Interception-(Urchin)

[Romeo]

"I can taste the sonnets in your tears and savor all your irrational fears. I swallow the unspoken words and choke on the final message that will never be delivered. Look at me, *****. What do you see besides the barrel of a loaded gun held by me? Don’t make a sound. Hold your breath, baby, and count to three. Will they miss us? **** that. Will they miss you? Yeah, I can hear them now. Here is what they will say. Just like that Romeo killed Juliet with the climax of her shattering heart.”

Romeo. Not going to lie. That caught my attention more than the two stamped with criminal warning labels sitting in front of me in the movie theater. Romeo is my name. Last name. Everyone has one and that was the one I was given thanks to the married businessman from Madrid who always seemed to find his way to the states after he knocked up my Mom. I saw him the first couple years of my life. When his wife finally grew tired of playing deaf, dumb and blind his frequent flyer miles were revoked. Little did she know she did us all a favor. It is no surprise that every time I am around cigars I immediately think of him.

Even though the film ended the scent of theater popcorn was hard to escape. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I liked it. Truth is I liked it as much as smelling gym socks. Used and unwashed gym socks. No one can get into that smell but when it is around it clings to everything. It was on the black wool while it found the spot it fit over my shoulders like a second skin. My job took me places worse than I currently am in. I am a detective so I could be in far less accommodating places related to my work. It still stands that even a day old corpse left out to the sun bothered me less the butter saturated popped corn in the overpriced buckets left abandoned on the increasingly empty seats I passed by. I am pretty sure it goes back to the first time I got drunk. High School. I nearly drowned in my own vomit which just happens to nearly fill up a bucket of popcorn. All it took for me to avoid it in the future. As for booze...well, that was still on the list of things to do.

Finally out of the doors the bite of the cold air hitting me was the distraction I needed. The buzz of the movie patrons who were reviewing the matinee that had ran two weeks longer than it was worth previewing I could do without. The film sucked ***. There was only one reason I was there. Actually, make that two.The extremity numbing air greeted my face as I stepped out of the only theater in the northern exposure hole known to the rest of the world as Harper Rock. I need a raise and given the gust of wind that hits my face I also need a scarf.

My fingers fumbled to get hold of the keys in the pocket that was known for swallowing up contents and depositing them into some abyss where they could never be found. Thankfully my eyes could ward off a second glance from most. It seems it worked when one of the two men in front of me glanced back briefly while my eyes drifted just enough so that they would not raise suspicion.The two ahead of me made it seem like I was following a funeral procession on foot. Which was sort of the case. Might as well get the practice in while they still could. The below zero temp made it a task for me but I was already invested in this. While they were taking their own sweet time, since they were dressed to stand still comfortably right where they were if they decided to, I noted the typical key points of each subject and banked the information for the report that would eventually be expected.

“That was some fucked up ****.” The bulk of material layering the two barely moved as they paused waiting for a car to pass by in the parking lot. “Why not just say it like it is?” A forced smoker’s cough released a cloud of moisture that reeked of ingested nachos. “The Godfather. That is where you see how they do things. Maybe Scarface.”
“Last time we sit through a shitty movie together. I feel robbed. I don’t even know what the hell I watched. You owe me ten bucks you stupid ********.” The bodies once again were on the move and so was she. “And guess what? Your boy fucked up. He didn’t show so you know what that means. I am not cleaning up your messes anymore. You take care of it. Pick up your tools, take out your garbage and don’t forget to recycle. I don’t want to answer any questions.” The driver’s door opened to the car that had windows tinted darker than were legal. Who was the real idiot between the two? “Call me when you are finished.”
“No shots heard around the world. Got it.” The car door closed so I am given no choice but to walk casually along to the sounds of winter construction boots still on the move in front of me. I glance down to the imprints left in the snow and figure it is a safe bet they are 13 wide. His grumbling was evidently louder than he likely picked up on. “Fuckin’ dumbass.I should shoot him first.” What happened next was nothing new but felt like it every damn time it happened. Flashbacks. PTSD was the one thing that remind her she had seen worse.

The scent of gunsmoke found her overpowering the nauseating buttered popcorn.The surroundings quickly shifted to the dull confines of the room she remembers sitting in during the interrogation three years before. Eyes that lied a thousand times and held no remorse fixed on her and she didn’t blink. Fear had no place in her but curiosity continuously reigned. Silently she asked herself, ‘Did he enjoy it as much as she had the first time? Or the second?’ She was sure no one enjoyed it as much as she did the first time she committed murder. After that she remembered faces more than the count.

Thirty minutes later back at the station and two Mountain Dews down to combat the shiver crawling beneath my skin I find I am looking at a face I wish would just go away for good. I could make that happen but really it would be shooting myself in the foot so to speak. He has ratted out enough people that my job has required less time and effort hunting them down.

“Yes, I did it. I pulled the mother ******* trigger.”

The street drifter that was known for being the cheapest and messiest hit man in the area was once again sitting across from me like he should be taken seriously. Slapjack. Yeah, it is his street name. I personally believe he must have been one of those the minute he was born it set off all sorts of red flags to whoever tended to his poor mother. It was that or he was found under some rock and given mercy by someone that should have been shot on sight for doing so. Seconds turn into minutes while he goes about how he did it while I show as much enthusiasm as I did the last time that blind date from Fairbanks asked if he could paint my toe nails. I know the half-*** confession will be changed just as soon as he finds out why he was really hauled in for questioning. He had no clue he was ruled out as a suspect in the case. Who was I to ruin it for him?

