Taxes 4 - Die Hard with Pirates

Liz pulled Anamaria one way and Will took Gibbs another. It didn't feel wrong to Jack to split from Will on this venture, as they were connected, always had been, and would come together again in the end. That was simply how it worked.

Now, if they did indeed have patrols, they'd be coming up the stairwells in shifts...He flattened himself against the wall. Then footsteps, *not* from the stairwell, dammit, and suddenly he held his gun on someone who had his own out and aimed. Mexican standoff. Hell.

But he *knew* this one, and not from the past, either. He gave his cockiest grin.

"Oh, *shit,*" the other man said.

"'Lo," he said. "Been a few weeks, hasn't it? Never did get your name, or I'd introduce meself properly. Not that I'm generally proper, ye understand. Wouldn't want the wrong impression getting out."

"Hi, my name's Rick," said the gunman slowly, "and I'm completely fucked."

"Fine lad like yourself, I'm not surprised."

"Look, I'm *not* gay! I have a girlfriend...why the hell am I..." He put his gun up, began backing away,
"This is all gonna go straight to Hen a n a handbasket, isn't it? Just like the jewelry store job."

"If I can help it," Jack replied.

"Crap. Your kind of trouble I do not need. So, 'bye." He'd edged himself to the stairs, and then he was gone. Jack listened to him descend, and it was only after he congratulated himself on removing that obstacle without firing a shot that Byrd murmured, //...you realize that bastard had a way out, don't you?...//

Jack gave a mental shrug. //...oops...//

* * *

"Little Jimmy's gonna kick your ass, J.B."

Bill decided he loved listening to the Texans argue. Of course, they'd made him say "Park the car in Harvard Yard," but that was generally only funny once per customer. This was evergreen.

"What?"

"Y' filled up on funnel cakes at the pier, and you *knew* he was gonna take us to lunch."

"I'll eat. I can pretty much always eat."

"Well, there's that. 'S a wonder y'aren't as wide as y'are tall."

"We're back," Bill broke in, and then, "Whoa."

They parked back at Starbucks, as the Royal Inc. lot was full of orderly, squared groups of employees, though a handful milled near various doors.

"Jimmy mentioned something 'bout a drill, but, yeah. Looks like the whole building's empty."

"So where were you going to meet him?"

"There's a patio on the top floor - we were gonna have someone call up. Maybe we can just..." Monty flipped open his phone. "Damn. Nothin'. No reception."

" I was going to meet Will up there too. Oh well..." He wandered over to a man in a maroon suit jacket. "You security?"

"Yeah..."

"Can you let us in? We were going to meet some people..."

"Sorry - the drill shorted out the doors; none of our badges are getting us in." He shrugged. "Good thing we found out now, I guess, instead of waiting for a real emergency. Phones are out, too."

"Well, do you know if a Will Smith is still..."

"Oh yeah, Will - no, he's still stuck inside. Just checked my clipboard."

"Greg Norton?" asked J.B.

"The boss? He was gonna be in there anyway, he told us. So yeah." The guard looked down at his clipboard again, seemed to remember something, and wandered away.

"Thought his name was Jimmy?"

"James Gregory."

"So you're *all* James something Norton?"

"Yep. Big Jim's our dad, and it kinda just went from there. 'Least he changed up our middle names."

"Huh..."

Just then, a man slipped out an unattended side exit. Bill noticed his watch detach itself, falling on the other side.

"Hey, your watch fell in there."

The man stared at him, eyes wide. //He sure startles easy,// Bill thought.

"Thanks," he said, swiping his badge in front of the lock, waiting for the beep, then yanking the door open. He retrieved his watch, and the thought penetrated...

"Hey, *his* badge works..." Without really thinking about it, Bill pulled the lanyard from the man's neck as he stood and swiped it over the door, holding it open for Monty and J.B. Then he did think about it for a second and turned to hand it back and apologize, but the man was gone.

"Oh well. I'll just leave it at the desk later," he said, heading upstairs, and J.B. shrugged.

