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Tweak says, "Save the cheerleader..."

Meredith Jackson (clerical) wrote in jh_corporation,
@ 2008-03-22 22:24:00

House Calls (Skandra)
Most people on a Friday night were out partying. Out on a date, screwing, drinking, gambling, something like that. At least in New York City. Friday nights after work Meredith liked to relax. Considering how hectic work could be with how many bills she had to file away, all the things she had to do for them. To top that off, she had almost been killed not even a week ago. Meredith was tired, but there were some good things about Friday night. Like going online and chatting with her friends. Meredith stripped down to her black panties and left her white dress shirt on, half unbuttoned, only covering what was needed.

Her desktop, Charles, took up one whole corner of her apartment with everything it had with it. Three monitors which glowed a dazzling blue when she poked the mouse and sat down in the cushy rollable chair. The first thing she did was log into her chat programs and then turned on some nice music. She threw on her headset and logged into her favorite game at the moment, Counter Strike, never got old. Course the newest version of it was just a repeat of a thousand other games just like it, but something about splattering pixelated blood made her feel better.

Her relaxation lasted about 45 minutes before a knock sounded at her door. She didn't hear it at first. It was a knock knock knock, and then a bang bang bang. Meredith looked up, quirked a brow, who the fuck was that? NO one knocked on her door. They called her cell phone, texted her, something. Maybe someone was lost. The knocks got louder and louder. Meredith threw off the headset and went to the door. She peeked through the peephole onto to meet 4 guys in nice suits.

It couldn't be the cops. She hadn't done anything illegal, and cops couldn't afford nice suits. Meredith carefully unlocked the main bolt, but left the chain in. She peeked through the opening when she opened the door. All at once the door was shoved further open by the first guy, big guy, blond as hell and built. It threw her back with it. Meredith collided with the couch which righted her into standing. "You must. Be looking for Skandra." The guys had guns out before she could even move. Meredith took a deep breath and waved at her couch. "I'll just sit down." And that's exactly what she did. She sat in the middle of her couch as the men entered, one of them came up behind her and put his gun right to the back of her head, Had this been earlier on this week, she would have been bawling, but right now? She knew it HAD to be Skandra.

She was already pissed off.

The phone was put in front of her, apparently Skandra had done something to piss this obviously Russian men off, they all had really thick accents, and right now they wanted him here. She couldn't gather much more than that. There was a gun to her head, the door was shut again, and now one was stationed at it watching it, the other two were sitting on either side of her, guns at the ready and waiting for her phone call.

Meredith had never called Skandra on a Friday night, she didn't know what kind of things he did on a Friday night, and she didn't want to know. But he had a cell phone for a reason. She was angry dialing it too. Disturbed in her apartment! In her apartment. her home. There were scary Russian men that were not only pointing a gun at her head, but ogling her. Sure, she wasn't wearing much, but come on. Meredith pounded the number in and waited. it rang 3 times before it went to voice mail. Meredith hissed out. "Voice Mail."

"Skandra, this is Meredith. You need to come over. Call me back something. It's important. Some guys showed up looking for you." She hung up. But the barrel of the gun poked the back of her head.

"Call again."

Meredith rolled her eyes and tried again.

"Skandra you have to call me back, it's Meredith if you don't know by now. This is important, please."

"Skandra I'm so fucking serious now. This isn't funny. There are men here and they want to see you. Like now. Answer the god damned cell phone."

"It's the whiskey again isn't it? I'm locking it up I swear to fucking god. Get over to my apartment, you know where it is."

"That was rude of me, come on, please. Just come over here and talk to these guys. They want to talk to you. They're really insistent that they see you now."

"It's a cell phone! You're supposed to carry it with you. You know. Cordless. Goes anywhere. Had them since you were in college or whatever. Come on. This isn't funny at all. Pick it up."

She was onto number 6 with his cell. She tried the office then. Nothing. No one. Not Leander, not Skandra. Voice mails. She was getting sick of this.

"Skandra, Leander, anyone. I don't care if you're homeless and robbing us. Get Skandra. I need him."

