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"C'mon, guys, I don't see why I have to do this."
Blair pushed his hair off his face and fastened it with a tie. Fastening it was somewhat diffucult however when two very large men had each of his elbows in an iron grip. "Hey, could you chill a sec so I can get my hair out of my face? It's not like I'm going to break away and run."
"Not like you could if you tried, Chief. We've got you surronded." Jim smiled at his partner-now his official partner, and gave him a pat on the ass without the other guys noticing.
Sandburg smiled at the public display and shrugged. "Good point, although I might have tried otherwise. I'm still trying to understand why you guys are putting me through this."
"You're a rookie. Every rookie goes through this." Henri had ahold of Blair's left elbow and gave an evil smile as he explained.
"I'm not a rookie! I've been working with you guys for the last four years! If you wanted to do the whole male-bonding initiation crap, you should have done it a long time ago."
"Nuh-uh. You were unofficial *and* a police observer. Rules state you have to wait until you're official and have a gold shield. You're both now. Right Simon?" Ryf looked to his commanding officer for comformation.
Simon was holding Blair's right elbow and nodded. "Those are the rules, and they are not meant to be broken."
Blair rolled his eyes as they reached the bar. "C'mon, guys, this is ridiculous. I've been through more than enough initiations since I started out. Anyone happen to remember a few kidnappings and death threats from the past?"
He was studiously ignored as the bouncer stopped them at the door. "I.D. please." The bouncer gestured to Ryf and Blair.
"You're kidding, right? C'mon, man, I'm pretty sure I look over 21."
"Doesn't matter how old you look, Curly, I need ID. From you too, Dapper Dan."
Ryf raised his eyebrows and gave Blair a look. They both pulled their police picture ID and held it up to the bouncer. "This work?"
"Yeah, go on in." The glared he shot at the two men went without response as the four men resumed dragging Blair into the bar.
"Man, I should have lied about the ID and gotten out of this." Blair's grumble was received with bemused expressions.
"Never thought I'd see the day when Blair Sandburg wouldn't want to go cruising for a date."
"Hey, Man, I'm domesticated and like it that way!"
Jim grinned at his partner and laid a hand on his neck. "Besides, we're not here to get him laid, we're here to get him roaring drunk."
The other men cheered as the bartender worked her way to them. She was a short brunette with a chin-length blunt cut and wore a pair of well-worn hip hugger jeans with a dark purple t-shirt that had 'If the drink's on me, you're getting knocked out." Written across the chest.
"Hey, guys, what can I get you?"
Jim, Simon, Ryf, and Henri leaned in and whispered conspiratally, "He'll take a rookie six-shooter."
The bartender smiled widely and moved down the bar to a bell usually reserved for ringing out the sign for last call. She clanged it six times and shouted above the crowd. "Ladies and Gents, we have a *rookie*!"
Everyone in the bar exploded into cheers as four one-shot glasses and one double-shot glass were placed in front of Blair.
Sandburg looked at them apprehensively. "What's this?"
Five different bottles of liquor, a bottle of Tabasco, and a lime were placed on the bar. The bartender looked to Blair and nodded. "What's your name?"
"Blair."
"Nice to meet you, Blair. How long you had your gold shield?"
"Technically, I've been working with the department for the last four years, but it's been unofficial. I got my detective's shield last night."
The bartender raised her eyebrows. "You hear that, folks? He's a true-blue, twenty-four hour rookie!"
Once again, the bar exploded into cheers, and Blair looked to the woman behind the bar. "What's this?"
She smiled again, this one filled with amusement and a little predatory fun, and then she yelled above the crowd. "Ladies and Gents, the rookie six-shooter is a classic initiation started by yours truly under the influence of very little sleep, and one very wild prom night. With the help of a few friends, we brainstormed over the easiest way to make someone sick.
The answer? Mix your liquor. It's the biggest no-no for any drinker. To much mixing leads to bowing to the porcelin goddess. This combination is made for those who are supposed to have the strongest stomachs."
Blair watched as she gestured to the shot glasses. "It's named the six-shooter for two reasons. First, there are six shots. Four single shots-the first one being whiskey-"
The bartender paused and poured the shot. "Second comes Gin-" She filled the next glass. "Followed by Vodka-" The third glass was filled, "And the fourth is Rum." The last single-shot was filled, and the first four bottles of liquor disappeared under the counter.
"Now, the last shot is a double, giving the six-shooter the six name. It's also named the six-shooter because rookies used to carry old six-shot revolvers. The last shot is special because it's a mixed shot. It's called the Flaming Fire Ant. The entire goal of the last shot, is to get you-"
She pointed to Blair, who was looking a little intimidated by the drinks lined up in front of him. "To lose your lunch, or to prove you're worthy of your badge. A single Flaming Fire Ant consists of a shot of Tequila, ten drops Tabasco, and a squeeze of lime. Seeing as this is a double, we double the ingredients."
So saying, the drink was mixed to double proportions. Two shots Tequila, twenty drops of Tabasco, and two squeezes of lime. "There's also another stipulation to the six-shooter. The last show it a double, meaning you only have two drinks to finish it in. If you don't, you drink another shot-bartender's choice. Also, if you have to run to the little detective's room to relieve your stomach of their contents, that's another shot. My choice. Got it, rookie?"
Blair looked at the drinks, at the men around him, and then at the bartender. Who would have thought someone so small and innocent looking could be so viscous? //C'mon, Blair, you're a college student. You know how to drink!// He ignored the other side of his brain that was reminding him that it had been a long time since he'd done a real drinking contest.
"I got it. Let's do this."
The crowd cheered again as Blair downed his drinks in quick succession. Whiskey. Gin. Vodka. Rum. Tequila with Tabasco and lime.
The last shot glass hit the counter of the bar, and Blair smiled triumphantly. He swallowed, ignoring the burning of the liquor mixed with hot sauce, and nodded to the bartender. "Nicely done, but I'm an anthropologist. I've had weirder and nastier."
She smiled back at him. "Wait until you wake up tomorrow." The offer for payment was waved off. "On the house. Not to many people can talk after that."
*
"If I track her down and kill her, will you help me hide the body?"
Blair's question received a chuckle from Jim as the older man handed him asprin and a glass of water. "Can't do it, Chief; killing the person who supplies the initiation is against the rules. We kill her, no one else will go through it."
"We could do those other people a favor."
"Or you could help put the next rookie through it."
A small smile quickly covered by a grimace, went across Blair's face. "Seems only fair. If we change the intiation, it would make the other rookies think we didn't believe they were tough enough to handle it."
"It would."
"I'd hate to be the start of an inferiority complex among the new detectives."
Jim grinned and kissed the other man on the forehead. "Me too."
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