“But not as much as you get off on it.” He leaned in to the desk giving me that look like I was supposed to be paying attention. Despite the officer next to him starting to raise a hand and cue him to not get any ideas he moves in even closer. I can feel my gun in my hand even though it is secured at my side. “I heard stories about you, sweetheart. You are as dirty as they can get.” Of course he has. I am legend. My questionable record speaks for itself. I take my cue and cut it short.
“And you are wasting my time.” Someone had to set him straight. This is part of my job. Like reading a script I give it to him cold and short. Slapjack doesn’t have the smarts to keep up with a long winded dialog that his grape won't have room to absorb or process. “Are you going to tell me where he is hiding this time?” I glance to the officer in the room. He is new on the force so I might as well fill him in.“He knows where they all hide. It saves us some time. If we want to know where someone is we just ask him. They call him a Hyena in the slums, Slapjack if the can tolerate him.Me?” I shrug with the limited interest I can invest in doing so. I think cockroaches have more fight to them. Even a rat is better at keeping secrets.”
“Awww now you know that is simply not true. Don’t sweat the competition.They call me when they need **** done. Business is business. Granted I don’t put the passion into it like you do but I do take care of business. Isn’t that what counts?” He laughed at his own words and I feel my brows lift while his lips keep flapping. “Don’t get mad because I won’t tell you what you want to hear and give you the truth instead.” His dirty fingers started picking at the dark line of expired matter between his front teeth and I could gag at what comes out on the top of finger. “Truth is she will have you pushing up daisies in Thornside Park and those having a picnic above ground wouldn’t even know you are there. Isn’t that right?” He barely has the time to wink before I stand up and step around the table. He knows I am coming. This isn’t our first rodeo.I plant my right palm flat on the surface in front of him and have my back to the officer responsible to back me up. He keeps his eyes on me while he lowers his voice like he is telling me a secret. “Settle down. My lips are sealed.”
“Your time is up.” My eyes pin on his face. Despite their slow movements back and forth he knows better than to so much as blink. Now we were getting somewhere. I push down on the table and where my hand was fastened to the back of his chair sending my body back up standing nice and tall. If looks could kill it was safe to assume he was already a dead man. He knows it.“Get him out of here. He can walk back to the hole we found him in.”

The walk back to my office has me pausing briefly to grab more of the hours old coffee sitting in the plastic thermos carafe. It is well known that I thrive on its effects even if it was like a acidic liquid punch to my neglected gut. The RTIC white gloss stainless steel tumbler held thirty ounces of the one thing that would keep my eyes open for as long as I need them to be. I carry it with me as I move through the narrow hallways that gave me no choice but to acknowledge the uniforms and faces I don’t like enough to say hi to. Once inside my office I set the well insulated beverage container down and pulled off my wool jacket. It lands on the sofa that looked like it came out of some seventies movie clip. I like it. The design said anything but comfortable and the upholstery was known to give some a case of unexpected hives. That made it perfect because I don’t want anyone hanging out.

It didn’t take any more time than the curve of my jean covered backside settling into the rolling chair to hear the outdated desk phone ring for attention. I hate phones. I take my time sipping from my much needed white tumbler while waiting for the annoying sound to stop. It continued on.someone was persistent. And I am out of fucks to spend. I Lean forward and quickly tap a few buttons that re-routed the call back to the front desks. That takes care of that.

“So, what did you find out?” The door to my office closed and I was left looking at the one responsible who was bold enough to begin claiming a seat despite the lack of invitation to do so. “Who is next?”

My eyes narrow as I try to pinpoint how this asshole clearly out of jurisdiction fits into things. Who is next? Well now that was a damn good question.

[Urchin]

Everyone had a price. Hell, even I had a price. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. Chances are, I’d be six feet under somewhere, or one of those headless bodies that keep getting dragged from the rivers every spring through fall by Harper Rock’s not so finest. Most of them are more crooked than the real crooks out there. I’d know.

I wasn’t born to this life, or started out early in the criminal underground world. If anyone I knew while growing up saw me today, or heard any stories, they’d tell you there was no way you were talking about the same guy. They’d tell you there was no way that Victoria and Roger’s boy was tied to any crime organization. I had a one track mind when I was growing up. I knew by the age of seven what I wanted to be (or so I thought). I wanted to be a scientist to some degree-Probably an astronaut. Both my parents supported it, both having degrees of their own. It wasn’t hard for me to get into a college when it was time; I could go to either one my parent’s attended or half a dozen others that I showed some interest in during my high school years. I finally decided to go to the university that my mom went to, because it was the furthest away from the city I was born in, grew up in, and graduated high school from.

I enrolled in the computer science program, which disappointed both my parents. They thought I was selling myself short and didn’t think there would be much need for something like that in the years to come. People needed things like teachers, doctors, scientists, and anything else. They couldn’t accept that people could sit behind a screen all day and make a decent wage. Probably because all they could remember about computers was me playing games like ‘Oregon trail,’ “Sim City,’ and other random computer games while I was in school. Basically, my parents saw me as the kid that would never grow up, get married and have the average amount of kids that people had. What respectable woman would want to marry some guy who played video games all day?

I love my parents, but they’re simple minded cretins. Off to college I went in a state that was almost seventeen hundred miles away. The last summer before college had been awkward at best. Uncomfortable. Going to Texas State had been the breath of fresh air; even in a warm, stifling and humid atmosphere, that I was longing for.

The first year went by quick enough, the second seemed to drag. It was the end of March, or early April when I met her. It was around that time because I could remember starting to not wear a coat and could just go out in a hoodie. I was standing outside the dorm I was housed in waiting for a ride to some party of a friend of a friends and she was outside smoking a joint and I shook my head. I wasn’t a goodie goodie by any means, but I thought it was a little risky. Her name was Perla, and apparently her dad only called her ‘Princess.’ Everyone that was anyone knew who she was and she was untouchable. Her dad had a lot of money and gave a lot to the university too. I can’t even remember how many times he got us out of trouble at my time during my studies. It wasn’t like that. She wasn’t her. The one that turns someone inside out and and makes them change their ways for the better. This isn’t that kind of story.

I never finished my time at A and M. My third year of studies, I found everything to be monotonous and the course restricting. They only let you go so far and taught you so much-what a waste of twenty thousand dollars a year. I withdrew before Thanksgiving that year, and can remember the conversation at the planned Thanksgiving day dinner. ‘Now what will you do with your life, Greyson?’ ‘We wasted all this money sending you to school, Greyson,’ and other conversations that only expressed my parent’s disappointment. Simple minded cretins couldn’t even surmise my true inner thoughts on my parent’s and people like them. I told them I would figure something out and pay them back when I could, and I managed to do both those things. You see, Perla’s dad was a -very- influential man in the world of Economics, trading and business. And her dad saw some ‘potential’ and wasn’t as closed minded. His business was one of the first to make grand advances towards the technology only a third of the world’s companies possessed today.

