pleasuretoburn (pleasuretoburn) wrote in birthrightrpg, @ 2020-10-05 16:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | noah restic, npc |
Blackmail 101
Who: Noah, NPC John Schram (written by Rae)
What: A deal
Where: Las Vegas, the Venetian
When: Present
Ratings/Warnings: Talk of violence, death, etc.
Noah was waiting in an executive suite at the Venetian, sitting on a finely-appointed purple sofa. On the mirrored coffee table in front of him were photographs and photocopied death certificates spilling out of a plain envelope, along with instructions detailing where and when to meet the sender, and an electronic key card. He had helped himself to the bar, an opened bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label on the console table next to him.
If he had to wait here much longer, he would be ordering room service, the pyrokinetic decided. Anyone who tried to make his time seem invaluable would be facing a rather large bill. Noah even debated about leaving a blackened handprint on the upholstery. Petty, yes. Expensive? Very much so.
When he wanted to be, John Schram was a good lawyer. His name was etched onto the side of a building, a product of hard work and dedication to the craft. But the profession, while rewarding, could be lucrative and the temptation to stray into dealings that weren’t always above the table was strong. John was predictable. While young, in his early forties, he managed to keep a good head on his shoulders. That was, until the firm accepted a new partner in Roman Skye, some supposed big shot from California.
That was when the business ethics began to shift.
Roman was a disgrace to the profession; John believed whole-heartedly that the law should be interpreted fairly and justly, not tipped and swayed in the direction you wanted it to go because there was a hand dumping money into your pocket.
For two years he’d been subject to Roman and his antics. At first, John did his best to be reasonable and tried to like the new lawyer. They even went out together to prospect for clients but it never went the way John wanted it to go.
And after a bit of asking around hypothetically, John came upon Noah. He recalled the man from the Rabbit Hole weeks earlier - a spilt drink had caused John’s seat at the table to become forfeit, but that was how things went with Roman. Some digging around and leverage became available. What was a bit of cash to play Roman’s game when the outcome meant the man was out of his hair for good?
The door to the luxury room clicked open and in stepped John Schram. Light blue eyes flickered to his guest. “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable,” the lawyer stated, slipping out of his coat.
Noah snorted. That opening salvo was so cliched, he had to take a swig from the whisky. One shot for every hackneyed turn of phrase, and the pyrokinetic had a feeling he’d be hugging the floor. Then recognition clicked into place. “Oh, it’s you,” he said slowly. “You look different when you’re not scrambling around on your hands and knees.”
He glanced at the little care package that had been hand delivered to his door man. “I take it that Roman didn’t send you?” Noah plucked up one image displaying a charred, almost unrecognizable tangle of bodies and held it up to the other man. “Were you looking at my family portraits?” A broad smile.
John’s eyes widened a bit but he continued into the room unfazed. His jacket would be tossed over the back of a chair, shined shoes carrying him to the mirrored table holding the contents of the envelope and plush seating. “And you look different when there’s light. But types like you don’t do well in well lit areas, so I’ll keep this brief.” At the end of the day he was a lawyer. He couldn’t be rattled easily even if he was intimidated.
“Roman is the reason you and I are here,” John explained, motioning to the couch beyond the table. The fabric had been interrupted by friction, he noticed, as the weft offered a different hue of color than what was advertised on the piece. That could happen when you sat down, and then got up.
He, himself, took a seat. John didn’t realize his right leg was beginning to bounce up and down some. The heel of his shoe touched nervously upon the carpeting.
A bit of a smile got tangled up on John’s lips but he didn’t take his eyes from the picture. “Thought I’d do a bit of homework before I approached you with the offer. Hope you didn’t mind.”
“‘Types like me’,” Noah repeated faux-incredulously. “Wow, just call me scum and be done with it. It’s more honest.” He shook his head. “Oh, right, I forgot that you’re a lawyer.” The pyrokinetic leaned back in his seat, watching the other man closely.
