"Pardon me, but--"
"No," Jamie said, unscrewing the top off a jar of mayo and slathering a fat dollop over top of his already massive sandwich. Guido scowled and shifted in his seat to bother Lorna.
"Pardon me, but--"
"No." Lorna took a bite of her salad wrap, shaking her head. Guido huffed and looked up to where Havok had entered the room.
"Pardon--"
"No. You used the last of the mustard on the weekend. Remember, your impromptu nacho chip dip."
"Didn't we do any shopping?"
"Val sets that up."
Guido nodded and pulled out his cell phone. He thumbed Val's emergency line.
"Pardon me, but do you have any Grey Poupon? Of course it's an emergency. How else am I going to finish my sandwich? I remember that this base was supposed to be catered. Uh-huh. Yeah? Bye." Guido switched his phone off. "Neither she nor the congressional panel had any," Guido said sheepishly.
"No Grey Poupon for our Congresspeople? It's un-American," Jamie tsked around a mouthful of sandwich.
"That's what I was saying," Guido agreed, smiling brightly and faking it. "So, little buddy, we need to get some."
"Get some?" Jamie squeaked as a ham sized hand clapped down onto his shoulder and swung him out of his chair. "Guide, bud, you know I'm always up for getting some--" he stopped, seeing Rahne enter, and added, "--some edumacation, I meant, of course, nothing else--"
"Grey Poupon. I was talking about Grey Poupon," Guido said amiably, pulling Jamie irrevocably toward the door.
"That too, but I'm eating."
"That's all right." They passed Rahne in the hall and continued down. "Eat in the car."
Mayo splattered on the carpet. "I'll drip!"
"We are getting some--"
"MAYO."
Guido grinned. "Right. I was still talking about Grey Poupon. Besides, it's a government car. It's okay to drip in there."
"Ah." They left the building, Jamie's jacket still clutched in Guido's fist, and headed toward the first car they saw.
"That one's occupied," Jamie pointed out.
Guido rapped hard on the window. "Out! Out! Official government business! Emergency! Orders from Val Cooper!" The man scurried out, confused, and Guido and Jamie got in and peeled away.
Washington DC was the kind of city that you got to drive in-between traffic jams. Every road was always busy, and some of them were flat out parking lots. There was a theory that whole generations had grown up in jams waiting for traffic to start moving.
"I hope you know where you're going," Jamie said around his sandwich.
"Absolutely. There's a Kroger's down the block."
"And we'll be there sometime in the late 23rd century."
"Traffic is a bit slow, chum. I do have a solution."
"What?" Jamie said. Guido rummaged around for a moment, grinned, and pulled out a cherry red siren. In one motion he strapped it to the top of the car, flicked it on, and pulled the car over on the curb. Gunning the engine furiously, he sped down the street while Jamie tried to hold on to his sandwich and hide under the dash simultaneously.
"Because stealing a government car wasn't illegal enough," Jamie muttered.
"We're untouchable now, Jamie! We're government spooks! We can do anything! Your jacket's ringing."
Jamie fished around in his pocket, managing through some unknown force to cling to the door handle and hold his sandwich at the same time. He pulled out his cell phone and flicked it on. "Hello? Hi, Val. No. No. No. Why don't you trust me? Well, that is a good reason. That sound?" He made a slashing motion with one hand and Guido cut the siren. "Lorna's screaming about a mouse. Uh-huh. I named it Mickey. The place is infested, Val. Better get a team out to get rid of it. Maybe a mutant pied piper. I think you're funny too, Val. Okay then. I'll tell him. Bye." Jamie hung up and looked at Guido. "Val says hi, and not to do anything dumb. She's called the house staff to stock up on mustard."
"But not Grey Poupon?"
"No. Just mustard."
"Then the search continues!" Guido turned the siren back on and they accelerated.
"Doesn't this qualify as dumb?"
"Only if Val catches us."
Jamie ate his sandwich.
"You know," Guido said conversationally as he pulled into the parking lot, "I think we're being followed."
"Why?" Jamie pulled up into his seat and stuck his head out the window to look.
"Possibly because of our dashingly good looks."
"Obviously. But what makes you think we're being followed?"
"They came into the parking lot."
"Of a Kroger's? They must be following us."
"They also drove on the curb."
"With a siren?"
"No."
"Lights?"
"No."
"Not as cool."
"Or as dumb."
"Is it Val?"
"Uh, no."
Jamie grinned. "Then we're still okay."
"You know, you'd think people would have figured out that white unmarked vans just scream 'you're being followed.'"
"I guess they're behind on their B movie trivia." Jamie looked at the van appraisingly. "Think we should check it out?"