"I am never letting either of you have the whiskey again! And you know what? I deserve a raise! Not only do I make killer coffee. But I deal with this crap! Answer the phone!"

"Where is everyone! You aren't married, I checked. Answer the phone! You never leave early. You live there. Come on. Skandra. Please. I am begging you."

"ten! Ten voice mails. Don't feel popular. I need you. I need you here right now. Look, I'm in panties and a shirt, does that get you moving? Come on! Call me back, something. Anything. Some sign of life! I am dying here. Call me."

By the tenth call the Russians were also getting angry.

Thats when a knock came to the door. Meredith turned her head, wide eyed. The man by the door opened it swiftly, gun pointed out the door. Meredith shut her eyes tight expecting the sound of Skandra's damn Elephant gun, but nothing.

"The fuck?" The Russian at the door was perplexed, apparently. What was it? A Fruit basket filled with grenades? Meredith opened her eyes and saw what he was seeing. A child, a boy, not even 10, couldn't be.

"What do you want, kid?" The man sounded pissed. Meredith wanted the kid to just go, but he was shaking.

"This guy downstairs gave me twenty bucks to come up here and knock on the door."

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roll_the_bones
2008-03-23 02:11 pm UTC (link)

Russians.

Listening her voicemails as they came in, listening to the muffled Russian conversation in the background, didn't tell him very much. There were at least four distinct voices. They were definitely speaking in Russian. From his time training the Russian version of America's space Marines. Officially they were GRU Spetsnaz culled from the best in every military district of Russia. Note-perfect Russian, all of them, and you couldn't help but pick it up when Uncle Sam paid people a lot of money to make sure you learned it. These guys' voices reminded him of those Spetsnaz troopers, but not as polished.

So they were amateurs.

Good.

In the taxi Skandra was going over his options. He brought the PDW, but he was hoping he wasn't going to need it. Meredith would be pissed at him if her apartment was torn up. That and he didn't want to get in a gunfight with four or more armed and alert Russian mobsters that wanted nothing so much as they wanted to fucking kill him. Knives. Lots of knives. There were at least twenty knives of every kind under his coat along with the PDW. Enough that if he sat down wrong he was going to stab himself. Not part of a set or anything; just what he cobbled together in the two minutes he gave himself before he left the office.

Phone was ringing as he climbed out of the cab in front of Meredith's building.

Doing this while drunk was a bad idea.

Then again, so was doing it while he was sober.

"Kid - kid, c'mere."

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

"What if they offer to give you twenty bucks?"

"Then they're not strangers, they're buds."

"Apartment 4102. I want you to go knock on the door for me, okay? Walk, don't run. And take the stairs."

Meredith's building was nice. The kind of nice that Skandra definitely did not want to bother with. Making sure all the knives were secure, and checking on the extra clips for his gun, Skandra stepped into the elevator. There was still a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Old lady with a pooch came in after him, and gave him a strange look.

Strange enough that he sneered at her.

"Smoking is bad for you, isn't it, Mr. Moxie?"

God damn. Was she seriously giving him a lecture by proxy - by toy poodle proxy? Unbelievable. All the training that the United States Marine Corps could provide had turned him into a trained killer. He was on his way upstairs to snuff out four lives, and he was getting a lecture on the evils of smoking from Mr. Moxie and the old broad that owned him. How easy would it have been to jam a knife in at the base of her skull and -

"Could you please put that out?"

Now there was some dick in a suit harassing him, and not through a dog proxy. Skandra stared at him while the elevator doors closed. Floor forty, that was his destination. Just had to hang in there until -

"Are you deaf, buddy?"

His eyebrow was twitching. He knew it was. Just -

"It's not polite to ignore people, is it, Mr. Moxie?"

"All right."

Skandra yanked open the front of his coat, displaying the knives and his fucking gun to both of the idiots. Clamming up like politicians under oath was a good fucking start, but Skandra still wanted to hurl that dog into a furnace and slap this horrible, wretched woman with whatever happened to survive the fire.

"That makes me boss of the fuckin' elevator, okay? So shut up or God help me I will impose silence in the most painful way imaginable."

Ding.