“Most people don’t hire someone off the books to hand-deliver their homework,” Noah remarked shrewdly. “You’ve obviously never done this before. Let me save you some time. Blackmail is only effective if someone would outright kill for it not to get out. You came alone to a meeting with a killer, so you must have a contingency. What do you know?”
Corners of John’s lips twisted up a bit more, splitting his mouth in a way that his teeth began to peek through. “That is the common consideration for lawyers, isn’t it?” As if he found this amusing a bark of a laugh would be emitted. John then offered a shrug of his shoulders. “I happen to know you’re a businessman, are you not?” Blackmail and lessons aside.
“And most of the time businessmen are willing to negotiate terms,” John continued, not waiting for Noah to pipe up again.
At the office he never got a word in edgewise when Roman was in the room. The Stanley case was a prime example and had been the last straw balancing on the back of that camel which had brought him here. With a contract killer sitting on a sofa in a plush hotel room talking logistics.
“I know that you’re supposed to be dead, Noah.” His frame relaxed a bit as he spoke, tone dropping to an easier one. It was as if they’d been friends for years and were sharing a story of the past, together, reliving the context of it. John’s forearms came to rest upon the tops of his knees, fingers coming together to steeple.
That leg never stopped shaking.
“And I know about your family. What happened to them. It was supposed to look like a murder suicide, wasn’t it?”
Noah licked his lips to taste the residual whisky there. He mirrored the lawyer’s movements like any good salesman would, resting his own arms on his knees. Of course he knew who this man was. He knew about each partner at Roman’s firm, his employer had made sure of it. He also knew that not a single one of them would know about John being in this hotel room with him tonight. A rookie mistake that tilted largely in the pyrokinetic’s favor.
“It was a murder/suicide,” he told the other man earnestly. “It’s a technical, empirical truth. There was murder, and then a suicide.” He grinned. “I’m a big fan of lying with the truth, John.” Noah paused. “What do you plan to do with this information?”
John watched Noah’s expression, the way the other man moved. They were trained to read body language, to see if any indicators of deceit popped up. And in this case he didn’t see any regarding the response. “You know what I mean,” John remarked, acting unfazed by the explanation.
“That depends on what you will do for me.” With a touch more confidence John sat up straighter. “I need a favor, Noah. A big one. One that will change lives for a lot of people, myself included.”
Careful consideration was taken as he deliberated on the next piece of rock he wanted to drop on Noah. “I want Roman Skye out of the picture, and you’re going to do that for me. Or the FBI might find out what really happened in Kiev.”
“Oh,” Noah exhaled, the word morphing into a jagged laugh, “is that all?” That was funny. “You must really hate him.” He stood up slowly, crossing the hotel’s living room to grab another glass. He poured some of the Johnnie Walker and handed it to John. “I’ll work with you, but I want to know two things, first.”
The pyrokinetic resumed his previous seat, sliding the photos and paperwork neatly back into their envelope. “One, have you ever done anything like this before? You’re going to be the direct cause of another human being’s death. Is that not...drastic?” Noah tilted his head in fascination.
This wasn’t exactly the way John had thought dealings like this went. Noah was laughing which had caused the lawyer’s eyebrows to nearly hit his receding hairline. “Funny?” Maybe he had missed the punchline - that happened to him more often than he admitted to in other, more social circumstances.
John’s right leg ceased motion. He accepted the glass with question, looking down at the amber liquid as if he could decipher if it was tainted with drugs or anything harmful. It seemed like regular alcohol to him.
A sip from the glass, cautious at first, and then he took another gulp. The liquid burned his throat and a rise of heat expanded in his lungs, stomach. The glass went down and John emitted a heavy sigh. “No, I have never done this before.” And those light colored eyes lifted and he looked at Noah with near desperation. “But Roman has been a thorn in everyone’s side since he got here from California. The man is a monster. I know he does deals under the table, helps criminals. He’s not only bad for the firm but he gives the law and justice a bad name. You’re supposed to be honest and fair. He is tipping the scales in the wrong way.”
The Walker was having a relaxing effect on John. A bit more and his temper would begin to flare up, but he never let himself get to that point if he wasn’t drinking alone at home. “He personally disgraced me in front of the whole office, he has to go.”
