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creativeskullcreations · 5 years ago

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HTaHHQ Episode 1: First Meetings(part 3)

In all seriousness, I'm really sorry it took so long to update anything. I had a sudden loss of motivation to do anything productive. I think it was caused by stress and burnout. So I'm gonna try and work on schedule, and hopefully that will help a bit.

Basically, one fic will be updated every Monday! Which fic will it be and Monday? Idk, it's a surprise! But actually it'll be Outside next week, and hopefully for at least a few weeks after that. And then I've got video uploads on Fridays and live-streams on... Idk yet. Just whenever for now I guess.

"What do you mean she's missing?!" Came a shout as Mary stormed out of her office. "How long has it been since anyone's seen her?!" "Mrs. Stein, please!" Johnny, the poor assistant that had been sent to tell the head writer about what happened struggled to keep up. He found himself having to jog to keep pace with the tall woman. "We're looking for her now. Nobody saw her leave the building, so she's got to be here somewhere...!" Mary turned, giving the poor guy a death glare. "That's not what I asked." She ground out. He gulped. "U-uh, t-two hours, ma'am. A-a-and it was Riley and Nick who saw her last!" 'Please don't kill me!' He thought as he looked everywhere but at her. 'I have a family of shrimp to feed!' "Two. Hours." She repeated calmly. "And those two didn't think to tell anyone between then and now." She turned, stalking down the hall at an even faster pace. "They'll be sawdust by the time I'm through with them." Johnny watched her go, then turned and sprinted down the hall in the opposite direction. He'd done his job, and there was no reason to stick around to see the fallout. In Mortimer's office, the Puppets were gathered. While Mortimer himself was at his desk, Daisy was pacing in front of him. Riley and Nick were glaring at each other from opposite sides of the small room. While neither said anything, it was clear to the other two that they blamed each other fro what had happened. "Oh, that poor girl!" Daisy fretted, twisting her apron in her fists. "I do hope she's okay." "Oh please, what danger could possibly be in here?" Nick said, finally pulled away from his glaring match. "She's probably raiding the kitchen or something like the others like to do. I'm sure she's fine, and this whole fuss will be for nothing." "The kitchen has been searched and she was not found there! Who knows what secrets she could see or hear!" Riley scolded. She rubbed at her temples, look pained. "This whole day has been a disaster! Thank god it's almost over!" "Riley, please calm down." Mortimer told her, trying to head off any possible arguments.. "Nick is right, there's no reason to worry or frown." "I-I apologize, of course you're right." She sighed. "The contract she signed is surely air tight." "Er..." Oh how would he explain this. His hesitance was noticed, and Nick and Daisy both turned to look at him the longer he took to agree with Riley. "She did sign the non disclosure, right Morty?" Daisy asked. Everyone was looking at him, and he found himself clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Technically, I cannot force anyone to sign. Even for me, that would be crossing a line." He told them firmly. Instantly their faces turned to looks of shock, and anger in the case of Riley. "She didn't sign?!" Riley exploded, slamming her hands on his desk. Mortimer resisted the urge to flinch back and nodded. "We're doomed!" Nick bemoaned, clutching his head. "Our show is over, canceled, caput!" Mortimer went to scold the artist for pessimistic thinking, but was cut off by the door swinging open. "Would you two shut up!" Mary hissed as she entered the room. She carefully closed the door behind her, then turned to face the room. "Now, would one of you kindly explain how you managed to lose my stepdaughter!" "It wasn't our fault!" Nick was quick to jump in. "Riley and I were simply trying to get Scout, when your daughter had some sort of attack and ran off!" "Indeed, it was really quite strange." Riley agreed. "It was almost like she was afraid..." Mary almost scoffed at the idea. "Stacy, afraid? Please, she's only doing this to be a nuisance." She refocused on the two Puppets. "Where were you when this happened?" "By the cafeteria." Nick told her. "Just outside it in the dead end." "Then we'll start there, and work our way through." Mortimer told them. "And yes, you'll be helping out too." "Fine." Riley spat, wheeling out of the room. Nick Nack followed her, as did Mary. Only Daisy and Mortimer stayed behind, with him catching her as she went to leave. "Ah, Daisy my dear, a moment if you please. Might I have a word, before you as well leave?" He asked. She stopped and turned back, wheeling back to the desk. "Of course, Morty! What's wrong?" She asked, gripping her apron. It's about Stacy, and how you're the best to help her. You know this place best, both under and over." Mortimer said. Daisy nodded, slightly confused. "Well, yes. But I don't see-" "Since she's a child, and a frightened one at that, I expect you to search the hiding places of your brats." Daisy blinked and almost protested(Hand Puppets or not, they were still her children, and he shouldn't call them brats just to make a rhyme), but then stopped to think about it. "You know sugarplum, you might actually be on to something there." She said, missing Mortimer's approving look as she turned. racing out of the room. "And I think I know exactly where I should look." Half and hour later, and Daisy had steadily worked her way through all of the Hand Puppets' hiding spots. While they technically had hundreds, she had managed to shrink the list to just a fraction by eliminating the places Stacy wouldn't be able to fit in. She'd shrunk it even further by getting rid of the options that neither the girl or Scout would know about. The end result was a very small list of possible locations for a human child to hide. She had searched all of them and Stacy was nowhere. As of now she was out of ideas, and had decided to search the by now very empty Sound Stage. Most everyone having already gone home. She knew Lydia was still around, but other than her, a few senior assistants, and Mary and her son, the studio was devoid of any humans. Daisy really hoped Stacy hadn't noticed this, as she didn't want the girl panicking over it. Based on what Riley and Nick had described, the poor dear was probably terrified out of her mind by now. That thought is what kept the homemaker from giving up, determined to find her before one of her "siblings" did. She loved them, she really did, but neither of them were really all that... good, with the kids, and she worried what might happen if either of them found Stacy first. So she worked her way through the Sound Stage, checking inside each set and looking in each door to make sure she didn't miss anything. However, as she made it to the prop closet that specifically held her props, she heard a noise from inside. She pressed her ear against the door, and felt her heart sink when she heard a quiet sniffling from within. "Stacy? Honey, are you in there?" She called out, only to be met with complete silence. "Sugar I know you're in there. You've got everybody awful worried about you." No reply, but she did hear something shifting around inside. Boxes being moved, fabric rubbing against itself. It sounded like she was coming out of hiding, and Daisy couldn't help the small smugness she felt at accomplishing that. "Stacy, you have to come out of there. Everybody's awful worried about you. Your mother-" "She's not my mom." Stacy interrupted, throwing the Puppet off with how angry she sounded. "Step-mother then." She corrected herself. "Please, sugar, Mary's worried about you too." "She doesn't care. Not really." "Oh now, don't say that. I'm sure she cares a lot." Daisy tried to assure her, grabbing the door knob, pausing when Stacy answered. "If she really cared, I wouldn't be here." A pause. "I definitely don't want to be here..." "What do you mean by that?" Wouldn't be here? According to Mary, Stacy loved the show, and watched the new episodes every week with her brother. Why wouldn't such a loyal fan of the show not want to be here? "I don't know what she told you, but this job is supposed to be a punishment." Her voice was quiet, but Daisy could tell she was on the verge of tears again. "What?!" Daisy felt faint. Surely Mary wouldn't...? She yanked open the door, finding Stacy hidden behind a stack of several boxes. Her face was tear stained, and her eyes were red and puffy. "Oh, sweetheart..." She sighed, then backed away from the door. "Come on sugar. Let's go tell the others you're alright..." Stacy came out of the closet, following Daisy as she wheeled back to Mortimer's office. She paused at the door, unlatching it carefully before backing up and charging through it. "Mary Stein, what is wrong with you?!" Everyone in the office jumped, and she too notice that the other Puppets were there. Ignoring them for now, she extended her stand to get into the human woman's face, putting on her best Daisy Danger Death Glare. "How dare you use us to punish your step-daughter!" "Punish?" Nick questioned from behind, but the baker ignored him. "I don't know what you're talking abo-" Mary said, but Daisy pushed on. "Really? Because Stacy told me everything. And now, I want you to tell me what ever possessed you to use fear to punish a child? And you had better have a really good answer." Whatever Mary was going to say was never to be heard, as she was cut off with another question from behind. "She's afraid of us?" Riley asked in a small voice. She looked more upset than Daisy had seen her be in a long time, and Nick, standing beside, had a similar expression. For a moment, "Of course not!" Mary insisted. "She watches your show all the time with Danny. She wouldn't do that if she was scared of you!" "Or maybe she would, if she cared what her brother thought of her." Mortimer pointed out. "The siblings are quite close, you've said so yourself many times before." "Yes, well-" Mortimer cut her off again. "You told me before that her working here was to keep her out of trouble, give her a fun Summer. Had I known that to be a lie, I'd never have agreed to hire her." Mortimer sounded genuinely mad for the first time in years. Mary went to protest, but the Puppet held up a hand to stop her. "I will allow her to continue to work here." He told her. "On the condition that us, she doesn't have to go near. There are plenty of other jobs for her to do. Sound control, editing, writing too." He said to the room at large. "I'll talk to Lydia and have her choose where she can stay. In the mean time, take her and Danny home, you've all had quite a day." "Of course." Mary said, turning to leave, but was stopped by Mortimer. "Oh, and one more thing." He waited until she'd turned back around. "If you ever pull something like this again, your time here with us will come to an end." His tone remained calm, but even Mary could tell his was still angry. So she simply nodded and hurried out of his office, closing the door behind her. Stacy was sitting beside the door, arms on her knees as she stared quietly at the wall. If she had been listening or not, Mary honestly couldn't tell. She thought about saying something, anything, about what had happened. The words "I'm sorry" came to her mind, but she couldn't figure out what to be sorry for. In the end, she simply sighed and gestured towards where the door was. "Come on Stacy. Let's go get your brother and you guys' stuff. We'll talk about this when we get home." She told her. The girl didn't answer, but did stand up and follow her step-mother down the hall. Her hands were shoved in her shorts pockets, and her head was down, but at least she was moving.. 'Tomorrow will be better.' Mary assured herself as they picked Danny up from Lydia. 'I know better now, and Stacy won't have to be around the Puppets. We'll have a nice talk about everything when we get home, and things will be fine. They have to be.'

