Jenga Style for whomii2
Aug. 16th, 2013 10:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jimmyhkim21Title: Jenga Style
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters/Pairings: none
Summary: Never ever piss off an ex-operative and a man with unlimited resources.
Disclaimer: The Machine has filed this under the fiction category.
Notes: For the summer gift exchange on pofinterest_fic, for whomii2. Prompt was "gen, Finch, Reese, Bear. Fluffy feel-good fic preferred but will take almost anything".
Word Count: 2772
Finch took the leash along with a tremulous breath. He could do this. This being taking Bear for a walk. He had to. How long could he allow Root’s actions to damage his future? Not to mention the future of the Numbers whose lives will depend on Finch being able to pull his weight?
So, Finch took a step then another, before hurrying down the library steps and into the tunnel. For a moment he froze: the darkness seemed hungry, absolute while he was a tasty morsel, perfectly suited for its appetite.
Shaking aside his fanciful thoughts, Finch walked steadily with Bear marching next to him. It amazed Finch how the dog could so easily read human body language. Bear needed no commands to act threatening, adorable, or just confused to respond to the various personalities they’d come across during their walks. To the hostile man, Bear’s walk turned martial. Towards the woman with a toddler in her arms: docile.
Finch once more wondered how such a beautiful creature fell into the hands of the cretinous White Supremacists. As if sensing his Master’s distress, Bear bumped into Finch, gently enough not to unbalance him, but strong enough to snap Finch out of his maudlin thoughts.
Finch smiled and petted Bear before continuing down Broadway. He turned right, towards a park, which allowed dogs to roam about without leash, as long as there was careful supervision.
Sensing the destination, Bear’s trot became eager, his eyes seemingly brighter just at the thought of having the freedom to run and if lucky, chase after another of his kind. Finch smiled at Bear’s eagerness. It was almost like watching a child prepare himself for game day.
Then, without warning, Reese fell into step besides them. Finch had long gotten used to the shadowy comings and goings of the ex-operative, but he never ceased to appreciate how Reese could do it with such casual ease. A man well over six feet, dressed sharply, could somehow go unnoticed in the City. Albeit, it was NYC, but still.
Reese quirked his lips; indicating he knew exactly what Finch was thinking. Which, in reality, Finch would not be at all surprised. The man wasn’t omnipotent but he seemed omniscient when it came to people.
Bear’s gait was now at a brisk pace as they turned the final corner. And found the park gone.
Finch came to such a violent halt that Bear’s head snapped back as the leash tightened mercilessly.
“What the hell?” Reese muttered.
The two men stared at the new construction site, all fenced in with the name of the company slated to build a multi-level ‘living experience’ with a fantastic view of the Hudson.
“This…” Finch uttered viciously, “this is most certainly unreasonable.”
Finch proceeded to memorize the name of the company and abruptly turned around. Bear, sensing his playtime was over, followed without protest, but both men could sense the animal’s confusion.
“I thought green spaces were protected,” Reese said.
“They are,” Finch answered. “However, some parks cannot be declared as such because their prime objective was not for human beings.”
“What?”
“Parks, by law, are defined as a place for human beings,” Finch explained further. “So, any green space specifically designated for animal companions may not enjoy the same protections. Which is how beach developments get away with murder.”
“So … that park was actually not a park?”
“Not in the eyes of the law,” Finch answered. “And let’s not get into zoning rights, living spaces, and other million loopholes that a development company can utilize.”
Reese smiled. “I sense a war coming on.”
“Ever the soldier,” Finch said in a clipped tone. “Be that as it may, those loopholes are not foolproof, and I can assure you money has traded hands for that particular atrocity to occur.”
Reese looked down at Bear. “I think Daddy’s very angry. And things get very interesting when he gets this mad.”
Finch had to bite his tongue in order not to laugh at Reese’s indulgent tone.
The two men walked back to the library. Reese didn’t say anything and went to the breakroom to make coffee for himself and tea for Finch while his partner fired up the computers and did whatever magic necessary to find out the party behind the ‘atrocity’.
Reese handed over the mug and sat in companionable silence and read one of the many books strewn all over the floor. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find that many interested him: from non-fiction to classic pulp novels he’d pored over as a child.