* * *

To say Greg Norton was having a bad day would have been an understatement.

The far-off noise had definitely been a gunshot, and in *his* goddamn building, not outside. Mentally he added metal detectors to next year's - next month's - budget as he pulled his boss around a corner.

"So, the phones don't work and we can't get out," Mr. Swan said. "Double back?" Greg's gun preceded them, and they'd both grabbed something sharp from the collection on Swan's office wall.

"Might be just what they're expecting," Greg whispered in reply, "but it only takes one of 'em to catch us, wherever we're at, and then they get the keys to the whole goddamn place if they get you, sir. You know what they're probably after."

"I just never thought the competition was this damn desperate. There's more going on here, Greg..." He sounded awfully sure, but Greg didn't have time to think about it, what with gunmen patrolling the halls. His halls. "There are one or two V.P.s that can get into thecutecutive safe," Swan continued, "But yeah, if they get me, they know they're golden. We-"

He stopped when Greg held up a hand. The scrabbling noise above them went through and away - mice in the ducts again? But it did alert them to the footfalls. Plastered against the corner, and when the man poked *his* gun around the corner, Greg grabbed it, pulled the man forward, hit him in the throat and face. The thug dropped.

"Three down, God knows how many to go...\ "Y "You're getting a raise, you know that?"

Greg rather thought he'd get an approval on his resignation, once the man had a chance to think about it. That was for later. For now, what the hell. "All right. Back it is."

* * *

Joey watched Maroney and Riggs herd two more people into the eighth-floor meeting room. Looked like all the major V.P.s were MIA, but the big boss was here, somewhere. Robbie had been sure he'd stick around, and Robbie's intel was pretty much right on.

"So where is he?" asked Brady, who'd made it up from six, unfortunately without the chick who'd've made things way easier.

"Maybe running," Joey said. "Doesn't matter much, though." He walked back into the boss's office, sat down at his chair, and put his feet up on the mahogany desk. "More people we collect in the meantime, more guys we have as leverage once we do find him." Although, while he wasn't surprised that Robbie wasn't back, si, since the blonde liked to dawdle, it was a little disconcerting that the men were taking so long to trickle in from their sweeps. "We'll round 'em all up eventually."

* * *
"We'll round 'em up eventually," Monty said. "Think this might be the seventh floor, but we'll just ask that guy..."

He walked over to the man facing the other direction. "'Scuse me, we're just visiting, and I -whoa!" Hands up, he backed away, then stopped. Bill saw why - he and his new friends were stuck between two men with guns.

"You guys don't work here, do you?" one of the gunmen observed.

"I was just going to say the same..." Bill murmured.

"Hell, we've got plenty of hostages," one of them said, and Bill stiffened. "Let's just chuck 'em in the closet and jam the door," he continued, and Bill let the breath out. He saw the Texans looking at him with concern, but it wasn't like they had to worry. The panic attacks were almost never triggered by things that actually made sense.

Though the claustrophobia of standing in a messy janitor's closet with two bigger men came close.

"Dammit," he muttered to himself. "If I just had a Swiss army knife...or a couple of bootstraps and a nail..." And where the hell had that come from? What the hell was a bootstrap, anyway, except something successful people pulled themselves up by?

"I got a knife," Monty and J.B. chorused, then probably looked at each other in the dark - it was hard to tell.

Something scraped across the ceiling, and he looked up. Was that a grate?

"Hey, J.B.," he said, "Can you give me a leg up?"

* * *

The crawlspaces weren't nearly as helpful as Liz had hoped. They could get you from one floor to another, but they didn't go that far. They were probably too tight for any of the boys save Jack, and there was something in there *with* them, hopefully cute little mice and not - ick - cockroaches. Remembering cockroach summer '99, she shuddered.

"All right there?" Anamaria whispered.

"Yeah."

The crawlspaces had another benefit, too. Footsteps, and Liz reached up, *pulled.* The man went *thud,* and Anamaria was on him in a flash, out from behind a desk, pinning and choking 'till he passed out.

