The Wurc-Teh Syndicate
Chapter One
She sat, head tilted slightly to the right, studying a small crack in the wooden wall. Shifting her glance to her annoyingly short fingernails, she casually picked at one in a gesture of boredom. This week's report was certainly among the dullest she'd ever had the pleasure of listening to. She stood, pushing her uncomfortable chair away from her desk, and walked nonchalantly over to the new agent standing before her. He stopped speaking. "Er... Is there something wrong, ma'am?" he asked. She sighed unhappily, but hastily shrugged it off, as if unwilling to acknowledge her discontentedness. Pushing her hat - a vintage Sinatra-style black Fedora - down her nose, she stood to her full height, still only a mere five feet three inches.
"Yes, I believe there is something wrong," she replied, "But it's easily fixed." She walked around him, and pressed a button on the wall next to the door. "Underboss Tony? Could you please escort this nice reporter... outside?" The man, dropping his report, searched for a hint of humour in her voice. Finding none, his eyes widened as he realized where Tony would be taking him. At that instant, Underboss Tony rapped three times on her door. It was a distinguished-looking door, as she liked to put it, and she loved the way it made her office appear to be that of a detective's.
Opening the door, she greeted the woman standing before her. Tony was taller than she, but not by much, and currently wore an expression of professionalism. The shorter woman apologized, "Sorry to bug you, Tony, but my sandwich is more interesting than this man's report." She rolled her eyes and pointed her thumb in the direction of the man. Tony moved to grab the man by the arm, and said calmly, "Come with me." The man looked utterly terrified, glancing back and forth between Tony and the shorter woman. "No! Wait! Hey, come on, this isn't fair!" the man cried. Tony snickered, and dragged him (kicking and screaming, naturally) out the door.
A few minutes later, Tony reappeared in the woman's office. She shook her head, saying, "Big Momma, ma'am, this is the third one this month. Can't you just... Make do with a borin' report? I hate to waste bullets. Pricey, you know. Not that I mind whacking a couple of dusty reporters." Tony moved to stand in front of the now sitting woman, strangely named Big Momma. "Please, Tony, you don't have to say 'Ma'am'. You're a friend. Only employees call me 'Ma'am', and you're working here under your own free will," Momma replied. "And no, I won't tolerate boring reports. The latest mafia warfare is important news, and I wont have a bunch of stuffy, uptight buffoons delivering it to me."
And that was that. Big Momma was not a woman to be trifled with, although her appearance suggested otherwise. Her long, blondish-brown hair and hazel eyes depicted an image of almost naivety. However, her small frame and fairly unassuming nature often worked to her advantage, since most everyone who did not know her personally underestimated her to a rather laughable degree. Even so, Tony shrugged, smiling jokingly at Momma. "Alrighty, ma'am."
Chapter Two
Big Momma never took the metro. You never knew what kinds of people you were going to meet on that thing. She believed stubbornly that no one who took the metro was of sound mind, and proceeded to tell her workers so if asked. After a year or so of this faithful babbling, her employees grew tired of hearing about the scuzzbags and loons on the metro, and bought her a car: a 2003 Ford Thunderbird in pale blue. To top it all off, they hired a chauffeur, knowing full well that no one in the entire Syndicate was old enough to drive, including Momma.
Momma exited her house, and walked down the front stairs to find that her chauffeur was a few minutes early. Momma, pleasantly surprised, entered the car, and admired the colour for the hundredth time. She always loved a car that could turn heads, and this was definitely it. "Mornin', ma'am," the chauffeur said amiably. "You're looking full of your usual morning pizzazz," he pointed out, obviously sarcastic. He, and every one else, knew that Momma was far from a morning person, and any 'morning pizzazz' was due only to large amounts of caffeine.
He was older than just about everyone in the Syndicate, although his age had hardly induced wisdom. From what Momma could tell from her daily fifty-five-minute car rides, he was outgoing to no end, very humourous, and seemed to have a 'thing' for her underboss, Tony. Tony would always greet Momma at the front step, fill her in on the latest news, and present her with a can of whatever was left in the ancient machine just inside the door. The chauffeur seemed to become even more sociable around Tony; Momma thought it was cute how much he lightened up around her.
Waving to the chauffeur, Big Momma and Tony entered the building. Snatching her hat and trenchcoat (merely for effect, she claimed) from the coat rack, Momma took a loud slurp of the soda handed to her - what she had determined to be Grape Cola. The soda machine never gave Root Beer when the button was pressed, and was hardly worth its electricity bill, but Momma looked at it with a smile and a reminiscent sigh, saying, "Ah, soda machine... I ask for Root Beer, you give me Grape."
