The employee entrance to Executive Priority wasn't as fancily decorated as the public entrance, but it was a close call. Not tacky, just very tastefully telling you how lucky you were to even be allowed to grace the former service elevator with your presence.
Or maybe that was just me feeling out of place. Nah. Couldn't be. Other-guy, who said his name was George, and I had gotten Grabby-guy, Paul, into the elevator and then ridden up three stories to the employee floor. I'd asked George what sort of self-respecting mobster goon was named 'George' and he'd told me his parents hadn't considered this as a career path when they were naming him. Which...okay. I was being a smart ass. I just wasn't used to getting it back. Especially not from Marcone's goons. They tended to either be very polite at me, or ignore me entirely.
“Just through here.” George nodded his head to the right at an open doorway.
“Great.” We hauled Paul, who was still sort of incoherent, through the doorway and into what, I swear to you, looked like a school nurses' station. Only much, much nicer. The 'nurse' looked up from some paperwork, saw Paul between the two of us and jumped into action. Within a minute or so she had Paul down on an exam table, his pants leg cut open along the outside and was examining the wound. She and George were occupied, so I let myself out.
Not out of the building, mind. Just out of the nurses station.
Marcone's little...tiff or whatever was going on had ruined both my morning and my breakfast. I was just going to correct half the problem. Marcone being Marcone, I knew he had food for his employees here. Hell, he probably had all their meals catered and weighed and balanced by a nutritionist for optimum vitamins and fiber. Or whatever people were supposed to worry about these days.
I wound my way through halls, passing women and men here or there, acting like I belonged. You'd be amazed how many people will hesitate to say something to you if you look like you have the right to be where you are. I wasn't having any luck locating the kitchen or cafeteria and was weighing stopping the next person and asking them, playing the 'new employee' card when the scent of freshly brewed coffee rolled over me.
My stomach did a happy little backflip and I followed my nose to the sweet nectar.
It wasn't in the kitchen. When I opened the door blocking my way to the coffee I found myself in Marcone's empty office. It was a side door, one you couldn't even see from the inside since it closed flush to the wall and didn't have an inside handle. I could see the larger, impressive door that I had been ushered through the few times I'd been here on the other side of the room. I glanced around, confirming that the office was completely empty before I let the door shut behind me. After all, I could always just break it down if I needed to.
The coffee was steaming in a plain blue mug sitting to one side of the desk blotter. Right beside a bagel. I grinned and crossed the space in two steps, dropping into Marcone's fancy chair with a very satisfying 'plop'. Two birds, one stone, etcetera. I was going to get breakfast and annoy Marcone all at the same time. My day was looking up.
Of course it couldn't have been a plain bagel, no. He had some weird flavored bagel. Jalapeno and cheddar, maybe. It was okay, but eating it with my boots up on Marcone's desk, sipping his coffee made it taste wonderful. I didn't expect that George would forget about me for long and a search of the building would ensue. Eventually they'd think to check the boss' office and I'd get kicked out. So I wasn't really surprised when the front door opened and some random goon walked in, followed closely by Marcone and Hendricks.
I smiled wide at them and let one hand rest on my stomach as I sipped the very last of Marcone's coffee. “Hi there Johnny!” I practically chirped at him, too bright, too happy. Really, the coffee was excellent and the look that passed through Marcone's eyes, frustrated and angry made it all worth it. “We need to have a talk.” The goon smirked, ugly, and turned his head toward Marcone.
“Who's the skirt, Marcone?” 'Skirt'? What, really? Did I fall into a movie somewhere along the line?
“Excuse me?” I rolled back and dropped my feet off the desk, setting the mug down as I rose. Goon took a step back as I walked around the desk. I'm not imposing, but it does surprise an awful lot of people when they realize just how tall I am. He caught himself and took two steps toward me. Compensating I guess.
I saw Hendricks shift out of the corner of my eye, like a continent drifting and then Marcone was at my side, one arm slipping around my waist, turning me to face him.
“Harry. I wasn't expecting you so early.” And then the bastard took a hold of the back of my head with his free hand and kissed me. There was nothing to it. It was cold. Perfunctory. I tensed to pull back so I could knock him flat on his ass and his grip on my waist tightened. Marcone leaned in, putting his lips next to my ear and whispered, “Play along. Please.” It was the please that shocked me. I didn't think he knew how to use the word. I decided not to slam my knee into his groin, or my heel into his foot and break it. I even figured I could hold off on setting his suit on fire. Just for a minute.