After an hour, he asked, “Anything?”
“As I suspected, it’s about as crooked as it gets,” Finch wrinkled his nose in distaste. “It’s just that the transactions are very complicated.”
Reese felt a headache coming on. “Elias?”
“Mercifully, no,” Finch said, relief obvious in his voice. “But not much improvement: Russian Mob.”
Reese tipped his head back. “They’re into real estate now?”
“Oh, they have been, but it’s been mainly Staten Island, some in Brooklyn,” Finch explained. “But this is the first time I’ve seen such large sum, and with some very upscale clientele mixed in.”
Reese chuckled darkly. “After the market crash, you can’t be too surprised.”
“True enough,” Finch agreed. “But I have to wonder if there’s something more going on here.”
“More than a real estate company gone rogue?”
“I’m thinking there might be something in the investment firm that pulled all of this together in the first place.”
Now Reese was very interested. He sat up, looking somewhat like Bear in his eagerness. “You mean like a matchmaking service?”
Finch smiled, obviously pleased by Reese’s comparison. “Imagine, a company that’s dedicated to finding you the resources you need to increase your portfolios. Even if it’s with mobs or something even worse.”
“Define worse.”
“Shell companies funneling money to terrorist organizations.”
“That’s worse.” Reese stood up. “I’m going in for a recon?”
“Looks like.”
Reese looked down at the six thousand dollar suit and winced. He wondered when he’d gotten comfortable looking like Rooney when just few years ago, he would’ve been itching to rip off the tie and the softer-than-butter suede shoes.
The receptionist was a classic blonde, right down to the high heels. Her skirt was just short of decent length and her blue eyes were smoky.
Sex and power. This place reeked of it.
He sat down on the leather couch, declined an offer of tea and the come-hither look in the woman’s eyes. No less than a minute later a diminutive Japanese woman took over.
This one’s private invitation was less obvious but because of it, maybe even more attractive. Once again Reese declined and was led into an office that even Finch would have approved of.
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Kline said. His smile as fake as his Jaeger-Coultre watch was genuine.
“Good afternoon,” Reese answered, smoothly sliding into Rooney's persona.
“So, I heard you were looking into some real estate developments?”
“Not here, but in China,” Reese answered.
That got Mr. Kline’s complete interest. “Really.”
“I am well aware of your work in Manhattan, naturally,” Reese said. “So, I had a little research done. As it turns out you have quite a few interests in Macau, also.”
“Yes, well, that area is very complicated, both in legal and social matters.”
“It can’t be as complicated as Vietnam, let’s say.”
“Are you interested in developing there?”
“I am, after a deal in Johannesburg fell through.”
“South Africa,” Kline said softly. His gaze turned hawkish. “You have very diversified interests.”
“I find that when it comes to properly nurturing portfolios, the first order of business is to meet with like-minded individuals. That’s not always the case here in the States. But abroad? I think it’s a different story.”
“Well, I can definitely help you with Macau, though Vietnam is not quite within our reach. However, Johannesburg is, if you’re still interested.”
Reese shrugged. “No longer. After the deal fell through I had to sanction few participants for their failures. It was unpleasant, and I’d rather not retread on old wounds.”
The word ‘sanction’ made Kline actually grin. “Of course.”
Reese handed over a small hard drive. “These should answer some of your questions. If you have any more, I will be happy to answer them.”
“But you’d be disappointed if I did?”
“How is that even a question?”
The business meeting left Reese with a sour taste in his mouth. Not that his role as Rooney was upsetting in any way. The truth was he liked Rooney. The man would’ve been a worthy adversary if the two ever met on an equal battleground. So, to waste the cover on the likes of Kline grated on Reese’s nerves.
However, his mood improved drastically when he returned to the library and found Finch actually humming.
“The bastard didn’t even check the drive?” Reese asked.
“Oh, he did. And his IT department was adequate. But really, not exactly challenging as far as I’m concerned.”
Reese couldn’t help but smile. On anyone else, Finch’s statement would sound like bragging, but Finch made it so matter of fact that even a stranger would accept the comment as gospel.
“Anything interesting?”
