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ds_flashfiction2006-03-24 07:55 pm
bjohan57.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2006-03-24 07:55 pm
Entry tags:
For Richer or Poorer Challenge
Title: God's Banker
Pairing: None
Word Count: 1282
Rating: PG-13 for 'thematic elements' (whatever they are)
Summary: How much was a life worth? Particularly a life about to destroy another?
Armando Langoustini exhaled deeply as he replaced the receiver of his sleek black telephone, his skin breaking out in a cold sweat for the first time since... He glanced around his air-conditioned designer Vegas apartment, picture perfect glass and black wood, with his favourite brown suede couch in the next room. His focus settled on a small hung painting of a mountainscape in some unknown country, and reflected on the information he had just acquired.
“Langoustini? This is Jimmy. The package you asked me to look out for? Arrived in Chicago late last night, Union Station.”
“Oh god... Have you followed it? Where has it been?”
“Just a run-down hotel on the South Side, I have people on it right now. They’ll tell me any movement.”
“So it hasn’t been anywhere near the Consulate? I’m warning you Jimmy, do not let this leave your sight for one second or there’ll be consequences, you know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, no, no deliveries to the Consulate. We’ll keep looking. Do you still want me to go through with it?…Langoustini? You there?”
“Uh...Yeah...yeah, if there’s any suspicious…”
“You know, this package is wanted in three states and two countries, my usual fee will have to increase, there’s more risk involved with the pigs. How much you willing to pay? Shit, I gotta go. I’ll ring with any change in status.”
How much was he willing to pay?! Jeez. In the year since his car-crash, Armando Langoustini had successfully avoided any ‘payments’ for any ‘services’ which were necessary in his line of work. A threatening tone, mention of his name, a couple of men with revolvers and the problems were sorted out. It seems people were more than willing to give up information or dirty rackets in order to spare their own lives, but this was different. This package was not human in the real sense of the term, this package had killed men, almost killed the soul of another and appeared to be trying again. There was no redemption for some people and if god hadn’t acted yet, then someone else needed to…
Langoustini picked up the phone, the rough pads of his fingers slowly dialling a familiar number.
----------------------------------------------------
“Vecchio!”
Ray looked at the inbox of unsolved crimes towering higher than his hair, and planned what to do after work. Maybe he’ll pick up Fraser and they’ll go bowling. Yeah, right. Ray snorted at the image of a Stetsoned Fraser, running down the alley calmly explaining “I’m terribly sorry Madame, I appear to have knocked all these big pins down and my wolf has eaten all your donuts. Do allow me to compensate you for your loss. There’s an old Inuit tale involving …”. Nah, he’ll probably just get Pizza and watch the game, who was he kidding? Maybe get a little dancing practise in there as well. Ah, yeah, that’s the good stuff.
“Vecchio! You deaf? Get in here!”
Welsh on the war-path again. He couldn’t possibly have done anything since his last ear-drubbing, Fraser had been busy all week. Ray pushed himself off his chair with a groan (and when did he start groaning? That’s a sign of age right there, well that and the more frequent hair-dyeing sessions) and walked into the Lieutenant’s office.
“Look Vecchio...close the door will ya? This is on the QT. I just had a call from way way above..”
“God phoned in?”
“More like from the other direction.”
Welsh looked pointedly at Ray’s smirk until he had schooled his features into something resembling seriousness and then lent over his desk, communicating in a hissing whisper.
“Noone, but noone, can know about this but there’s something big about to go down and I need you to take the Mountie out of Chicago for a while”
“Something big? What’s going on?”
“I wasn’t told and it’s better that way, the less we know, the safer it will be. If my suspicions are correct, it involves an old case that Fraser and Vecchio, the former Ray Vecchio, worked on a couple of years ago”
“Is Fraser in trouble?”
“He might be if he stays in Chicago, but here’s the thing detective, he can’t know about it, he can’t know anything about why he needs to go, and he can’t be suspicious. You both need to leave tonight, so pick him up from the Consulate where he has been given his own instructions, take him to the airport and pick your tickets up from the Air Canada desk.”
“Ah man, not igloo-land? I don’t get why I need to go, I wasn’t involved with the old case. And I’m not good out of Chicago, when Stella and me went camping I ended up with a big rash over my butt.”
