FIC Title: Night of the Standoff in Mexico
Title: Night of the Standoff in Mexico
Author: Ivybramble
Fandom: Justice Riders Elseworld
Rating: PG
Summary: When Special Government Agent James Jesse runs into trouble south of the border, Leonard Snart and his boys have to decide how far they're willing to go to pay a debt to a man they no longer consider to be one of their own...
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money.
When he came to the tenth item on his mental list of things he might have done to cause that bloody horse to have it in for him, Special Government Agent James Jesse abruptly decided it was long past time for him to get out from under the Mexican sun. The Trickster sauntered casually into the nearest cantina, pulling his hat lower over his eyes as he did so. And abruptly found himself face to face with one of the banditos who had stolen that bloody horse. Things disintegrated rapidly from there.
If the time he'd spent in this place had taught him one thing it was that it took a Hell of a lot of ruckus to stir up the locals during siesta. The last individual to saunter through the cantina door appeared to specialize in ruckus. Lad might actually have managed to hold his own if it weren't for the fact that every Mexican in the place had jumped to the defense of his antagonists, most likely because he was a 'gringo'. Damn shame really, but Leonard Snart still couldn't be bothered to make it his business. Until two of the banditos sent the brawler crashing directly into his table, upsetting his drink and allowing him to get a good, long look at the younger man's face. "Fancy running into you here Oh Captain, my Captain," the Trickster drawled up at him through a bloody lip. That tore it. The thickset sombrero sporting thug who'd started the entire fracas grabbed ahold of J.J's arm and yanked him upright to take another punch. Len didn't give the Mexican a chance to land the hit before he broke the man's nose with a haymaker of his own. He'd nearly forgotten how much fun a bar room brawl could be.
"Not that I'm complaining you understand, because if anything I'm much obliged, but what made you decide to step in back there?" Several months ago when they'd been riding together and he'd had no idea that J.J. was actually a Government Agent, there'd been an easy answer to that question. Rogues look after their own. Now however...the situation was a mite more complicated. He'd been angry as all get-out over the deception, they'd all been and by all rights Leonard Snart should have been angry still. He probably would have been if not for the annoying little voice in the back of his mind whispering exactly what could have, should have happened to James because of that stunt he'd pulled after the dust up with Luthor, Kent, West, Prince and Jordan. As the diamond that had provided his boys with their badly needed exit had tumbled through the air Len had realized something...the Trickster wasn't a disguise, a dupe or a con, it was a facet. Possibly truer than any of the various others James presented. If he were honest, which he never was outside of the depths of his own mind if he could help it, Len might have admitted that he'd been wondering ever since that day if the Trickster's keepers, or even his partner, were fully aware of that.
"Bloody banditos spilled my drink. What exactly did you do to get them all riled up so quick?"
"They stole a horse. I'm going to steal it back."
"Do you mean to tell me that the self-proclaimed best con man in the Territories lost his horse to a bunch of riffraff from south of the border?"
Cornflower blue eyes glowered at him from underneath the hat James was keeping pulled low to prevent the locals from noticing his, rather unusual for these parts, hair colour.
"In the first place I never said it was my horse and in the second..."
"If it ain't your horse why the Hell are you going to all this trouble?" The Trickster paused for a long moment before answering.
"The horse in question was intended as a gift from our President to theirs. If I don't get the bloody animal back and delivered on time we're going to have an international incident on our hands." An international incident. Which would mean American soldiers on this side of the border. And that would not bode well for Len and his boys. Not well at all.
"Might have an idea where you could start looking."
"Oh? Do tell." He knew that smile. That smile could only mean one thing... trouble.
Leonard Snart had decided that alcohol and nostalgia were a bad combination. Because that's what he was blaming for his idiotic impulsive offer to show James the banditos campsite rather than just sending the other man off into the desert with some fairly specific directions. Never mind what the little voice in the back of his mind kept whispering, he was bored, this promised to be interesting and that was all there was to it!
"That's the bloody horse alright," J.J. muttered, tucking a small telescope back into one of the many hidden pockets of his vest.
"You know you never did say how they managed to get the thing away from you in the first place."
"Who ever said they got it away from me?" the Trickster's grin was sharp. "That particular honour belongs to dear old Major Hal Jordan. You do remember him?" As if a body was likely to forget one of those damned military types. Particularly one who'd been as keen on seeing he and his boys dancing a gallows jig as 'dear old Major Jordan.'