“The usual money laundering,” Finch said tiredly, “and off-shore accounts in Cyprus and China.”
“So, Kline wasn’t lying about Macau.”
“No, he wasn’t. And the Cyprus accounts have convinced me the terrorist angle is rather a complex one.”
“Anything we could use?”
Finch waved his hand at the screens. “We could use all of this to bring down IRGO and Kline, not to mention the other talking heads in the firm.”
Reese sensed hesitation. “But?”
“But there are a lot of innocent people also involved. We’re talking retirement accounts and small store investments.”
“How did that happen?”
“Kline was smart. He diversified to the extent that IRGO looks very legitimate on paper at least.”
“So, we can’t go charging in, can we?”
“No, this is going to take me at least a week to sort out the innocent bystanders and put them in different accounts.”
“You’re going to buy them?”
“Oh, these portfolios are sold and bought every day. I’m sure I can wrangle something.”
“But the construction is due to start tomorrow.”
“Remember all those explosives you’d stored in the library?”
Reese couldn’t help but laugh.
Day One
Dennis McKinney, former staff sergeant for the United States Marines, stared at the Caterpillars with his jaw wide open. Someone, in the middle of the fucking night, managed to blow off the wheels and completely disintegrate the treads on all the excavation machines.
If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought a military commando strike team had gotten bored and looked for some slap and tickles with millions of dollars worth of construction equipment.
But how the fuck was that possible? In the middle of Manhattan?!
Day Two
Michelle Tregannis, the communications expert for IRGO, shrugged helplessly as she flapped her hands at the laptop sitting on the desk.
“Well, it’s official,” McKinney said. “We’re completely fucked.”
Mr. Thompson, the site manager, winced and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palm. “How the fuck do I explain this?”
Tregannis seemed to share his pain. “I don’t know if the satellites are aligned in a particular way or if the towers aren’t fully functioning. But, as of now, this work site is … well, contact free.”
“Another words, we can’t get internet or cell reception here? At all?” McKinney asked incredulously.
“None,” Tregannis confessed.
“Fuck me,” McKinney whispered.
Day Three
McKinney thought about going back to the Church. Never mind that he’d not seen the inside of one for … oh, thirty years. The fact that this job was fast becoming his worst nightmare was enough of an incentive for the lapsed Catholic to at least make a humble visit.
“So, what you’re saying is…”
Vargas was innocent of any wrongdoing; the confused look on his face was enough. “What we thought was diesel was actually… well, maple syrup?”
“And does anyone know how maple syrup got into the fuel tanks?”
Vargas shook his head. “Not a fucking clue.”
“So, it’s pure maple syrup, not some mixture.”
Vargas nodded. “I have no fucking clue how anyone could get that much maple syrup. That shit’s three times more expensive than diesel, per gallon.”
McKinney was tempted to laugh, if only because the situation was so ludicrous.
“Got any waffles?” he asked conversationally.
Vargas wiped his face with the back of his hands and chuckled. “Nobody has that many waffles. Holy shit, boss, what is happening here?”
“Well, somebody’s fucking with us, that’s for sure. But I can’t figure out who or why. And maple syrup? I mean I’ve dealt with sabotages before but not this … inventive or just fucking nutso.”
Vargas let out a belly laugh and it was only seconds before McKinney finally joined him.
Day Four
McKinney just gaped at the scene in front of him. He really couldn’t believe this shit. Nothing in his life, even while being an active Marine, could have any way prepared him for what he was seeing.
And from the gaping looks of everyone who’d come to work, none of them could either.
Somehow, and only heaven or the Devil knew how, filled the entire site with bouncy balls. Like the ones McKinney had seen in the kiddie restaurants. He always thought they were biohazards with all the sick kids in the damn things, rolling around, sneezing all over the place. Not to mention the occasional diaper accidents.
“Holy Mother Mary Jesus,” Thompson whispered in an awed tone. “How the fuck did security miss this?”
McKinney took off his hard hat. “Damned if I know.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“Damned if I know.”
Day Five
McKinney was home as it was Saturday, and there was no way in hell he was going to work, even if the ground sneezed open and a Titan lumbered forth.
No sirree, fuck you very much.