#hello puppets #htahhq #fanfiction #happy times at handeemen hq #stacy stein #mortimer handee #daisy danger #riley ruckus #nick nack #mary stein

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 6 years ago

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Falcon of Detroit (DBH Connor Fanfiction) Chapter Two

~Phoebe's POV~

"This is the fifth damn bar! He better be here!" I shout as I exit my car with Connor close behind.

"We will find him, Phoebe. Please, calm down," Connor said.

"I am calm!" I bellow. When I realized I was still shouting, I sigh and calm myself. "Sorry, you're right. Let's just check this bar quickly."

As I was about to open the door, I realized androids weren't welcomed. Connor exchanged a glance with me before I grabbed his hand and dragged him inside with me, ignoring the "No Androids Allowed" sign. Inside, I spotted Hank right away. "There you are!" I stomped over to him and snatched the glass of scotch from his hand.

"Hey, give me back my damn booze!" Hank tries to seize the glass back, but I pull it out of his reach.

"We've been bar-to-bar trying to find your drunken ass!"

"We were lucky enough to find you at the fifth bar," Connor adds.

Hank looks over at the android and points at him. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Connor is our new partner. Our duo has turned into a trio," I smile, smacking his hand down. "It's not nice to point, Hank."

"We don't need help from a shitty piece of plastic!" The man snarls. "We've been fine up to this point!"

I was aware what happened to Hank's son, Cole, and knew why he abhorred androids with every fiber of his being. But, it still doesn't give him the excuse to think all androids are bad. "He helped me save a man from a rogue today. If he wasn't there, I'd still be stuck at the crime scene."

"Speaking of that, did you catch the shitty rogue?"

"No, but we'll find his trail soon enough with help from Connor. Now, play nice and finish your drink. Our new friend received a homicide report in the car and Captain Fowler wants the three of us on the scene ASAP."

"Fine, just let me finish my drink," Hank sighs, chugging down the remainder of his scotch. I felt my own throat burn at the sight of him downing the glass in one gulp. The man placed the cup down and stood up. "Let's get this over with."

Leaving the bar, Connor decided to tag along with Hank to direct him to the address. I smirked as I could see agitation in the Lieutenant's eyes continuing to rise and rise as he got behind the wheel. I got in my car with a snicker and drove to the scene.

Arriving, I saw Hank get out of his car, but Connor didn't budge. "Ugh, Hank..." I grumble. I exit my car and walk over to the passenger's side of the old vehicle in front of me. I opened the door and let Connor out of the car. "Sorry 'bout him. Like I said: he's not fond of androids."

"Thank you, Phoebe."

I close the door and we follow after Hank. When I crossed the holographic tape, one of the officers refused to let Connor pass. "He's with me," I call out. Reluctantly, the officer listens and lets Connor through.

"You don't talk, you don't touch anything, and you stay outta our way, got it?" Hank asked, a scowl present on his face.

"Got it," Connor simply replied.

As Hank was greeted by another officer, I leaned over to the android and whispered to him. "Don't listen to crankypants over there. You already helped me tremendously earlier today. Just be yourself." I know he wasn't human, but I hope he understood my words. I patted him on the back gently and entered the rickety and molded house.

"The victim's name's Carlos Ortiz. He has a record for theft and aggravated assault," I heard the officer explain as soon as the foul odor slaughtered my nose. I winced at the stench and entered the living room. "Stayed inside most of the time, they hardly ever saw him."

"Well, that gives us a small list of possible suspects," I spoke up.

"Detective Falcon, I've heard you're the best detective in all of Detroit. Pleasure to meet the famous Falcon," the officer greets.

"The pleasure's all mine. What else do you know about the body?"

"I'd say he's been there for a good three weeks. We'll know more when the coroner gets here." He then turns and looks at something on the floor. "There's a kitchen knife over here. Probably the murder weapon."

"Any sign of a break-in?" Hank asked, accepting a light from the officer to examine the body closer.

"The landlord said the front door was locked from the inside, all the windows were boarded up. The killer must've gone out the back way."

"Or they're still here. It's possible Mr. Ortiz knew our suspect and let him in willingly. Either that, or the killer was already living here with him," I stated.

"You suggesting the killer is his android, Phee?" Hank asked.

"Exactly, but we won't know for sure until we find it. Let's get searching."

"I gotta get some air. Make yourself at home. I'll be outside if you need me," the officer said as he left. Connor stood next to me as I examined what was written over the dead body in blood.

I AM ALIVE

"The font is neat and constant. Definitely not human."

"The question we should be asking is where the suspect is," Connor said. He then walked over to the knife, kneeled down, and took a sample of the blood.

"Err, Jesus! What the hell are you doing?" Hank asked, disgust written all over his face.

"I'm analyzing the blood. I can check samples in real time," Connor answers with his usual stoic expression. "I'm sorry. I should have warned you."

I placed a hand over my mouth to keep myself from bursting out with laughter as I watched the exchange. Hank's scrunched up expression remained. "Okay, just... don't... put anymore evidence in your mouth, you got it?"

"Got it," the android responds.

"Fucking hell, I can't believe this shit..."

A snort slipped and I quickly pressed my hand tighter against my mouth. Hank and Connor turned to me and I sucked in my cheeks to keep the laughter at bay. "Sorry. It's kinda stuffy in here."

"Whatever you say, Phee," Hank chuckled lightly.

I cleared my throat and headed into the kitchen. A chair was tipped over and I saw where the knife once was. What caught my attention was the metal bat lying on the floor. Connor followed me and scanned the baseball equipment. "Fingerprints can be found on the handle."

"Which means Mr. Ortiz used it. But, was it for self-defense or to assault the suspect? It's highly possible our suspect was a victim of our rigor mortis pal in the living room. Knowing deviant behavior, I know abuse is a common trigger in androids to become deviant. This wouldn't be my first case on the matter."

"I believe you're right, Phoebe. There are traces of thirium on the bat, as well," Connor stated.

"I'm gonna check the backdoor. You check the bathroom down the hall." I headed to the backdoor where a couple of officers were standing. "Any clues?" I ask them.

"Nothing, Detective Falcon. If there were footprints, they've been washed away in the downpour," Officer Hans answered.

"That only means two things: either the trail has gone cold or the suspect never left. Keep searching the house."

"But we've searched the entire house, Detective. There's no basement, either," Officer Brown states.

"Is there an attic?" I question. The officers exchanged glances and I knew from the looks on their faces that they hadn't checked for one. I rolled my eyes and searched the house for any access points in the ceiling. When I returned to the kitchen, I saw Connor was carrying a chair with him. "Where are you going with that chair, Connor?"

"The attic. There's an access point near the bathroom." He sets the chair under the entrance to the attic and steps up onto the seat. He moves the piece of wood out of the way and climbs up.

"Be careful," I warn. "If the suspect is up there, they might be armed."

"I will be fine, Phoebe," Connor said, sending me a smile. I bit my bottom lip as I watched him disappear into the attic. Hank stood beside me as we waited in silence. The sound of scuffling could be heard and we knew something was wrong. I tried to go after the android, but Hank held me at bay. Then, we heard Connor shout. "It's here, Lieutenant! Detective!"

"Guess you were right, Phee, as always," Hank comments.

"I wasn't able to confirm anything without Connor," I honestly state.

Hank rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. You don't need that damn machine around."

"Be nice to him, Hank. He helped me name three faceless men today who, not to mention, had their fingerprints burned off with hydrochloric acid. We couldn't even get damn dental records because the rogue dumped acid in their mouths! Also, we were able to save someone who was the rogue's next target."

"Only known him for a day and already defending him?"

"Hey, you would, too, if he helped find a lead when the trail was completely cold! Ten victims and none have been served justice just because we couldn't find a connection between them because of their missing faces and fingerprints. He's helped me more in an hour than that walking piece-of-shit Gavin has in a year!"

"That, I agree on," Hank sighed.

Connor exited the attic during the midst of our conversation with the deviant in custody. Officer Hans shuffles over and handcuffs the android and escorts him to his cruiser. "Guess this case is wrapped up," Hank said.

"Not until we figure out why the deviant killed Mr. Ortiz. We've got some interrogating to do back at the station," I said.

"Whoa, hold on! You've been working since eight this morning. I think you should head home and get some rest. Leave the interrogating to us," Hank stated.

"The Lieutenant is correct, Phoebe. You are showing signs of exhaustion," Connor exclaims.

"Did you scan me?" I inquire. He nods and I still refused to head home. "I'm going back to the station and finding out what the motive was behind this murder. Neither one of you are stopping me."

As I walked out, I heard Hank sigh in frustration. "I swear..."

-Detroit Police Department-

Watching Gavin interrogate the deviant made me want to flip the table and chairs. He was the worst at this job and I was desperately trying to slay my frustration to keep it from surfacing. Connor and Hank arrived just as Gavin gave up and left the interrogation room. "Nice try, shit-for-brains. You suck at interrogating people AND androids."

"Shut the hell up, Phoebe. I'd like to see someone else try with this shitty machine," Gavin scoffs. That was when Connor decided to step in and take over the interrogation.

Hank, Gavin, and I watched from behind the glass as the deviant became stressed with Connor's questioning. As we heard every word, the deviant glanced at the glass and seemed to be directing his teary gaze towards me. He then pointed directly at me without hesitating. "Amadeus wants her. He told me himself."

