Irish fucks and their even more psychotic late father Il Duce.

"Fucking hell" Paul said.

A doctored eye witness account. Nothing about tattoos. Nothing about Irish accents. "Dark" and "Sandy Strawberry" for hair descriptions had been changed to "brown" eye color descriptions had been changed to "maybe blue"

He went to the next and then the next and the next. Every single thing on his hard drive about the saints had been doctored. Every last thing. Anything that was just a little too close to the MacManus brothers in description in association was watered down, distorted just enough to stay within the bounds of fact but nothing that was going to tie the pair of crazyfuck Irishmen to anything of the Saints.

He got up and went to the filing cabinet. The drawer reserved for the Saints. He was head of the Saints task force after all.

Every last sketch done by witnesses was changed. Il Duce they left alone but not the twins. Tattoos were removed from the sketches. The faces changed.

Witness statements--photocopies of handwritten witness statements--were changed not a word about accents or tattoos. General descriptions vagued up.

He turned back to his desk.

"Where the fuck did that come from!"

Leaning against his computer monitor was heavy, expensive lavender! stationary with a sprig of fucking lilacs in the upper right corner.

They said not to 'fuck with your head' so we won't. For now.

Yes, all files now look like yours. Any physical evidence is gone or damaged beyond any usability or admissibility in court.

Copy the address quickly. This note will disintegrate in sixty seconds. :)

"Fucking disintegrate?" Paul shouted even as he committed the South Boston street address to memory and was scrabbling blindly for a pen and something to write on. And what the fuck was with the smiley face?

As he triple checked the address to what he'd scribbled down on the scratchpad the fucking note fucking disintegrated before his eyes leaving a pile of vaguely lavender ash in front of his monitor.

He turned off the computer and lights. Then locked his office up. He did not want Mrs. P taking it as an invitation to clean in there and have her destroy what little evidence he had from Baby and Honey's visit.

As he packed he racked his mind trying to think of any of the organizations his department looked into who would have a pair like Baby and Honey on their payroll. Organized Crime was very much a boys club. No hooker could doctor up records like his had been. No junkie mistress would be able to have the ability to slip in and out like that. No wife would be allowed anywhere near the business even if she was fully aware of it, her hands would be clean and she'd be hauling the kids to dance lessons and soccer practice when shit went down.

It didn't make any sense. Anyone going by the name Honey or Baby either connected to Organized crime or in the gutter, bordering underworld circles the MacManus brothers traveled in would be a hooker or in the porn industry somehow.

Unless...

His house had been broken into by a lovey-dovey pair of fucking lesbians.

"Alright, boys, what the fuck have you gotten into now?" Paul snapped as he threw clothes into a bag while on hold with the airline. "Just what I wanted to do on my goddamn weekend off. Haul my ass all around fucking Boston and track down your dumb asses for explanations!"