"And he just let you waltz in and take over the operation?"
"I wouldn't say that. But the last thing we needed was a hotheaded regular army type storming across the border with troops in tow and putting fear of life and limb into the local people. You haven't ever been formally introduced to my associate have you?"
"I suspect if I had I'd remember." He didn't like the way the other man's smile twisted in response to his statement.
"Hartley is...awfully persuasive when he has a mind to be."
"Pity you didn't bring him along then. Maybe he'd have been able to walk right into the camp and convince them to hand over your bloody horse." His sarcasm appeared to have been lost on the Trickster, who was currently sporting a look that Len privately associated with imminent explosions that left a body covered in something...unpleasant.
"That. Is an excellent. Idea."
He still couldn't believe that ploy had worked. James Jesse had waltzed directly into the campsite and very politely inquired of the man who had been identified as the leader of the rabble if he might have his horse back. He'd gone on to offer the Mexican a cigar, smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world in spite of the fact that the rest of the banditos were rapidly forming a ring around him. Which was when Len had cursed under his breath and pulled his sidearm, expecting to have to rescue the damn fool. He should have known better. Not ten seconds later the cigar had exploded and then James was riding out of a cloud of dark green smoke on the bloody horse that had started the whole thing. Len suspected he might even have found it amusing if they weren't currently down one horse thanks his original mount being shot out from under him and in the midst of being chased by a horde of angry banditos. There wasn't a hope in Hell that they were going to make the town outskirts, where his boys were doubtlessly waiting for him by now, before their pursuers caught up. His borrowed mount chose that moment to throw a shoe, the animal's stumbling stop nearly threw him from the saddle. The Trickster reined in to a halt next to him with a snarled curse. The rocky outcropping they'd just cleared would provide them with some protection. But the banditos had them heavily outnumbered. Len Snart ran through the mental inventory of what his country had done for him and boys lately...and came up short.
"Look James this..."
"This ain't your fight. I know." There was something wrong in the other man's posture...something resigned. "Any chance I could cash in on the last of my favour bank credit?"
"Depends on the favour."
"Take the horse and ride back to town. Give one of the local boys a couple of pesos to run it just over the border to the north. Someone will be along to collect it."
"What are you going to do?" Damn that stupid, incessantly nagging voice! Len knew that he wasn't going to like the answer to his question. The Trickster grinned.
"I'll think of something."
He didn't even make it a third of the way back to town before he ran into his boys coming from the opposite direction.
"Where've you been?" Mick demanded as he, Mark, Sam and Digger halted their horses along side him.
"The local girls told us you backed some stranger in a barfight and then got the Hell out of town," Mark added.
"Mark..." Damn but he was getting soft in his old age. "Trade horses with me. I've got some unfinished business to take care of."
"What do you want us to do?" The Wizard looked confused as he took a hold of that bloody hexed horse's bridle.
"Take the horse back to town and pay one of the locals to escort it just over the border to the north."
"You're the Boss Len." Couldn't buy that kind of loyalty...not for all the gold in Mexico and the Territories Leonard Snart reflected as he turned the fresh horse back in the direction he'd come. He waited until his men had rode on...three sets of hoof beats.
"Mick..."
"I'm coming with you."
"It ain't..."
"I said I'm coming with you."
"Suit yourself then. YAH!!!"
There wasn't any gunfire. And that was worrying. The top of the next rise revealed a significantly diminished number of banditos slowly edging their way towards a terrifying still figure in red stained blue and yellow. Lenoard Snart and Mick Rory needed no further invitation to charge in, guns blazing. It was over very quickly. Len sprang from his saddle with a curse, bent over James sprawled form and placed an ear against the other man's chest. Time seemed to have come to a crashing halt.
"Well?"
"He's breathing." But only for a moment. "If we want to keep it that way those bullets are going to have to come out."
"Neither of us is a doctor Len."
"We don't have time for a doctor. Just start me a fire and hold him still." Len pulled the emergency blade from his boot and tried to polish it on the cleanest part of his shirt. "This ain't going to be pretty."
It was dusk by the time they caught up with the rest of the boys just shy of the border, the Trickster's limp form balanced between them.
"What in blazes happened to him?" Mark demanded as they gently lowered J.J. into a reclining position on the ground.
"'s a long story. Why didn't you send that bloody horse across like I told you?"