I didn’t start out in any real serious position; I had to earn it. Prove it. I started out small scale, doing some numbers and entering them into emails and spreadsheets. Monotonous ****. And right when I was about to hand my two weeks in with a really nice letter of thanks, I was promoted. And the promotions kept coming as I kept working hard, and proving myself and showing off my talents and abilities. Eventually, I got to work behind the scenes of some things that may, or may not have been legal in terms of offshore accounts. I paid my parents the forty-seven thousand dollars I owed them back within two years and never went back home. I call every Christmas and on their birthdays, but I’ve never gone back. A place like that couldn’t keep someone like me around for too long. I’d stick out like a sore thumb.

With all the money coming in from legal and illegal business dealings, the company expanded to the northern states and finally, a few branches in Canada. I’ve had my time spent in each one, setting things up like security programs, web pages, databases and other odds and ends in the world of technology. Just three months ago I was sent here to help with a few technical ‘glitches.’ Amateurs. Needless to say, it’s been a long time since I sat down and played ‘Oregon trail,’ or created a city of some description.

And so, we fast forward to the here and now. Tonight. I never enjoy being the bearer of bad news, even if it comes with a promotion, or a raise. Bad business is bad for everyone, especially when you’re laundering money, or hiding it away in some tropical destination no man’s land. Or, even better yet, some account that was set up by yours truly that’s sitting in cyber land waiting to be cashed in when it hits a certain dollar amount.

But, I had bad news to deliver with the President of the company and it wasn’t going to be pretty. I grab the port from out of my computer, place a call and let the phone ring two times before hanging up. He’ll know I’m coming. I stand up, grab my sunglasses and put them on before heading out of the office.

My office doesn’t have a view, and even though I’m the top ‘dog’ of my area, I don’t have a secretary either. I don’t associate with most employees. I only know a handful by name until I get a file on them, or I have a reason or need to investigate them further. It’s beyond protocol. I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to get people rich, keep them rich, and keep our information safe, secure, and hidden. My office is in the basement and only four other people have access to this area. The President of this branch, a security guard, and two people who are in my employ. One male and one female. We seldom speak to the other. We aren’t paid to talk to the other; they’re paid to look at numbers and codes, and I’m paid to watch them and do things that are a little more detail oriented. A little more...illegal.

I see the other two as I leave my office, both sitting in their usual places in their assigned cubicles. “I’ll return shortly.” I tell them as I stuff the USB in the right pocket of my pants. I pull a key card out of my left pants pocket, and activate the unlock portion of the door with a swipe of the card. Both barely make eye contact with me, but I get a response in some low tone of an ‘okay,’ or something close to that. I step out of our ‘office’ for lack of a better word, and make eye contact with the security guy that’s sitting at his desk, drinking his four hour old coffee. He puts the newspaper he was browsing at, down and stands. “I’m going to Mr. Blanchet’s office. The other two are still in there working. Lunch isn’t for another hour, and I hope to be back by then. If not, feel free to open the door and let them know.” Yeah, I work for that sort of company, not that I blame them. The three of us are working with large accounts and sums of money. Every meal time and going home time, I have set new passwords for the accounts to make sure we’re not going to lose anything. The two I work with are trusted, but large sums of money makes friends into enemies real quick.

The guard nods and looks at the computer screen that shows the inside of the ‘office,’ where the two cubicles are at. His eyes won’t move from the screen while I’m gone, his job and life depends on it. I spent the bulk of my time in the elevator thinking how I will be the bearer of bad news. No one likes bad news, but it’s all about how you deliver the bad news. Calm, and collected is best, facts and how to solve the problem is always an added plus. The elevator opens before I’m ready, but I can’t turn back now. He’s waiting for me and he knows I only come up when there are problems.

“Mr. Blanchet.” I tell him as I push open the door and give him a nod of my head. My fingers search for the USB stick in my pants pocket and my thumb rubs over the slick surface of it. I flip it and play with the knob that springs it up and brings it back down as I keep approaching Blanchet’s desk.

”What’s going on, Weaver?” He likes calling people by their last names. I noticed this the first time we met. Everyone is their last name or the initial of their last name. “We have a problem with one of the cops on our payroll.” I tell him as I sit down in one of the chairs on the other side of his office desk. I take a deep breath in and continue to share what I know. “I’ve been keeping tabs on their accounts; the ones we put money into every month. And their private accounts; outstanding loans, mortgages, things of that nature.” I take out the stick and slide it across the desk to him. “One of them had a small amount deposited into an account I don’t think he thinks I’m aware of. I didn’t think anything about it, it wasn’t anything too large, but still caught my attention.” He nodded his head and waited for me to go on. “Then last week he had another small amount put in, by a different account in the sum of five thousand dollars and then today, another five thousand dollars. He’s telling someone, something, and it’s all coming from the same bank, just different account numbers.” I say, as I nod to the stick. “It’s all in there, anything and everything you need to know. From when he opened the account, the dates of deposits, the dates he took money out, and the name of the people on the accounts. I’ve done a background check on all three names and I can only find superficial information about them at best. Things that are only a couple years old at best. I’m positive the accounts are fake and hiding the true identity of the real person paying our ‘friend.’ I say as I sit back in the chair and straighten out the thin black tie around my neck. “I could try and take what’s left in the account and put it into one of our own. Bet that would surprise him when he tries to withdraw today or tomorrow.” I grin at the offering, but say no more as he starts to reach for the USB stick. ”No. I think we’ll handle this a different way.” He says as the stick is fit snugly into a port and he starts going through the files of information.

[Romeo]

I know it is a long shot but I go for it. I can’t afford to be losing on this one and what I choose to do will make all the difference in the world on how I roll from here. I lean back and get comfortable because either way I am about to find out a little more about what will help my cause. And about that...My cause is faceless, nameless and yet able to be present everywhere I go. Sort of like that invisible stick up the *** that people claim I have. I, on the other hand, would liken it to an annoying ******* shadow that I can’t shake. God knows I have tried… tried damn hard.

“You ask a lot of questions for someone who wasn’t invited in.”