Connor glanced towards the glass before directing his gaze back to the deviant. "Who is Amadeus and why does he want Detective Falcon?"

"I-I don't know! He didn't tell me why!"

I felt Hank's eyes on me as I swallowed hard. "Do you know why?"

"No. I have no idea. Is Amadeus a deviant or a rogue?" I ask. Hank then enters the interrogation room and stands next to Connor, asking the same question.

"A rogue. He's a rogue android. He visited me the day after I killed Carlos and wanted me to join his alliance. I refused and he left without another word," the deviant answered.

"So, a rogue is trying to recruit other androids," I stated. "The rogue cases are rising, but most people who encounter a rogue shoot before asking questions. Deviants, on the other hand, are handed over to the police for questioning. This 'Amadeus' is failing in recruiting rogues and has resulted to turning to deviants."

"What's the damn point? Deviants don't want bloodshed like rogues," Gavin groans.

"He's trying to convert them into rogues. Why else would he turn to them?"

Gavin fell silent as Hank and Connor left the interrogation room. "We've no leads on this 'Amadeus' android," Hank huffs.

"Or why Phoebe is a target," Connor adds.

I grin and clap my hands together. "Things just got a lot more interesting."

#detroit become human #dbh spoilers #dbh #connor x oc #hank anderson #gavin reed

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irarelypostanything · 7 years ago

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RWBY - Catching a Breath

For the most part, I have enjoyed being a part of the Rooster Teeth fan community. They tend to be pretty appreciative, but they will still provide criticism where criticism is due. I have a few friends who used to watch Red vs. Blue in the “early days,” and it’s kind of fun to talk about how far they’ve come. From a parody that used a popular video game as a vehicle, Rooster Teeth has gone on to create its own original series, a number of impressive soundtracks, and (as expected) quite a bit of merchandise.

Do I like volume 5 of RWBY? I guess I’ll have to keep going and find out. Instead of discussing whether I like this volume so far, I wanted to review some of the pros and cons of previous seasons. I think that RWBY has a lot to teach us about story-telling, both by positive and negative example.

You know what I liked a lot? Volume three. I don’t think I would change anything about it, and it had a lot to do. It had to explain some rules of their world without slowing itself down. It had to reveal what the villains had been planning for two seasons, without disappointing. It mostly focused on Pyrrha, it employed plenty of action sequences in a fairly coherent story, and it constantly used a very dark tone. I loved volume three, but I would never want something like it again. I’ve watched enough Mr. Robot and Game of Thrones to know that some things can be devastating, and I sometimes enjoy taking refuge in the safe zone of relatively light-hearted cartoons, like Samurai Jack or Rick and Morty.

Moving on...

Okay, so the Grimm were actually serving Salem the whole time. Ozpin is a kind of immortal, timeless being who has fought her for many lifetimes. Ozpin is so powerful, in fact, that he has influenced folklore and empowered legendary figures of the past. Nothing is inherently wrong with these plot points, I just want to see how they execute it. If Ozpin is such a powerful entity, then what is his fatal flaw? Why do people not follow him more passionately? Maybe I missed something big, but I don’t see why people have turned on him and why he is keeping all of this a secret. Usually when we have this sort of godly character in fiction, we find out that he/she wiped out a few cities, or murdered a handful of innocent people, or just did something that was clearly situated in a moral gray zone. And why is anyone serving Salem? What are her motivations, and what is she trying to achieve? She seems like a sort of Darth Vader meets Voldemort meets Azula, but these three characters all had human motivations and understandable developments.

I’m already over ten minutes. Let me see if I can wrap this up.

I like Red vs. Blue a lot, and sometimes it surprises me. Founded in parody, it creates York and Carolina out of no where, makes us care about them, creates two very interesting and somehow likable villains out of Felix and Locus, then drops this last season which doesn’t take itself that seriously and seems more like a parody of the more dramatic Chorus series. They did a good balance of action and character development. If I just wanted pure action and random fights, I would play a video game; if you just have character development without enough plot to drive it, it just seems like unrealistic dialogue with characters explaining themselves to the viewer. I think RWBY has had problems with both in its first two seasons. It would have fights like the climactic season two one, which were spectacular but didn’t have enough at stake to be rewarding; then it would have conversations that just seemed a little too on the nose. In Red vs. Blue, one of the best and most memorable sequences was of Carolina listening to an audio journal and voicing her thoughts. Then we flash back to her fighting York, which was a fight, but it seemed more like a desperate plea and a kind of acted-out decision.

I think this last season of RWBY, so far, has been falling somewhere between volumes three and four in quality. Sometimes it does a really good job establishing meaningful connection while still driving a plot; sometimes it just tries to do too much, developing everyone and giving us a lot of legendary information.

Whew, that was long. And it took exactly 20 minutes to write.

#rooster teeth #rwby #ozpin #volume five #rwby volume 5 #20-minute freewrite

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kiss-my-freckle · 8 years ago

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S1 Blacklisters

Blacklisters: Season One

Ranko Zamani

No. 52 Deceased

Red: You must have many questions, so let’s begin with the most important one. Why I’m here. Remember the 1986 attack on the U.S. Embassy in Damascus, the abduction of the six foreign nationals from the French consulate in Algiers in ’97, or the 2002 breach of the Krungthai Bank in Bangkok? You see these events as unrelated. I can tell you one man is responsible for all three. His name is Ranko Zamani. You want him. I want him. So let’s say for the moment our interests are aligned. Tech: Ranko Sinisa Zamani. Serbian national educated in the U.S. Cooper: Ranko Zamani’s been dead for six years. He’s a non–existent threat. Red: Then a dead man just stepped off United 283 from Munich to Dulles. Tech: He entered the country under the name Sacha M. Chacko. Tech 2: Cleared customs at 10:56 a.m. Ressler: Hey, listen up, people. The lab just pulled a latent print from the airline arm rest. Nine points of comparison. Zamani’s alive. Cooper: You have my attention. Red: Were you wrong? Cooper: I was wrong. Red: Yes, you were wrong. At least it’s not the first time. Familiar territory. Now, I’ll give you Zamani, but first – Cooper: No “but firsts.” You don’t decide anything. Red: Agent Cooper, you’ve overestimated your authority. I said I’ll help you find Zamani, and I will. But from this point forward, there’s one very important rule: I speak only with Elizabeth Keen.

Red: Within the hour, Ranko Zamani will abduct the daughter of U.S. General Daniel Ryker. There’ll be some kind of diversion, communications will be scrambled, then he’ll grab the girl. He wants to be out of the country within 36 hours. If you don’t move quickly, she will die. That’s what I know. Liz: And how do you know this? Red: Because I’m the one who got him into the country.

The Freelancer, Joe

No. 145 Apprehended

Red: You’re asking the wrong questions. I’m trying to help you with a matter of some urgency. It’s your choice whether you listen to me or not, but there will be an incident at 11:00 this morning at the Decatur Industrial Park. I would send ambulances.

Cooper: 60 people are dead because of you. Red: 60 people are dead because you don’t return my calls, Harold. If you want to save lives and catch the bad guys, pay attention. Cooper: They’re not going to make your deal. Red: That’s unfortunate. The next name on my list is an absolute snake. Cooper: The train. How did you know? Red: I know lots of things. But the train I didn’t. I knew the time, the place, but the train was a big surprise. Cooper: We’ve ruled out terrorism. Red: Look at the list of casualties, Harold. You’ll find some councilwoman from Albany. Apparently she’s been tangling with some rather cunning, powerful people. Cooper:You’re saying the derailment was an assassination? Red: I’m not saying anything. Unless it’s to Elizabeth Keen.

Red: The train accident was no accident. You know that. But what you don’t know is the man behind it- is quite prolific. He’s responsible for a slew of other premeditated killings just like this one, disguised as accidents. Shall I go on? A building collapses in Moscow, a ferry capsizes on the Brahmaputra River. These are the events we’ve come to expect on the evening news. But in truth, there’s always more to the story. Hidden between the facts and figures, the victims and the heroes, there’s always a murder. The work of a man who disguises his killings in the headlines of everyday tragedies. Ressler: What proof do you have? Red: His work is difficult to detect, but the victims are there. An appellate court judge in Ohio, a French diplomat who dies in a plane crash. Look closer. The pattern will emerge. Over the last seven years, more than 3,000 innocent civilians have died, all collateral victims as a result of this man’s unique methods. In the 20–odd years I’ve been working my side of the tracks, I have not encountered another contractor who’s had as significant an impact on the civilian population as he. He’s rivaled only by governments and terrorist organizations. And you’ve never heard of him. I have it on good authority that his next contract will take him to New York. This is not an opportunity to ponder or deliberate, because once he’s done, he’s gone. Cooper: This guy have a name? Red: They call him “The Freelancer.” Cooper: And how do we find him? Red: You don’t find him. I do. Ressler: What, are you two pen pals? You guys send each other, uh... coded e–mails? Red: I don’t have e-mail or a phone or an address. I prefer to handle my business face–to–face. Liz: You’ve met him. Red: Once. I brokered a few jobs. He works through an intermediary. He might be for sale. Perhaps I should set a meeting.

Wujing

No. 84 Apprehended

Red: An opportunity has come our way. Yesterday, the Chinese killed a C.I.A. agent in Shanghai. They took his computer, which they thought could decode a message they intercepted. It couldn’t. They’ve asked me to help. Liz: I’m sorry. You’re decoding C.I.A. messages on behalf of the Chinese? Red: Now you see, you make it sound like treason. So black and white. It’s not. It’s green. The fact is, American secrets are for sale by an assortment of reputable vendors, myself included. If I don’t do this, someone else will. The man who’s paying me is called Wujing. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Formerly, he worked for the Ministry of State Security. He’s not officially sanctioned by the Chinese. But unofficially, he’s contracted to take out rival agents – American, British. The message likely contains the name of another agent.