"Figured we should wait to make sure you two got back alright first," Sam retorted with a shrug.
"Huh," he wasn't doing a particularly good job of keeping his emotions in check today, it was obvious from the way his boys were trying not to smile at him that they knew he was...grateful for the sentiment...in a very disapproving way of course! "Situation?"
"Whole bloody troop of military types camped a stone's throw from here. And some fancy private train. But they ain't done nothing but sing since we arrived."
"Ain't done nothing but what?" It was the shock that made him ask. Now that the adrenaline of the ride was wearing down he could hear it. There weren't just singing...they were harmonizing.
"Sing. You know...first it was the 'Camptown Races', then 'Buffalo Gal', and then 'Goodbye Liza Jane'."
"You gentlemen care to tell me what you're intending to do with that horse? And my partner?" Something green was glowing in the night. They all jumped. The figure that emerged from the shadows was dressed like a city slicker, but he didn't move like one. And he was carrying, strumming actually, a banjo of all things. Leonard Snart felt the beginnings of a smile tagging at the corner of his mouth. He subdued it.
"You must be Hartley. We were just...paying off a favour you might say. He's lost a bit of blood...but he'll be fine. Just needs to sleep it off." Rustling from the direction of the troops.
"Consider it paid. Might I suggest you make your exit? Oh I come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee, I'm goin' to Lou'siana my true love for to see. It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry; The sun so hot I froze to death, Susanna don't you cry." That. Was. The. Prettiest. Voice. He'd. Ever. Heard. Len shook his head abruptly to clear the cobwebs...and realized that the troop's movement had been replaced by an enthusiastic chorus to the red head's song.
"Oh! Susanna, don't you cry for me; I come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee!" Len turned back to the musician one last time before following the others back across the border.
"Look after him will you?" The younger man smiled.
"Depend on it. I had a dream the other night, When everything was still; I thought I saw Susanna dear, A-coming down the hill. A buckwheat cake was in her mouth, A tear was in her eye, Said I, I'm coming from the south, Susanna don't you cry."
"Oh! Susanna, don't you cry for me; I come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee!" Whistling along with the tune, Leonard Snart disappeared after his boys into the night.
Author: Ivybramble
Fandom: Justice Riders Elseworld
Rating: PG
Summary: When Special Government Agent James Jesse runs into trouble south of the border, Leonard Snart and his boys have to decide how far they're willing to go to pay a debt to a man they no longer consider to be one of their own...
Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money.
When he came to the tenth item on his mental list of things he might have done to cause that bloody horse to have it in for him, Special Government Agent James Jesse abruptly decided it was long past time for him to get out from under the Mexican sun. The Trickster sauntered casually into the nearest cantina, pulling his hat lower over his eyes as he did so. And abruptly found himself face to face with one of the banditos who had stolen that bloody horse. Things disintegrated rapidly from there.
If the time he'd spent in this place had taught him one thing it was that it took a Hell of a lot of ruckus to stir up the locals during siesta. The last individual to saunter through the cantina door appeared to specialize in ruckus. Lad might actually have managed to hold his own if it weren't for the fact that every Mexican in the place had jumped to the defense of his antagonists, most likely because he was a 'gringo'. Damn shame really, but Leonard Snart still couldn't be bothered to make it his business. Until two of the banditos sent the brawler crashing directly into his table, upsetting his drink and allowing him to get a good, long look at the younger man's face. "Fancy running into you here Oh Captain, my Captain," the Trickster drawled up at him through a bloody lip. That tore it. The thickset sombrero sporting thug who'd started the entire fracas grabbed ahold of J.J's arm and yanked him upright to take another punch. Len didn't give the Mexican a chance to land the hit before he broke the man's nose with a haymaker of his own. He'd nearly forgotten how much fun a bar room brawl could be.
"Not that I'm complaining you understand, because if anything I'm much obliged, but what made you decide to step in back there?" Several months ago when they'd been riding together and he'd had no idea that J.J. was actually a Government Agent, there'd been an easy answer to that question. Rogues look after their own. Now however...the situation was a mite more complicated. He'd been angry as all get-out over the deception, they'd all been and by all rights Leonard Snart should have been angry still. He probably would have been if not for the annoying little voice in the back of his mind whispering exactly what could have, should have happened to James because of that stunt he'd pulled after the dust up with Luthor, Kent, West, Prince and Jordan. As the diamond that had provided his boys with their badly needed exit had tumbled through the air Len had realized something...the Trickster wasn't a disguise, a dupe or a con, it was a facet. Possibly truer than any of the various others James presented. If he were honest, which he never was outside of the depths of his own mind if he could help it, Len might have admitted that he'd been wondering ever since that day if the Trickster's keepers, or even his partner, were fully aware of that.