It is a fact. I look at the face and forget the badge. I know him or at least his type. He thinks he is coming in holding all the cards but he is wrong. My office, my game and my rules. He is a pawn and he is stepping on a fine line because I like my space. Especially when I walk into my office and take my seat. It says two things to those who know me well. One, I got a lot of **** to do and it is work. Two, I don’t have time to play when I am in it. Which means I am losing out while this moron wants to play Clue.

“So…” I barely get started and he is already interrupting.
“Connor.” He jumps in as if it was safe to assume he knew what I was thinking or going to say next. “The name is Conner.”
“I know who you are. I don’t think you are anywhere close to having the clearance to ask.” Blunt is one way to put it. He is a rookie to me and trying to dig in the wrong sandbox which says he knows something. If he is sharp enough to take the hint is what will be decided. “Conner.”
“I can help you out.” I nod slowly like I am down for what he has to offer as he stands up and heads for the door.
“Thanks for leaving.”

The power of suggestion is a wild card in these scenarios. If he was smart he would leave. As for me. Well, I wish my job was always this easy. I need to remember to close my door. Lock it even. I have too much interference going on and I need to overhaul my strategy on how I deal with it. I make a mental note on that when I hear my office door close. I plant my feet solid on the floor beneath them and rock their position back to balance on their heels. I press down and dig in which pulls my body towards the desk once my chair rolls.

“Sorry, sort of a habit.”

I watch the plainclothes cop closely while brushes his palms together as if the last thing he touched was contaminated with dirt. It just so happens that the particular item he had most recent contact with would be the interior doorknob in my office. There is only one and once again I am reminded I don’t even have a closet in the box they set me up with during my last promotion. If I break this case I will be sure to get pick of my next one.

“I felt I needed to wash my hands as soon as I got in the front doors.”

The sound of his body sinking back down into the seat was brief. He didn’t put any effort into appearing relaxed. He sat as if the seat beneath him could eject him at any given moment. Observations, body language. It is the first things I am trained to pick up on. I also discovered all of it can be manipulated to such a degree you feel inclined to hand out awards for outstanding performances.

“You still have time.” I leave it at that.
“They don’t pay like they should to do this job.” Conner was proving how easy it is to say too much in one sentence. “They say a little risk provides bigger rewards. I am up for that if you know anything about it? Before you say anything...I did a little investigative work.” As soon as he said that a little grin spread over his lips. “It’s how come I wound up here sitting in your office.”

I started wondering if I missed a memo somewhere. Either the circus was missing a clown or I was getting some unexpected heat from the opposite side of my desk. Heat that could be towards any number of things I had going on. Believe me there is enough to focus on. All of which I don’t take kindly to being used as bait to fall into the extortion game this idiot was trying to start. He came in needy. He had some bills. A little more sweat on his brow than he felt he deserved.I had no sympathy for the lines under his eyes from lack of sleep courtesy of the thankless job he signed his *** up for. He wanted in but he failed to realize is that he was knocking on the wrong door. He also just proved beyond a reasonable doubt on my part that he was as dirty as they come.

“And what am I supposed to do for you besides show you to the door and point you towards employee benefits and human resources?”

I give a mental comb over of my most recent activities that could only add to my current reputation for being the best and worst beneath my badge. A few things stand out but there is equal measure on some progress in my current case of Where is Waldo that could always save my *** if I was called up for some sort of review. If he had something he needed to drop it quick before I did as much with him.

“I got a bit of time before I go back in.”

He made the first move to stand up. It was then that I confirmed that Conner was only human like me. In a city full of exceptions he was still holding his own and the color of his cheeks and the pulse beneath his jaw when he rolled his shoulders back left no question. Sure there were those that could make it hard as hell to know the difference until you were right up in their face. At which point you ran the serious risk of having a case of dazed and confused if you were lucky. I happen to have been that route more than a few times to know better.

“Tell you what.” Conner gave me the one nod upward as if his coolness factor jumped for even doing it. “I will catch you around ten or a little after outside Climber’s Tavern. There is that little outdoor cove on the side where I have seen you passing by. Need I say more?” He is heading towards my door and just about when I am planning my next move he says more than he should once again. “Don’t get any ideas.”

I really wonder if he wants to push his luck. My eyes find him increasingly questionable just when I had him pegged for being the dumb *** of the century. I am in my office and I could be recording everything he has said. I could but I am not. He left enough of a trail walking into the front doors. I will have to ride this one out. It means a little more of my time will be eaten up by this disphit until I can deal with him properly. He called it. He wants to hit the Cove. That is the invitation people like me, even cops, don’t pass up.

[Urchin]

It doesn't take long for Mr. Blanchet to confirm what I've said, or at least have the suspicion that Conner whatever his last name is; something polish I can't say for the life of me, has been doing something 'interesting.' The stick is pulled from the port and pocketed in Mr. Blanchet's suit coat-for now. He looks to the door, before picking up the phone at his desk and punching in three numbers. I hear the line ring once, before it's picked up by a guy with a vaguely familiar tone. He's more or less our 'funding' guy in the company-at least that's what we tell everyone. “When it Mr. Wojciechowski due to stop by for his weekly stipend?” There are a few muffled words, a nod from Mr. Blanchet and then an interjection. “Tell him we've heard some things on the street. We need him to stop by for verification; and that we have his weekly stipend early, as incentive.” There were a couple more words before Mr. Blanchet hung up and then molded his fingers together as he became engrossed in deep thought. “He'll be here in a few hours. Until then...go to lunch. I'll have my secretary call you when he's on his way.” Mr. Blanchet said, as I already started to stand.

I don't give anything else much thought after I leave the office and give the lady at the desk a wink. Her name is-I actually can't remember. Something with S. We've had coffee together once or twice before due to running in the other at the same place at the same time. She's nice enough, but I'm sure she's not entirely a nice girl. She's got to know the type of person she works for. We all do on some level. Sheila; no, Shayla-yeah, that's it; holds a finger up, indicating I should wait while she finished her phone call with whoever on the line. I nod, take a step around the desk and then back a little, offering her some shred of privacy, while I give her the once over. She's got dark hair, kind of short for my liking, and wears too much make-up too. I bet she would be prettier without so much eye shadow and lipstick, but a woman's prerogative and all that. “Hi, Greyson.” She leans forward and I already know where this is going. I only had coffee with her because she saw me both times and invited me over both times. “Hey, Shayla.” I come to realize I don't know what her last name is, which is what I would have used instead.