"I'd have cut his throat," she whispered, "but I'll not put blood on Annie's hands." She looked at Elizabeth, eyes shining oddly. "She's...we're...a mother, you know."

"Yeah," Liz said, smiling.

They left the gunman bound and gagged in a cabinet. "Well, onward and upward," Liz said, then, "Hey, you've got a gun now!"

"And no one left to shoot," Anamaria said. Despite her earlier words, she sounded almost depressed.

* * *

Will and Gibbs turned a corner slowly, cautiously.

"Empty again, lad," the older pirate murmured.

"They're not leaving any for us!"

"And that's bad? But I've a feeling. Once we're at the top, things may get - as the man says - interesting."

* * *

The scuffling noise in the ducts disconcerted Jack just a bit, as he moved through the increasingly empty floors. Looked like the guards were disappearing, some of which he'd had a hand in, some not. Perhaps a few angels on their side? The office workers stayed in the conference rooms, heads down, and he didn't blame them a bit. Almost to the center of Floor 8 now, and there was a gunman bringing up the rear. A skinny blonde.

One of the minor nuisances among the mutineers, to be sure, but one who Bootstrap said had helped fasten the cannon to his feet, this one and his good mate. Oh, this one...perhaps this one...He sounded Byrd out on the bloody thought, and Byrd returned the sharp desire, but also the knowledge that these men hadn't killed yet...that they knew of...but how *was* Mr. Brown lately? And all right, then...

Jack stood in the man's blind spot and raised the weapon. A verconvconvenient attack of conscience, or perhaps just pride, as he opened his mouth to boast...

The scuffling above him got louder. Something banged against a grate. The grate opened.

A loose-limbed, grey-furred demon landed on Jack's gun with a screech. Ragetti or whomever he was now turned and fired one shot by sheer instinct, which missed. Then he stared.

"Mate, have I lost it, or are you fighting with a monkey?"

//...our thoughts exactly...oh *shit*...//

Later. Think about what the monkey means *later.*

Ragetti kept the gun on them, but could only stare as Jack tried to shake the monkey off, while it reared and tried to bite, and Jack had to drop the weapon. Considering, neither of them should have been too surprised as a second furred creature leapt down and attacked the beast.

*Hector!?*

//...must have stowed away with Will...//

Unfortunately, they were fighting atop the gun. Jack's gun. So Jack took the opportunity un fun for it.

//And now I need another gun.//

* * *

After the monkey and the weasel...

"All I'm missing is the bloody fucking mulberry bush..."

...had chased each other into another vent, Robbie reevaluated his situation.

No one rejoining him from their sweeps. The man with the gun wasn't one of theirs, and resistance hadn't been in the plan. Whether or not they retained control, they could at least retain some profit if he left now. Joey and the gang would either meet up with him...or they wouldn't. Not to mention the girl, whom he *knew* was trouble.

"Unknown elements...bloody understatement...I'm getting the hell out while the getting's good...Joey knows not to wait for me anyway..."

Exit plan implemented.

* * *

Joey Pintoli looked at his watch. Where the hell *was* everybody? Riggs and Brady were back watching the conference room, and Maroney was walking Floor 8, but there should've been a whole lot more folks back by now. *With* the old man, because there was a safe with his name on it...

"Few more minutes and I'm gonna be officially annoyed."

* * *

Maroney was in fact patrolling the top level, skirting the patio for the one area he hadn't yet checked through - the ladies' restroom.

He couldn't really be blamed for not expecting Warren Swan, CEO, to be hiding right behind the door with his brother-in-law's Vietnam-era machete.

Warren would always later blame the onrush of memories from Weatherby Swann, Governor, for his own passing out. He certainly didn't faint like a girly man at the sight of all that blood. Maroney, on the other hand, most likely did black out when his hand was severed at the wrist.

* * *

Riggs and Brady heard the scream and straightened, turned to run in that direction.