"Bloody banditos spilled my drink. What exactly did you do to get them all riled up so quick?"
"They stole a horse. I'm going to steal it back."
"Do you mean to tell me that the self-proclaimed best con man in the Territories lost his horse to a bunch of riffraff from south of the border?"
Cornflower blue eyes glowered at him from underneath the hat James was keeping pulled low to prevent the locals from noticing his, rather unusual for these parts, hair colour.
"In the first place I never said it was my horse and in the second..."
"If it ain't your horse why the Hell are you going to all this trouble?" The Trickster paused for a long moment before answering.
"The horse in question was intended as a gift from our President to theirs. If I don't get the bloody animal back and delivered on time we're going to have an international incident on our hands." An international incident. Which would mean American soldiers on this side of the border. And that would not bode well for Len and his boys. Not well at all.
"Might have an idea where you could start looking."
"Oh? Do tell." He knew that smile. That smile could only mean one thing... trouble.
Leonard Snart had decided that alcohol and nostalgia were a bad combination. Because that's what he was blaming for his idiotic impulsive offer to show James the banditos campsite rather than just sending the other man off into the desert with some fairly specific directions. Never mind what the little voice in the back of his mind kept whispering, he was bored, this promised to be interesting and that was all there was to it!
"That's the bloody horse alright," J.J. muttered, tucking a small telescope back into one of the many hidden pockets of his vest.
"You know you never did say how they managed to get the thing away from you in the first place."
"Who ever said they got it away from me?" the Trickster's grin was sharp. "That particular honour belongs to dear old Major Hal Jordan. You do remember him?" As if a body was likely to forget one of those damned military types. Particularly one who'd been as keen on seeing he and his boys dancing a gallows jig as 'dear old Major Jordan.'
"And he just let you waltz in and take over the operation?"
"I wouldn't say that. But the last thing we needed was a hotheaded regular army type storming across the border with troops in tow and putting fear of life and limb into the local people. You haven't ever been formally introduced to my associate have you?"
"I suspect if I had I'd remember." He didn't like the way the other man's smile twisted in response to his statement.
"Hartley is...awfully persuasive when he has a mind to be."
"Pity you didn't bring him along then. Maybe he'd have been able to walk right into the camp and convince them to hand over your bloody horse." His sarcasm appeared to have been lost on the Trickster, who was currently sporting a look that Len privately associated with imminent explosions that left a body covered in something...unpleasant.
"That. Is an excellent. Idea."
He still couldn't believe that ploy had worked. James Jesse had waltzed directly into the campsite and very politely inquired of the man who had been identified as the leader of the rabble if he might have his horse back. He'd gone on to offer the Mexican a cigar, smiling as if he hadn't a care in the world in spite of the fact that the rest of the banditos were rapidly forming a ring around him. Which was when Len had cursed under his breath and pulled his sidearm, expecting to have to rescue the damn fool. He should have known better. Not ten seconds later the cigar had exploded and then James was riding out of a cloud of dark green smoke on the bloody horse that had started the whole thing. Len suspected he might even have found it amusing if they weren't currently down one horse thanks his original mount being shot out from under him and in the midst of being chased by a horde of angry banditos. There wasn't a hope in Hell that they were going to make the town outskirts, where his boys were doubtlessly waiting for him by now, before their pursuers caught up. His borrowed mount chose that moment to throw a shoe, the animal's stumbling stop nearly threw him from the saddle. The Trickster reined in to a halt next to him with a snarled curse. The rocky outcropping they'd just cleared would provide them with some protection. But the banditos had them heavily outnumbered. Len Snart ran through the mental inventory of what his country had done for him and boys lately...and came up short.
"Look James this..."
"This ain't your fight. I know." There was something wrong in the other man's posture...something resigned. "Any chance I could cash in on the last of my favour bank credit?"
"Depends on the favour."
"Take the horse and ride back to town. Give one of the local boys a couple of pesos to run it just over the border to the north. Someone will be along to collect it."
