Louis Oswald (penguin3) wrote in sog_ic, @ 2012-08-29 17:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | old- louis oswald |
Gone Goose
Who: Louis Oswald
NPCs: The Actuary, Clara the Airport Worker
Where: Cibao International Airport, Santiago, Dominican Republic
When: August 15, 2012 (backdated)
What: Oz once again is forced to change his travel plans...
Rating: R for language (again), ogling
Oz hefted out a grunt. “Coach?”
It was 6:21 a.m. It had been a long night.
He did have his prize – the Ridgway’s Hawk... but that was about it.
He’d had to “permanently exile” Mr. Cayo, and needed to find a new Dominican contact.
Then he’d split the inseam on his custom “A” suit, and been forced the inconvenience of donning his backup – still dapper – but not quite the same. The cuffs were a quarter of an inch too short, the pants were just too tight to be uncomfortable, and the damn collar was already scratching the back of his neck.
Then he’d gotten an SMS that Gotham’s premier playboy gone recluse Bruce Wayne had up and gotten himself killed. No official details yet, but Oz had already let loose his hounds.
Then the damn engine on his private jet had broken down. It would be another four hours until they could get it back in the air. It sat in plain sight through the airport’s glass walls, but was teasingly immobile on the flightline.
Then the fucking airport refused to open the damn food court for another hour and a half, despite several offers of rather considerable compensation – forcing him to resort to something from a vending machine vaguely resembling a pop tart.
He’d almost forgotten what it was like to hold actual cash and change in his hands. Filthy stuff.
So when he moved, the waist of his suit chaffed something fierce, he had a nagging bad feeling about how the day was going, and there was the constant unpleasant jingle of the three dimes and a nickel he’d gotten back as change.
And now – the final insult – or so he hoped.
“Coach,” the attendant repeated again. Her nametag identified her as Clara, her plain analog watch as working-class and her slightly stained, ill-creased uniform as experienced. “I’m afraid our business class section is full for this flight, sir... If you wanted to go someplace like Oahu... now that’s entirely open today. But Gotham... no, no, Gotham is all booked. As a matter of fact, this is the last seat today period. I even checked re-routing options via New York, Boston, Metropolis... Sorry, sir.”
Then she did something funny - smile – well, not necessarily funny, but weak, genuine.
And that was all it took for Oz to stop mentally punishing her for his own misfortunes and to stop for a moment to regard her – jet black hair, beaming brown eyes, full lips, buxom, attractively smooth ebony skin and an excellent full figure. It would have pegged her as being in her early 30s. Her fingers were all conveniently naked of any telltale wedding and engagement rings. She did have a charm bracelet – among the attached pendants, he spied a piano, a rose and a dove.
“That’s OK,” he replied conciliatorily, returning a forced grin and turning up his own charm. “Thank you for working your magic to get this seat. Though now I feel that I really haven’t spent enough time with the best your country has to offer.”
“How so?”
“Forgive me for being so direct, but have coffee with me.”
She stared blankly at him, stunned.
“Have coffee with me.”
“I’m on shift now.”
“Take a break.”
“I don’t date passengers.”
“Make an exception.”
“I don’t make exceptions.”
“I’ll pay.”
“I don’t date Americans.”
“I’m from Gotham. Totally different.”
Clara broke eye contact and shifted her weight on her feet. “I don’t know how else to say no, Mr. Oswald.”
Now it was his turn to smile, but broad and sincere this time. “Please, call me Oz.” Maybe his day was turning up after all.
It took a full 10 seconds for him to realize his pants were buzzing – damn Blackberry. Worst time to be interrupted. Incoming call. He excused himself and stepped away.
The Actuary – Oz’ right hand man and the CFO of First Gotham – appeared on the screen.
“What is it?”
“Well, you got my SMS that Bruce Wayne was shot, right?”
“Yeah...”
“It was your gun, sir.” The Actuary said directly, plainly, succinctly.
“Excuse me?”
“It was your gun. Initial ballistics reports confirm it was your Smith & Wesson M&P .45 – the legit one you keep in your desk. Indeed, the thing is nowhere to be found in your office. It won’t be long before the police get the warrants they need.”
“Stall them.”
“I’m already on it,” the Actuary countered. “They won’t get their precious final ballistics report for weeks... That should keep the law at bay for a while... But Gotham’s masked crusaders might decide to take matters into their own hands. Lou, it might be best for you to remain out of the country for a while. You know, keep a low profile until this blows over. Or until we can get the situation under control. In the meantime, we’ve begun reviewing security cam footage and visitor logs. We’ll find whoever did this.”
“The fuck you’d better.”
End call.
Oz, accustomed to setbacks, collected himself and went back up to the counter – back to Clara.
“I’ve got an even better idea. What were you saying about Oahu? They’ve got an empty plane? I’ll buy it. I mean, let’s go. Get tickets. Together. I’ll pay – for everything.”
She had that blank look again on her face that was a mixture of disbelief, but at the same time wanting it to be true.
“Yeah... I’m loaded. And, as I recall, you’re out of excuses.”
((OOC Comment: Promise to get the Penguin back to Gotham with my next post... just needed to account for his absence since my intro post and this seemed like the best way to do it. ))