"What's the likelihood of a jar of Grey Poupon being found in the back?"
"Uh, slim."
"Then it's irrelevant." Guido shrugged and marched into the grocery store, Jamie following behind. It wasn't busy, and with Guido's height they had no trouble tracking down the condiment aisle.
"I think I might get several, as a preventative measure, Jamie. You know, like NATO."
"Grey Poupon is like NATO?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course Grey Poupon isn't like NATO. The advanced purchase of Grey Poupon is like NATO."
"The Russians feared hot mustard?"
"Indeed. And rye bread. No true Red Communist would be caught dead eating a turkey on rye with a generous helping of Grey Poupon. With one jar of Grey Poupon, you could live like a king for a year in Cold War Moscow." Jamie gave him a questioning look.
"It was on the History Channel, you know," he said, laying down the intellectual trump card of any argument.
"Fine," Jamie sighed. "Can you get your mustard before we end up on 'Cops'?"
"Of course." Guido turned. "Ah, glorious Dijon I shall--wait, where's the Grey Poupon?" The shelf was indeed bare of the brand name mustard. "I'll get to the bottom of this. Manager!"
Jamie tried to hide in the steak sauce display as the manager finally turned up.
"Can I help you?"
"Where," Guido said carefully, "is my Grey Poupon?"
"Is that one of them French mustards?"
"The French mustard, sir. The."
"Don't carry no French mustards."
"What?"
"No French mustards. Ain't patriotic."
"What?" Guido sputtered again.
"Nope, ain't right at all. We got Freedom Mustard." He held up a jar of neon yellow paste. "All real Americans wouldn't touch that stuff. You ain't French, are you?"
"I think he was born in Switzerland," Jamie said from behind Guido.
"Lotsa French people in Switzerland," the manager said, not willing to give up a perfectly good hate.
"Lots of Swiss there, too," Jamie said.
The manager stopped, confused. "You calling me Swiss?"
Guido looked at Jamie over his shoulder. Jamie looked back.
"You a friend of the Frenchies?" The manager said suspiciously. "It'd be just like the French to call someone Swiss."
Guido took a step toward the man threateningly.
"No! ‘Cops' episodes! No ‘Cops'!" Jamie yelped, hanging onto Guido's arm and being pulled along.
Guido paused. "What about calling in NATO?"
"'Cops' is like NATO?"
"Could be."
"That a French term?"
"Ignore him!" Jamie said, digging his heels into the linoleum. "There's a Piggly Wiggly down the street. Maybe they have Grey Poupon."
"Probably have Freedom Mustard," Guido sulked, letting Jamie pull him from the grocery store. "Piggly Wiggly sounds like a name that would."
They pulled back onto the street, blaring their siren, and started toward the Piggly Wiggly.
"Hey, that van actually is following us."
"Probably a fan."
"I've been practicing my autograph," Jamie said. "Val's and Pietro's, too."
"Think he has Grey Poupon?"
"Didn't we already go over--watch the lightpost!—this?"
"True, true. What's with this world, Jamie? No mustard, people hating the Swiss and NATO being trailed by white vans." Guido sighed. "Let's go home, old chum."
"What about the Piggly Wiggly?"
"I'm afraid that route only leads to pain, Miss Daisy." Guido shook his head and even took the siren off the roof. It wasn't like him to be so glum, defeated by a mere bit of corporate stupidity. They pulled finally into the parking area in front of the X-Factor housing and climbed out.
"Do you see the white van any more?"
"Nope."
"Not even a real stalker," Guido said, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trudging dejectedly towards the door.
Jamie was actually worried about his friend. Guido wasn't one to just accept defeat. He trotted up to the door and nudged Guido's arm. "You know, I bet one of those on-line grocery delivery places will have Grey Poupon."
"You think?"
"Sure. They're all run by bohemian anti-establishment types. I bet they've got it just to spite people."
"You could be right . . ."
"Of course I'm right. It's the best way to make a statement, by stomping on silly patriotism. Anything less would be un-American."
"Well, then, little buddy—" Guido's grin was back.
"To the laptop?"
"To the laptop!"
Guido and Jamie burst through the door, nearly flattening Lorna at the time.
"Hey!"
"Sorry. NATO needs mustard!" Guido called cryptically, racing down the hall. She snagged Jamie's arm before he could follow.
"Insanity aside, where were you guys? Val called and said you stole a cop car."
"Stole? No, it's right out there." Jamie smiled and pointed over his shoulder. "People around here overreact all the time . . ." He escaped quickly, poking his head into Guido's room. "If Lorna finds out, does that make it dumb?"