"What are you going to do?" Damn that stupid, incessantly nagging voice! Len knew that he wasn't going to like the answer to his question. The Trickster grinned.
"I'll think of something."
He didn't even make it a third of the way back to town before he ran into his boys coming from the opposite direction.
"Where've you been?" Mick demanded as he, Mark, Sam and Digger halted their horses along side him.
"The local girls told us you backed some stranger in a barfight and then got the Hell out of town," Mark added.
"Mark..." Damn but he was getting soft in his old age. "Trade horses with me. I've got some unfinished business to take care of."
"What do you want us to do?" The Wizard looked confused as he took a hold of that bloody hexed horse's bridle.
"Take the horse back to town and pay one of the locals to escort it just over the border to the north."
"You're the Boss Len." Couldn't buy that kind of loyalty...not for all the gold in Mexico and the Territories Leonard Snart reflected as he turned the fresh horse back in the direction he'd come. He waited until his men had rode on...three sets of hoof beats.
"Mick..."
"I'm coming with you."
"It ain't..."
"I said I'm coming with you."
"Suit yourself then. YAH!!!"
There wasn't any gunfire. And that was worrying. The top of the next rise revealed a significantly diminished number of banditos slowly edging their way towards a terrifying still figure in red stained blue and yellow. Lenoard Snart and Mick Rory needed no further invitation to charge in, guns blazing. It was over very quickly. Len sprang from his saddle with a curse, bent over James sprawled form and placed an ear against the other man's chest. Time seemed to have come to a crashing halt.
"Well?"
"He's breathing." But only for a moment. "If we want to keep it that way those bullets are going to have to come out."
"Neither of us is a doctor Len."
"We don't have time for a doctor. Just start me a fire and hold him still." Len pulled the emergency blade from his boot and tried to polish it on the cleanest part of his shirt. "This ain't going to be pretty."
It was dusk by the time they caught up with the rest of the boys just shy of the border, the Trickster's limp form balanced between them.
"What in blazes happened to him?" Mark demanded as they gently lowered J.J. into a reclining position on the ground.
"'s a long story. Why didn't you send that bloody horse across like I told you?"
"Figured we should wait to make sure you two got back alright first," Sam retorted with a shrug.
"Huh," he wasn't doing a particularly good job of keeping his emotions in check today, it was obvious from the way his boys were trying not to smile at him that they knew he was...grateful for the sentiment...in a very disapproving way of course! "Situation?"
"Whole bloody troop of military types camped a stone's throw from here. And some fancy private train. But they ain't done nothing but sing since we arrived."
"Ain't done nothing but what?" It was the shock that made him ask. Now that the adrenaline of the ride was wearing down he could hear it. There weren't just singing...they were harmonizing.
"Sing. You know...first it was the 'Camptown Races', then 'Buffalo Gal', and then 'Goodbye Liza Jane'."
"You gentlemen care to tell me what you're intending to do with that horse? And my partner?" Something green was glowing in the night. They all jumped. The figure that emerged from the shadows was dressed like a city slicker, but he didn't move like one. And he was carrying, strumming actually, a banjo of all things. Leonard Snart felt the beginnings of a smile tagging at the corner of his mouth. He subdued it.
"You must be Hartley. We were just...paying off a favour you might say. He's lost a bit of blood...but he'll be fine. Just needs to sleep it off." Rustling from the direction of the troops.
"Consider it paid. Might I suggest you make your exit? Oh I come from Alabama with my banjo on my knee, I'm goin' to Lou'siana my true love for to see. It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry; The sun so hot I froze to death, Susanna don't you cry." That. Was. The. Prettiest. Voice. He'd. Ever. Heard. Len shook his head abruptly to clear the cobwebs...and realized that the troop's movement had been replaced by an enthusiastic chorus to the red head's song.
"Oh! Susanna, don't you cry for me; I come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee!" Len turned back to the musician one last time before following the others back across the border.
"Look after him will you?" The younger man smiled.
"Depend on it. I had a dream the other night, When everything was still; I thought I saw Susanna dear, A-coming down the hill. A buckwheat cake was in her mouth, A tear was in her eye, Said I, I'm coming from the south, Susanna don't you cry."
"Oh! Susanna, don't you cry for me; I come from Alabama, with my banjo on my knee!" Whistling along with the tune, Leonard Snart disappeared after his boys into the night.