Federal Pageantry

Chapter One

"Good mornin' my fellow partners in crime," Tony shouted at the top of his lungs, his arms spread out wide as though in his mind he were embracing everyone in the squad room.
"Morning," Ziva replied, not even glancing up from her desk. A strand of curly dark hair fell over her chocolate brown eyes that were glued to the paper in front of her, concentration obvious. McGee grunted his greeting.
"I trust you all had a wonderful weekend?" Tony asked, collapsing into his desk chair and leaning all the way back. He propped his feet up, narrowly missing the tedious stack of reports that sat in a large pile at the edge of his desk. He studied the Israeli over his desk lamp. When she didn't say anything, he prompted, "This is the part where you look up and you tell me how happy you were when you received the news that the Miss America pageant contestants are going to be staying in the hotel next to your apartment."
Ziva sighed an exasperated sigh, her lips pursing the way they do when she is trying not to shoot something for being too loud. She looked as though she were counting to ten when she said, "What do you mean?"
"You know, the 50 girls who each represent one state in America, compete for a crown using their beauty and longing for world peace?" Tony explained, for he was not surprised that his foreign partner knew nothing about it.
"What?" Ziva narrowed her eyes as though to ask, what are you talking about, and why should I care?
"Basically, Ziva, there is a Pageant taking place in a few weeks that, this year, is being dedicated to the sailors in the Navy. It's a big event that's been around for decades; sailors would swarm the ticket booths to get their chance to see pretty girls in action." McGee explained, a bored look on his face. He would never go to one of those.
"Oh, so pretty girls show off in front of judges, only to receive crowns?" Ziva asked McGee, her confusion on the subject almost pitiful.
"Never really made sense to me either, Ziva, and I was born here." McGee said, shrugging.
"Can I ask? Is it true that your bedroom window faces the east wing of the hotel?" Tony had a coy smile on his face, his fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. His eyes held an odd twinkle that made Ziva want to give him a head slap.
"Better bring your binoculars," McGee said, smiling innocently at Tony. Tony ignored him, his eyes transfixed hopefully on Ziva.
"No,"
"Oh, c'mon please?"
"No," Ziva repeated, frowning in a disappointed manner. "You cannot stake out in my bedroom hoping to get a glimpse of a naked pageant model!"
"Just one night, please?" Tony pleaded, looking as though he were preparing to get down on his knees. "I won't bother you, I promise."
"Too late for that," a sharp voice cut into their conversation, and they each turned to see the silver-haired fox enter the squad room.
"We were just--"
"--hoping for a glimpse of a naked woman. Yeah, DiNozzo, you're that predictable." Gibbs snatched his jacket from his chair and after retrieving his gun and badge, he slammed the desk drawer shut. The rest of the team scrambled for their gear, Tony almost tripping over his backpack.
"Where to, boss?" McGee asked, after all, he had the keys.
"A parking lot in Baltimore," Gibbs answered, handing McGee a small yellow post-it note. "Meet ya there."
***
The air was bitterly cold and stung the agents' cheeks as they exited the warmth of the van. The parking lot was behind a large grocery store called, Fresh Bee's: not very public, yet not very isolated. The petty officer was found in his car, slumped over in the driver's seat, gun shot wound to the chest. Clean, quick, done by an expert. Tony and Ziva were in charge of photos and bagging and tagging, McGee crime scene sketches, and Gibbs, well, whatever he wants really.
"Name?"
"Petty Officer second class Tyson Quinn, 28 years old, resident of Baltimore, Maryland." Ziva answered, having scanned his fingerprint. Her cheeks and nose were slightly pink due to the cold, and her breath came out in slight wisps of steam. "He is currently on leave, was due to embark on his third tour in three weeks."
Gibbs' eyes scanned the body of the petty officer. Scouring his black-and-blue left arm, Gibbs caught a glimpse of something white crushed in the palm of Quinn's hand.
"DiNozzo, get a shot of his hand," Gibbs commanded, reaching behind to pull the distracted agent back into focus. A girl clad in a bright blue sports bra and complimentary sports shorts had just run by, catching the appreciative eye of Tony DiNozzo. Returning to his job, he blinked once and snapped a quick photo of the white paper that peaked out of the body's hand.
"What is it?" Ziva asked, leaning in get a better look. McGee stopped measuring the car window for a moment, interested. Gibbs reached down with a gloved hand and cautiously peeled away the stiff fingers. The little piece of paper was no bigger than an 2 x 2 index card, slightly disheveled with bent and warn corners. One line of messy scrawl stretched the length of the paper in blue ink.
Bomb at Miss A. Pageant, no survivors
"That can't be good," McGee said, squinting to read the small words.
"Finally," Tony sighed dreamily, "an excuse to see the pageant contestants early."