“I've got lunch in about twenty minutes. There's this new place a few blocks away. I thought maybe we could go together...if you're interested?” I wasn't interested. I mean, I was interested in eating, but I wasn't interested in having a lunch date with anyone, unless it was for business purposes, or talking about getting a raise. Which made me realize that I was due for one soon; I think in March. I give her a firm smile, then look at the clock behind her head. “I can't, Shayla. I need to go to lunch and be back for Mr. Blanchet soon. Maybe next time?” I offer, but already know I'll have an excuse for the next time she asks again. ”Oh, right! Sure! That's fine! Next time. Have a good day, Greyson.” She leans back in her chair and turns her attention to her computer at her desk. I slip away briskly, deciding where I will have my bite to eat on the elevator ride down to the main floor of the building. That very place she was talking about, because I've already been there. The club sandwiches there are amazing. It's got an applewood taste to it and I can already taste it in my mouth. Before I leave the building, my sunglasses find a home on the brim of my nose; one of the downfalls of working in a windowless basement, more or less. It took a while for my eyes to transition from the lights we use in the building, to the sun; something I didn't see a lot of, most days.

→ → → → → →

I'm back at the building, having not ran into Shayla while at the sandwich place. Either she changed her mind, I was lucky, or she was running late. I took the sandwich to go, just in case the Polish guy popped by earlier than anticipated. I'm scrolling through some expenditure accounts for the last quarter, nothing raising any flags or garnering my interests. I save a copy of everything by each department's name and am almost done when my phone rings at my desk. I know who it is, so I don't spend any time answering with 'hello?' I'm not expecting any calls other than one, so I lift it up and say, “I'll be right up.” I save a few more tally's from each department, grab my laptop, and then head up to Mr. Blanchet's office. Chances are, the Polish guy will be there before I'm there, but that's fine. The meeting won't go on without me, because I'm the one who found the information and will need to let Conner, whatever his last name is, just what it is I've found and what we're looking at.

“Hi, Mr. Weaver.” Shayla says, the remains of her own sandwich from the same place with the striking logo on the side of her desk. “Shayla.” I acknowledge her with a nod of my head, patting the sunglasses that I put in the breast pocket of suit coat, as I enter the room. I see our 'funding' guy, Conner, Mr. Blanchet and an empty seat for me, because the 'funding' guy is standing against a wall, near a small bar where he's poured himself a drink. I think the guy has a drinking problem, but it's not really my problem, so I don't say anything or care about it. “Weaver.” I hear Mr. Blanchet say from behind his desk, indicating for me to sit in the only place I could. I nod, push a button to 'wake' the computer up out of its sleep mode and begin my work while Mr. Blanchet and the 'funding' guy start talking to each other and occasionally asking Conner some questions. Nothing in depth. I lean towards the desk as the USB stick is slid in my direction and pop it in the laptop.

While that's loading, I've pulled up the local police database with a few backdoor tricks and am searching over reports processed in the last few weeks. It takes a while to do this, so I chuckle along here and there with Mr. Blanchet and 'Funding' man, to keep Conner at bay and ease. I don't know what Blanchet has planned for Conner, but I can tell Conner is suspicious. His laugh isn't genuine, it doesn't even compare to my laugh which is hollow and empty. “How are the wife and your two boys?” I ask as I start skimming through things, looking for key words like our company's name, Mr. Blanchet's name, or even my own. While the informant is kept secret and off the paper trail, it doesn't take long to find three documents right off the bat about the company and all the dates coincide with the dates that Conner got some cash from some unknown source. Conner is talking about his boys, how one is playing basketball for the first time this year, the other enjoying second grade and school. I'm not really paying attention to everything, just enough to seem like I am.

My eyes glance up at Mr. Blanchet, and I nod. He nods back at me and I turn the laptop around to face Conner. I don't even try to say the guy's last name-because **** that. “Conner. We have a problem.” I tell him candidly, and pull up the reports and highlight the dates with my mouse. “It seems there is a strange set of coincidences going around here...You see every day there is a report about Mr. Blanchet and this company, you seem to get some money from somewhere. From the same bank...Pretty funny, right?” I'm not a person who can intimidate people into anything, I'm just the knowledge base and research nerd, more or less. I leave the intimidating to Mr. Blanchet, the 'funding' guy, whose name I think is Sven or something like that. Definitely something that sounded foreign and dangerous. Someone I wouldn't want to **** with or get on the wrong side of.

Conner's eyes start darting between the three of us, 'Sven,' or whatever his name is, just stands near the door, slurping up his drink, while Mr. Blanchet holds a hand up to stop Conner from stumbling out any more words. ”We've always looked after you and your boys, Conner.” Mr. Blanchet started to talk, while I went back to work. Something catches my attention while I'm searching for more more reports written my some guy named officer Romeo. Another report is being drafted at this very moment and some of the things in it are quite...incriminating. As he types out his report, I go back and start putting in the names of other less than stellar companies that I know about due to a few heated exchanges and hearsay from Mr. Blanchet and then start typing in pointless drivel that will have anyone ask, what drugs did Romeo drop before he wrote the report up? I plan on ruining his reputation and discredit him as much as I can, as fast as I can before it's too late.

Just as I'm typing away, I hear the 'debate' between the other three in the room start to turn ugly, but I don't look up and focus on anyone. Not until the report is done and saved. Romeo will be a laughing stock in the department and with his boss. At least I hope so. If not, I'll have to do a little more extensive researching to bring him down in other ways.

[Romeo]

CONTINUATION REPORT

ID/Event Number: 289450-7143

followed up with P.J. Huggins, co-owner of Soak N’ Suds. Business is setup to be a laundromat with net stations for customers to use while using the laundry services. Second owner, John Markel, is currently out of the country and return date is anticipated for early April. Both have files of past offences related to attempted wire fraud and miscellaneous traffic violations.