Tony kicked the machine, and it reluctantly produced a Coke; she proceeded to sit down at her desk in the main foyer, and immediately began sharpening a pencil. Momma nodded, and entered her own office, pausing to read her name on the door, and underneath, the word "President", reminding her that much work needed to be done today. She closed the door behind her, and flicked the light switch on to reveal a rather antique room. The floorboards were dark with scuffmarks, and old wallpaper still clung to the walls; Momma wondered who in Unpoi's name would wallpaper wood, but shrugged it off and took a seat behind her sturdy oak desk. She despised her chair, and thought out loud, "I wonder if I complain about this chair enough... Maybe they'll buy me a better one?"
Chapter Three
Big Momma fidgeted impatiently as she waited for her newest reporter to arrive. Joseph had taken the responsibility of hiring replacements for "lost" workers, and she had claimed that at the very least, Momma would be amused with this one. But he was already six minutes late, so unless he was a born comedian, Momma had he feeling that he and Tony would be taking a walk outside. Suddenly, there was a rap at the door. "Yeah. Come in," Momma sighed. The man entered; he wasn't much taller than Momma herself, he had fairly short black hair, and glasses that, Momma noted, quite suited him. He looked around her office, as if summing it up. "You gonna say something or just check out the scenery?" Momma questioned.
The new reporter eyed the office again in a joking manner, then nodded firmly and stated, "I'm not sure. This is quite a nice office." He said it with such a straight face that Momma couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. When he didn't crack under her reproachful gaze, she commented, "You do know I could have you fired for remarks like that..." But he merely shrugged. "Yeah. But that's the price to pay!!" he cried dramatically, raising his hand in a flourish. At that, Momma smiled. He marched across the room to her desk, and asked, "Well then. Shall I continue?"
Later that day, Momma determined that a Syndicate meeting needed to be held. She hadn't seen some of her employees in weeks, and felt it necessary to give them some kind of assignment to work on. After all, she shouldn't have a bunch of slackers to oversee; what's the fun in that? She'd had a hard time deciding whether or not to invite her personal chauffeur, but finally chose to, commenting inwardly that she'd very much like to see something come of his crush on Tony. That settled it; she made a brief list of all who were to attend, then handed it off to Tony. Fortunately for Momma, her own laziness could be covered by the simple fact that she was too busy to do things herself.
At precisely 3:00 PM, the Syndicate began to arrive. Momma had rented a room in a small corporation - small, because Momma figured they wouldn't be paranoid enough to install cameras or other listening devices in meeting rooms. She watched the guests sit down, silently trying to remember all their names. She'd asked for a circular table, merely since there wasn't a good number for a rectangular one. On her left was her weekly reporter, then Joseph Jell-Cup, Fledrib, Duke Schmoof Scrat, Pooper Scooper, Armando George-E-A Jeebus Shamdiddly Cokebeer (her name's origin was unknown), then Tony Pita-Pie, the chauffeur, Joey "I'll Break Your Legs" Domajio, and an empty seat at her right. Momma was annoyed at her last guest, the one who was obviously late. For her group's sake, she had hired a mercenary named Mango Tango. Despite his absurd name, she had been told from countless sources that he was a professional, however quirky he may seem. For example, one of his previous employers had told her that, strangely enough, he took pride in breaking his victim's fingers after doing his job. Momma didn't understand why, but shrugged it off with the sarcastic thought that no one with such a job could be fully sane.
Finally, Mango Tango arrived, and made quite an entrance to boot. He kicked down the room's door, and sent two cloaked men in before him to "scout for spies." After deciding that there were none, the two men yelled "Sir!" and left the room. Tango took his seat. "Thank you for showing up, Mr. Mango Tango. But please, next time, don't break the door. Someone will have to pay for that." Momma sighed, rolling her eyes. "Now let's get down to business, shall we? I didn't call you all here to..." Momma paused, staring deliberately at Tony and the chauffeur, "... socialize. Now, if you'll all be so kind as to listen to me for a change?" No one met Momma's glare as she studied each invitee.