Instead, he cracked open a cold one and went to the tiny backyard where Hip was currently chasing around his three-year-old girl. The all-American mutt grinning broadly, nipping gently at the dress’ hem while Sandy squealed with laughter.
He would later discover he’d missed thirteen calls: not that he really cared.
But he would have liked to have seen the look on the CEO’s face when the visiting assholes were greeted with the sight of the heavy construction equipment piled to the heavens in Jenga style.
Vargas, the good man he was, sent him photos Sunday afternoon, both of the looks on the company men’s faces and the hilarious tower of caterpillar backhoes, tractors, and loaders.
Whoever the fuck you are, you got style.
Day Six
And on this day, the Prankster rested.
Day Seven
And on this day the New York Times carried the shocking headline featuring the arrest of the head of a local prestigious hedge fund corporation, its more dubious partners, and what looked like half of the local drug cartel kingpins residing in the post neighborhoods of Connecticut.
And the following days had even more lurid headlines, especially from the Post, which revealed the details of financial transactions that clearly indicated nefarious going-ons.
At this stage, the Feds became involved. At first it was the SEC but soon transferred over to the FBI and the Secret Service. Suddenly, more somber titles were featured on the local rags as the Federal Government started handing out warrants with harsher, far-reaching circumstances that spanned a few continents.
Reese and Finch observed all this unfolding with the calmness of men who had witnessed much worse. By the end of the year, the construction site shut down, and the property held in a trustee limbo as the corporation and its subsidiaries that had purchased it either went bankrupt or mysteriously vanished. Then, in March, the fences went back up.
But, this time, the heavy equipment leveled out the site until it was as flat as Oklahoma. Then, with alacrity, various other companies came – all hurrying to do whatever they were hired to do.
By June, the property was once again a dog-friendly park.
Most people noticed this reversal of fortune with good old-fashioned NYC curiosity, but like most natives, it was worthy of only a five-minute conversation over a cup of coffee.
And the people who returned to the park with their dogs didn’t think much of it either. So, no one talked about it, including the two gentlemen who frequented the park with their Belgian Malinois.
The End
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters/Pairings: none
Summary: Never ever piss off an ex-operative and a man with unlimited resources.
Disclaimer: The Machine has filed this under the fiction category.
Notes: For the summer gift exchange on pofinterest_fic, for whomii2. Prompt was "gen, Finch, Reese, Bear. Fluffy feel-good fic preferred but will take almost anything".
Word Count: 2772
Finch took the leash along with a tremulous breath. He could do this. This being taking Bear for a walk. He had to. How long could he allow Root’s actions to damage his future? Not to mention the future of the Numbers whose lives will depend on Finch being able to pull his weight?
So, Finch took a step then another, before hurrying down the library steps and into the tunnel. For a moment he froze: the darkness seemed hungry, absolute while he was a tasty morsel, perfectly suited for its appetite.
Shaking aside his fanciful thoughts, Finch walked steadily with Bear marching next to him. It amazed Finch how the dog could so easily read human body language. Bear needed no commands to act threatening, adorable, or just confused to respond to the various personalities they’d come across during their walks. To the hostile man, Bear’s walk turned martial. Towards the woman with a toddler in her arms: docile.
Finch once more wondered how such a beautiful creature fell into the hands of the cretinous White Supremacists. As if sensing his Master’s distress, Bear bumped into Finch, gently enough not to unbalance him, but strong enough to snap Finch out of his maudlin thoughts.
Finch smiled and petted Bear before continuing down Broadway. He turned right, towards a park, which allowed dogs to roam about without leash, as long as there was careful supervision.
Sensing the destination, Bear’s trot became eager, his eyes seemingly brighter just at the thought of having the freedom to run and if lucky, chase after another of his kind. Finch smiled at Bear’s eagerness. It was almost like watching a child prepare himself for game day.
Then, without warning, Reese fell into step besides them. Finch had long gotten used to the shadowy comings and goings of the ex-operative, but he never ceased to appreciate how Reese could do it with such casual ease. A man well over six feet, dressed sharply, could somehow go unnoticed in the City. Albeit, it was NYC, but still.