Red: Listen, this is a guy who the intelligence community has been talking about for decades as if he were a figment. You don’t even know if he’s real or not. Well, he is real – very. And I’m giving you the opportunity to grab him. Now, the good news is he’s not even in China. He’s right here in your own backyard. If we play our cards right, I can still make Lisbon by breakfast.

Red: WDCJ – a small radio station five miles from here. The building was purchased six years ago by a corporation fronting for the Chinese government.

The Stewmaker, Stanley Kornish

No. 161 Deceased

Red: The Stewmaker is a true blacklister. The only fellow to engage when one has a particular sort of disposal problem. He’s a chemical expert who turns his victims into chemical stew, thus the nom de guerre. No DNA. No nothing. He makes corporeal problems literally disappear. But, it’s much more than the proficiency of his tradecraft that gets him on the list. He’s a trophy collector. Remembrances of his victims. Memori morti. Now, you’ve lost your witness and with him your case. But the Stewmaker is the key to so much more. He’s served the needs of international syndicates, repressive regimes, anyone with a need and the means to pay. The Stewmaker knows where all the bodies are buried. He’s got the answers to hundreds of unsolved murders. Ressler: So, how do we get him? Red: He’s notoriously cautious. I don’t even know who he is or where he bases his operation. And believe me, I’ve tried to find him. Liz: Lorca knows. If not his name, he knows how to make contact. Red: Yes. I suggest you encourage Mr. Lorca to share that information. The Stewmaker is obviously here now, but he won’t be for long. And if you let him slip away, he’ll be as gone as his victims and you’ll never see him again.

The Courier, Tommy Phelps

No. 85 Deceased

Red: Have you ever wondered how criminals who know they can’t trust one another are still able to conduct business with each other? Liz: They replace trust with fear and the threat of violence. Red: The next target on the blacklist is a physical embodiment of both. He’s known as the Courier, and his involvement in a transaction virtually guarantees its success. Once he’s hired to make a delivery, he can’t be bribed, he can’t be stopped. If either a party attempts to double–cross the other, he kills them both. The perfect middleman for an imperfect world.

Red: A few years ago, some of my associates encountered the Courier in an opium den in Cairo. He killed two of them. If he still has a taste for the poppy, there’s a man who may be able to help us.

Red: He’s in the dirt. Liz: What? Red: The refrigerator. It’s a coffin. The Courier buries things under his skin. He’s in the dirt- right here.

Gina Zanetakos

No. 152 Still at large

Red: People think it matters who occupies that house. It doesn’t. Multinational corporations and criminals run the world. Liz: I thought we were here to talk about Tom. Red: You’ve obviously heard of corporate espionage – companies trying to beat other companies to be the first hand on the dollar. But what if it were taken a few steps further? In 1982, seven people in Chicago were killed by an over–the–counter drug laced with potassium cyanide. The company’s market share went from 35 to 8. It was never determined how the drug was poisoned, but I will tell you someone was hired to do that. Remember those tire recalls, Chernobyl? Deliberate and malevolent actions taken by corporations to protect their vital interests. Nothing happens by chance. That’s why I’m here, Lizzy. Because there’s a woman. Gina Zanetakos. Liz: I don’t know who that is. Red: Gina Zanetakos is a corporate terrorist. And frankly, she’s the best of the bunch. Lizzy, if you want to find the truth about your husband, then you need to find Gina. Liz: Why? Does she know Tom? Red: Because she’s Tom’s lover.

Frederick Barnes

No. 47 Deceased

Red: The man you’re looking for is named Frederick Barnes, a former defense research scientist out of ARPAX Systems in Annapolis. You may not be familiar with his name, but you’re likely familiar with his work- biochemical agents such as cytochlorin, black phosphorus, paratoxin. Barnes headed the project team that developed all of them. But he was more than just a research scientist. He was gifted, a savant of government–sanctioned mass killing. Liz: What do you mean, “was”? Red: Five years ago, the man quit his job, sold his house, and entered the free market. Started selling his creations to the highest bidder- autocrats, terrorists, me. Liz: Betraying your country and auctioning off its secrets. Where have I heard that before? Red: You want to compare him to me? Be my guest. I’m perfectly comfortable with what I am. But please, make no mistake – Frederick Barnes is a very special animal, one with the tools and know-how to kill thousands and thousands of people all at once. What he’s lacked until now has been the desire. Liz: So, what’s changed? Red: Well, that’s the question. Barnes has always operated with a certain level of detachment – always the designer, the seller, never the delivery agent of his own weapons. But if Barnes is now willing to use his work to kill indiscriminately, then he is, quite literally the most dangerous man in the world.

Red: Barnes may be a scientist, but he’s also a killer. And in that line of work, a survivor is considered unfinished business.

Red: Every cause has more than one effect. Say what you will about Frederick, but someone who’s willing to burn the world down to protect the one person they care about – That’s a man I understand.

General Ludd, Nathaniel Wolff

No. 109 Apprehended

Red: You’re speaking as if an individual is responsible for this. It’s far bigger than you might think. It’s a movement.

Liz: Reddington believes General Ludd is behind the attack. They take their name from the leader of a 19th-century group called the Luddites, a militant wing of a popular struggle against early industrial capitalism. Meera: 1997- Davos, Switzerland. Ludd took credit for a car bomb that hit the economic international summit. Nine people killed, including two European finance ministers. 2005, Ludd released the source code protecting trade data for international stockholders. They caused a computer glitch that cost the market a few hundred million. Ressler: That I can appreciate – trimming the fat off the fat cats. Liz: This group is incredibly well-educated. They’re as disciplined as any terrorist cell. Identifying the members has been impossible. Cooper: Does Reddington tell you he can I.D. one of these guys? Liz: Better. Says he can identify the group’s founder, Nathaniel Wolff. Says he’s the man ultimately responsible for taking down that plane. This is the only known image of him that we have.

Red: Years ago, I used to smuggle small shipments of oaxaca-highland gold into this airstrip. Beautiful space. Bumpy as hell. You know, Mr. Wolff, I admire your commitment. Others may doubt you, may think your revolutionary talk is just that- talk to cover your grief but I think not. You really do want this country’s financial system to fail. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve come up with an ingenious way to make that happen. Wolff/Ludd: Who are you? Red: No doubt, the feds are congratulating themselves this very minute for recovering the blueprint they assume is real, but you and I know it’s not. It’s a fake. Wolff: How you know that? Red: You swapped the drives, gave the feds a counterfeit. If the mint uses it, billions of dollars of counterfeit currency will be circulated, bankrupting this country. Wolff: And you’re gonna, what – stop me? Turn me in? Red: I’m gonna rob you. Because unlike you, I happen to believe in capitalism. I like money. I like the lifestyle it affords me. I like the things that happen when you give it away. What becomes of you and General Ludd once you board that plane is none of my concern, though it is worth noting that a true luddite would burn the plane rather than fly in it. But whatever. Your irony. At any rate, have a safe flight. And buckle up. This runway is a bitch.

Anslo Garrick

No. 16 Deceased

Red: Listen to me. If this intel was disseminated, it was done so directly to you. It’s canned, which means Anslo Garrick intends to attack this facility. Ressler: Oh, you think he wanted us to bring you here? Red: What do I think? I think we have a songbird in our midst, and until I find out who’s singing, I don’t trust anyone because someone helped to bring him here. Ressler: To a black site. Why? Red: Because I’m asymmetrical. I don’t need visas, passports, travel documents. Give me a bug-out bag and 30 seconds, and I’m on my way to anywhere in the world. Garrick knows this. He needs me contained, landlocked. So he fed you phony intel to trigger your security protocol and now you’ve done exactly as he wished. He got you to bring me here so that he could attack this facility. Ressler: He doesn’t even know this place exists. Red: All he does is extract people from places that don’t exist, places exactly like this. Garrick exfils high-level detainees always by considerable force. He liberated Mahmoud Al Azok from an Alcatraz–like CIA black site in the Bering Sea. Meera: That was Shining Path, a splinter cell. Azok has ties to a Caribbean money launderer. Red: No. That was Garrick, paid by that same Peruvian money launderer to make it appear as though Shining Path broke him out. It was Garrick. He almost exclusively works with a group of heavily armed, highly skilled mercenaries who call themselves The Wild Bunch – former flag wavers made over in Frankenstein–like fashion into bloodless, country-less killers. Garrick is not a precision instrument. He’s a blunt-force object and seemingly immune to bullets. I can attest to this first-hand having put one in his head years ago at point-blank range. Harold, this building is about to be breached.

Red: You know, Anslo, I’m looking at you, and I got to say I’m really surprised. With the access you now have to top-notch plastic surgeons, why you haven’t done something anything about that horrific scar. I mean, how do you wake up to that staring back at you in the mirror every morning? But you know what? It’s not the scar. It’s really the eye. But hey, lucky you. I normally carried Hydra-Shok hollow points. I was trying out a new series of center-fire wadcutters that week. It’s probably the only thing that saved your life, really – me switching ammo. Think about that little irony now every time you randomly find your reflection or are reminded of that unfortunate thing I’ve done to your face. Think about it. Garrick: You trashed a one-of-a-kind partnership. Red: We were never partners, Anslo. You violated whatever trust I had in you. So, naturally I did what I always did – And beat you. And you did what you always did – got beaten by me.

Garrick: You watch out for Old Red here. He may not look like much, but I once saw him kill a Somali with a wire hanger. Red: Simpler days, Anslo. Garrick: Simpler days. Right.

Red: You’re greedy, Anslo. You went behind my back, made deals you knew I wouldn’t approve. What did you expect? Garrick: I suppose I expected something better than a bullet in the face, Red.