Noah leaned forward and refilled John’s glass. “That’s Roman,” he said softly as his tone began to shift. He shook his head microscopically, his own expression darkening. “He doesn’t care about anyone except himself. Doesn’t open up. It’s all about how high you can jump for him, isn’t it, John?” The pyrokinetic tutted sympathetically.
“It’s his own fault, really. Pushing a man like you to this point. What else is an honest man to do in this city?” He brought his own drink to his mouth before pausing. “Are you a religious man, Mr. Shram?”
A noise would be uttered from the back of John’s throat, disgust. Fingers clamped down on the glass and he lifted it up, as if he and Noah were buddies having a conversation over a drink, and he took a sip to wash down the uncertainty and loathing bubbling up into his esophagus. “He doesn’t,” John concurred. A shake of his head coupled with a huff of a sigh and the glass went down again, clicking against the mirrored table.
“And it’s like he owns the place,” John uttered. The fingers on his right hand curled against his palm and he lifted the fist, bringing it down upon his own knee in frustration. “We’re supposed to be equal. He does whatever he wants whenever he wants and it has to stop.”
When the inquiry about religion came up, John felt a bit of guilt weighing down on him. “Yeah, actually. I go to church every Sunday.” Was this God’s will? Or the Devil? It had taken praying, the kind where you knelt on the floor with your head up toward the sky and your hands clasped together hard enough the fingers are turning white. And you use every bit of good deeds you’d been saving for this one request, for this glimmer of hope.
Noah nodded slowly. “I understand,” he assured John. He let the amber liquid swirl hypnotically in his glass. “That’s admirable. You don’t see that a lot here.” He closed the space between them to clap the lawyer on the shoulder amiably before reclining back in the plush settee.
“One might argue that...you’d be doing the world a favor, getting rid of Roman,” the pyrokinetic mused. “He isn’t scrupulous, kind, or fair. And you’ve worked so long, and so hard. Truly impressive credentials, and no family to show for it. You’re dedicated. Still, people are so close-minded. The church-going John Schram, caught taking out a hit on his partner?” Noah grimaced, then looked concerned.
“You haven’t talked to anyone else about this, have you, John?”
That smack on the shoulder made John nearly leap out of his skin but he nodded, licked over his lips to taste the beads of alcohol there, and settled down. His leg began to shake a bit, moving up and down quickly like a piston on an engine.
John listened. Noah was understanding the point - they would be doing everyone a favor. His smile grew a bit more real and genuine. His head dipped for a moment as a breath of relief was expelled. “You get it. Obviously you know him, too. You understand how ridiculous he can be, how dangerous he is.” Not that Noah wasn’t, but this was in a different context.
Shaking his head, his gaze lifted and settled on Noah. “Nobody knows about this except you, and I.” If this got out he’d be kicked out of the firm for sure. But Noah wouldn’t talk, at least John suspected as much considering the pile of evidence. And his presence here was purely circumstantial, which could be considered hearsay.
Noah returned that smile, and it was just as genuine, though for different reasons. “That’s smart,” he told the other man, tapping his temple. “Of course you’d be a brilliant tactician.” He picked up the envelope and stood once more, looking down at John. He let the briefest glimpse of cold show before his expression turned friendly again.
“So, we have a deal, then? I get rid of Roman, and you get rid of this...evidence?”
That bit of a complement had John perking up. He felt a surge of pride. Even from someone like Noah who he knew did not-so-nice things, a few nice words were still taken the way anyone would have accepted them. He approached it. It was a rare circumstance lately that he receive any semblance of a pat on the back for anything.
John also stood up.
His hand arched out and extended to Noah. “Deal.”
He returned the handshake, a firm squeeze that tugged John closer to him. “I’ll make it look like an accident,” he assured the lawyer with a friendly wink. “Less suspicious that way. Maybe that he choked on his own sense of superiority.” With that, the pyrokinetic released the other man and turned to exit the hotel suite.