Chapter 8 of the sexy adventures of the super spies who are also sexy and based on the poli regulars. Happy late birthday, guy in the last segment

It takes roughly twenty minutes of commuter driving to get from Regulars H.Q to R.G's house in the suburbs, meaning it took Wizard just over five. By the time they get there the local police have already arrived. The street is awash with porch lights allowing curious neighbors, some from their windows and some more bold, a view of the bloody scene.
The front lawn is littered with shattered glass and the still cooling bodies of several attackers. Staff and Wizard exit the car in a controlled rush. Things have to be done but nothing will be helped by running. That thought does little to calm men even as hard as they. This is family. This is home. This should be refuge. But tonight it's a lions den and the king is beckoning them to enter, in his underwear.
"What do we know?"
"Four inside. I didn't have time to count lawn ornaments." Even now R.G cracks wise.
Staff, emboldened by this, turns. "Wizard, go find out what the locals know." Though it's not strictly in his job description he nods and walks off to do so. Staff watches him navigate his way through the larger glass shards before moving on.
"Are they safe?" Rhetorical. They wouldn't be talking otherwise.
"They're fine. Ashley's upstairs with the kids. There's a cop with them."
"Good, good." More cars arrive and Regulars pour out of them. Staff proceeds to do what he does second best. " Lowe, sweep the house. Any eyes or ears they had in there I want to know about. Pro, crime scene. Fluff, get a street map and figure out how the hell they got in and out of Dodge this fast without anyone noticing."
"Staff" Wizard calls out from the front lawn. "We've got a breather." One of the assailants, despite bleeding from two holes in his side, seems to have gotten lucky. The emergency workers have started flocking to him. Staff would send the team medic with them but they don't have a medic. They should.
Back to action. "D.K, go with them and as soon as he's stable scare the shit out of him."
"Right on" he says in a gruff voice. The need everyone is feeling to go to war is most apparent on the big mans face. He would never cross the line, but there's no need to advertise that.
As the team spreads attention goes back onto the man himself. "Are you sure you're alright? Do you need to be checked out?"
"They gave me the once over right before you got here. I'm fine"
"We should have someone talk to the kids. They have to be scared ,, right ....."
"The kids think I'm Wolverine wrapped in Jesus. They'll be ok." R.G's eyes have turned back to their usual steel. "Just tell me we're going to get who sent them."
"We will, man. We will." Staff answers just as earnestly.
"Good. Now can I please go put my pants on?"
"That would be for the best."
Even with the crisp air, cover of downy snow, there's a rustic warmth to the German countryside that people who know only one thing about the country will never understand. Nitro is infatuated with neither the warmth or the cold and can only keep his mind on the makeshift rope of bed sheets providing him long overdue egress from the Baron's country villa.
Last night had gone perfectly according to the plan. He'd joined the lavish birthday festivities being held for the Baron and managed to make his way to the encrypted computer files detailing some very interesting military contacts. When the Baroness, a transplanted Australian TV weather girl, found him in the inner chambers improvisation had been called for. Cut to the next morning dangling by sheets out the back window as the Baron and his hangers on come in through the front.
Just like that his mobile starts to ring. "Blast it." He whispers as he struggles for necessary purchase to dig the damn thing out and turn it off. Having the bad habit of checking before answering he glances at the title screen. It's Keither. "Bloody hell he'd be calling for?"
That momentary distraction was all it took for someone on the other side of the window to wonder what they heard. . Nitro has only the time to disconnect the call and drop the phone in his pocket before shimmying upwards out of sight. The window sounds to be sticking as he deftly gathers up the excess line. The pink flutters out of view on the gust of the shutters being forced open. The Baron himself pokes his head out the window to see what's what. When there's nothing there he does the rational thing and hangs out further, making the offense a foot or two more accessible. Directly above, Nitro holds the loops of sheet in an iron grip and just waits hoping the old man will pass through. No need for trouble. Of course if push comes to shove there is his gun but without the foresight of a silencer that would bring every guard in the place down on his head. Of course none of this would be an issue if not for the dally with the Baroness but really one only has himself to blame for not bringing needed protection. Long seconds pass. The Baron seems satisfied nothing is here. Once again the ringing starts.