“Because your name was involved and the Constable needs to get out of here and you need to be with him, your job is to make sure he’s ok. There’s no argument about this detective...well, unless you wanna be on morgue detail for the foreseeable future, or unless you want me to spread around that camping story to the Duck boys.”
“Ok sir, I’ll leave right now.”
Ray turned to leave the office, a pit of sudden dread in his formerly-starving stomach, trying to think of what story he could give Fraser “Oh by the way Fraser, I’ve got a sudden urge to eat moose jerky, do you think we can go 3000 miles and try some...right now?” Nah….
“…and detective? If my suspicions are correct, the constable is going to need a lot of ..ah...support over the next few weeks. I can’t tell you anymore, but you need to be there, so take a couple of weeks off, learn to dog-sled or whatever the hell they do up there. Call me when you arrive and we’ll tell you when it’s safe to come back.”
Support? Safe? What the hell was going on?
------------------------------------------------------
Armando sat back at his desk in his black leather chair, carefully flipping a well-worn Loonie between his fingers. The coin had sat on his desk for the past year as a reminder of good deeds, of the right thing to do and the right course of action to take and Armando was desperately hoping for some divine intervention, a bolt of lightening, a bonspiel on tv, anything, to tell him what to do. The one person he would normally talk to about this, the one person who would calmly explain the right path while quoting his dead father, was the one person he couldn’t say a word to and that hurt more than anything else. It was like he was betraying Fraser, like he was about to amputate his right arm without asking, but …but…it was as though his arm was cancerous, and the amputation was to save the rest of his body, his life. He just hoped that Fraser was on a plane to Whitehorse now, happy in the belief that the Ice-Queen entrusted him with an important document and blissfully unaware that said document simply stated: “Protect this man and his friend with all the resources you have, until further notice.” because, after all, that’s what Armando was doing as well.
Armando leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, his mind flashing through images of a deaf half-wolf laying eerily still on an apartment floor with blood cascading out of his side to another image of his best friend laying eerily still on a cold platform with a pool of blood expanding beneath him.
He couldn’t take that chance again.
Once again, Armando picked up the black phone and dialled a number written in neat blue pen on a post-it.
“Jimmy? It’s Langoustini. I’ll give you $50,000 for it but you gotta wait until I call again. There’s another package I'm waiting to be delivered first.”
Pairing: None
Word Count: 1282
Rating: PG-13 for 'thematic elements' (whatever they are)
Summary: How much was a life worth? Particularly a life about to destroy another?
Armando Langoustini exhaled deeply as he replaced the receiver of his sleek black telephone, his skin breaking out in a cold sweat for the first time since... He glanced around his air-conditioned designer Vegas apartment, picture perfect glass and black wood, with his favourite brown suede couch in the next room. His focus settled on a small hung painting of a mountainscape in some unknown country, and reflected on the information he had just acquired.
“Langoustini? This is Jimmy. The package you asked me to look out for? Arrived in Chicago late last night, Union Station.”
“Oh god... Have you followed it? Where has it been?”
“Just a run-down hotel on the South Side, I have people on it right now. They’ll tell me any movement.”
“So it hasn’t been anywhere near the Consulate? I’m warning you Jimmy, do not let this leave your sight for one second or there’ll be consequences, you know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah, no, no deliveries to the Consulate. We’ll keep looking. Do you still want me to go through with it?…Langoustini? You there?”
“Uh...Yeah...yeah, if there’s any suspicious…”
“You know, this package is wanted in three states and two countries, my usual fee will have to increase, there’s more risk involved with the pigs. How much you willing to pay? Shit, I gotta go. I’ll ring with any change in status.”
How much was he willing to pay?! Jeez. In the year since his car-crash, Armando Langoustini had successfully avoided any ‘payments’ for any ‘services’ which were necessary in his line of work. A threatening tone, mention of his name, a couple of men with revolvers and the problems were sorted out. It seems people were more than willing to give up information or dirty rackets in order to spare their own lives, but this was different. This package was not human in the real sense of the term, this package had killed men, almost killed the soul of another and appeared to be trying again. There was no redemption for some people and if god hadn’t acted yet, then someone else needed to…
Langoustini picked up the phone, the rough pads of his fingers slowly dialling a familiar number.
----------------------------------------------------
“Vecchio!”