15 January 2017 at approximately 1800 hours P.J. Huggins attempted to transfer funds between the Soak N’ Suds business account and a joint personal account that both Huggins and Markel have access to. This has been successful in the past over the four years they have been co-owners. Huggins reports that upon several attempts over the course of several hours he was denied clearance to do so. Unable to reach Markel for assistance Huggins called a mutual business associate, Pan Mau, who has a home business located at 831 Rockham Court, Harper Rock. The business, Hot Wire, is set up as a networks solution and consulting based service. Huggins reported that Mr. Mau had resolved various network issues in the past for them that were business related and felt confident that after he spoke with Mr. Mau that he could fix the issue with transferring of funds. Huggins gave the information needed that Mr. Mau stated he required to get into the account and reset security passwords and settings. Mr. Mau assured him the task would re-establish his former access would be restored and to check with him the following day as he had a business trip that would have him out of the area overnight. The time for expected return came and went. Calls by Mr. Huggins went unanswered and voice messages were not returned.

During this time Markel finally initiated contact with Huggins when an attempt to withdraw funds brought his attention to the account he was trying to access had been flagged as hacked and he was advised to contact the financial institution, Citizen’s Business Bank. The events above are currently being investigated through with a production order in place and s.487.013 and s. 462.47 . Mr. Huggins has complied with the investigation that is ongoing as well as Mr. Markel.

Mr. Markel and Mr. Huggins request additional assistance with the preceding attempts at vandalism that has since occurred at their business. Both report that they feel they are related to the 15 January 2017 incident and were advised to contact local law enforcement as it relates to physical property outside the wire fraud.

Mr. Huggins reports his mailbox is missing from his front drive as well as his home office. He contacted the post office which informed him that his mail had been held by his request, which he never issued. Two security cameras on the residential property have been reviewed and found to be disabled. Mr. Huggins denies doing so. Mr. Mau’s contact numbers have been disconnected and his business is vacant. A family contact is currently trying to reach relatives last known to have contact on 17 January 2017 with Mr. Mau. At that time it was by telephone and found to be made from Mexico. Five customers of Soak N’ Suds have reported various online accounts have been hacked that were routinely accessed while using the business net stations. Those reports can be referenced at ...

_________________________________

I am on a roll and finally getting closer to getting these reports finished up when I am interrupted by the sound of the desk phone I can seriously do without. I watch it and wait. Maybe it will go silent when the first three rings get no response. Nope. The count is five and now it appears I am supposed to answer. It could be my boss. I do have one. Not that she isn’t well aware of my habit of ignoring my phone. She knows where my office is. By the seventh ring I conclude if I don’t pick up I could be hearing it for quite awhile.

“Romeo” I answer as I always do if I answer my phone at all.

It is a heads up and the call is over in seconds. I stare at the screen where I was working on my report. It is not at all what I expected while dealing with this case of who hacked who. Mr. Mau is no longer missing. He has been located dangling from a hotel diving board in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico. He won’t be answering any questions personally when his body arrives back in Canada. Apparently with some agressive assistance he ceased breathing at least twelve hours ago. Perhaps longer. The statistics for that crime riddled area are easy to recall.Word has it that it is not at all uncommon to find bodies dangling in that part of Mexico just like the pinatas. As recently as 2010 during the turf and drug wars somewhere between eight and twenty people died a day. Just as many were reported kidnapped. Interesting development but not entirely shocking. Karma a serious *****.

And so was coincidence if I believed in it which more often than not I generally don’t. It suddenly becomes a little deeper than some wire fraud or some missing mailboxes when I glance at my computer screen. Right before my eyes I discover my report that I had been working on starts disappearing word by word without my fingers near the keyboard. I reach forward and just as I am about to take control of whatever is interfering my screen goes black and the power is gone. My day seems to be sending the ****-o-meter into overdrive. I refrain from any attempts on my part to get the computer working. Not that I am not curious at the current issue that has it failing to operate as it should be. I step away from my desk and reach for my jacket and slide it on. I have a relative of Mr. Mau’s to visit and notify that he has been located. I also need to stop by and have a face to face chat with Mr. Huggins.

[Urchin]

You don't have to have a master's degree in underworld crime lore to know how things are going to turn out. I'm pretty sure out rat friend knows too; because while I might not be an expert in reading body language, I can tell when someone is nervous and looking around for an escape route. His eyes are bouncing between me, my boss and our main muscle man. This isn't my forte, and not something I like to be part of. I'm not paid to take the trash out, and know I'd never be good at that sort of thing. I mean, look at me. Compared to muscle man, I'm taller, sure. but I've no where near his bulk in weight and I'm gangly. that's what my dad used to say. Said I grew taller than I did wider when puberty hit and it never caught up with me. I tried lifting weights when I was thirteen or fourteen, but I was more interested in trying to hack video games on computers and game systems to get all the freebies I could get to win. Sue me.

I go back to working on trying to find out information about this detective Romeo and see that they've been under some heat the last year or two. It seemed Detective Romeo had his own little colorful history, which could be used to our benefit. Maybe. Depends on how the angle was worked. I highlight a few important details of police reports and complaints against the detective and copy the information into a file to save for Mr. Blanchet. In case we need it at a later time. I doubt they'll come knocking on our office doors any time soon, but eventually, someone, somewhere will talk. For the right price. Loyalty was a difficult thing to come by when it came to the bottom feeders in the crime world.

I hear our rat problem start to explain his case in a way that's almost groveling. I turn away from the three, so that I'm sitting shoulder side to the conversation and problem. Really, I don't want to be here to see the guy get knocked around, or shot in the head. I don't have the stomach for it. Have you ever seen someone shot at close range before? I have. I've seen blood, brains and even hair stuck to a wall. I shudder as I remember the hotel room incident a few months ago. I pull up a video game and start playing that in silence. Something to take my mind off the conversation between the three men and avoid seeing what Mr. Muscle's was going to do.

That was until there was the sound of breaking glass and a scream of fear. I look up from the screen and see that there are only two men in the room now. Where the hell did rat go to? I feel a sudden breeze and then look towards the wall of windows. ****. ****! "That was dramatic." I say with a shake of my head, wondering how the hell we're going to explain this one to security, the people down below and the cops that are sure to come. While Mr. Muscle was effective in throwing his muscles around, occasionally, the guy was a little sloppy.

[Romeo]

“I have looked at it.”