"Sorry, ma'am," replied Joseph Jell-Cup. She looked genuinely sorry, although she hadn't been doing anything wrong in the first place. Momma smiled at her, saying, "No need for apologies from you, Joseph. Moving onward. I must apologize myself for not calling a meeting earlier, but it seemed that someone always had a practice, or a game, or a vacation, or a proctologist appointment..." At this, Pooper Scooper looked confused. He glanced at the women on either side of him, and then asked Duke, "What's a proctologist?" Duke didn't even bother to look at him, as she whispered loudly, "It's an ass doctor, moron." That got a laugh from everyone. Joey piped up, asking no one in general, "Pooper Scooper would know. He does scoop poop. Who the hell gave him that name anyway?!" Momma raised her hand and lowered her glance, as if to accept the blame. The invitees began to laugh again, but were then silenced by a series of gunshots.
One of Mango Tango's operatives stumbled in the empty hole that once was a door. He collapsed, grasping his stomach and gaping like a codfish. The second operative simply fell, only his torso visible through the doorway; he had been shot twice through the head. Then entered a man, barely taller than Momma herself. He laughed irritatingly, then looked at Momma's guests, pointing at her, "Come on, it was great! Did you see her expression?" No one laughed; most gave him the "OK then" eyebrow. Ceasing his laughter, the newcomer pointed a hand-pistol at Momma's face and asked politely, "Please stand up."
Momma did as he asked, moving back from the table a few feet. "Now isn't this fun? I've never killed a mob boss before. Should be interesting." He aimed the pistol, placing a finger on the trigger. A bullet fired. But it wasn't Momma who collapsed. The man fell to the floor with an expression of surprise on his face. Momma looked around the room, expecting to see Tony or Joseph standing with their gun drawn. She instead saw her reporter, who tipped his hat, spun his pistol professionally, then opened his jacket and quickly placed it in his pocket. "The name's Scoot, by the way," he added, and then sat down again, a smug grin on his face.
Chapter Four
The day after what was referred to as the "meeting incident", Momma grudgingly admitted that another meeting was needed to discuss yesterday's intruder. She was positive that he was not the foreman of his mob, and quite expected another operative to march into her agency and dispose of the Syndicate entirely. Momma was pessimistic in that sense, but it was justified considering her near-death experience. Sufficed to say, Momma was not one who was often put into such situations; that's what she had intelligence officers for. They were the ones put into life-or-death crises, and for that, Momma respected them greatly. Their paychecks proved the fact.
Momma invited only select members to the new meeting. Today's meeting would consist only of Tony Pita-Pie, Joseph Jell-Cup, Joey "IBYL" Domajio, and her reporter, Scoot. Although she valued her other operatives just as much, she felt closer to these four; they were the ones she saw on a regular basis nowadays, even though Scoot was only supposed to visit her office weekly. He often popped by just to see how the group was doing; Momma didn't mind particularly, so long as he didn't interfere with anyone's duties. Tony, Joey, Joseph (differed versions of 'Joe' to prevent confusion), Scoot, and even Momma herself tended to socialize more than their work permitted, but somehow managed to get it all finished. In any case, she had invited them all to the meeting, whether or not they talked too much on occasion. She tolerated them all anyway.
Everyone Momma had invited arrived on time, with the exception of Tony. Joseph and Joey agreed that she was probably being held up by Momma's chauffeur, Danny. Soon after, Tony waltzed in, giving an apologetic look to everyone in the room. She tipped her hat, asking, "Did I miss anything?" The room's occupants all replied that no, the only thing she had missed was the slight disagreement between Joey and Scoot over who was better at hockey. Joey had eventually persuaded him that she, in fact, was the better hockey player using her usual debating technique: pulverizing the challenger into submission. Tony shrugged, taking her seat at Momma's left. "Alright. Now that we're all here... And not beating eachother," Momma stated, glancing questioningly at Joey, "I'd like to address the agent that infiltrated the Syndicate yesterday. Who was standing watch aside from Tango's operatives?" Momma looked around the room, pausing to look each member in the eyes. All shrugged, with the exception of Tony.
Tony looked at Momma, then laughed nervously. "Well, it goes like this, see," Tony explained. "There was this new lady. Shortish, squeaky voice, kinda tacky clothes. She relieved me of guard duty, said she had permission from you, and you wanted me at the meeting. She had a paper with your signature and everything, an' she knew everyone's names, even Danny's. So, I left and went upstairs." Tony leaned back in her chair at this point, looking for reactions from Momma and her associates. She began again, upon noticing everyone's impatience at hearing the rest.
"After I 'disposed' of the dude who tried to kill ya, I checked the streets. No trace of the infiltrator's cronies, no sign of short-squeaky- voice lady either. No blood or nothing within running distance, every direction, and I got my men to interview bystanders, witnesses... They all said the same thing. They saw our lady gettin' paid from your almost- assassin, then she walked off. She's alive... And from the looks of things, she's a double-dealer to boot."