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roll_the_bones
2008-03-23 02:12 pm UTC (link)

Not a word from anyone as he stepped out of the elevator a moment later. One floor beneath Meredith's apartment. Only Mr. Moxie had refrained from being silent, but since Skandra didn't speak dog he had no reason to think that Mr. Moxie was commenting on his bad habit. Cigarette was almost gone, anyway. Dropped it onto the tile. Squashed it with a heel. Knocked on a door. 4002. Right beneath Meredith's unit. Skandra put on his biggest smile as someone opened the door - it was an elderly black woman, at least mid-70s. Probably. And she did not look happy to see him. Out in the hallway with its black and white checkered tiles there was no light, so he must have looked sinister as hell darkening her doorway like this. Maybe if he -

"I need to use your patio," Skandra told her.

"It's a balcony, not a patio."

"They're the same thing."

"A patio is what you have at ground level. Get a dictionary."

The door slammed hard in his face.

Staring at the hard wood for a long moment, Skandra had to wonder just how many people were going to make his rescue operation a fucking chore. Maybe if he offered her cash? It was going to take more than twenty bucks. Of course, the alternative was to go in there and brandish his gun at her. Probably illegal. What the hell about this wasn't illegal? He was already going to go collect some fuckin' souls. Did it really matter if he filled up an old woman's colostomy bag a little faster than usual? Yeah, it mattered. It mattered because he was a law abiding citizen who helped keep illegal things under control. It mattered because he was a hero. Here to save the day. And heroes sure as hell did not kick in doors. Skandra pulled back on the slide, chambering a round, and kicked the doorknob as hard as he could. Flung the door open without much protest.

"Get on the fucking floor!"

"Oh my God!"

"I'm using your fucking patio, lady!"

"It's a b-b-b-b-balcony..."

Skandra closed the glass door behind him, put the safety on, and then looked up. He wasn't going to make it by jumping. So climbing. He had to fuckin' climb. Stupid of them not to have somebody watching the door, but even if they did, he was wearing a bright blue glossy jacket taken from one of the usless fucking gamers on his street. They were expecting a trenchcoat and severity. Well, they were still going to get the severity. Attaching the PDW to the strap beneath his coat, Skandra started climbing. Up. Bricks burned his fingers, even through the gloves. Car horns blared beneath him. City lights looked beautiful from here. Beautiful but entrancing, the kind of thing you saw in the movies. Unbelievable. Skandra glared over his shoulder.

Until at last he was at Meredith's level, on her fucking patio - balcony, whatever - and over the railing. Peering through the blinds, he coudl see that his secretary wasn't lying. She really was scantily clad.

Awesome.

The balcony door was ajar, just enough to avoid any real sound as it opened. All of them were looking at the door. It opened with a slight creak to reveal the fucking kid. Well-timed, son. He was going to have to hire that little bastard, wasn't he?

"What do you want, kid?"

A knife came into either hand, readily and easily. Kid hopefully was smart enough to run. There were two of them by the door - he couldn't see the other two, not yet. Meredith's apartment was thankfully very dark. Good news for him.

"This guy downstairs gave me twenty bucks to come up here and knock on the door."

Just when panic would have registered. Just when they would have started turning around and looking for him entering through other gateways. That was when Skandra lurched forward, throwing both knives. Either one found its mark, just below that knot of bone and tissue on the shoulders. Right below the neck. Either Russian fell with a grunt, and that was all they really had time for. Great knives, these. Skandra slipped through the blinds and made for the darkest corner in a room full of dark corners, then shouted - he couldn't see her.

"Meredith-!"

"I have gun at her head!"

Well, shit.

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clerical
2008-03-24 01:38 am UTC (link)

The kid was gone, and two of the Russians were dead. The sickening sound of them hitting the floor made her squirm just a little, but already the gun was forced harder against her head. Meredith knew they were bleeding out onto her floor. Her floor. Her beautiful floor. She'd never get the deposit back now. What else did she expect to happen? At least he hadn't unloaded his gun in her apartment. What would her neighbors think? What if he broke something she owned?

