Chicago Blues Type: Webb POV / Thoughts of Mac / Harm Bashing Rating: PG-13 Spoilers: up to current episode Summary: Webb is still homesick. Will a trip to Chicago help? Feedback: yep! alexis_steven@hotmail.com Archival: not without permission Disclaimer: All JAG characters and references belong to TPTB. Author's notes: I forgot the disclaimer in Tropical Blues, sorry! ================================================================ 1500 hours Chicago, Illinois We are stuck in traffic. I mean stuck. It isn't moving at all, something about a three car rollover blocking all lanes. Cripes! What is worse, the limo driver keeps asking me if I am too warm. So, I tell him no for the umpteenth time, and rest my head on the open window sill. Ahh. cold air. What a welcome relief after sticky, hot hell. I love the way smoke from chimneys and steam from heating units atop buildings dance in the cold air. I love the dreary, gray sky, and the naked trees trying to hang onto those last dried up leaves for dignity. I really love the Christmas decorations and billboards that seem to be every which way I look. I don't want to hear anything more about Ramadan. And, might I say, I love wearing my three piece suit, button down wool overcoat, and real shoes with socks. No sandals on this trip. I miss wearing my ties. Mother out did herself with the selection of polo shirts, short sleeve dress shirts, khaki and chino pants, and the sandals she sent me. Yes, I wear sandals. At least they aren't those Birkenstocks. They look good on women, but not on men. No, I have a nice pair of leather sandals, tennis shoe like sole, and a closed toe. They are very nice, and I don't feel weird wearing them. Of course, I am still the overdressed pompous ass of the office. That is what Johanna the crab ass calls me. Does she not know what we do? Everything said is heard by all. It is the CIA! Blasted damnation! They are bringing in some sort of life flight helo. I'll be here all afternoon. I fiddle around for something to munch on, and the driver informs me that if we can inch up another half a mile, we can exit on Addison. Doesn't mean to much to me, but I say it sounds good, and sit back to enjoy more peanuts. 1830 hours Palmer House Hilton Chicago, Illinois Finally I make it to the hotel, and what a hotel it is! Lavish, exquisite, and style that out does itself at every turn. I make my way up the grandest of staircases to check in. "Niles Vanderdam," I say, and am waited on quickly and efficiently. A bellhop has gathered my bags, and is waiting for me by the elevators. Wonderful! We head up to my suite, yes suite, and after getting the luggage in the door, I over tip the gentleman with great pleasure. God, I am glad to be here. ================================================================ 1945 hours Webb's Suite I just finished a wonderful steak dinner down in the dining room. I am satiated and ready to read more on Anton Kraag, the reason I am here. An American citizen, whose parents emigrated from the Netherlands in sixty-five, he has a shipping business that makes many trips in and out of Suriname. It is believed that his cargo contains more than lumber. After all my time with the CIA, I am back chasing drugs. I throw the file back into my briefcase, and ready myself to head to the House of Blues. That is Kraag's favorite Chicago hangout or favorite hangout in general. He frequents them whenever he can as he is a big blues fan. I change into black slacks, a caramel colored sweater, and black leather jacket. My job is to make contact with Kraag as Niles Vanderdam, also of Dutch ancestry, and exporter of alumina from Suriname. Economies are bad, business is slow, and I don't want to lose my fortune. I head out of the hotel, and decide to catch a cab. I am not in the mood for the limo. I really want to spend sometime in the cold. Awesome! It is snowing lightly! It couldn't be more perfect! I look around me, and notice hordes of people huddling in lines to stare at department stores. I must investigate this further. I see I am on State Street, and begin walking north to a Carson Pirie Scott store. Momentarily standing in line, then finally getting to see, I am amazed by what everyone is looking at. In the windows are detailed, animated, Christmas scenes. Sighing, I wonder if Mac would like this. Maybe I will bring her here next Christmas. Then after we marry, and have children, we can make it an annual event. Ok bonehead. Concentrate on work. Spotting a Starbucks, I enter, and order a vendi mocha latte with extra whipped cream. Suriname has no Starbucks, surprisingly. I thought they were everywhere. While waiting, I overhear a couple talking about walking back to the House of Blues. I listen for the woman to finish giving explicit directions to the wary man. If they are going together, will he still get lost? Anyway, I thank them silently, pick up my coffee, and head back out into the cold. Sipping the coffee, and feeling the snow, I see vendors selling popcorn and even roasted chestnuts along the way. The city is lit up in beautiful colors, and I think I am having a Norman Rockwell moment. My idyllic thoughts are interrupted, however, by the nagging feeling of Rabb. Damn Rabb. He really takes the holly and jolly out of Christmas. I busted my ass to get his brother here last year, and this year, I send my life into turmoil for the benefit of him. Ok, maybe for the family's that wondered like I have. But still, Rabb's whole attitude about the thing was inappropriate. Self righteous bastard. What about all the work I did in Afghanistan? I really have a thankless job. I make it up to the river, and pause on the Dearborn Street Bridge. I look at the waters below, and find them to be rather clean. I would swim in those waters. Ok, so I am only saying that because the Suriname River is a horrible rust brown, and smells like dead bodies. How many dead bodies have ended up in this river? That Al Capone was a nasty fellow. Shaking off my meandering thoughts, I continue my journey over to the House of Blues. After walking around the area several times, I figure out how to get into the joint, and head straight for the bar. Kraag is standing there talking with people openly. Arrogant SOB. It is funny, but Kraag reminds me of a blond haired Rabb. Same build, height, ego. Wonderful. I order a beer, and make my presence known. Sure enough, Kraag buys it immediately. ==================================================================== 2200 hours House of Blues Chicago, Illinois Anton and I have been drinking and talking for what seems like an eternity. He definitely is Rabb's long lost twin. Regardless, I am making progress faster than anticipated, and have secured a trial deal. If all goes well, I can begin to help him ship his goods. Kraag is staying here at the hotel, and we go up to his suite, though I am a little leery of his motives. Turns out to be nothing more than a welcome to the club party, and he has his people check me out while we watch Dutch porno movies. Man I miss Sarah. She is far more beautiful than these bimbos, whoa; can a woman really do that? Anton and I tilt our head to the side and sigh in unison. Both of us embarrassed, we quickly talk about the business. Moments later, the man I call "Rock" for obvious reasons, comes in to tell Kraag that I am who I say I am. Great! Now we can head back to hell for the serious business dealings. I bid farewell to my new "friend", and head back to my hotel this time opting for a cab. This happened much faster than I planned on, and now I will have to take a flight back tomorrow. In the morning I will go shopping for mother and Sarah. I think I will send Sarah something exquisite and lavish. Something that Harm could never get her. And not because he would be financially unable, which he is, but because he has no taste or style. Yes, something to be treasured for years to come. Tiffany's will be glad to see me. *~The End~*