Of course I have. I looked at it for over an hour before stepping into the office I am currently getting grilled in. I hate stupid questions that are supposed to make the other person feel like a dumb *** but there they were coming at me like rapid fire. I get it. The boss needs to be heard beyond the walls I am getting my *** chewed in. People need to know I am not above falling short of the mark that is out there for everyone with a badge. I am tempted to pull it out and start polishing it while the thunder continues but I know that would only escalate things quicker than would be beneficial for either of us. I nod once because it had been at least five minutes since I last did so.

While the tirade continues I glance at the photos of a big, grinning family wearing mouse ear hats that seems creepy in their placement. Especially the bulging eyed red face that is screaming my general direction. If I had a family I sure as hell wouldn’t put out their photos for public view. What type of business am I in? Law enforcement deals with the less than law abiding criminal minds and those who cater to it. One of the reasons I don’t have one. One of many. I personally wouldn’t set out a picture of my dog either. If I had one. Don’t have one of those either. I have enough trouble cleaning up after myself. I make a mental note to check my weapon and ammo when I get a few extra ‘i hate this world’ moments.

Back to the issue currently at hand and why my *** is in some unexpected hot water. My report on Mr. Huggins, Mr. Markel and the evidently stiff and tight lipped Mr. Mau. Seems that is enough to raise the blood pressure of the heart attack waiting to happen on the opposite side of a rather small desk. I am not worried about losing my job. I got more than enough knowledge that will keep me here no matter what I do. I will get to that later. For the moment the caffeine racing through my system has me wired and a bit irritable. I went through two tumblers full of coffee and have not come any closer to who is responsible since it was first brought to my attention several hours prior. Rather loudly, might I add, through a phone call when I was just about to finally get some sleep. From that point on I sat in my hole of apartment trying to find any clues as to who was the wise guy and more importantly how in the hell did they get into my report to begin with. all of that time was spent so I could be prepared before I walked in the door. Now I am getting hell for it.

“I spent all night reading it, digging between the lines and I have no more answer for you than I did last night. You and I both know I didn’t write it the way it currently is. Hodgkin’s says it’s someone who knows their way into our system. Not one of the regular hackers that knock but don’t get in the door. We should have a few leads as soon as she gets back to me.” I glance at the clock on the wall above the office shelves that hold enough books on law enforcement that remind me how much things have changed since the one I have to answer to first started their career. “I think we need a few more in this pow wow because our system is needing some updating if we got the public proofreading and editing our reports.” The knot in my stomach was tightening up. I need to switch to tea. Tea never leaves me like this. I don’t get the sharp edges poking at me when I get worked up. It just gives me the shits. “I want some goddamned answers. I have work to do and this clown is giving me more.”
“Yeah, that is right.” The hands slapping the desk and locking on the edge as the rest of it stood up appeared to be in agreement. So it wasn’t going to last as long as I first thought. I move to stand as well. “Now you get to go find out why another one of our boys is needing more than five photos of his face to ID him. He was booted from the nest we had him in. You win the prize. You get down there and find out why. Stay off the system for now until I meet with Hodgkin’s. I will get a report from you right here in this office when I ask for it.” I was cut off and knowing the drill as well as I do this is where I go with the sign popping up like a four alarm final warning. The nod of the sweat shine face and head towards the door behind me. It was clear. I was dismissed. “Get going.”

I close the door behind me effectively ending my reception to the bottle of TUMS that was rattling it’s way out of a desk drawer. More than once I was told I would be the death of them and the boss was right. I knew it and was fine with it. I am no chief. I didn’t sign on for it. I am one of the warriors that rides and runs for my own interests. A modern day Robin Hood of sorts. Scratch that. Robin Hood is giving my motives way too much credit. Robin doesn’t have what it takes to touch what I plan on doing when I catch up with this clown. Not even his band of merry men can soothe the hurt coming it’s way.

[Urchin]

“What the hell did you do that for?” The boom of Mr. Blanchet's voice has my attention on him, and moving off Muscle head. I remained quiet, because this wasn't my 'battle,' so to speak. In fact, I even stood and moved to leave the office, but after I took a few steps from where I sat, in the direction of the door, Mr. Blanchet's voice clipped at me like a sharp dagger. Or, so I imagine. Maybe a bullet. Hell if I know. I've never been shot or stabbed before, but it was so sharp that I stopped in my tracks. “Where are you going?” Mr. Muscle hadn't even began to explain why he did what he did (I doubted if he even knew why...the guy seemed like he was on roids and chances were that meant his temper was pretty short. But, he'd never been so sloppy before.

I turn and don't say anything. What could I say? 'Going to take a piss?' What timing. 'I forgot my lunch in the microwave?' Yeah. Right. I was ankle, no, knee deep in **** right along with them. “I was going to get the video footage and play with it.” By 'play,' I mean alter it, delete some stuff, whatever is needed to be done to save our asses. Primarily, my own. ”Right. Good thinking.” Blanchet nodded, his attention back on Mr. Muscle. I make my escape.

I have clearance to just about every place in this building, with a few exceptions. They don't let me anywhere near HR's computers. Not that I blame them. Would you trust a guy who can do virtually anything with computers near your pay system? I'm not offended by it. I head to the main floor where our security room is at, lined with televisions on two sides of the room, while the guy named Hernandez sits on his ***, eats his crunch and much with eyes glued on all the screens he can at one time. Okay, I need to give him a little more credit. The guy sure has some muscle and girth to him. Once I saw him flat out tackle a person who kept going past the check in desk, while he tripped chasing them and broke their clavicle, and popped their knee out of place too. It was sort of crazy and amazing at the same time to see someone go down not at their midsection, but being taken down when he grabbed just one leg; one ankle and fucked the guy up good. Some nosy reporter guy. Come to think about it....I've not seen that guy around here again. Hm.

I don't look ahead of me when I get off the elevator. I just ate lunch a little while ago. That's what I would say, but I hear the sounds of surprise and the wail of sirens in the distance. Mr. Muscle better act quick. As I head to the security room, my phone goes off. I ignore it. This is far more important than anything else at the moment. I rap the back of my hand on Hernandez's door, before using my key card to open the door. “Heads up!” I say, not that I expect him to move from his chair or to be surprised by my arrival. He saw it and he saw me standing outside his door. “We've got a problem. I need that tape.” I tell him, but before I am finished, it's in my hands. I stuff it behind my shirt and then move to take a seat besides him. I need to also get rid of the backup stuff. What they tell anyone about the missing hours of video, or how he died, was up to them.

