Thrown to the Heir

Sulu knew he had to hurry.  Time was short, he was behind schedule, and he still needed to pick one more lock.

His kali lay next to him, rendered useless by the crack in it, thanks to Bad Guy's forearm plating.  Neat stuff, that.  It was as if it was out of a Batman comic.  Forearm plating.  What a hot shot!

A dispatched hot shot.  Sulu was in the middle of his favorite combination when Bad Guy's forearm plating met the kail, mid stream.  The resulting cracking sound was lost on Sulu, who was already moving to the next part of the combination.  The axe kick, normally not recommended, worked, and Sulu dispatched him nicely.

However, it took time.  Time that Sulu didn't have.

The first lock, on the door to the ante room, was easy.  It was a typical lock.  The second one, to get into the office, was atypical.  Sulu finally had to squirt some liquid nitrogen into it and snap it that way.  Expensive, impractical, and good to have friends in the chemistry department!

Sulu knew that Wayne was going to be on time - nothing kept him from his schedule.  Bad Guys, locks, Dix - Sulu thought of Fred Dix who tried taking over a small western town in the corrupt interests of some sort of mining concern.  "We beat off Dix", he had declared at the end of a bizarre fight that more frequently involved running in a large circle around the general store.

Sulu shook his head.  He knew he had to concentrate.

A light traced a small arc on the ceiling.  Sulu slowly looked behind him at another door - a door the intel said was only to a closet that had a wet bar and a small place for rain wear.

He silently got up from his hiding spot and crept next to the door, but on the side opposite to where he had been. 

He raised his nearly-useless kali (at least it could distract) and waited.  The door slowly opened and a figure entered the room by doing a near-perfectly silent barrel roll.  It was Wayne.

Mr Akbar was right.  It was a trap. 

Enough of this bullshit.  We've been jerked around too long thought Wayne as he got to work on the leaded glass door.

Sulu was right: what the hell was going on?  Hired to... well, they haven't been sure since meeting Granville, nothing seemed untoward.  Why the hell were they wasting all this bread on hiring them to tug at loose...

The realization was startling.  Nobody likes being a sucker said Sulu with just the appropriate amount of innuendo.  Sulu had followed up on his trip and confirmed that the story checked out.  Every possible angle had been covered. 

What could they be tracking about to hide?  What the hell are they doing?

Wayne and Sulu decided they were going to investigate their investigation and actually paid to find something out that makes sense within the confines of their job.

Sulu was going to do some tailing while Wayne was going to do some breaking.  Breaking and Tailing.  One of their favorite team activities.  Also said with the perfect amount of innuendo!

Wayne knew that anybody who was using them as a stress test on their own alibis either had gotten away with the Big One, or were about to.  Either way, he and Sulu were now "expendable".  Probably on their next case, probably by someone unwittingly hired by, well, probably Granville.  Of all the players, he was the most dialed into the cops n robbers angle.  But they had it all, down to the snitches.

Now it's our turn

Wayne slowly put a piece of tape on the best corner of the window and secured it with a little sticky putty that would rub off easily, leaving no trace.  Once that was secure, he got a needle probe and gently worked the lead frame at the corner until it had loosened a bit.  He did the same for the other corners in the diamond pattern.

When that was complete, he stepped away from the doorway and back into the shadows, just in case.

Waiting was something Wayne had always been good at.

 As nothing happened, he resumed work.  Next, he put little separating wedges into each corner, holding them ever-so-slightly in place, without visibly bending the lead and without putting any kinks into the lead.

He repeated the needle probing at the halfway points between the corners, and stepped back again.

Good idea.  The muffled shot came like a thud just as Wayne moved away, as though it were planned by a Hollywood stunt team.  The brick splintered and shards cracked the window, including taking out the pane Wayne had been working on.

At least they got rid of the evidence

He stayed in the shadows, not sure the location of the shooter.  He surmised that the shooter couldn't see him, or if he could, didn't have orders to shoot.  Either way, it was his move. 

He waited

Sulu sat back and got as comfortable as he could while still actually maintaining control of the wheel.  He liked driving out of the city; it gave him time to think while the distance and movement gave him the feeling as though progress actually were being made.

He and Wayne coordinated their next moves: Frank and Earnest confirmed everybody's story.  In fact, everybody seemed to be on the same page with everything, yet hier we are. The perfect story was the only thing that was out of place.  A story that had been confirmed with legal documents.  Sulu grinned.  He was thinking about his side of the case, the side where everybody was in agreement.  The perfect story certainly looked good, had the paperwork, but nobody agreed with it, nor did anybody have anything confirmatory.

Wayne, on the other hand, Sulu mused, had at least some people disagreeing with each other, causing at least some pause. 