This was highly convenient for Will and Gibbs, who stuck out one leg apiece. The thugs pitched forward into the wall at the end of the corridor, knocking themselves cold.

"That was my big contribution? I'm never going to live this down," Will muttered. "I've not even had a chance to throw anything."

"Please, lad. If ye mean Jack, he'd much rather trip all his enemies from the end of a hallway than chase them about with swords. Moment doesn't get much more opportune than that."

"...You're probably right."

* * *

Pintoli also leapt up at the scream, running to the door. Unfortunately, he left his gun on the desk, and there was more than one door to the office.

When he looked back, a man stood between him and the weapon, reaching for it...He lunged, tackled, and they slammed to the desk, struggling.

* * *

Pintel. Damned be it, he'd known Will was right. And this version was healthy, bulky, clean-shaven, wearing an expensive Italian suit...

"Nice suit..."

"Thanks," the doppelganger replied, then headbutted Jack, stunning him. Shake it off...Gun! Grab for it, a miss, oh hell...One of them kicked the gun and it went skidding, and then they went skidding across the desk to the floor.

Jack dodged a punch, went for the throat, had his wrist twisted - Not-Pintel had him by the shoulders, about to slam his head against the ground; he threw him off and dodged and they went 'round again. But this one - did he have the same - yes! Slightly favoring *that* move...//I watched you brawl once upon a time, *mutineer...*// Jack's fist connected once, twice, and the gun was there -

Then it was in his hand, and then he crouched above the prone criminal, holding the gun to the nape of the man's neck.

"Who the fuck *are* you?" Eastern New York, if Jack was any judge. Interesting. "What the hell happened to my men?"

"*You're* the boss?"

"*Yeah,* asshole. Joey Pintoli. Maybe you heard of me?"

"Can't say as I have. But you've a very familiar face." Jack knew his tone for deadly, and felt the man tense even before he readied the gun to fire.

"He's down, Jack," came a very familiar voice. "They're all down, far as I can tell. Back away."

"But he-"

"Nobody's dead, yet, Jack," said Greg Norton. "You pull that trigger, only murderer today's gonna be you."

"Greg, ye don't *understand-*"

Another gun cocked with a click. "I have put your neck in far too many a noose, Jack Sparrow. Do *not* force me to do it again."

Jack's eyes widened. Thad nod not been a Texas drawl.

He put up his weapon, though he kept pressure on the man he held. Jack turned to look into the eyes of Commodore James Norrington. The keen, clear gaze regarded him in turn, and Norrington gave his slight smile, the greeting of honorable enemies, well met.

"So. Here we are again, Jack Sparrow." And Jack thought he could forgive the omission, just this once.

But then his face changed, frowned, took on a look of alarmed confusion. "Jack? Where...what's happened to me?" He shuddered, which, since he held a cocked gun, made Jack *very* nervous. "What's happenin' t' me? What the hell's goin' on!?"

Norton's eyes rolled back and he dropped like a rock. The gun, thank God, did not go off, but it landed an inch from Pintoli's hand. The thug shook Jack off, lunged...

And a woman's shoe came down on Joey's hand while another kicked him in the head, hard enough to stun. Then Liz had her knee in Pintoli's back and Norton's gun pressed into the back of his skull.

"'Ello, poppet," she said. "Move, and I open your head."

It would be a long time before he had any idea where it came from, but Joey gasped out, "Parlay?"

On that word, in came three men, two taller even than Norton, and all covered in grey-brown lint. Norton, sitting up and rubbing his head, saw them first and said, "Hey, guys. Um, I'my - y - thanks, hon."

One of the two that *wasn't* once Bootstrap Bill Turner took in the tableau. His mouth worked once, twice, and finally...

"Holy shit, Little Jimmy. If this is her, when's the wedding?"

"Little Jimmy?" Jack asked, grinning.

"Do *not* start..."

"Will?"

"Fa - Dad!?"

"Can I shoot 'em? Any of 'em?"

"I think they're all with us, Ana."

"Ah, hell."

* * *