Reese quirked his lips; indicating he knew exactly what Finch was thinking. Which, in reality, Finch would not be at all surprised. The man wasn’t omnipotent but he seemed omniscient when it came to people.
Bear’s gait was now at a brisk pace as they turned the final corner. And found the park gone.
Finch came to such a violent halt that Bear’s head snapped back as the leash tightened mercilessly.
“What the hell?” Reese muttered.
The two men stared at the new construction site, all fenced in with the name of the company slated to build a multi-level ‘living experience’ with a fantastic view of the Hudson.
“This…” Finch uttered viciously, “this is most certainly unreasonable.”
Finch proceeded to memorize the name of the company and abruptly turned around. Bear, sensing his playtime was over, followed without protest, but both men could sense the animal’s confusion.
“I thought green spaces were protected,” Reese said.
“They are,” Finch answered. “However, some parks cannot be declared as such because their prime objective was not for human beings.”
“What?”
“Parks, by law, are defined as a place for human beings,” Finch explained further. “So, any green space specifically designated for animal companions may not enjoy the same protections. Which is how beach developments get away with murder.”
“So … that park was actually not a park?”
“Not in the eyes of the law,” Finch answered. “And let’s not get into zoning rights, living spaces, and other million loopholes that a development company can utilize.”
Reese smiled. “I sense a war coming on.”
“Ever the soldier,” Finch said in a clipped tone. “Be that as it may, those loopholes are not foolproof, and I can assure you money has traded hands for that particular atrocity to occur.”
Reese looked down at Bear. “I think Daddy’s very angry. And things get very interesting when he gets this mad.”
Finch had to bite his tongue in order not to laugh at Reese’s indulgent tone.
The two men walked back to the library. Reese didn’t say anything and went to the breakroom to make coffee for himself and tea for Finch while his partner fired up the computers and did whatever magic necessary to find out the party behind the ‘atrocity’.
Reese handed over the mug and sat in companionable silence and read one of the many books strewn all over the floor. He’d been pleasantly surprised to find that many interested him: from non-fiction to classic pulp novels he’d pored over as a child.
After an hour, he asked, “Anything?”
“As I suspected, it’s about as crooked as it gets,” Finch wrinkled his nose in distaste. “It’s just that the transactions are very complicated.”
Reese felt a headache coming on. “Elias?”
“Mercifully, no,” Finch said, relief obvious in his voice. “But not much improvement: Russian Mob.”
Reese tipped his head back. “They’re into real estate now?”
“Oh, they have been, but it’s been mainly Staten Island, some in Brooklyn,” Finch explained. “But this is the first time I’ve seen such large sum, and with some very upscale clientele mixed in.”
Reese chuckled darkly. “After the market crash, you can’t be too surprised.”
“True enough,” Finch agreed. “But I have to wonder if there’s something more going on here.”
“More than a real estate company gone rogue?”
“I’m thinking there might be something in the investment firm that pulled all of this together in the first place.”
Now Reese was very interested. He sat up, looking somewhat like Bear in his eagerness. “You mean like a matchmaking service?”
Finch smiled, obviously pleased by Reese’s comparison. “Imagine, a company that’s dedicated to finding you the resources you need to increase your portfolios. Even if it’s with mobs or something even worse.”
“Define worse.”
“Shell companies funneling money to terrorist organizations.”
“That’s worse.” Reese stood up. “I’m going in for a recon?”
“Looks like.”
Reese looked down at the six thousand dollar suit and winced. He wondered when he’d gotten comfortable looking like Rooney when just few years ago, he would’ve been itching to rip off the tie and the softer-than-butter suede shoes.
The receptionist was a classic blonde, right down to the high heels. Her skirt was just short of decent length and her blue eyes were smoky.
Sex and power. This place reeked of it.
He sat down on the leather couch, declined an offer of tea and the come-hither look in the woman’s eyes. No less than a minute later a diminutive Japanese woman took over.
This one’s private invitation was less obvious but because of it, maybe even more attractive. Once again Reese declined and was led into an office that even Finch would have approved of.
“Good afternoon,” Mr. Kline said. His smile as fake as his Jaeger-Coultre watch was genuine.
“Good afternoon,” Reese answered, smoothly sliding into Rooney's persona.