The element that had them completely in the dark was why all this fuss:  What is going on where even the legal team cannot force a resolution.  What is missing?  Why isn't anybody talking?

Follow the money?  Look for the sex?  Find a jilted lover?  A swindle?  A deal?  What the hell is it? Why are they intertwined?

Granville's story about Larry had checked out from multiple angles.  Still, though, everything was intertwined, there was Jarvis, who was in total agreement with Granville and Ms Sheridan and Mr Wilson.  That's one side.  Sulu tapped the steering wheel.  Then there's the other side.  The perfect couple.  Perfect story. 

Sulu pulled into the next rest stop for a coffee.  A big chain coffee company that served better-than-road-food coffee and might have scones promised "A BIG DEAL FOR A GREAT TRIP",when it hit him:
Maybe the couple isn't the couple they thought they were

He texted Wayne this thought. 

Yes, yes, yes.  That makes this trip more important than we had realized!

Chapter 2

Wayne sat back and looked at his nearly-full bier.  These moments, the ones that closely resembled the dime novels or the black and white movies of yore, were the ones he really enjoyed.  No danger.  Nothing really happens, but it's a formality that he encounters in every Corporate File case.

Their last case was a double - catching a soon-to-be divorcee shoplifting something from a swanky shop downtown.  Sulu liked that one particularly, Wayne recalled: he got to try out his new kali on three volunteers who attempted to, and Wayne is not too sure on this point, "Shanghai him".  Wayne made up his mind to let that one go.

Wayne stretched and looked across the room.  "Modern, Open", he'd bet the designer had said, "open, bright, yet private".  Wayne looked at the shoulder-high booths with straight, dark-stained backs and burgendy-red seat covers that were riveted into place with brass-colored-top rivets.  The sides of the bench-like seat were waxed and covered in some sort of scratch-resistant material that wouldn't keep getting contaminated by yester-customer's spilled victuals.  Rancid tuna three way caked into wood didn't sound like the most appetizing part of the day.

The bar was across from one of the most famous Vietnamese restaurants in the city.  Granted, it was a 4 lane, busy street, but it still was, technically, across from it.  Also never mind that you'd need to walk some 50m to the corner, cross, and walk another back, making it a several minute process, but it was still, technically across the street.

Next to an art movie theater that played B&W movies up to the end of the "Cynical 50s" style and three doors down from a Gay Sports Bar that always had MMA on TV (Wayne and Sulu would go there, and, admittedly, they claimed to watch the MMA for different reasons, but they refused to speculate on each other's reasons).  Another door down was a famous jazz-and-blues club, rumored to be the haunt of a famous gangster, back in the day.

The other way was a parking lot to a fast food joint and some sort of church.  Apparently, this restaurant, "Blýzán" (Wayne wasn't sure of the language or the meaning.  He suspected both were made up. If there were a longish story about the name, he decided he'd shoot the maitre d'), was some sort of demarcation line between the awful types to the north who liked fast food... and other things, with the southbound laid back types.

The two Wayne was meeting, Frank and Earnest Argyle fit that description.  They were perfect borderline chaps.  Unfortunately, this time, they were actually important, and they needed to verify some information Granville had claimed to Sulu.  Frank and Earnest were from the Main Line in Philadelphia and tried to act it.

They had once claimed that their aunt was some sort of officer at Bryn Mawr, but nobody cared. 

This time, Wayne and Sulu had to care:  the brothers were deeply involved.  One was a "strategic advisor" to the key witness, and the other served as the accountant.  They reeked of MBAs, CFAs, CPAs, and whatever the hell else types like them studied and certified.  Being very successful, they could also take longer lunches when they pleased.

Today, it pleased them.  They were engaged in a long, chit-chat discussion about Larry's apparently very funny snafu at a client meeting.  Lawrence "Larry" Wilson was the key witness.  The client, also involved in the case, Addison Sheridan, daughter of Bronson Sheridan, the shipping, import/export, cargo power broker was expecting tea and got coffee, or something.  Wayne didn't really care at this point.  If it became important, he'd dredge it up later.  What was interesting is that Wilson, Sheridan, and Granville were intertwined, just as Granville had claimed.

Wayne was ready - bring it.  This case was actually coming together.

For a change.

Sulu was listening to the longest, most irrelevant, rambling, quasi coherent screed he had had to endure in quite a while.  He made his appointment with the attorney and was pleasantly surprised that there was actually decent reading material in the surprisingly comfortable waiting area.

True to their reputation, Granville and Morse provided excellent legal advice, knew every loophole, left no stone unturned, and dotted every "i".  Sulu was going to reserve judgement on their t-crossing ability.

He waited for about a quarter of an hour, during which he got a feel for the room.  Wayne always commented how Sulu could "feel" the scene and be able to recite the details, down to how moveable objects in the room could be manipulated.  True, Sulu was proud of his mental ability to manipulate objects in time and space.  Pattern games were his favorite.