The Good Samaritan Killer, Karl Hoffman aka Victor

No. 106 Deceased

Red: I don’t know about serial killers, but I do know about torture, and there is no one–size–fits–all. If you really want to hurt someone, you need to tailor your attack specifically to that person. Perhaps the killer’s methods, the injuries he inflicts tell you less about him and more about his victims.

The Alchemist, Eric Trettel

No. 101 Deceased

Red: There’s someone I think you should find. He’s a man who protects the guilty by preying on the innocent. He’s killed women, children, infants if need be– whatever the particular job calls for. I bring this to your attention because I’ve learned that he’s been contracted to protect Pytor Madrczyk and his wife. Liz: The mob informant? Red: The same. Liz: And this blacklister – does he have a name? Red: They call him the Alchemist. Liz: Why do they call him the Alchemist? Red: Because he relies upon science to transform one person into another.

Red: Lizzy, this man is a forensic virtuoso. He’s an artist who paints in blood and saliva samples. Human tissue is his canvas. I’m not ashamed to say he’s even better than me at helping people disappear, which is why Madrczyk hired him and not myself.

Red: I don’t know even half of it. I’ve heard rumors– removing the white blood cells from the victim and replacing them with the red blood cells of his client, leaving clone DNA at crime scenes to mislead the police, even incorporating synthetic DNA into genuine human tissue. Liz: So this isn’t just evidence tampering. This is genetic manipulation. Red: Yes. It’s a trade in death. The guilty give their blood and genetic identity. The innocent give their life for the guilty to live. If you find the Alchemist, you have a chance to resurrect the dead, to bring to justice some of the most vile creatures who ever lived.

Red: Tell me what you know. Liz: Two bodies at the wife’s house– a woman and a girl– doubles for his family. Trettel– he’s a cipher, closed off from the world, shut away in his lab. But now he’s on the run. He must be leaving some kind of trail– bank records uh, wiring money to his new identity. Red: You don’t have time for that. Go back to the wife and daughter. He’s not alone anymore. You have to look to their lives in order to find him. They’re the ones that matter. They are his vulnerability. Liz: The wife– she’s a nurse, single mom. The daughter– she’s sick. Diabetic. Red: There you are.

The Cyprus Agency, Owen Mallory aka Michael Shaw

No. 64 Apprehended

Red: There’s nothing more profound and of lasting consequence than the decision to have a child. The exploitation and perversion of that decision is the stock and trade of a truly evil organization – the Cyprus Adoption Agency. Liz: Adoption? You want me to believe this is a coincidence? Tom and I are adopting a baby, and you serve up an adoption agency? Red: Life is full of lovely little ironies. The Cyprus Agency offers a promise of something very special– perfection. Their clients are ordering from an unlimited genetic menu, the characteristics of the child they want to bring home. But the evil is not in what the agency offers. It’s in how they get it done. The Cyprus Agency is in the abduction business. They don’t locate kids for adoption. They steal them and adopt them out to new parents. And moving stolen children is difficult. There’s copious amounts of paperwork. Liz: They’re using a forger. Red: One of the best. But I’m biased. He’s one of my best. Lizzy, I’m giving you the chance to take down a criminal organization that is abducting babies from their mothers’ arms. This is the next child the Cyprus Agency will deliver. A boy, less than two weeks from now. Liz: Who is he really? Red: I have no idea. But he’s about to become the child of David and Wendy Roland.

Red: You’re so linear. Liz: What’s that supposed to mean? Red: The FBI and the police– the way they teach you to think never ceases to amaze me. Lizzy, not every missing child is on the back of a milk carton. Liz: But who wouldn’t report a missing child? Red: People who won’t or can’t go to the police. Liz: Criminals. Red: Run the DNA again. This time, don’t look for an exact match. Look at the relatives. You want to find where those kids came from, that’s how.

Madeline Pratt

No. 73 Still at large

Red: Do you have any idea how much the US government has spent on signals intelligence in the past year? Liz: No. Red: Your country has become a nation of eavesdroppers– frequency domains, triangulation, satellites, crypto-whatever. You’ve forgotten that what matters most is human intelligence– alliances, relationships, seduction. Madeline Pratt is a master at… Liz: Madeline Pratt? Madeline Pratt is- Red: ...a thief and a woman of singular talents. Liz: And now you want something of hers and you expect the FBI to help you get it. Red: It was the right decision- not to have the baby. Liz: What did she take from you? Red: I’m sorry for your suffering. Liz: Madeline Pratt. How do we find her? Red: Finding her is easy. Catching her is difficult. Luckily, she’s asked me to help her plan a heist.

Red: This is the Madeline Pratt you all know and love– politically active, influential, a good citizen. What you don’t know is the Madeline Pratt that I love. $6 million in diamonds stolen from a DeBeers outpost in the Congo. Security fibers used in printing the Czech koruna, taken from a mint in Prague and used to produce counterfeit bank notes. The Madeline Pratt you know fosters relationships with incredibly powerful people. The ones you don’t exploits those relationships in ways that impact national security. Ressler: Well, we can’t just arrest her. We have no evidence. Red: What you do have is an opportunity, which brings us back to the Effigy of Atargatis. Madeline feels her profile is too high right now to steal it herself, so she’s asked for my help. Meera: Where is the Effigy? Red: Secure wing in the Syrian embassy, for now. But it will likely be repatriated at any moment, which means Maddie is rushed and vulnerable. She’s trying to make a grab that would normally take months to plan. Cooper: Do the Syrians know what’s inside the effigy? Meera: If they did, it would be in Damascus by now. Red: I can only assume, Harold, that Madeline has a Russian patron since it’s the Russians who want to protect the identities of the Kungur Six.

Red: We have a problem. I had my people run background on the guest list for tonight’s event. The file’s on the Ottoman. Rasil Kalif– notorious playboy– works as a cultural attaché in the Syrian embassy. Apparently, Madeline’s been seeing him for some time. Liz: Why is that a problem? Red: Cultural attaché is Kalif’s cover. Truth is he’s been recruited as an asset by the Russian Bratva– he’s a mobster. My guess is he’s the one who hired Maddie to steal the Effigy. And right about now, she’s walking into the embassy as his date.

The Judge, Ruth Kipling

No. 57 Apprehended

Red: Lizzy. Have you seen the paper? Liz: What about it? Red: Mark Hastings, US Attorney from Maryland. Twelve years ago, he indicted the head of the Reynoso Cartel. A week later, he went missing. Liz: I remember. The Bureau assumed it was a retribution killing. Red: Yeah well, two days ago, he was found wandering on a road in Pennsylvania. Nobody knows where he’s been. Liz: Was he in hiding? Red: I believe he was held captive, but not by the Reynoso cartel. It’s all quite a mystery. They say he’s too traumatized to speak. But if what I believe about Hastings is true, if he has been held captive all these years, then it would confirm that the myth is true – The Judge is real. Liz: The Judge? Red: Every culture has a justice myth, an avenging angel who exacts retribution for the weak and innocent. Golem for the Jews, Tu Po for the Chinese. The Ancient Greeks had Adrestia, the Goddess Of Revenge. Liz: And we have The Judge. Red: Think of him as a prisoner’s court of last resort. When your legal appeals have all been exhausted and there is no hope left, you can make one last plea to The Judge. Liz: What kind of plea? Red: Prisoners can state their case, argue their innocence, explain why they were convicted unfairly and who is responsible – a prosecutor, a corrupt detective, maybe an incompetent public defender. Liz: This demand for justice – where does it go? Red: Supposedly, it’s passed among inmates until it finally reaches some book depository at the Federal Penitentiary in Monroe, Virginia. Liz: And then? Red: Nobody knows for sure. Nobody’s ever met him. Somehow, the appeals make their way to The Judge. He reviews the case, and if he thinks you’re innocent, he evens the score. If freedom or life were taken unfairly, he demands the same in return – an eye for an eye.

Red: Of course. A woman. Rifkin: If you came to advocate on behalf of Agent Cooper – Red: I didn’t. I came to advocate on behalf of you. After devoting your life to a pursuit of the truth, to making things right, it would be such a shame in your last act to get it so wrong. This is a classified Pentagon file on the Rifkin case. In the spirit of full disclosure, it’s a felony for me to have it or for you to see it. But under the circumstances, who are we to quibble? It states that on October 3, 2002- US military intelligence officers deployed a unit by helicopter to the village of Guldara in the Kabul Province of Afghanistan to extract an asset whose identity had been compromised. The Taliban in the area with whom Alan Ray Rifkin had aligned himself got word of the informant and advanced on the village. But they were too late. The boys had extracted their asset and left. Angry and suspicious of others, the Taliban and Rifkin set fire to the village and executed inhabitants. Dozens of women and children were killed at the hands of the Taliban in response to U.S. military intelligence in the area. I guess, fearing more headlines, the Pentagon wanted no association with the incident, so they covered it up. That is what happened. That is the truth. That’s why you’re not gonna light up Agent Cooper today. Alan Ray Rifkin wasn’t executed because of a beating or because of a cover-up. He was executed because of the truth. Now, you and I could talk for days about the whys and why-nots of an execution, but at the end of it all, in the final moment, the only irrefutable fact is- you better be right. And I’m betting you’re not so sure. Kipling: How could you possibly know what I’m thinking? Red: Mark Hastings. You let him go because he had served his time- because this has always been about justice in your eyes, not blind revenge. The day you started this, you knew it would inevitably end, that when you released your first prisoner, you would get caught. You don’t want to diminish your legacy of righteousness because of him- which is why you’re going to surrender.