"Nice of you to answer your phone!" She yelled from the couch. The other Russian who was on it grabbed her roughly by the hair and pulled her closer to him, the one who originally had the gun to her head was now pointing it out at the room. The one on the couch now had his gun to her head. Not a good situation at all. It was the second time since she'd come to work for Skandra that she had a gun to her head. They hadn't been the first, but a street mugger was a lot different than a black transvestite hooker and a Russian... mafia member.

She'd never, ever again take pleasure in watching a mob movie again. Well, maybe if they all died and her apartment was cleaned by someone that wasn't her. Maybe she'd take more pleasure in it. Or maybe she'd stop wearing pinstripes at all. It didn't matter, there was a gun to her head and she was breathing harder.

"Come out of the shadows and drop your weapons or I'll shoot her." Barrel pressed harder to her head. Meredith was practically gasping now.

"Can't we just, talk about this or something?" She mumbled more pathetically than she meant to.

She could hear the man breathing now. His breath smelled like vodka aand fish. Gross. She wanted nothing more than to get away from that. It was disgusting. How had vodka with fish? That was a wine sort of thing. He was dirty, he smelled dirty. His nice suit was cheap fabric and it burned her skin when he pulled her against it.

She was die and end up bleeding out all over the vintage Armani shirt she was wearing. It had been such a bitch to get her hands on it and now she was going to die wearing it. She fucking hated this more and more. They were either going to kill her, or they were going to die and get blood on her somehow. Neither situation was what she wanted, but the not dying was the best option. "Just not blood and brains in the hair again."

"What?"

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roll_the_bones
2008-03-24 03:06 am UTC (link)

"That doesn't sound like a very good deal for me," Skandra called from the dining room. "Maybe you should reconsider."

The basic floor plan of the apartment seemed simple. From the living room one door led to the dining room, the other to the kitchen. Split the difference. One of them was on detail keeping Meredith under control, so he only had one to deal with. Predictable as shit. Sliding his KA-BAR out from under his coat, Skandra waited patiently as the Russian inched closer. Low to the ground, shrouded by darkness, the ex-Marine let the Russian come into the dining room. Soon his eyes were going to adjust to the light. That meant that immediately after the Russian was fully immersed in darkness, Skandra jumped.

The first slash went across his wrist, digging deep and ruining the tendon. Barely gave the Russian time to scream before he brought the KA-BAR knife in a wide sweep to his right, gouging the poor bastard's throat. Now it was more of a gurgle than a scream. Gun hand was useless; he'd already dropped the pistol. Skandra picked it up in his off hand as the Russian sank to his knees. Even if a doctor was there right now, he'd just given the Russian enough of a leak to kill him. Bracing his foot against the Russian's back, Skandra kicked him toward the door that led from dining room to kitchen. A single gunshot rang out, putting the Russian out of his misery.

In that instant Skandra twisted, passing through the doorway from dining room to living room. The last Russian had turned his attention - and his gun - toward the kitchen, toward the shot. That left Skandra free to take two very long steps lunge over the coffee table with a single snarling stab. Left him free to bury the KA-BAR knife into the man's head - through the top of his skull. Sickening crack and crunch of bone as the hard steel ruined it.

Jerking the Russian off the couch, his legs unsteady, Skandra dropped him on the kitchen tile half a second later. Minimal blood except where it was easily cleaned. That was the goal. Standing red faced in the doorway of Meredith's kitchen, his knife still buried in the head of a Russian mobster, PDW hanging from his open jacket while a pistol hung from his clenched fist, Skandra almost felt as though he couldn't breath.

Shortness of breath.

Only a half-drunk idiot took the kind of chances he had taken tonight.

What the hell.

"Sorry."

It came out as half-apology, half-gasp.

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clerical
2008-03-24 04:46 am UTC (link)

Meredith was a bit shocked at how everything seemed to work out so very well. But at the same time she was still gasping and panicking over what had just gone down. Four men were dead in her apartment. Four men who definitely would have killed her and her boss if they'd gotten the chance. Of course, this was all Skandra's fault. She didn't even want to know how this had happened. How men had ended up at her apartment. how they knew where she lived.