Sulu could hear and differentiate among the "living sounds" of the office.  The sounds that were there when it was full with full compartment and team.  The sounds of anxiety from the overwhelmed young lawyer who was struggling to stay focused in the face of a wall-of-words; the paralegal who was trying desparately to get noticed; the mid-level associate whose case load was refined to be the perfect intersection of company financial needs and amount of free time.  Sulu could grasp it all.

Titus Granville IV, grandson of the famous depression era "deal buster", the tough and rentless Titus Granville, Jr.  Junior had a set of beliefs he felt were immutable and absolute, and he used his practice as a means to attain his beliefs.  What would be called "pursuit of activism" by conservatives today (or if they were practicing, "no nonsense law and order"), he felt that every situation was a way to achieve his absolute belief system.

Quatro was somewhat different, Sulu observed.  He was a man whose main goal was simple: pile up the stacks of green paper and watch them multiply like Tribbles.  Not shy about playing both sides in the goal of attaining a higher social stand, Granville happily donated and supported judges across the spectrum, from the "tough on terror", "ten commandments", "all hope abandon ye who are not readily identifiable as white christian american" to the "let 'em protest", "don't inhale their smoke if you don't like it", "shame on you, straight-white-male" left wing crusader.  He supported them all, and worked like hell to get the defendants appearing before them off.

Sulu was expecting to see several of Granville's masks today: "boss-as-buddy", "alpha who has to know more about every subject", "earnest listener", to "hound".  He had his bullshit bingo card already imagined and was figuring that he would have a bingo before the 2/3 point of the meeting (of course, he'd have to calculate that afterwards, but it would give him something to do before lunch)

<i>Back to the salt mines</i>.  Sulu stood up and was ready, relaxed, having a good time as the associate gestured for him to follow.  <i>Your audience will be granted now</i>.

And So It Begins

Wayne looked out the window.  By craning his neck just a little, he could look up the street and see the park, maybe a quarter mile away.  Looking the other way, he couldn't see the skyline, but because he knew it was there, he thought he could sense its presence. 

Looking up, he saw what is typical for this time of year.  Concrete sky.  Small, gray cottonballs, slightly smudged with charcoal all mashed together and layered, maybe 3000 feet up.  Or more.  Or less.  Who knows.  Or who around knows?  The sun would be on its endless loop, ready to bring morning to more of the other side of the world, while Wayne's side slowly slid into evening.    But it wasn't visible through the concrete sky.  It wasn't cold.  It never seemed to be cold like he remembered.  Maybe it's getting old and forgetting.  Maybe it really is different.  The only thing that matters is you gotta dress right for the situation.

He had forgotten one direction: down.  Looking down one story to street level, he didn't see anything interesting.  The sushi joint opposite, on the northwest corner look like it had closed, but the upstairs part was turned into some sort of late night saki bar, which was perfect for the neighborhood.  The ayetye place on the north side of the street reeked of metiocrity, as ayetye places do.  Even in the highest of high end places, Wayne found the cuisine wanting, the service lacking, and the clientelle posing. 

He knew that something was not right: the story was just too perfect, the couple played their parts just a little too well.  All facts, occurrences, opinions, observations, and asides were in agreement with each other.  Their timing was perfect.  No pause to think about what the other had said.  No even momentary pause to reflect.  No fleeting disagreement that quickly was resolved as further thought was engaged.

Nothing.  Total agreement.  Total harmony.  Totally coreographed.

Sulu's text buzzed pleasantly, informing Wayne that he had arrived at his destination, the offices of Granville and Morse, just off of Loyola Square on Swift Street, was working on it, and he'd text or call if something comes up.

Wayne and Sulu had a rule that whenever there was important news, they had to say what the news was, or at least give enough clues in case one of them was, um, whacked out before delivering the news.

They had agreed on this after watching some detective movie on TV.  And they took one from the movie LA Confidential and had a fake name that would get interspersed, just in case someone was listening.

The last thing Sulu said he wanted was to hear Wayne's voice for the last time with the words, "I've found an important piece.  I can't talk now, but it's huge.  It'll blow the case right out of the water.  It's bigger than what we could have imagined.  Straight to the top, this goes..." etc etc etc.

Wayne chuckled.  Sulu was so adamant about that scene: "he could have fucking said, 'banker joseph A. is closely tied to this through Steven Clothier.  gotta run.  bye'.  less time. info out there.  name and connection.  What more do you need?"

Wayne started to get up from his desk.  He had to go meet someone named Howard Jarvis.  Jarvis, apparently had "seen something".

Wayne made sure his phone was charged, his gun was loaded, his fly was up.  Time to get to work.  Again. And so it began.