“So, I heard you were looking into some real estate developments?”
“Not here, but in China,” Reese answered.
That got Mr. Kline’s complete interest. “Really.”
“I am well aware of your work in Manhattan, naturally,” Reese said. “So, I had a little research done. As it turns out you have quite a few interests in Macau, also.”
“Yes, well, that area is very complicated, both in legal and social matters.”
“It can’t be as complicated as Vietnam, let’s say.”
“Are you interested in developing there?”
“I am, after a deal in Johannesburg fell through.”
“South Africa,” Kline said softly. His gaze turned hawkish. “You have very diversified interests.”
“I find that when it comes to properly nurturing portfolios, the first order of business is to meet with like-minded individuals. That’s not always the case here in the States. But abroad? I think it’s a different story.”
“Well, I can definitely help you with Macau, though Vietnam is not quite within our reach. However, Johannesburg is, if you’re still interested.”
Reese shrugged. “No longer. After the deal fell through I had to sanction few participants for their failures. It was unpleasant, and I’d rather not retread on old wounds.”
The word ‘sanction’ made Kline actually grin. “Of course.”
Reese handed over a small hard drive. “These should answer some of your questions. If you have any more, I will be happy to answer them.”
“But you’d be disappointed if I did?”
“How is that even a question?”
The business meeting left Reese with a sour taste in his mouth. Not that his role as Rooney was upsetting in any way. The truth was he liked Rooney. The man would’ve been a worthy adversary if the two ever met on an equal battleground. So, to waste the cover on the likes of Kline grated on Reese’s nerves.
However, his mood improved drastically when he returned to the library and found Finch actually humming.
“The bastard didn’t even check the drive?” Reese asked.
“Oh, he did. And his IT department was adequate. But really, not exactly challenging as far as I’m concerned.”
Reese couldn’t help but smile. On anyone else, Finch’s statement would sound like bragging, but Finch made it so matter of fact that even a stranger would accept the comment as gospel.
“Anything interesting?”
“The usual money laundering,” Finch said tiredly, “and off-shore accounts in Cyprus and China.”
“So, Kline wasn’t lying about Macau.”
“No, he wasn’t. And the Cyprus accounts have convinced me the terrorist angle is rather a complex one.”
“Anything we could use?”
Finch waved his hand at the screens. “We could use all of this to bring down IRGO and Kline, not to mention the other talking heads in the firm.”
Reese sensed hesitation. “But?”
“But there are a lot of innocent people also involved. We’re talking retirement accounts and small store investments.”
“How did that happen?”
“Kline was smart. He diversified to the extent that IRGO looks very legitimate on paper at least.”
“So, we can’t go charging in, can we?”
“No, this is going to take me at least a week to sort out the innocent bystanders and put them in different accounts.”
“You’re going to buy them?”
“Oh, these portfolios are sold and bought every day. I’m sure I can wrangle something.”
“But the construction is due to start tomorrow.”
“Remember all those explosives you’d stored in the library?”
Reese couldn’t help but laugh.
Day One
Dennis McKinney, former staff sergeant for the United States Marines, stared at the Caterpillars with his jaw wide open. Someone, in the middle of the fucking night, managed to blow off the wheels and completely disintegrate the treads on all the excavation machines.
If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought a military commando strike team had gotten bored and looked for some slap and tickles with millions of dollars worth of construction equipment.
But how the fuck was that possible? In the middle of Manhattan?!
Day Two
Michelle Tregannis, the communications expert for IRGO, shrugged helplessly as she flapped her hands at the laptop sitting on the desk.
“Well, it’s official,” McKinney said. “We’re completely fucked.”
Mr. Thompson, the site manager, winced and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palm. “How the fuck do I explain this?”
Tregannis seemed to share his pain. “I don’t know if the satellites are aligned in a particular way or if the towers aren’t fully functioning. But, as of now, this work site is … well, contact free.”
“Another words, we can’t get internet or cell reception here? At all?” McKinney asked incredulously.
“None,” Tregannis confessed.
“Fuck me,” McKinney whispered.