Chapter Five
The atmosphere in the room was thick with concern. Even Joey, usually quite calm in situations of distress, seemed anxious. The five invitees looked at one another worriedly, no one willing to break the eerie silence that befell them at the discovery of a spy. Big Momma was the first one to speak. Her expression was thoughtful, and she paused before each word, as if choosing them very carefully.
"You mean to tell me that a woman whom you hadn't met dismissed you from guard duty?" she asked, her voice forcedly quiet. Tony raised a hand tentatively, silently asking permission to speak, but was ignored. "You mean to tell me that you left your post for slip of paper?!" Momma's voice grew louder, as the restraint she'd previously shown dissolved. She diverted her gaze and took a second to absorb the bare facts. Then once her composure was regained, she looked back at Tony.
Chapter One
She sat, head tilted slightly to the right, studying a small crack in the wooden wall. Shifting her glance to her annoyingly short fingernails, she casually picked at one in a gesture of boredom. This week's report was certainly among the dullest she'd ever had the pleasure of listening to. She stood, pushing her uncomfortable chair away from her desk, and walked nonchalantly over to the new agent standing before her. He stopped speaking. "Er... Is there something wrong, ma'am?" he asked. She sighed unhappily, but hastily shrugged it off, as if unwilling to acknowledge her discontentedness. Pushing her hat - a vintage Sinatra-style black Fedora - down her nose, she stood to her full height, still only a mere five feet three inches.
"Yes, I believe there is something wrong," she replied, "But it's easily fixed." She walked around him, and pressed a button on the wall next to the door. "Underboss Tony? Could you please escort this nice reporter... outside?" The man, dropping his report, searched for a hint of humour in her voice. Finding none, his eyes widened as he realized where Tony would be taking him. At that instant, Underboss Tony rapped three times on her door. It was a distinguished-looking door, as she liked to put it, and she loved the way it made her office appear to be that of a detective's.
Opening the door, she greeted the woman standing before her. Tony was taller than she, but not by much, and currently wore an expression of professionalism. The shorter woman apologized, "Sorry to bug you, Tony, but my sandwich is more interesting than this man's report." She rolled her eyes and pointed her thumb in the direction of the man. Tony moved to grab the man by the arm, and said calmly, "Come with me." The man looked utterly terrified, glancing back and forth between Tony and the shorter woman. "No! Wait! Hey, come on, this isn't fair!" the man cried. Tony snickered, and dragged him (kicking and screaming, naturally) out the door.
A few minutes later, Tony reappeared in the woman's office. She shook her head, saying, "Big Momma, ma'am, this is the third one this month. Can't you just... Make do with a borin' report? I hate to waste bullets. Pricey, you know. Not that I mind whacking a couple of dusty reporters." Tony moved to stand in front of the now sitting woman, strangely named Big Momma. "Please, Tony, you don't have to say 'Ma'am'. You're a friend. Only employees call me 'Ma'am', and you're working here under your own free will," Momma replied. "And no, I won't tolerate boring reports. The latest mafia warfare is important news, and I wont have a bunch of stuffy, uptight buffoons delivering it to me."
And that was that. Big Momma was not a woman to be trifled with, although her appearance suggested otherwise. Her long, blondish-brown hair and hazel eyes depicted an image of almost naivety. However, her small frame and fairly unassuming nature often worked to her advantage, since most everyone who did not know her personally underestimated her to a rather laughable degree. Even so, Tony shrugged, smiling jokingly at Momma. "Alrighty, ma'am."
Chapter Two
Big Momma never took the metro. You never knew what kinds of people you were going to meet on that thing. She believed stubbornly that no one who took the metro was of sound mind, and proceeded to tell her workers so if asked. After a year or so of this faithful babbling, her employees grew tired of hearing about the scuzzbags and loons on the metro, and bought her a car: a 2003 Ford Thunderbird in pale blue. To top it all off, they hired a chauffeur, knowing full well that no one in the entire Syndicate was old enough to drive, including Momma.
Momma exited her house, and walked down the front stairs to find that her chauffeur was a few minutes early. Momma, pleasantly surprised, entered the car, and admired the colour for the hundredth time. She always loved a car that could turn heads, and this was definitely it. "Mornin', ma'am," the chauffeur said amiably. "You're looking full of your usual morning pizzazz," he pointed out, obviously sarcastic. He, and every one else, knew that Momma was far from a morning person, and any 'morning pizzazz' was due only to large amounts of caffeine.