"Depends. Does she think rebels without a cause are sexy?"
"Lorna!" Jamie shouted. "Are rebels without a cause sexy?"
There was a long pause. "Not unless they're actors."
Jamie looked back at Guido. "I don't think so."
"Ah. Then it's only half-dumb." He hit the ‘enter' key and leaned back in his chair, arms linked behind his head. "Grey Poupon by bohemian anti-establishment types who like to spite people is on the way."
"The people are on the way?"
"The Grey Poupon."
"Right."
"You know, people looking to subvert their duly elected representative restores my faith in America," Guido said. "I think this deserves a beer. An import, to be truly patriotic."
"I agree!" Jamie and Guido marched back to the kitchen, where Havok was sitting. His tuna on whole wheat was held forgotten in one hand while he read the paper. Guido walked up and Alex still failed to notice their presence. Shrugging, Guido leaned over and took a large bite out of Alex's sandwich.
"Hey!" Alex came out of his reverie. "Geez, you almost got my finger."
"His aim must be off," Jamie said as he sat down.
"Murphn sahimph amphel," Guido said with a full mouth.
"Uh, yeah. Look, make your own sandwich."
"Trying to. Our mustard hasn't arrived yet." Guido swallowed.
"You ordered out for mustard?" Alex said disbelievingly.
"Oh, course not."
"Good. I was worried—"
"Grey Poupon is hardly just mustard."
"I stand corrected."
***
"Mustard! Well X-Factor, I might not be as smart as my brothers, but Vince Chalker will avenge their deaths!" Vince cried, huddled in the back of his white, unmarked van. Carefully, he deleted the order and pulled onto the curb to get around the traffic. He drove relatively slowly, whistling innocently in the hopes that any cop cards wouldn't notice him. Once at the small grocery, handily named The Bohemian Anti-Establishment Grocery, he slunk to the back and picked up a jar of Grey Poupon. He paid for it and headed out, opening his van and digging around for the proper equipment.
"My brothers tried to defeat those mutants outright," he muttered to himself. "That was their downfall. I, however, shall simply defeat them by trickery and bombs!" He paused to throw his head back and laugh maniacally, making sure his hair tossed in a properly evil way. After he was certain he seemed really wicked, he opened the Grey Poupon and carefully attached an explosive.
"It will go off when they open it," he giggled. He stopped and looked around to be sure no one had heard that, then laughed evilly three times just to make sure no one thought he was a pansy. A small group of bedraggled teens looked up at him suspiciously. One stomped out his cigarette.
"Sounds pretty evil, Pops," one said, rubbing the back of his shaven head. He'd wanted to be a skinhead, but hadn't been able to pass the basic requirement of tying up his boots properly.
"Don't call me Pops," Vince said automatically.
"Late night shopping?" the leader asked, and his two friends sniggered.
"Look, I'm not hiring henchmen right now. Come back in a few weeks and I'll see what I can do."
"Not hiring? How about if we just collect our pay checks instead?" The little ferret-looking one said, and they laughed at what passed for a cunning wit for them.
"I'll warn you, I'm armed." Vince brandished the mustard jar.
"Gray Poupon." The leader's eyes narrowed, his brow piercings almost touching. "You Swiss or something?"
"Er . . . "
"Got me a brother in the Marines." He cracked his knuckles. "We fucking hate the Swiss." To Vince's horror, the three toughs descended on him. "Boys, let's give him to him, NATO style."
***
"Got milk?"
"Och, Jamie, that joke's old for even you," Rahne said, walking past Jamie and his mayonnaise mustache.
"What about—"
"No more commercial slogans," Alex said. "Don't make me put you out of my misery."
"Don't ye mean his misery?" Rahne asked, frowning.
"Think about it, kid," Lorna said, leaning against the sink.
"Did you hear the door?" Guido asked, bulleting into the room in a wild-eyed haze.
"Not yet, big guy," Jamie said soothingly. "Soon."
"Is it just me," Alex whispered, "or does he look a little . . ." he floundered for a word.
"The term you're searching for is ‘in withdrawal,'" Pietro suggested. "You know those Swiss."
"Swiss? What do the Swiss have to do with it?"
"They corrupt the French mustard," Pietro sniffed. "You can't trust the Swiss."
"I thought we couldn't trust the French," Rahne said, frowning.
"NATO," Jamie interjected, slopping mayonnaise onto a new sandwich. "Just blame NATO for everything."
"Oh," Rahne said, still obviously confused. "I thought NATO was one of the good guys."
Jamie sighed and shook his head, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We'll let you slide this time, because you're young—-and Irish-—but try not to let it happen again. It's always NATO."