Day Three
McKinney thought about going back to the Church. Never mind that he’d not seen the inside of one for … oh, thirty years. The fact that this job was fast becoming his worst nightmare was enough of an incentive for the lapsed Catholic to at least make a humble visit.
“So, what you’re saying is…”
Vargas was innocent of any wrongdoing; the confused look on his face was enough. “What we thought was diesel was actually… well, maple syrup?”
“And does anyone know how maple syrup got into the fuel tanks?”
Vargas shook his head. “Not a fucking clue.”
“So, it’s pure maple syrup, not some mixture.”
Vargas nodded. “I have no fucking clue how anyone could get that much maple syrup. That shit’s three times more expensive than diesel, per gallon.”
McKinney was tempted to laugh, if only because the situation was so ludicrous.
“Got any waffles?” he asked conversationally.
Vargas wiped his face with the back of his hands and chuckled. “Nobody has that many waffles. Holy shit, boss, what is happening here?”
“Well, somebody’s fucking with us, that’s for sure. But I can’t figure out who or why. And maple syrup? I mean I’ve dealt with sabotages before but not this … inventive or just fucking nutso.”
Vargas let out a belly laugh and it was only seconds before McKinney finally joined him.
Day Four
McKinney just gaped at the scene in front of him. He really couldn’t believe this shit. Nothing in his life, even while being an active Marine, could have any way prepared him for what he was seeing.
And from the gaping looks of everyone who’d come to work, none of them could either.
Somehow, and only heaven or the Devil knew how, filled the entire site with bouncy balls. Like the ones McKinney had seen in the kiddie restaurants. He always thought they were biohazards with all the sick kids in the damn things, rolling around, sneezing all over the place. Not to mention the occasional diaper accidents.
“Holy Mother Mary Jesus,” Thompson whispered in an awed tone. “How the fuck did security miss this?”
McKinney took off his hard hat. “Damned if I know.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“Damned if I know.”
Day Five
McKinney was home as it was Saturday, and there was no way in hell he was going to work, even if the ground sneezed open and a Titan lumbered forth.
No sirree, fuck you very much.
Instead, he cracked open a cold one and went to the tiny backyard where Hip was currently chasing around his three-year-old girl. The all-American mutt grinning broadly, nipping gently at the dress’ hem while Sandy squealed with laughter.
He would later discover he’d missed thirteen calls: not that he really cared.
But he would have liked to have seen the look on the CEO’s face when the visiting assholes were greeted with the sight of the heavy construction equipment piled to the heavens in Jenga style.
Vargas, the good man he was, sent him photos Sunday afternoon, both of the looks on the company men’s faces and the hilarious tower of caterpillar backhoes, tractors, and loaders.
Whoever the fuck you are, you got style.
Day Six
And on this day, the Prankster rested.
Day Seven
And on this day the New York Times carried the shocking headline featuring the arrest of the head of a local prestigious hedge fund corporation, its more dubious partners, and what looked like half of the local drug cartel kingpins residing in the post neighborhoods of Connecticut.
And the following days had even more lurid headlines, especially from the Post, which revealed the details of financial transactions that clearly indicated nefarious going-ons.
At this stage, the Feds became involved. At first it was the SEC but soon transferred over to the FBI and the Secret Service. Suddenly, more somber titles were featured on the local rags as the Federal Government started handing out warrants with harsher, far-reaching circumstances that spanned a few continents.
Reese and Finch observed all this unfolding with the calmness of men who had witnessed much worse. By the end of the year, the construction site shut down, and the property held in a trustee limbo as the corporation and its subsidiaries that had purchased it either went bankrupt or mysteriously vanished. Then, in March, the fences went back up.
But, this time, the heavy equipment leveled out the site until it was as flat as Oklahoma. Then, with alacrity, various other companies came – all hurrying to do whatever they were hired to do.
By June, the property was once again a dog-friendly park.
Most people noticed this reversal of fortune with good old-fashioned NYC curiosity, but like most natives, it was worthy of only a five-minute conversation over a cup of coffee.
And the people who returned to the park with their dogs didn’t think much of it either. So, no one talked about it, including the two gentlemen who frequented the park with their Belgian Malinois.
The End
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Date: 2013-08-21 06:36 am (UTC)