Morningstar Manor

Ricky was sitting on the base of the Vine Square Angel, drinking beer from a can.

A few yards away, his lovely teal Harley was shimmering in the evening sun.

Life was good.

Jimmy was about to go through his normal routine - up, shower, tea and a bacon banjo with a soundtrack of heavy rock - when he found the bathroom locked, shower already running.

He grunted and shambled through to the kitchen. At least he could make tea.

The pool house was too hot and the roof garden too windy so Jimmy looked for some shelter while he lit his cigarette. What he found made him very happy indeed and when he seated himself in the shade of one of the trees growing from the enormous planters he had a pocket full of fresh skunk and a broad grin.

Whoever's little nursery that had been, tucked away between the back of the pool house and the tops of the lifts, they wouldn't notice what he had picked. Why kill the golden goose?

Langham was outraged. Davis deserved everything he got for being stupid enough to have tackled Ferrell.

The original plan was that Davis was to have crippled the co-driver, hopefully badly enough that Ferrell would pull out of the race. Since the little fag stayed in company all night long, Davis was supposed to have made sure that Ferrell wouldn't have been driving anywhere.

A broken arm or leg would have done it, but no the stupid son of a bitch had gone for a kill and now Langham was left to finish the race on his own.( Read more... )

That afternoon Jimmy had ridden down in the elevator with Charlie Shaw and his little girl and they had got talking. Jimmy had asked a few perfectly innocent questions and had been very amused to see how red and furious Charlie had got.

Jimmy chuckled. Shaw was going to spend the rest of the day retraining his brat to say 'frog' instead of 'fuck'.( Read more... )

He'd driven the Challenger to the club and found Micah waiting for him at the door. They'd exchanged looks and Micah had lead him inside.

"Wait here," he said when they reached the elevator. "Jimmy will be with you shortly."

"Thanks," Deacon said with a fake smile and watched Micah walk off. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting at all.

Hey, Deacon. Jimmy Wendell 'ere. Sandberg wants to see you. Okay? See you at Sanctuary about four o'clock would be best. 'E'll get antsy if 'e's kept waiting so - er - you best be there. Know what I mean?

Ben thanked the barista for his small coffee, the only drink on the menu that he recognized and could pronounce with confidence. After grabbing as much creamer and sugar as his hand could clutch, he scanned the coffee shop for a place to sit. Coffee houses were never his thing. They were too often populated by snobby rich people or equally snobby artists with their expensive lattes and Apple laptops giving dirty looks to anyone who made a noise and dared to interrupt the typing of their ground-breaking novel. This place looked okay, though. Not many people were around, probably because it was night time and the post-work crowd had already left.

( First night )

Jimmy poured coffee from the machine and continued with the conversation. "All I can say is that those bastards heal very quickly. The wop still has his hand bandaged, but the other security man isn't showing anything. Charlie's had a trip to the dentist - I think Myron must've got the little fag a good one - but your mark is back to normal. Smug bastard."

He added four sugars and stirred his mug, spoon clinking. "He's got his cars in the shop," he added. "The Dodge had bits all over but the Aston Martin looks good to go. Are you sure about this?"

Ricky was in a corner booth, slumping listlessly and suckling strong coffee.

He'd had a few with the others after the gig last night; but in the morning, it turned out it had been a few too many.-

He'd run into Zack in the Mocha and that had started a conversation about the next band practice - after Zack had given Deacon hell about the bruises on his face of course. And somehow that ended with them both going to get their guitars and heading for the ballroom. They'd begun keeping amps and the like in the storage rooms there (perks of 'working' for the Manor) and so it wasn't long before Deacon and Zack were sitting on the edge of the little stage - Zack with his bass and Deacon with his guitar and trying to stump each other by starting a song and seeing if the other knew it well enough for them to play through it and sing.

Nia was with them, sitting with several toys on a large blanket spread out on the floor and bopping her little head to the music - and sometimes singing with them.

They were having a blast, laughing and playing, and would take requests and challenges from anyone should they chose to come in.

Jimmy was standing in the door of Max's office reading off some figures when the elevator opened and Micah got out.

Jimmy glanced at him once, read another total then forwned and took another look.

"Bloo-dy-hell!" he said and shot a warning glance at Max. "What the fuck happened to you? The whole 7th Cavalry?"

Nick strolled along the path, litter pickers in hand, whistling quietly to himself. Working Saturdays wasn't too bad when one had a job like this to do and the weather was reasonable.

He stooped to pick a discarded candy bar wrapper and put it in his garbage sack then walked on.

[ooc: we numbered our pups and choose them using this handy little item. Other than that the rules are fairly elastic]

Jimmy eyed Mike Langham from the corner of his eye as they rode up in the private elevator. Mike looked cool and relaxed in his high class suiting and appeared to be delighted with the invitation to join Max for the day to discuss a 'business matter' but Jimmy wasn't fooled.

There were the tiny tell tale signs. The tension around the eyes, the deliberate positioning, the tight smile were normal as was the bulge under Mike's arm but maybe his eyes were a little TOO tense, the smile stiff and unnatural.

Jimmy grinned at him and waved him ahead as the lift doors opened and grinned again to see the man pretend to like the courtesy.

Max had left he door to his office open across so he was able to hear the elevator doors ping open. "Mike!" he called through the open door. "Good to see you. Come in here."

( He sounded pleasant enough he thought. )

Weekly meetings tended to be on the boring side, but were a very necessary part of keeping Sandberg Associates running smoothly. And since there was no way Jimmy was going to leave Max on his own with a bunch of uptight suits, he always sat in on it. He had a feeling Max quite enjoyed the way the accountants and legal eagles reacted to Jimmy's growling foul-mouthed farting presence, so today while he listened, he ate a cheese burger, noisily, then rang out for soda. ( Read more... )

Friday meant a busy night at the club but the doors weren't open yet. Right now Max was sitting in his office going over paperwork and listening to the low thrum of a hard rock song. A good song. One Jimmy would probably recognize.

He should considering it was his old band.

Jimmy had not been sleeping easily the past few nights - many millions of dollars going missing is enough to disturb any man unless he's a banker - and today he had got to the club early and had checked the email account again.

Still nothing.

He sighed and when he heard his boss come in he went to meet him with a scowl.

Jimmy sat at the computer, nodding his head slightly to the music had had turned up loud. A little paper work. He tweaked this spread sheet and adjusted that one, scowling at his own scrawl on a notepad, then opened his email account.

All A OK there.

And the other?

He signed at the sight of the pristine virgin inbox. Not even the faintest trace of spam.

He leaned back in his spinny chair and said, "Arse," with considerable venom, then got up and went to ring his opposite number at Moray Records.

What he heard didn't make him feel any better.

As they emerged from the elevator the lawyer shot his cuffs and stalked towards the doors, only replying to the security man's greeting with a curt nod.

The security man looked surprised but Jimmy wasn't. He and his neighbour had just had 'words', polite words that translated into local terms would have meant someone holding someone's coat and an invitation being issued to step outside.

A little quibble about Jimmy getting home at four in the morning and soothing himself before bedtime with a little classic rock. Jimmy couldn't see that it was a problem - it was GOOD music. Should make the guy feel young again.

Yawning and scratching his back he ambled towards the mailroom to see if the magazines he'd ordered had arrived.

It hadn't taken him long to figure out who had sent the email. No that had been the easy part. The hard part was deciding what to do after that - because it hadn't been who he'd expected. For several days Deacon had sat and thought. And he'd done a little digging.

It hadn't helped his mood.

When no other emails came he had to face facts - they'd wanted to be found out. And they were waiting for Deacon.

( A meeting )