Ray looked at the inbox of unsolved crimes towering higher than his hair, and planned what to do after work. Maybe he’ll pick up Fraser and they’ll go bowling. Yeah, right. Ray snorted at the image of a Stetsoned Fraser, running down the alley calmly explaining “I’m terribly sorry Madame, I appear to have knocked all these big pins down and my wolf has eaten all your donuts. Do allow me to compensate you for your loss. There’s an old Inuit tale involving …”. Nah, he’ll probably just get Pizza and watch the game, who was he kidding? Maybe get a little dancing practise in there as well. Ah, yeah, that’s the good stuff.
“Vecchio! You deaf? Get in here!”
Welsh on the war-path again. He couldn’t possibly have done anything since his last ear-drubbing, Fraser had been busy all week. Ray pushed himself off his chair with a groan (and when did he start groaning? That’s a sign of age right there, well that and the more frequent hair-dyeing sessions) and walked into the Lieutenant’s office.
“Look Vecchio...close the door will ya? This is on the QT. I just had a call from way way above..”
“God phoned in?”
“More like from the other direction.”
Welsh looked pointedly at Ray’s smirk until he had schooled his features into something resembling seriousness and then lent over his desk, communicating in a hissing whisper.
“Noone, but noone, can know about this but there’s something big about to go down and I need you to take the Mountie out of Chicago for a while”
“Something big? What’s going on?”
“I wasn’t told and it’s better that way, the less we know, the safer it will be. If my suspicions are correct, it involves an old case that Fraser and Vecchio, the former Ray Vecchio, worked on a couple of years ago”
“Is Fraser in trouble?”
“He might be if he stays in Chicago, but here’s the thing detective, he can’t know about it, he can’t know anything about why he needs to go, and he can’t be suspicious. You both need to leave tonight, so pick him up from the Consulate where he has been given his own instructions, take him to the airport and pick your tickets up from the Air Canada desk.”
“Ah man, not igloo-land? I don’t get why I need to go, I wasn’t involved with the old case. And I’m not good out of Chicago, when Stella and me went camping I ended up with a big rash over my butt.”
“Because your name was involved and the Constable needs to get out of here and you need to be with him, your job is to make sure he’s ok. There’s no argument about this detective...well, unless you wanna be on morgue detail for the foreseeable future, or unless you want me to spread around that camping story to the Duck boys.”
“Ok sir, I’ll leave right now.”
Ray turned to leave the office, a pit of sudden dread in his formerly-starving stomach, trying to think of what story he could give Fraser “Oh by the way Fraser, I’ve got a sudden urge to eat moose jerky, do you think we can go 3000 miles and try some...right now?” Nah….
“…and detective? If my suspicions are correct, the constable is going to need a lot of ..ah...support over the next few weeks. I can’t tell you anymore, but you need to be there, so take a couple of weeks off, learn to dog-sled or whatever the hell they do up there. Call me when you arrive and we’ll tell you when it’s safe to come back.”
Support? Safe? What the hell was going on?
------------------------------------------------------
Armando sat back at his desk in his black leather chair, carefully flipping a well-worn Loonie between his fingers. The coin had sat on his desk for the past year as a reminder of good deeds, of the right thing to do and the right course of action to take and Armando was desperately hoping for some divine intervention, a bolt of lightening, a bonspiel on tv, anything, to tell him what to do. The one person he would normally talk to about this, the one person who would calmly explain the right path while quoting his dead father, was the one person he couldn’t say a word to and that hurt more than anything else. It was like he was betraying Fraser, like he was about to amputate his right arm without asking, but …but…it was as though his arm was cancerous, and the amputation was to save the rest of his body, his life. He just hoped that Fraser was on a plane to Whitehorse now, happy in the belief that the Ice-Queen entrusted him with an important document and blissfully unaware that said document simply stated: “Protect this man and his friend with all the resources you have, until further notice.” because, after all, that’s what Armando was doing as well.
Armando leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, his mind flashing through images of a deaf half-wolf laying eerily still on an apartment floor with blood cascading out of his side to another image of his best friend laying eerily still on a cold platform with a pool of blood expanding beneath him.
He couldn’t take that chance again.
Once again, Armando picked up the black phone and dialled a number written in neat blue pen on a post-it.
“Jimmy? It’s Langoustini. I’ll give you $50,000 for it but you gotta wait until I call again. There’s another package I'm waiting to be delivered first.”