Mako Tanida

No. 83 Deceased

Red: I heard Agent Raimo was relieved of his viscera. Ressler: If you had anything to do with this- Red: Agent Ressler, please. Ressler: What was it, payback for Vienna? Red: I’m the one who reached out to you, Donald. And it wasn’t to revisit all the times I eluded your little coterie of door–kickers who pursued me with such fervor and zeal. I came to discuss a former associate of mine who your team arrested along the way, Mako Tanida. Ressler: The Yakuza boss? He’s in prison. Red: He was. Two days ago, he broke out of Abashiri. If you ask the Japanese, they’ll skirt it. They claim Abashiri is escape-proof. It’s embarrassing. They’re touchy about that sort of thing. I suspect Tanida is the one who killed your agent friend. Ressler: So you want to help me find him? Let me guess he double-crossed you, and you want his head in a box. Red: There’s a thought. But for the moment, the scalp I’m worried about is yours. Tanida is disciplined, relentless. If he did kill Agent Raimo, there’s the distinct possibility he’s just getting started. I fear Donald, that you’re being hunted by a vengeful, ruthless killer.

Liz: We need your help. We have to find Tanida before Ressler does. We’ve looked through his financials, his prison contacts, the brother, who- Red: Tensei? Liz: The reborn. Red: He’s dead. Liz: What do you mean, he’s dead? Aiko Tanida is running his brother’s empire. Red: Aiko Tanida died the day his brother was captured by Ressler’s task force. Anyone who tells you otherwise doesn’t know the difference between a water buffalo and a musk ox.

Ivan

No. 88 Still at large

Red: A car accident. Killed the driver, Nathan Platt. Liz: Why am I looking at it? Red: Because it was no accident. The crash was engineered by a notorious cyber criminal known only as Ivan, or Ivan. Please. Liz: And you know this how? Red: I’ve had some experience with the man. He stole from me. His brother and I spent a delightful evening sharing stories over a plate of meat jelly and half a gallon of vodka. All the while, Ivan had his hand in my wallet. Liz: My job isn’t to settle your grudges, so I’m gonna need a little more than your gut instinct that Ivan was involved. Red: How about a confession? Ivan took credit for the hit in some deep, dark recess of the internet– a place only inhabited by scary people and reckless teenagers. A place where curiosity inevitably kills the cat. Liz: So, Ivan ran some guy off the road. Or are you thinking it’s something a little more sophisticated? Red: Given his technological skills, he wouldn’t even need to get his hands dirty. Ivan’s had a very long career. Ten years of collapsing Russian markets, selling off government secrets, disrupting Siberian pipeline. Liz: It sounds like his beef’s with Moscow. Red: This is the first time Ivan’s ever struck on US soil, a fact that should have you all very concerned because whatever he has planned, this is only the very beginning.

Red: So, the federal government has armed a cyber terrorist with the digital equivalent of a nuclear warhead. Another fabulous example of your tax dollars at work and yet another reason why I don’t pay taxes. Liz: State’s reaching out to the Russians, but getting them to cooperate will be one thing, and actually finding this Ivan will be a separate problem altogether. Red: Kastrychnitski Rayon. It’s in Minsk, Belarus. That’s where Ivan is currently. Liz: Wait, when did you learn this? Red: I’ve always known this. Liz: And it didn’t occur to you to say something earlier? Red: You FBI are such blunt instruments. Lizzy, you don’t just swoop in and arrest a man like Ivan because you know what he’ll tell you once he’s in custody? Nothing. Liz: I assume you have a better idea? Red: If you want to know what Ivan is up to, you have to get him to share that. Not because he has to-because he wants to. Liz: How do I do that? Red: We create a problem for him and then solve it. And to do that, we need to take a field trip.

Red: Perhaps the face escapes you. My card. Allow me to refresh your memory. Grand Cayman Bank account number: 1210227579. It held approximately $5 million, and then- suddenly, it didn’t. It was a clever hack. Kudos and all that. But I’ve come to collect – with interest. Ivan: Sorry, friend. I have no interest. Red: I wouldn’t go out there if I were you. Ivan: Is that some kind of a threat? Red: Yes, but not from me. Seems you’ve stirred up the borscht, Ivan. Murdering that NSA troll got the FBI talking to the FSB. Now you’re neck-deep in the beets, Ivan. They’ve issued an arrest order for you. According to my informant, they’re en route here now.

Red: So tell me, Ivan, what are your intentions? I assume you took the Skeleton Key for one of three reasons– some dastardly deed you have planned, something dastardly someone else has planned, or you’ve lined up a buyer and have no idea what they have planned. I’m curious, what’s your price? Ivan: Honestly, I haven’t given it much thought. Red: Don’t be coy, Ivan. Whatever the number, I can likely double it. You could probably use the retirement money right about now. You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Ivan: The hack in DC, the NSA agent – it wasn’t me. Red: Then who was it? Ivan: I don’t know, but he’s been using my name. Look, my contempt is not for the US. It’s always been with Russia. Last thing I need is a Hellfire drone missile up my zadnitsa, right? Red: Then if you didn’t do it, who did? Ivan: Whoever it is, they’re very good at covering their tracks. I haven’t been able to ID them yet. Red: Perhaps I could be of some assistance.

Red: So, how exactly does a 17-year-old kid slip through your fingers? Liz: He hacked the school’s security system and activated the automated evac protocols. Red: If you ever find him, ask him if he’d like to earn some extra money.

Milton Bobbit

No. 135 Deceased

Red: esterday in Brooklyn, a taxi drove into the back of a truck under the 86th Street L Train, killing the driver and his female passenger. It’s being reported as an accident, but I suspect, in fact it may be murder. The work of The Undertaker. He’s a broker of death, a man who somehow convinces ordinary people to kill on his behalf. Murder/suicide is his signature. How he recruits, nobody knows, but if this accident is his work, it gives you a rare glimpse into the way he operates and a chance to find him.

Red: How’s your case developing, Lizzy? Liz: We have one of the assassins in custody. We’re taking him in for questioning now. Red: Have you figured out how he selects them, the common denominator? Liz: They’re all sick. We know from their autopsies they’re terminally ill. Red: Well, there you have it. You only know these assassins were ill because of their autopsies and police reports. You know after they’re already dead. But somehow, The Undertaker knows before. Find out how he knows that, and you’ll find your man.

The Pavlovich Brothers

No. 119-122 Deceased

Red: I’m afraid there’s something quite timely afoot. The Pavlovich Brothers are back in town.

Red: Lizzy, if you want to find where the Pavlovich brothers are, you need to find out where they’ve been.

Liz: We have a lead on Xiaoping Li. Red: Excellent. Tell me. Liz: We think she’s being held at Halifax Agro-Chem in Falls Church. We’re assembling a team.

Liz: Where is she? Red: Who? Liz: Xiaoping Li. You took her. You used the FBI and the Pavlovich brothers to get to Tom and what, get Xiaoping? Make some bigger deal? Trade on her secrets? Red: I have no use for germ warfare. And as for using the FBI? I wouldn’t be in this relationship if there wasn’t a mutual benefit. Liz: Where is she? Red: I don’t know. I tried to bargain for her life, but negotiations went sideways. It was all I could do to get Tom. Liz: If we don’t find her- if she gets sent back to the Chinese, she’s gonna die. Red: Tell me what you know. Liz: We think they’re putting her on a cargo ship. We’re not sure. We’re looking over the manifests, timetables, – and shipping routes. Red: She isn’t cargo, Lizzy. She’s contraband. This is a smuggling operation. And nothing gets smuggled in or out of the Chesapeake without Rolph Cisco knowing about it. Have Donald pay him a visit.

The Kingmaker

No. 42 Deceased

Red: The Kingmaker. I’ve never met the man, but I recently lost a great deal of time and money to his talents. He’s single–handedly responsible for the rise and fall of some of the world’s most pivotal politicians and statesmen. Liz: He’s what, some kind of political strategist? Red: He’s raised opposition research to an art form. He arranges scandals, exploits proclivities, assassinates when necessary. I don’t know how he chooses his clients, but they say he grooms them from an early age- the right universities mentors, even spouses. And when they’re ready to run, he does whatever it takes to assure their victory. Liz: He’s causing trouble for some politician in your pocket, and now you want the FBI to arrest him? Red: Yes. Please. And thank you. My sources say he left Prague within the last 12 hours on a flight to the United States. Liz: These cases- you often ask for something in return. Now I’m asking. Tom. I want to know his every move. Red: The Kingmaker is on his way, Lizzy, and whatever he intends to touch will turn very nasty.

Liz: You think he did this? Red: Some freshman politician is suddenly thrust into the spotlight, his selfless heroism on full display. I suspect Assemblyman Patrick Chandler’s poll numbers are about to go through the roof. It just reeks of The Kingmaker. Liz: I just watched a man give CPR to his dying wife, and you’re telling me it was a media stunt? Red: Yes. Go out to the bridge. Perhaps you can figure out why there aren’t any tire marks.

Liz: I told you, there’s nothing here. Red: If The Kingmaker chose that pay phone of all the phones in the city, there’s a reason. Liz: Which is? Red: Le Claire’s pawn shop.

Berlin, Milos Kirchoff

No. 8 Deceased

Red: Earlier today, a man died at The Westland Bank in Manhattan. Reports indicate the cause of death may have been the Cullen virus. Ressler: HazMat teams have quarantined the bank. The deceased has been identified as a Paul Blankenship, an armored–truck driver. Meera: They’re working to identify how he was infected. Red: Paul Blankenship didn’t pick up this bug while wandering through subtropical Africa. I believe he was infected as part of a larger plot involving myself and this task force. Meera: How does a man dying in a bank have anything to do with you? Red: Threats on my life are a constant. I monitor them closely. Two days ago, I received word of a biological threat. Cooper: Does this connect back to Berlin? Red: I suspect this incident at the bank is not what it seems, but rather the first shot in a larger, coordinated assault aimed directly at me. I don’t think Paul Blankenship was a victim of an outbreak. I think he was a foot soldier in a biological army. I think he was meant to carry out orders by a superior, someone who’s willing to use one of the world’s most deadly viruses to further their cause. Cooper: An outbreak of Cullen could lead to a global pandemic. Red: The very threat of an outbreak would cause panic, fear. And fear is a valuable tool to get people to do what you want. Liz: Sounds like an elaborate plan just to get to you. Red: Listen, I can’t connect all the dots between the incident at the bank and the eventual outcome, but I sincerely doubt his death was part of the plan, a plan devised by someone who doesn’t care how many people die, as long as I’m one of them.