Rahne's eyes widened and she looked at Alex who, not comprehending her look, nodded sagely. "Always."
***
Vince stumbled into the van and managed, somehow, to get the key into the ignition. He had to hurry: they'd be expecting their French mustard. Luckily, the jar looked intact and the bomb hadn't gone off. With a little more luck he wouldn't bleed conspicuously. Vince pulled down the mirror to check himself. Black, swollen face. Bloody mouth. Teeth missing. Well, maybe they'd just think it was a bohemian thing.
Vince rummaged around until he found a cap, which he put on backwards, and started to tuck fake dreadlocks into the rim. Hopefully, it would be enough.
***
"No one is making any sense."
"Ah, that's that Red propaganda. It can throw off the most hardened operative," Jamie said. "Let me bake you a potato. It'll remind you of home."
"I'm Scottish, ye ken!"
"Aw, who's a good little leprechaun?" Jamie said.
Rahne's eyes narrowed and she kicked once, hard.
The room winced as Jamie doubled over.
"Irish. Ye dinna ken bloody accents, ye draby!" She stormed out of the room, past Val who was just walking in.
"Hello, Rahne. What a lovely anger flush you're wearing. Team. Uh, what's wrong with Jamie?"
"NATO. Preemptive strike," Guido deadpanned.
"Why are there eighteen dupes groaning?"
"He can share the pain out over a lot of people."
"Eighteen?"
"It was a weapon of mass destruction," Alex nodded.
"You're all crazy."
"It's a Swiss thing."
"A Swiss—" she stopped and shook her head. "I will never understand any of you."
Guido smiled proudly.
"And what were you doing with a cop car?" Val snapped, eyeing him.
"It wasn't me. It was Jamie. And his dupes."
In his own self-defense, Jamie groaned.
Val eyed him. "We'll talk later." She glared at Guido. "I don't believe you, just so you know. I told you not to do anything stupid."
"Dumb. You said dumb. And I didn't."
Val was obviously unconvinced. "If I see you on ‘Cops' . . ."
Guido sulked. "Don't worry. Jamie wouldn't let that happen."
Val paused. "I can't decide if you mean he's responsible and you didn't steal the car, or if he just ran in time."
"Car's in the drive," Guido answered vaguely. "Oh, hey, I think I heard the door! ‘Cause, you know, we ordered Grey Poupon rather than steal a cop car."
Jamie groaned in agreement. Guido raced for the door and yanked it open. "My mistake! No one—-whoops!" He caught the body as it fell inwards.
"Who is it?"
"Backwards cap, dreadlocks, stunned security perimeter tazer glaze. I'm guessing a Bohemian Anti-Establishment delivery driver."
"It's amazing how he does that," Lorna murmured.
"It's amazing that someone would actually take an order from him," Alex said quietly.
"Ah, my nirvana." Guido scooped up the jar of mustard. There was some kind of funny clamp on the bottom, which Guido figured for a tracking thing, to tell them their delivery had arrived. He peeled it off and slipped it into the delivery driver's pocket. Maybe he was supposed to collect it, in his normal, pre-government electrocution treatment state. "Right. Got the mustard. Uh, can you hear me?"
Vince Chalker pulled himself off the floor slowly. Nerves were firing randomly after the electromagnetic jolt, and he was surrounded by his intended victims.
"I'm fine, er . . . mon. Got to be getting back to my van, mon. Daylight come and me whan go home," he said in what he hoped was a convinced rasta voice, and staggered toward the door. Havok stopped in front of his escape.
"We can't let you leave—"
"You magnificent bastards!"
"—without your hat." Alex held it out to Vince, a little taken aback by his odd yell.
"Oh, uh, thanks." Vince jammed his cap on over his rapidly shedding dreadlocks and made a run for his van. He threw himself into the front seat and locked the doors. Despite everything, he'd done it! His bomb was sitting in the quarters of X-Factor, just waiting for the trigger to go off.
***
Guido twisted the top off the jar of Grey Poupon and inhaled deeply. "Ah—"
***
Vince Chalker's pocket beeped twice, and his last thought before the fireball consumed the van was that he should have put the bomb in the mustard jar.
***
"—the smell of life," Guido said, amazingly incorrectly this time.
"And the French," Pietro mentioned.
"The Swiss-French," Lorna chimed in.
"But only those in NATO," Alex pointed out.
"I'm not Irish!"
"You're all insane," Val pointed out.
"It couldn't be stolen, if it's just sitting outside!"
"Quiet, Jamie." Guido took an immense bite of his sandwich. "Let me enjoy my Freedom Bread sandwich."
FIN