Jack liked old people. Not in THAT way, (unless you were Clint Eastwood or an actress from the 1940’s), but he felt like he belonged with them more than his peers. They liked to sleep in late, hardly ever used cell phones, and were direct about what they wanted. Younger people, well, they operate differently. They may want something from you, but they sure as heck won’t tell you directly. They’ll make it seem like what they want is what you want, and nine times out of ten they’ll succeed in the attempt. Jack was only slightly irritated at their false friendliness, after all, being selfish is as human of an instinct as speaking is. Jack wasn’t talkative, but he sure as hell didn’t give a rat’s ass about most other people. The thing that got to Jack was how young people thought they weren’t being selfish, how they believed that they put others above themselves. The Fop was the same way. He actually thought his “offer” to Jack was lenient, that he was doing Jack a favor by roping him into all this bureaucratic monotony.
Jack never blamed the blue eyed idiot for reeling him in, but he sure as hell resented being put in the fishtank. It was to his relief then that he saw an old woman at the security booth, filing her rosy pink nails while a song from an old musical played. Jack casually strolled up the cement path from the parking lot to the booth and knocked on the window.
The old woman batted an eye, and looked up at Jack.
“My, ain’t you a tall one. What’s up cutie-pie?”
Trying his hardest to conceal his blush, Jack coughed out his question.
“Uh, uh, I need to get into the campus. Work related and all. Partner, uh, he messed up.”
The old lady chucked. “Aw cutie, I didn’t mean no harm. Nothing wrong with your height, it makes you look distinguished.”
Jack scratched the back of his neck.
“Well, uh, t-thanks ma’am, I, uh, I knew you didn’t mean no harm. Listen, uh, I think we’re getting a bit sidetrack-“
“Oh shoot, where are my manners?", the old lady gasped. "That old gate? Well sure I can open the gate for you honey, but I need some ID. Unless you’re a student, but you look a bit too refined to be here taking classes”
Jack sighed. Since the day he got his ID he had tried his hardest to avoid using it. When it came to shopping it was a non-issue, no bartender or liquor store owner would mistake him for being under the age of 21, despite his abnormal height. The gray streak in his hair seemed to make up for his five foot eight frame. Plus, he figured, with Mo around some people may have figured he was her father. It wasn’t quite like that, but if a store owner ever thought that Jack would be in no hurry to correct them. In the back of his head he suspected that the Fop had intentionally arranged to meet him past the gate, to force him to use his ID. There was no alternative available, as nice and chatty as the dotting grandmother masquerading as a security guard seemed it was doubtful that Jack could just walk in the campus by asking her nicely. He opened up his wallet and took out his BAU badge.
The well-dressed gatekeeper’s eyes lit up. “Ha, I knew from the look of those muscles you were athletic hun but seems like you have brains to boot! Gate’s all opened, but first tell me what’s it like to deal with criminals for a living. As much as it may shock you, Bensen doesn’t tend to deal with bad guys too often, though we DID have a laptop thief last year, son of a gun took away twenty four of our laptops in a night. I wanted to slap the guy when we caught him, but he got let off with a warning. A warning, can you believe that? I doubt you and the fine gentlemen you worked with would stand for that!”
Jack smirked despite his embarrassment. “Well actually ma’am, I find that my work with the BAU has helped me get in touch with people very much like myself.”
The old lady swooned. “And the old shrews say things haven’t changed over the last fifty years. Well go and color me impressed, y’all have a good time at Bensen University and be sure to drop by any time! Don't mind the men - you know how boys are.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Not bothering to make a note of the security guard’s invitation, Jack waited by the huge metal gate with the signature “B” in the middle. It took a few seconds, but the gate opened up, creaking ever so slightly as it did. Jack hadn’t been in through the south entrance before, but he saw he really had no major need to. Like the rest of Bensen, the landscape was just grass, red brick, and white roofs. Some called Bensen gorgeous, and Jack supposed they were right, but Bensen was gorgeous in the same way having your favorite food for every meal was delicious. The monotony of the architecture was oppressive, its consistent demands for conformity discomforting. Jack liked a bit of variety, he had always hated routines. Living thirty years doing different things was preferable to living three hundred doing the same thing. It’s a cliché, but variety is the spice of life, and though Bensen was a well-made dish, it lacked true flavor. Jack had many issues with Bensen; the frat boys, the self-proclaimed intellectuals, and the wannabe writers, but his main issue was how goddamn predictable the place was. Jack didn’t watch too much science fiction, he found the concepts silly and boring, but he had a suspicion that if he stumbled upon a time machine and went back two decades into the past Bensen would look almost exactly like it did now.