Red: The day we met, you asked me why I surrendered to the FBI. There were many reasons. One of them was Berlin. That’s why he’s here – because the work we’ve done has forced him out of the shadows. He can’t allow the task force to continue. Meera was a casualty in a war she didn’t even know she was fighting. I’m afraid just by association, I’ve made you all potential targets. Liz: It was Tom. If Berlin had the names of the agents in the task force, he had to have gotten them from Tom. Sam’s name was also in that book. Why? How is my father involved in this? Red: It’s all just pieces of a much larger puzzle, and until all the pieces are laying in front of you, it won’t go together. What I do know is this – Sam’s involvement was as your father. And no one can pervert or distort that. Right now, our task is to identify our enemy – our enemy today. Berlin wasn’t the only prisoner on that plane, and whoever wanted him wanted the others as well. You need to find out who that someone is.

Red: Milos Pavel Kinsky – sometimes known as “Berlin.” He’s a Russian national, former Spetsnaz Commando, trained in the KGB’s 45 Division. Organized crime is now his fancy. Fitch: Makes Putin look like a Christmas elf. Now that you know who he is, what exactly did you do to put him in such a bad mood? Red: I’m just as curious as you. Fitch: And you’re here because you want? Red: Access. The kind even the FBI doesn’t have. All those spinning satellites that record every keystroke, every phone call, everybody’s dirty little secrets. You find him for me, and I’ll do the rest. Fitch: I heard about Harold. Red: Find him.

Red: I must say, I’m very good at finding people. I’ve tracked enemies far and wide. I once found a hedge–fund manager hiding in the Amazon with the Yawalapiti on the banks of the Kuluene River. You know what the key to finding your enemies is? Remembering everyone’s name. It’s critical to my survival. Anyone knows the head of some drug cartel in Colombia, some politician in Paris. But I know their wives, girlfriends, children, their enemies, their friends. I know their favorite bartender, their butcher. I remember the name of the baker I stole the strawberry bismark from when I was 11 years old and his wife–Trudy Svoboda. But you– I have no idea who in the Sam Hill you are. I have not a clue what I’ve done to you, what I’ve taken from you. And yet, of all the people I’ve hurt, none of them have come after me with half as much vim and vigor as you. I don’t even recognize your face. I’m stymied. And yet, here we are. You found me. Kinsky: Through your weakness. I searched for one for years– a weakness that would allow me to get to you. I nearly gave up. And then I find out about her. Seemed so implausible that someone so careful could be so careless. And so I exploited it and waited. And here we are thanks to Elizabeth Keen.

Red: Help me understand what horrible thing I did to you that could possibly make all of this worth it. Who on God’s green Earth are you? What was that? Being shot in the hand is just an absolute bitch– all those little bones. At least it goes right through. Worst part honestly, is needing somebody to help zip your fly. Tell me your story. I’m not leaving here without a story. Being shot in the hip, on the other hand– Jiminy Cricket. Thick bone, large artery, not to mention the fact that it makes walking upright forever impossible. Just don’t pass out. Stay focused. The story. What did I do to you? How about the kneecap? The IRA always loved a good kneecapping. Kinsky: Beirut! Beirut. 2010. Red: The Campolongo Incident.

Liz: The man you killed wasn’t Berlin. Red: Yes, I know. Liz: You know? How? Red: He spoke of Beirut 2010, the Campolongo incident– an unfortunate mess, but Berlin’s attacks on my business started years earlier. The moment he said it, I knew. Liz: But you didn’t say anything? Red: Berlin needs to believe I think he’s dead. It provides us with an advantage.

#redtimestories

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thelouisianauproar · 7 years ago

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Louisiana Uproar - Chapter 19

Summary: The budding Dottie vs Alma rivalry turns violent; The Jetson Organization looks for more companies to invest; Leo Galante comes to visit.

My schedule is full these days. My job is to build New Bordeaux and I plan to do that, despite Don Danna.

“I like this one.” I say, pinning a paper to the board. We are going over the businesses in New Bordeaux to see what is worth buying. A staff wide brainstorm---all seven of us. “Where is that one?” “The Del Ray Hollow”

“That will go nicely with the condos being built on River Street.” Emily, one of my employees adds.

“You know.” I pause. “I don’t want to limit us.” I say to the team. “We’re building that ristorante and I’d like to find another place for that--- out of this.” I gesture, “but let’s get creative. Give me more ideas thing---family, fun, or adult get together. I want to see more.” They simply look at me. “Good job, everyone. Betty, Could I borrow you?” “On my way.” She collects her utensils and we walk back up to my penthouse.

“Hear anything about River Row?” “Same old tricks they tell me.” Betty starts. “That’s just great.” “They’ve confirmed what Gleason said.” “I’m feeling like Alma hasn’t made this a priority.” “You have every reason to feel this way.” She pauses. “It has only been a week. Once more chance?” “....and a warning.” I concede. “Thank you.”

“Dot.” Camille says. She manages to buzz me as soon as I take my seat. “Camille.” “Ray called. Leo Galante will be here in two weeks and he needs us to coordinate his schedule.” “Seriously?” “It’s what he says.” “Thank you. Please let me know what you need from me.” I pause. “Could you get Alma Perez on the line?” “One moment.” There is a brief pause. I hear Camille return to the line. “She’s unavailable. Would you like me to leave a message?” “Just let her know that I am looking for her and would like a call back.” “Sure thing.”

---

“Dottie.” Trav’s face lights up when I appear at his doorway. He stands up from desk. “Great to see you in the flesh.”

“What am I doing here, Travie?” I ask taking a seat in front of his desk. “Straight to the point. I like it.” He says. This makes me chuckle. “I’m sorry. I’ve had quite the week.”

“Sorry to hear that. Drink?” “Sure.” He stands and pours for both of us. Trav brings it back and sits with me. Our glasses clink before we take a drink. “One of my friends....he’s a freelancer---an architect. I came over to his place and he has some magnificent writings. I told him that I knew you and you are looking for ideas.” There is a silence. “The least you can do is look, right?”

“I will, gladly.” I wink and take another drink. “Great! His name is Sean Levy.” “How are you? How’s your family?” “Well. Thanks. My kids are sick, so you know what that means.” “Don’t have kids?” “Exactly.” At that moment, his assistance comes to the door. “Mr. Levy is here.” “Send him in.” He says, cheerfully, before taking his seat behind his desk. I watch the blonde young man walk into the office.

“Sean, my boy---come on in.” Sean walks straight up to me and we shake hands. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jetson.” “Call me Dorothy, or Dot.” I nod.

Sean gives a full presentation to me. Three ideas and locations around New Bordeaux. I couldn’t help but to have stars in my eyes when I speak to him. An aquarium downtown, a new park in the Hollow, an amusement park in River Row. There’s no way that I can afford this, but a girl can dream---or pretend.”

“Look who it is.” Nicki is sitting at the balcony of our penthouse. We kiss before I take a seat. “It’s a beautiful view at night.” “It is.” She passes me her cigarette. I take two puffs and pass it back. “I hear the Galante fellow, you were telling me about, is coming to town.” “He is.” “Ray’s asking for all kinda information for each district.” That reminds me that I should check on Morty. “He must be the real deal.” “He really is.” I take the cigarette again and take a puff.

“Should I be nervous?” “I wouldn’t tell him that we are gay.” I chuckle, “but it seems like a quick visit and we’ll show him a good time. I’m surprised he’s coming---he’s a very old man.” I start to observe our view of New Bordeaux. I sigh. “How am I going to impress him with this?” “Babe.” She responds. “Give yourself a break. You’re just getting started.” “I just feel a lot of doubt.” “You shouldn’t.” “Nicki, you’re...running a great business-” “With a lot of head starts and a boss who just wants us to earn.” She holds my hand. “Danna doesn’t understand legitimacy. If he doesn’t want to run it. You do it.” “I am running it.” “Yet, you slow down and wait for him to catch up.”She kisses my hand. “Sometimes, I just dream that you’ll do really well, like we both know you can, and you’ll bring me with you.” What a warming thought. “I would always bring you with me.”

---

On the Friday before Galante’s visit. I decided to head to the Ristorante. Alma has not been returning my calls, it’s time to take matters into my own hands.

Betty drove Camille and me to the Ristorante for seafood. The night began normally, even lively.

“There it is.” Betty gestures with her face. There is a drunk man at the bar.

“He’s just drunk.” Camille says, “There’s nothing wrong with getting drunk at the bar.”

“Yes, but if you get rowdy with the staff. There’s different.”

I made eye contact with Mr. Gleason and he walks over to me. “Is he belligerent, yet?” I look up at him. “He’s not supposed to be here, entirely.” He tells us. “We banned him.” “So, how did he get in?” It’s rhetorical. Alma’s guys let him in. I think Gleason believes he’s in trouble. He says nothing. “Tell the boys to have him escorted.” He goes to leave, but I pull him back. “You’re doing a great job.” I pat him as he leaves.

About an hour later, and I have drink or two more in me. All three of us do. “That is a shame.” Betty shakes her head.

“What?” “The drunk is back.” “Oh no.” Camille brings her face to the palm of her hand.