How they were bleeding out in it now and what was she going to do now? She was glaring in Skandra's direction. He was sorry? He was sorry. Sorry for what? Which part of it was he sorry about? Sorry that some Russians came to her door? Sorry they found out where she lived? Sorry that they threatened her with a gun? Sorry that she almost died? Again? Sorry that they were bleeding out on her fucking floor? Or was he sorry that it took so long?

Meredith was breathing hard, she was so angry she couldn't even speak about it, she just got up off the couch and went for the light switch to survey the damage. She tripped up a little over a pair of legs and got to it, the lights came on swiftly lighting the living room. Not as much blood as she expected. But it was there anyhow. And they were dead, and ugly and..

"You're sorry." Meredith tried to sound calm. He was sorry. Did that even fucking matter?

Nope.

"I almost died, again! Another gun pointed at my head. And you're sorry? You're sorry! How is that going to make up for it?" She went softer now. "I have four dead bodies in my apartment. And you're sorry? What did you do? Why did they come here? Why did they come for me before you? What the hell Skandra." Meredith balled her hands into fists and pressed them into her eyes.

She was really really upset. This was some kind of fucking joke wasn't it? She put her hands down and looked around.

"Jesus my game!" Meredith jumped over the first body, and then the second and went to her computer. Yeah, she was definitely dead. Repeatedly.

"This is the worst Friday night ever." She rubbed her hand through her hair.

"You." She pointed in his direction. And started to cross the room. She wanted to just punch him, or something.

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roll_the_bones
2008-03-25 01:07 am UTC (link)

Skandra almost didn't hear her shrill, frantic screaming as he began coldly searching pockets of his assailants. Almost without looking he was fairly certain he knew why they had come. Dragunis. None of them had any I.D. on them. No wallets, no cash, nothing. There was probably a car at street level, filled with all of the items they weren't carrying now. Only one had anything. A phone. A cell phone, in point of fact, and almost entirely unused. Skandra could only find one call, an inbound call. Meredith was coming toward him, but he hardly noticed.

Hesitating only for a second, the gun still hanging limply at his side, Skandra pressed the button.

Meredith stopped when he pressed the speakerphone button, and the ringing was audible to both of them. He was still out of breath. Still exhausted from a short and very pain-free fight. Skandra thought his knees were going to start creaking. Drunk and pain did not mix. He needed more Percocet. That wasn't Meredith's problem, was it?

"Boris? The job, it is done?"

"Boris is dead."

"Then you must be Mister Skundera."

"Skandra."

"And your lady friend?"

"Alive and well."

"This is not the end, Mister Skundera."

He blinked when the line went dead. Now he was sure it was Dragunis. But why? Over one guy, and a low-level flunky at that? None of this made any sense. Skandra put the phone in his pocket and sighed heavily. Followed by a deep, deep breath. More Percocet, tonight. This was going to be very uncomfortable to get out of, but as the pain in his limbs increased Skandra knew his tolerance for Meredith's hysterics was going to decrease.

"You're alive, aren't you?" Skandra demanded heavily. "Spend a little more time being thankful for that."

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clerical
2008-03-26 02:03 am UTC (link)

This is not the end.

Meredith scowled at the phone. She wanted to yell at it too. Damned Russians. Stupid Skandra. Stupid everything. Everything about this evening was wrong. She was so upset that she even forget to cover herself up with something. No instead she focused onto what Skandra was saying to her. Saying that she was alive and that she should be thankful for it. Thankful she was alive when he'd almost gotten her killed again.

Meredith was beyond yelling now, now her hands were shaking as she balled them up and her face tinged red from anger. She was livid. She wasn't even talking. She was shaking and swinging her arms and huffing. It was something akin to throwing a hissy fit. Meredith didn't care. This was complete fucking bullshit. Be thankful for it? She'd said thank you before but now he didn't deserve it.

He! He brought them into here basically! Now how was she supposed to go home without thinking someone was behind her? How was she supposed to leave her apartment without thinking about bringing pepper spray or a taser or a gun. Meredith had never been a violent person, not ever. And now.

Now she was going to be wasn't she?

"They came into my fucking apartment. They followed me home. They know where I live. I'm going to have to move now and you want me to be thankful for it? Fuck you."