He was older than just about everyone in the Syndicate, although his age had hardly induced wisdom. From what Momma could tell from her daily fifty-five-minute car rides, he was outgoing to no end, very humourous, and seemed to have a 'thing' for her underboss, Tony. Tony would always greet Momma at the front step, fill her in on the latest news, and present her with a can of whatever was left in the ancient machine just inside the door. The chauffeur seemed to become even more sociable around Tony; Momma thought it was cute how much he lightened up around her.
Waving to the chauffeur, Big Momma and Tony entered the building. Snatching her hat and trenchcoat (merely for effect, she claimed) from the coat rack, Momma took a loud slurp of the soda handed to her - what she had determined to be Grape Cola. The soda machine never gave Root Beer when the button was pressed, and was hardly worth its electricity bill, but Momma looked at it with a smile and a reminiscent sigh, saying, "Ah, soda machine... I ask for Root Beer, you give me Grape."
Tony kicked the machine, and it reluctantly produced a Coke; she proceeded to sit down at her desk in the main foyer, and immediately began sharpening a pencil. Momma nodded, and entered her own office, pausing to read her name on the door, and underneath, the word "President", reminding her that much work needed to be done today. She closed the door behind her, and flicked the light switch on to reveal a rather antique room. The floorboards were dark with scuffmarks, and old wallpaper still clung to the walls; Momma wondered who in Unpoi's name would wallpaper wood, but shrugged it off and took a seat behind her sturdy oak desk. She despised her chair, and thought out loud, "I wonder if I complain about this chair enough... Maybe they'll buy me a better one?"
Chapter Three
Big Momma fidgeted impatiently as she waited for her newest reporter to arrive. Joseph had taken the responsibility of hiring replacements for "lost" workers, and she had claimed that at the very least, Momma would be amused with this one. But he was already six minutes late, so unless he was a born comedian, Momma had he feeling that he and Tony would be taking a walk outside. Suddenly, there was a rap at the door. "Yeah. Come in," Momma sighed. The man entered; he wasn't much taller than Momma herself, he had fairly short black hair, and glasses that, Momma noted, quite suited him. He looked around her office, as if summing it up. "You gonna say something or just check out the scenery?" Momma questioned.
The new reporter eyed the office again in a joking manner, then nodded firmly and stated, "I'm not sure. This is quite a nice office." He said it with such a straight face that Momma couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. When he didn't crack under her reproachful gaze, she commented, "You do know I could have you fired for remarks like that..." But he merely shrugged. "Yeah. But that's the price to pay!!" he cried dramatically, raising his hand in a flourish. At that, Momma smiled. He marched across the room to her desk, and asked, "Well then. Shall I continue?"
Later that day, Momma determined that a Syndicate meeting needed to be held. She hadn't seen some of her employees in weeks, and felt it necessary to give them some kind of assignment to work on. After all, she shouldn't have a bunch of slackers to oversee; what's the fun in that? She'd had a hard time deciding whether or not to invite her personal chauffeur, but finally chose to, commenting inwardly that she'd very much like to see something come of his crush on Tony. That settled it; she made a brief list of all who were to attend, then handed it off to Tony. Fortunately for Momma, her own laziness could be covered by the simple fact that she was too busy to do things herself.
At precisely 3:00 PM, the Syndicate began to arrive. Momma had rented a room in a small corporation - small, because Momma figured they wouldn't be paranoid enough to install cameras or other listening devices in meeting rooms. She watched the guests sit down, silently trying to remember all their names. She'd asked for a circular table, merely since there wasn't a good number for a rectangular one. On her left was her weekly reporter, then Joseph Jell-Cup, Fledrib, Duke Schmoof Scrat, Pooper Scooper, Armando George-E-A Jeebus Shamdiddly Cokebeer (her name's origin was unknown), then Tony Pita-Pie, the chauffeur, Joey "I'll Break Your Legs" Domajio, and an empty seat at her right. Momma was annoyed at her last guest, the one who was obviously late. For her group's sake, she had hired a mercenary named Mango Tango. Despite his absurd name, she had been told from countless sources that he was a professional, however quirky he may seem. For example, one of his previous employers had told her that, strangely enough, he took pride in breaking his victim's fingers after doing his job. Momma didn't understand why, but shrugged it off with the sarcastic thought that no one with such a job could be fully sane.