The Baron snaps his head up in just enough time to see Nitro let loose the extra cord and plant the soul of his shoe hard into his face, snapping his neck. The impact jerks the window and the heavy pane slides down, clamping the body in place. Nitro tests his free foot on a section of the dead man's chest and decides it's secure enough to take a break for a phone call.
"Hello Keither."
"Hey man, is it a bad time or can you talk?"
"I'm hanging on your every word." Nitro answers so dryly you'd need the visual to get it.
"Someone's targeting agents. You should be on the look out."
Seriously now "do I still close the existing file?"
"Of course, how'd that rendezvous I set up to get him out of the house work?"
"Brilliantly, now not to be rude Keither but you did catch me in the middle of something. Can I hear the big picture some other time?"
"Sure thing. Over and out." Nitro glares at this and it wouldn't break Keithers heart if it knew.
Nitro puts his phone away and goes back to his current situation. He pushes down on the body a couple of times and it remains to support his weight very securely.
In an utterly respectful tone. "If you kept up this well for her I wouldn't even be here."

All that it is there it is not in Miami. A self described dead man dares the heat to pass through his black on black suit as he watches the coast play with the light of a recently risen sun. "This is the best time of day" he tells himself "When the only folks out there are the ones who mean it." He stomps out his cigarette with the confidence of someone who knows no one's looking and straightens his back off of the rough stone wall. Arms rest as his hands find purchase in his pockets. "Day isn't gonna save itself." And off to work he goes.
The too nice and too trendy cars aren't out yet. People who drive convertibles without really knowing why keep inanely respectable hours. As such the street is almost calm enough for a good man to think he owns it. Of course Brian never claimed to be a good man or any other kind. That's what he loves most about this city. No one asked.
Coming upon the little slice of the street he does own, first Brian opens the door hard and steps in swiftly enough to feel the wind. He waits that moment for the metal to slide together and for the heat to compress to know it's closed. Brian E Investigations is now open for business. Old stairs creek under his feet up the entire length of the narrow upwards passage. If ever someone came to him to catch the man who put them in a wheelchair there might be trouble. Amazingly that hasn't come up yet. "You know you're in trouble when you can't even get sued" he reminds himself. "Gotta fire my ad agency."
Jokes aside the ground floor is not his office for a very real purpose. Firstly it serves as a storeroom for files that utterly should not be trusted to a computer and secondly it takes up any and all drive by bullets that might be meant for it's owner, which keeps him out of cold storage. Of course in here it's anything but cold. In fact the sole occupant of the front room would be sweating if they'd just find a way to make it elegant.
"Good morning, sir" his secretary says in a smooth voice. Brain hangs back against the wall as to not enjoy the view too disrespectfully.
He tips his head and eyes peak out from over his rust colored sunglasses. "I've told you before you don't have to call me that."
"Force of habit, sir." The "sir" is pointed this time and the moment is won. Brian can only smile and throw his arms up in surrender. "But for all my vaulted professionalism I wasn't above doing your shopping." A heavy plastic bag is produced and an already amused man is brought to Christmastime boyhood. He crosses the room in a flash and snatches the bag without a care for the hand it was in.
"Mothers milk. Cigarettes and cough syrup, both my brand."
"You know" his bemused worker says behind a glare "you wouldn't have to worry about that if you did your own shopping. The pharmacist thinks I'm the one who needs more interesting addictions."
"But, then we'd lose these touching moments." he answers with a knowing smirk. He's in turn answered with a ragged stack of papers.
"Today's messages, sir."
"Kent, what would I do without you?"
Brian sidekicks the door to his inner office closed and starts to browse the notes with stunted interest. Most of it seems the investigative equivalent of junk mail. It lands on top of less recent piles of the systemized bedlam that is his desk with barely a wisp. The more interesting package lands with a clunk and a clink. He digs inside and extracts a bottle of generic looking medicine. By cracking it open the day can now officially begin. He puts up his feet exactly the way his mother said not to and goes through the remaining notes in-between sips. Something catches his eye and he freezes.
The note is plain. It would be. Nothing to say who or where it's from. There's only the printed text Keep doing what you're doing but for more reasons.
"Sir" Kent interrupts from the doorway "Not to pull a reverse Bob Cratchet but would you mind if I turned on the air conditioning?"
"Go right ahead." Brain takes a healthy swig. "Things just got hotter."