It took all of two seconds, the slap she gave him, but it felt so good. It felt better than sex. He fucking deserved it too.

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roll_the_bones
2008-03-26 02:34 am UTC (link)

Skandra thought about the gun in his hand and how easy it would be to shoot her right then and there. The last time someone laid hands on him they died, and for that split second he thought about giving her the same fate. Employee. Fuck that. It wasn't his gun. He could get away with it. He could ... Skandra shoved the gun into his pocket with the safety on, before he was too tempted and he gave into the desire. Meredith didn't know what the fuck she was talking about, 'cause if she had, she wouldn't have fucking slapped him.

"You think I asked them to come here?" Skandra caught her wrist before she could slap him again, and pushed her back - toward the wall, as violently as he could. "I was doing my fucking job and I pissed off some Russian mobsters 'cause I killed some two bit cousin of the family!"

Meredith's back slammed into the wall, but Skandra didn't let go of her wrist - dragging it across her body, he trapped her other arm, in case she got any fucking ideas about slapping him again.

"You think I called them and said, hey, start a fucking blood feud guys! Be sure to kidnap my secretary when you fuckin' do it! You think that's what happened! Wake up, you little snot! You think I carry a fucking gun 'cause it makes me look cool?! I carry a fucking gun 'cause this is dangerous! This line of work is dangerous! Get it through your head!"

He finally let go of her wrist, but he was still looming over her, wondering if she'd have the balls to do it again.

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clerical
2008-03-27 02:34 am UTC (link)

"It's especially dangerous when you do it drunk!" Meredith screeched after he was finished, she'd been fighting to get her arms back and now she had them. She beat her fists against his chest out of desperation, it really wouldn't have hurt him. "I don't think you did any of that, but god damnit Skandra. Don't act like it was nothing either! It's the second time in a month I've been held at gunpoint. What am I supposed to fucking do? Be cool with it?"

She wasn't cool with any of this. Now she didn't know what to think, or to do. "I'm not safe here anymore." She didn't have anyone here. No friends to bring over, no family who liked the city enough. Where the hell was she supposed to go?

She sank back against the wall and took a deep breath.

She was not going to say sorry.

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roll_the_bones
2008-03-27 01:45 pm UTC (link)

There was a man, a long time ago, who would have agreed with Meredith. He only existed on the pages of worn-down Mead Composition books. Frayed with age, bloated by time just like a human being. Pages dry and rasping as he turned them. The last time had been... what? Years ago. Years ago. He couldn't remember what they said anymore. Swimming on a beach somewhere in the Persian Gulf. Skandra didn't know why he was thinking of that just now. No, he knew. Even amateurs got a lucky shot every once in a while, even if they didn't know it. What was he supposed to do? Be cool with it?

Sure.

Why not?

Uncle Sam didn't seem to have any problem giving a willing man money to kill people. His face still red, his lungs still afire, Skandra shoved the Russian phone into his pocket. The gun came out, and he dropped it on the floor. The police were going to want to talk to both of them, and he wasn't sure what he was going to say.

Lot of explaining to do.

Lot.

"Call the cops," Skandra told her. "I'll wait on the balcony."

What was he supposed to do?

Be cool with it.

That was just the way it was.

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clerical
2008-03-29 04:17 am UTC (link)

Meredith moved away from the wall and away from him and sat down on her couch. She picked up the phone and made the call. It didn't take long for her to make it, and she hung up almost as quickly as she'd picked up the phone. Soon enough the cops would be here and likely she'd end up in jail.

Again.

Meredith pulled a cigarette out of her pack and put it in her mouth, she lit the end with a lighter and sat back.

This was sickening. There was blood on her floor, in her kitchen. Corpses.

She wanted to say something, anything. Even yelling was better than the silence. She was sick to her stomach. She was worried. She was smoking faster now. Edgy. Meredith didn't know if she wanted to talk to the cops either. But she was going to have to. She wasn't even wearing pants. She couldn't get up. She just wanted to sit there all night.

Face collided with her knees as she drew them up and sighed. Cigarette hung from two fingers carefully.

"What am I going to do?"

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