“Nice. You wanna talk business or what?” Goon was definitely not a goon. None of Marcone's men spoke to him that way. Not more than once at any rate. His voice was nasal, obnoxious, with an accent I didn't recognize.
“Mr. Morelli. Would you go through into the conference room? I will join you there momentarily.” Morelli-not-a-goon snorted and shook his head.
“I'm disappointed, Marcone. I didn't take you for the type to get distracted by a broad.” But he followed Hendricks through a pair of glass doors into what I assumed must be the conference room. 'Broad'. Yeesh. Someone was stuck in the 40's. As soon as the door closed between us, I stepped on Marcone's foot. Not hard, just set my foot on top of his, so he could feel it there.
“You can either let me go, or I can make you let me go.”
“Really Harry. Your sense of drama is misplaced at the best of times.” Marcone stepped back, sliding his foot out from under mine and glanced down at the scuff marks I'd left on his shiny loafer. “And your timing is certainly questionable.”
“Not my fault. I was having a really good morning until your business splattered all over my sidewalk.” He shook his head and walked around behind his desk. I'd left a nice smattering of crumbs across the top and a couple coffee rings on a notepad. Just in case I left before seeing Marcone in person. “What the hell's going on?”
“Morelli is my opposite number from Boston. There's been some tension between our two groups, but we're smoothing it out.”
“Does this smoothing out have anything to do with the fire fight in broad fucking daylight in the middle of the city?” No one as slick as Marcone would ever actually say 'duh', but the look he gave me clearly did. “Great. Do you mind smoothing it out in dark alleys in the middle of the night or out on the docks like you people are supposed to?”
“I'm dealing with it, Harry. Morelli will be in town for a week or two. In the mean time all hostilities will cease. I won't let it spill out into the streets again.”
Hee! I love Harry eating John's breakfast and leaving a mess, just to annoy him. (Do I detect pigtail-pulling?)
I also love that Harry is about to set John on fire when he kisses her, until he says "please." It really is a magic word for those two, isn't it? Neither one can resist the other showing that kind of vulnerability.
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Fill: Playing for the Crowd 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 10:48 pm (UTC)(link)Or maybe that was just me feeling out of place. Nah. Couldn't be. Other-guy, who said his name was George, and I had gotten Grabby-guy, Paul, into the elevator and then ridden up three stories to the employee floor. I'd asked George what sort of self-respecting mobster goon was named 'George' and he'd told me his parents hadn't considered this as a career path when they were naming him. Which...okay. I was being a smart ass. I just wasn't used to getting it back. Especially not from Marcone's goons. They tended to either be very polite at me, or ignore me entirely.
“Just through here.” George nodded his head to the right at an open doorway.
“Great.” We hauled Paul, who was still sort of incoherent, through the doorway and into what, I swear to you, looked like a school nurses' station. Only much, much nicer. The 'nurse' looked up from some paperwork, saw Paul between the two of us and jumped into action. Within a minute or so she had Paul down on an exam table, his pants leg cut open along the outside and was examining the wound. She and George were occupied, so I let myself out.
Not out of the building, mind. Just out of the nurses station.
Marcone's little...tiff or whatever was going on had ruined both my morning and my breakfast. I was just going to correct half the problem. Marcone being Marcone, I knew he had food for his employees here. Hell, he probably had all their meals catered and weighed and balanced by a nutritionist for optimum vitamins and fiber. Or whatever people were supposed to worry about these days.
I wound my way through halls, passing women and men here or there, acting like I belonged. You'd be amazed how many people will hesitate to say something to you if you look like you have the right to be where you are. I wasn't having any luck locating the kitchen or cafeteria and was weighing stopping the next person and asking them, playing the 'new employee' card when the scent of freshly brewed coffee rolled over me.
My stomach did a happy little backflip and I followed my nose to the sweet nectar.
It wasn't in the kitchen. When I opened the door blocking my way to the coffee I found myself in Marcone's empty office. It was a side door, one you couldn't even see from the inside since it closed flush to the wall and didn't have an inside handle. I could see the larger, impressive door that I had been ushered through the few times I'd been here on the other side of the room. I glanced around, confirming that the office was completely empty before I let the door shut behind me. After all, I could always just break it down if I needed to.
The coffee was steaming in a plain blue mug sitting to one side of the desk blotter. Right beside a bagel. I grinned and crossed the space in two steps, dropping into Marcone's fancy chair with a very satisfying 'plop'. Two birds, one stone, etcetera. I was going to get breakfast and annoy Marcone all at the same time. My day was looking up.