[Romeo]

“I think you need to get your eyes checked. Look at the evidence, Romeo.”

The suggestion was hardly said by someone who gave a rats *** if I really went through with making an appointment to have it done or not. My vision isn’t needing correction but the attitude coming at me sure does. I am ******* tired of cleaning **** up that isn't mine and I am sure it shows. The one I am sharing space can read me like a book if I stand around long enough. Especially this one. I have seen the inside of their office. Their education exceeds mine by a few pieces of official parchment and earned them a spaces more on the yearly salary. All of which explains the narrowing of my eyes as they fix on the one who is giving me more trouble than I really feel like dealing with. The body beneath both of our noses was more than enough proof that it would would be nearly impossible to miss the signs spread out for viewing on the stainless steel drawer between them.

While I pull at the sheet covering what is left to see of the guy. I shake my head. It is more for effect than it is for some sign I am feeling something over the lack of life that keeps it from sitting upright and telling its side of the story. It isn’t like I care about what happened. It was another idiot that couldn’t cash the checks their *** wrote. Hanging in the wrong places, with the wrong people means things like this are going to happen. Only a dumbass believes they are untouchable. Even I am all too aware my days are numbered as I stand there and try to make sense out of what I see.

“The pericardial tear was no surprise.” The hands across from me produced a set of gloves and allowed the thin latex cuff to snap into place against their skin. I smell more chemicals than I can place as the sounds of a rolling surgical tray briefly catch my attention. “As I was saying...right here.” A gloved finger dips down inside the body which has been divided and looks to be a collection of odd parts that aren’t where they were before. At least not from all the models, diagrams and other real examples I have seen before. “The sternal fracture was enough to suck up the better part of my lunch break trying to piece it back together. Skull, femur and ribs are a no brainer. Haemothorax here.” another shifting of the hand guides my eyes. “Not worth trying to piece back together at this point.Liver is popped. This was hardly the man of steel. If it was he forgot his suit and cape before he was helped out of the window in the building he was in.”

I am there to do my job which is to seem focused and invested in what is being shown to me as if it is going to affect me somehow and will make a difference in what I do after it is all over. I watch the hand take hold of each of these places like they are anything but parts of a deceased body and give their cool mass a grip like he did on the drawer handle that pulled it out for viewing in the first place. I try to ignore my discovery of a few white chips of matter than I guess are some of the guys teeth where the forehead once was.

“I get it. He had some help clocking out.” I glance around the space where we are standing. “Did we get anything off the body such as identification or valuables? Any signs that he was tenderized before his feet left the ground?”
“Nothing.” The sheet was tugged back in place and the adult size body storage bag was zipped up as I watch. “If there was your guys would have it. Nothing came to us besides what you see. Any leads with the building security? Chances are you can see him before he failed to land on his feet.”

A two handed shove is all it takes to send the murder victim back into the dark interior abyss of cold storage until someone finally comes to claim him. I blink. Of course I am heading there to find out next. As far as I am concerned the case was closed as far as with the coroner's office and any more answers needed.

“He was no jumper. Cut and dry. Toxicology will take some time to come back. By then you probably will be able to tell me more than I know right now.”
“I am headed there now.”

I scratch the back of my head for lack of something better to do with my empty hand. I hope that it stimulates my thoughts and I come up with an epiphany as to who did this, when and most of all why. Well, other than the fact he was one of ours and not doing his job as well as he had been expected to do. I feel the vibration on my cell riding my right hip and pull it out without looking at the screen as to who it is.

“Romeo.”

Hardly the most welcoming greeting to an incoming call but I am not interested in talking otherwise I would have been the one that dialed first. Giving out my last name is fitting. I rarely use my title or my first name on the job. Not even when I waste the time answering my office phone. My hand drops from my head slowly as the voice on the other end of the call informs me of offers that are available to me now that I have made my first payments towards things I never knew I went and bought. I hate telemarketers. I hang up without saying another word and block the number as a result.

“You have the paperwork on who signed off on any items taken from the body?” I ask as I follow the one who would have it as they dispose of their gloves with a confident pull and snap towards the wastebin marked with all sorts of hazard stickers. So much for universal precautions. “I need a copy of all of it before I head out.”

[Urchin]

I did the best I could do in the short time frame I had. Which wasn't very good, but it could buy me and the company a few more days to tie up any lose ends. Add in the fact that this cop named Romeo was now a philanthroper, and seemed to have a spending issue-they were going to be busy for a while. If not under some serious investigations n the next forty-eight. How could a cop shell out so much money in so little time? Get the heat off us, and on Romeo. Not like the cop was a stellar cop or anything according to the thick file.

Just to put a final nail in the coffin, so to speak, I went ahead and did us both a favor last night. I know how much money Romeo has in their account and I can tell anyone that this cop was dirtier than dirty. Might have more on her-that's right-a her; then Mr. Muscle's did. A female dirty cop. Couldn't wait to meet this piece. Dirty cops weren't anything new, but a female dirty cop? It was going to be a real treat. Maybe even more than the car she bought us last night.

I'm not an overly flashy guy, but the price was just right. If the car didn't get her attention, then the price sure would. I imagine that the company would busy doing their follow-up with her at some point today. To be a fly on the wall. I smirk just thinking about it. She didn't have that much pocket change in the bank. Sure, she had a good pretty penny, but add in her donations, cost of living, car payment. It was going to dry up quicker than the great barrier reef currently.

I park my new ride in the front of the office building. If she doesn't come today, she will be tomorrow and I don't want her to miss the beauty of our ride. I lock the door with the key-less remote and head inside to the security office. I knock on the door and then swipe my badge. "Get everything?" I ask, leaning a shoulder against the frame of the door, eyes on one of my favorite people in the building. He nods and I start to close the door and move on, only to stop. "Hey, man. If some cop comes in-a broad, keep a good eye on her. Stall her for a while. Got a few last minute things to do and discuss with the big guy upstairs." I get an 'all clear,' wave from the guy, before I move away from the office and head towards the elevator