The very thing which made Bensen University so respectable – It’s historical prestige – was what irritated Jack, what made him feel like he needed a bottle of water and two aspirin. He walked on the cement pathway past the “gorgeous” red brick and white roofed chapel, past the “gorgeous” red bricked and white roofed Student Union, and past the “gorgeous” red brick and white roofed Chik-Fil-A, until he finally caught sight of the well dressed twig. The twig had caught sight of Jack well before Jack had caught sight of him, and jogged up to Jack to bother him with pointless dribble.
“How’s it going Jackie? You get in the gate easy enough?”
Jack snorted. “Yeah, no thanks to you. And I told you, the name’s just Jack, always will be. This ain’t a buddy cop show (Being the owner of a considerable dvd collection of buddy cop shows Jack more than anyone else knew when something was not a buddy cop show) , and I ain’t your pal."
Jack paused to let his barb sink in, and continued. “ So what were we called here for this time?”
Travis gingerly massaged the bridge of his nose. “Well, I don’t know that just yet…”
Jack scoffed. “Well, I noticed that Chik-Fil-A has finally bowed down to the architectural might of Bensen’s building codes, so I guess we can cross them off the list, unless those rumors about the breakfast sausage I heard the other day are true”
Travis loudly cleared his throat. “I told you before, it’s a lot more serious than that. The guys up in Raleigh personally asked us to take a look at it, and I really have a feeling this is bi-“
Travis was interrupted by a low chuckle.
“Right, because the boys in Raleigh are just so eager to pass up interesting work, aren’t they?”, Jack grunted.
The taller man put his face in his palm and groaned. “It’s not very becoming to be sarcastic, y’know. Anyways, the head of security wants us to speak to a guard, it’s related to why we were called here.”
Jack tugged a bit at his left glove. “Fine, we’ll talk to the old windbag. Maybe he’ll tell us about the despicable potheads he –almost- caught last night before they foiled him by being able to speed-walk.”
While the two men waited in the middle of the grassy quad, Jack took a look around. He noticed an assortment of tents a few hundred yards to the right of his position, with tons of sleepy-eyed college students chatting outside of the portable shelter. Honing in on two brown hair co-eds, he caught the tail end of their conversation.
“-n’t believe we had to camp out here. “What are you gonna do, Carbon Monoxide is scary stuff.”
“Better safe than sorry I guess.”
The black haired man smirked. Despite Bensen’s supposed wealth, even they couldn’t prevent acts of God. Still, as much as he hated to admit it, he was glad the students seemed ok. Dying young just seemed cruel, and dying at a place like Bensen would be even worse. After what seemed to be an hour, a member of the Bensen University Police Force showed up in a golf cart. The officer, a portly middle aged man, ran as fast as his stumpy legs could manage to Travis and Jack. After he huffed and puffed for a few seconds, he managed to splutter out a question.
“Officer Bill Feinstein reporting…y-y’all with the BAU?”
Travis took his hands out of his pockets and smiled. “We sure are Officer Feinstein. FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit is at your service. What’s the situation?”
The corpulent man wiped a liberal amount of sweat from his brow.
“Well sir, I, uh, I have an inkling of what’s going on but I was told to bring you to Pe- I mean, Officer Garret first.”
Jack threw his hands in the air. “Why doesn’t he just come over here?”
Bill rubbed his face gingerly. “See, he, well, he’s kind of busy. Talking to someone… y-y-you’ll see soon enough.”
Jack opened his mouth to voice an objection, but was cut off by his lanky companion. “Alright, that’s understandable.", Travis said. "Lead the way officer Feinstein.”