Of course it couldn't have been a plain bagel, no. He had some weird flavored bagel. Jalapeno and cheddar, maybe. It was okay, but eating it with my boots up on Marcone's desk, sipping his coffee made it taste wonderful. I didn't expect that George would forget about me for long and a search of the building would ensue. Eventually they'd think to check the boss' office and I'd get kicked out. So I wasn't really surprised when the front door opened and some random goon walked in, followed closely by Marcone and Hendricks.
I smiled wide at them and let one hand rest on my stomach as I sipped the very last of Marcone's coffee. “Hi there Johnny!” I practically chirped at him, too bright, too happy. Really, the coffee was excellent and the look that passed through Marcone's eyes, frustrated and angry made it all worth it. “We need to have a talk.” The goon smirked, ugly, and turned his head toward Marcone.
“Who's the skirt, Marcone?” 'Skirt'? What, really? Did I fall into a movie somewhere along the line?
“Excuse me?” I rolled back and dropped my feet off the desk, setting the mug down as I rose. Goon took a step back as I walked around the desk. I'm not imposing, but it does surprise an awful lot of people when they realize just how tall I am. He caught himself and took two steps toward me. Compensating I guess.
I saw Hendricks shift out of the corner of my eye, like a continent drifting and then Marcone was at my side, one arm slipping around my waist, turning me to face him.
“Harry. I wasn't expecting you so early.” And then the bastard took a hold of the back of my head with his free hand and kissed me. There was nothing to it. It was cold. Perfunctory. I tensed to pull back so I could knock him flat on his ass and his grip on my waist tightened. Marcone leaned in, putting his lips next to my ear and whispered, “Play along. Please.” It was the please that shocked me. I didn't think he knew how to use the word. I decided not to slam my knee into his groin, or my heel into his foot and break it. I even figured I could hold off on setting his suit on fire. Just for a minute.
“Nice. You wanna talk business or what?” Goon was definitely not a goon. None of Marcone's men spoke to him that way. Not more than once at any rate. His voice was nasal, obnoxious, with an accent I didn't recognize.
“Mr. Morelli. Would you go through into the conference room? I will join you there momentarily.” Morelli-not-a-goon snorted and shook his head.
“I'm disappointed, Marcone. I didn't take you for the type to get distracted by a broad.” But he followed Hendricks through a pair of glass doors into what I assumed must be the conference room. 'Broad'. Yeesh. Someone was stuck in the 40's. As soon as the door closed between us, I stepped on Marcone's foot. Not hard, just set my foot on top of his, so he could feel it there.
“You can either let me go, or I can make you let me go.”
“Really Harry. Your sense of drama is misplaced at the best of times.” Marcone stepped back, sliding his foot out from under mine and glanced down at the scuff marks I'd left on his shiny loafer. “And your timing is certainly questionable.”
“Not my fault. I was having a really good morning until your business splattered all over my sidewalk.” He shook his head and walked around behind his desk. I'd left a nice smattering of crumbs across the top and a couple coffee rings on a notepad. Just in case I left before seeing Marcone in person. “What the hell's going on?”
“Morelli is my opposite number from Boston. There's been some tension between our two groups, but we're smoothing it out.”
“Does this smoothing out have anything to do with the fire fight in broad fucking daylight in the middle of the city?” No one as slick as Marcone would ever actually say 'duh', but the look he gave me clearly did. “Great. Do you mind smoothing it out in dark alleys in the middle of the night or out on the docks like you people are supposed to?”
“I'm dealing with it, Harry. Morelli will be in town for a week or two. In the mean time all hostilities will cease. I won't let it spill out into the streets again.”
“It better not.”
Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-28 01:43 am (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-28 06:41 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 2/?
Hells. With your skills and luck, never try to one-up anyone.
Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-28 06:43 pm (UTC)(link)OP Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-02-28 11:22 pm (UTC)(link)I also love that Harry is about to set John on fire when he kisses her, until he says "please." It really is a magic word for those two, isn't it? Neither one can resist the other showing that kind of vulnerability.
Re: OP Re: Fill: Playing for the Crowd 2/?
(Anonymous) 2011-03-01 07:12 pm (UTC)(link)What? No, no, of course not. :D
Please really is a magic word. Neither one of them uses it very much, not for real. So when they do, the other can't really help themselves.