“He’s back?” I look around. My surprise disappears when I actually see him. “Okay, I have had enough.” I stand and walk outside. I walk straight to one of Alma’s guys. “Excuse me.” I say, getting in his face.

“The fuck am I paying you for?” Are my first words. He looks slightly surprised, but I don’t give him a chance to speak. “There is a man in my establishment, who has been asked out. He is back. Why is that?”

Another man walks up to us. “We’ll get him now, Ms. Jetson.” “Quickly.” I say. “Then I want my explanation.” I watch them leave. When I look over, Betty and Camille are standing near me. The men walk the drunk out, he’s being held up by two of his friends. I watch him vomit on the ground. That’s just great. “This would not be happening if you would have kept him out.” I continue to berate the security and the drunk. I want them to feel this.

“Come on, lady!” One of his friends tells me. “We’re leaving.” “Not fast enough.” I start. “Any longer and I will tell these men to get rough.” As if they’ve listened to me before. The friends turn and comes face to face with me. This is just more proof that Alma’s boys are not going enough.

I feel something bulgy and wet hit my chest. I look down and it’s black. The man spit tobacco on my chest! Alma’s men draw their guns. “Do not fire!” I yell. The last thing I need is a murder in front of my establishment. “I want you to feel this. I want you to feel the weight of your mistake for a long time.” I point for them to leave. The men roughly remove him.

“What is that?” Camille starts to clean me off.

“Tobacco juice. That son of a bitch.”

“I want to see Alma, first thing. Even if I have to come to her”.

---

The next morning, I came to meet Alma at the warehouse. I’m sure she’s been expecting me---I’ve been expecting her.

“Good morning.” Alma joins me in her office. “Hello.” Admittedly, I am nervous.

“So, I heard about the fiasco last night.” She offers me a cigarette, I decline. “What can I do for you?” “I’ll tell you what I was looking for. Tighter security, to be taken seriously, your men didn’t even know I was there.” “So we slipped on security. I’ll work on that.” That’s it?

“You said that two weeks ago.” I put my hand on her desk. It dawns on me and it’s time for me to speak from the heart. “You’re not different than the men you sent to me. You look weak, Alma. Is that just how you all do business?”

Alma and I both realize what I just said. “You wanna say that to me again?” Shit.

“S-sure.” I choke. “Alma. Let’s figure this out-” I have to be careful. I am on Alma’s territory, with all her men. “Look, I didn’t want to be in charge of this job.” She spits out. “They shouldn’t tell me what to do with my men. You wanna go legit and cater to those racist fucks; the ones who helped Marcano? Fine. This is not what Vito died for.” Jesus. Did she breathe during that put down?

“Fine, Alma.” I shrug. “You’re fired. Pull your men out of the ristorante.”

“I can do that.” I leave her office and I’m steaming. She says I make Vito’s death in vain? This is all Vito wanted----I think.

“The Jetson Organization.” “Camille. I’m pulling Alma’s guys from the ristorante.” “Oh.”

“Please speak to Betty and Gleason.” “...Are you alright?”

“Fine. Thanks.” I take a breath before hanging up. I close the door with my foot before walking into the factory.

Nicki is talking to someone next to a shipment. Her eyes get big, and then relax, when she spots.

“Excuse me.” She pats him. We never show affection in public. Instead, we settle for a hug. “Can you talk?” “Sure. Let’s walk.” Nicki tells me. “I’m pulling Alma’s guys from the Ristorante.”

“I’m sorry it’s gone that far.”

“She told me, Vito didn’t die for me to work legit.”

“Ouch. The fuck is her problem?” “I think she made it clear.” “I guess she did.” “I’m here on business, Nicki.” “Oh. She realizes. “Dot-” “I do need security.” I pause. “I could ask Emmanuel but-” “Babe, you can’t ask anyone.” She stops me. “This is Alma’s district. We need to think about this Dot.” “You’re right. You’re right.” “We’ll discuss this tonight.” She holds my shoulders. “Okay?” “Okay.” I’ve had to do some apologizing to Ron Gleason about the lack of security. He’s so worried.

“Saggio Residence.” “...I need security.” “For you? Dot?” “For the Ristorante in River Row. Anyone but Alma’s guys.”

“That’s messy.” Ray sighs. “Let me see what I can do, kid.”

“Thank you.” “And, hey.” Here is goes. “We’ll discuss this. Goodnight.”

----

“Good morning, kid.”

“Morning.” Ray and I met in my office, first thing in the morning. “I’m not gonna keep Nick’s men in there long. I hope that’s not your intention.” “It wasn’t.” I say. “Alma and I are not working well together.”

“Tsk, Tsk. You know, I bet it’s personal.” He starts, “You shouldn’t take things so personally. You’re gonna make this affect business.” “She made it so we can’t avoid that.” “Look, Alma did take some convincing about the security job.” He starts to light up a cigarette. “And I’m supposed to deal with her being purposefully difficult?” “Dottie.” Camille buzzes. “Camille.” “Patrick Conti is here for your meeting with Ray.” Patrick is Alma’s boss.

I look at Ray and my shoulders drop.

“Send him up.” Ray says, in a girlish tone.

“Ray. Dottie.” Pat greets us. “It’s been too long.” He extends his hand to shake. What the hell right? My issue isn’t with him. “Of course.” We shake. “How are you, Pat?”

“Well, I hear we have a situation on our hands.” He takes a seat. “Thanks for making it, Pat.”

“Dot, let me apologize for Alma.” He says, “Yes, we’ve had some difficulty persuading her to the importance of legitimate business. I believe in it, however.”

Jesus, Patrick is turning on the Empire Bay charm.

“Allowing people to cause a ruckus is not what we do.” He says, “She reports to me. Allow me to bring in my men.” “Patrick, your men are her men. Tell me how this would be any different?” “Dot.” Ray stops me.

“They will be kept in check. You have my word.” “Thank you.” We shake hands. “Effective immediately. Please.” “I have a meeting in town.” He fixes his suit. “I’m glad we can agree.” “Goodbye, Pat.” Ray walks him out. “Best deal, I could get ya’.”

“What did you do?” “Some snooping.” He says. “You gotta find it admirable that he came here to appease ya.” “Sure.” “Think about the business aspect for now on, I’m begging you.”

“I hope you’re begging Alma too.” “You two ladies are rough customers.” He says. “I took the time to do this with Leo Galante in town. I expect you both on your best behavior when he meets with all of us.”

---

I had not visited with Mr. Leo Galante during his short trip to New Bordeaux. The Don and Ray have been taking him around the city to different rackets. Finally, before he left to return to Empire Bay, he would meet with all of us.

We all sat for a quick conference.

“Thank you all for coming out to meet me.” Leo says, at the head of the conference table. “This honors me.”

“It’s not many times that I will be able to make a trip to your beautiful city, before it is my time. We must get onto the business, at hand. I have a plan to control all of the United States----to ensure all our friends have jobs. We will build construction fronts, invest in the best companies and charities. We will own the United States. All of it. We’ll make a fortune and the law won’t be able to touch us.”

It’s as if Leo is speaking a speech, written just for me.

After his speech, he is meeting all of us. I found him speaking to the Don and Alma.

“Here is Dottie, now.” The Don gestures. “Mr. Galante. It’s such a privilege to see you again.” He’s aged considerably, over the last two or three years, he’s now in a wheelchair. We shake hands, and I kiss his hand. “You as well. David tells me that you have really grown in your position.” The Don is blowing smoke, I wonder if Danna has even noticed. “I work very hard.”

“Good to see.” He pauses. “Let’s take a little walk, you and me.” I look over at the Don. He gives me a nod.

“Alright.” I push Galante’s wheelchair farther away from where anyone else is. So we can sit together. “What can I do for you, Mr. Galante?” “I’m not under the impression David has a clue what you do around here.” Those words catch me off guard. “I’m sure he does, sir. I manage his legitimate investments.”

“Investing in what?” “Well, he’s-” The look Mr. Galante gives me warns me not to go on.

“People like Danna and Ray have only worked under the table. They don’t respect what legitimacy can bring to the organization. I bet that’s frustrating for you.” “Oh. He listens to me and-” I know to respect my Don, in front of his boss. I shrug. I don’t know what to say. Leo looks like he’d know if I was lying. You never wanna lie to men like Leo Galante.

“Stay close to him, kid. He’ll need you.” He says.

“I’m not going anywhere, sir.”

After Leo’s exit with the Don. I feel someone stand directly next to me. “Hey.” I hear the Cuban accent. “Next time more respect to me, huh? Or else you will pay for it.”

My shoulders drop.

“When didn’t I show you respect, Alma?” Her body turns to face mine and we are face to face.

“During that meeting.” I try to use my notebook to create a barrier between us, so we aren’t chest to chest. “Next time, more respect to me.” She thinks she’s intimidating me. “Alma. I respect you as an earner. As a person--- you could use some work.” “I don’t know what your corporate friends mean when I say more respect, but here, I expect respect.” “That’s enough, Alma.” Nicki adds. She, Emmanuel, and Enzo are near us.

“You wanna let that temper get the better of you?” “I’m fine.” “Me too. I’m great.” I wink.

Nicki stands between us. That is where I see my chance.

I grab Nicki by the hand and yank her out of the way. I launch forward and punch Alma in the face. It knocks her down, but it doesn’t knock her out. In fact, she pops up and lunges at me.

Unfortunately for her, we are both forced to separate. I feel that I’ve won this battle.

The italians in the organization find it hilariously entertaining that I cold cocked Alma. Emmanuel and Nicki gave me shit for hitting her. I don’t care. No one can tell me that they have never wanted to punch Alma in the face. I needed to punch her---it was a boost to my confidence.

#Louisiana Uproar #mafia au #my writing #strong female lead #strong female character #strong female #feministfiction #feministmafia

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