Finally, Mango Tango arrived, and made quite an entrance to boot. He kicked down the room's door, and sent two cloaked men in before him to "scout for spies." After deciding that there were none, the two men yelled "Sir!" and left the room. Tango took his seat. "Thank you for showing up, Mr. Mango Tango. But please, next time, don't break the door. Someone will have to pay for that." Momma sighed, rolling her eyes. "Now let's get down to business, shall we? I didn't call you all here to..." Momma paused, staring deliberately at Tony and the chauffeur, "... socialize. Now, if you'll all be so kind as to listen to me for a change?" No one met Momma's glare as she studied each invitee.
"Sorry, ma'am," replied Joseph Jell-Cup. She looked genuinely sorry, although she hadn't been doing anything wrong in the first place. Momma smiled at her, saying, "No need for apologies from you, Joseph. Moving onward. I must apologize myself for not calling a meeting earlier, but it seemed that someone always had a practice, or a game, or a vacation, or a proctologist appointment..." At this, Pooper Scooper looked confused. He glanced at the women on either side of him, and then asked Duke, "What's a proctologist?" Duke didn't even bother to look at him, as she whispered loudly, "It's an ass doctor, moron." That got a laugh from everyone. Joey piped up, asking no one in general, "Pooper Scooper would know. He does scoop poop. Who the hell gave him that name anyway?!" Momma raised her hand and lowered her glance, as if to accept the blame. The invitees began to laugh again, but were then silenced by a series of gunshots.
One of Mango Tango's operatives stumbled in the empty hole that once was a door. He collapsed, grasping his stomach and gaping like a codfish. The second operative simply fell, only his torso visible through the doorway; he had been shot twice through the head. Then entered a man, barely taller than Momma herself. He laughed irritatingly, then looked at Momma's guests, pointing at her, "Come on, it was great! Did you see her expression?" No one laughed; most gave him the "OK then" eyebrow. Ceasing his laughter, the newcomer pointed a hand-pistol at Momma's face and asked politely, "Please stand up."
Momma did as he asked, moving back from the table a few feet. "Now isn't this fun? I've never killed a mob boss before. Should be interesting." He aimed the pistol, placing a finger on the trigger. A bullet fired. But it wasn't Momma who collapsed. The man fell to the floor with an expression of surprise on his face. Momma looked around the room, expecting to see Tony or Joseph standing with their gun drawn. She instead saw her reporter, who tipped his hat, spun his pistol professionally, then opened his jacket and quickly placed it in his pocket. "The name's Scoot, by the way," he added, and then sat down again, a smug grin on his face.
Chapter Four
The day after what was referred to as the "meeting incident", Momma grudgingly admitted that another meeting was needed to discuss yesterday's intruder. She was positive that he was not the foreman of his mob, and quite expected another operative to march into her agency and dispose of the Syndicate entirely. Momma was pessimistic in that sense, but it was justified considering her near-death experience. Sufficed to say, Momma was not one who was often put into such situations; that's what she had intelligence officers for. They were the ones put into life-or-death crises, and for that, Momma respected them greatly. Their paychecks proved the fact.
Momma invited only select members to the new meeting. Today's meeting would consist only of Tony Pita-Pie, Joseph Jell-Cup, Joey "IBYL" Domajio, and her reporter, Scoot. Although she valued her other operatives just as much, she felt closer to these four; they were the ones she saw on a regular basis nowadays, even though Scoot was only supposed to visit her office weekly. He often popped by just to see how the group was doing; Momma didn't mind particularly, so long as he didn't interfere with anyone's duties. Tony, Joey, Joseph (differed versions of 'Joe' to prevent confusion), Scoot, and even Momma herself tended to socialize more than their work permitted, but somehow managed to get it all finished. In any case, she had invited them all to the meeting, whether or not they talked too much on occasion. She tolerated them all anyway.
Everyone Momma had invited arrived on time, with the exception of Tony. Joseph and Joey agreed that she was probably being held up by Momma's chauffeur, Danny. Soon after, Tony waltzed in, giving an apologetic look to everyone in the room. She tipped her hat, asking, "Did I miss anything?" The room's occupants all replied that no, the only thing she had missed was the slight disagreement between Joey and Scoot over who was better at hockey. Joey had eventually persuaded him that she, in fact, was the better hockey player using her usual debating technique: pulverizing the challenger into submission. Tony shrugged, taking her seat at Momma's left. "Alright. Now that we're all here... And not beating eachother," Momma stated, glancing questioningly at Joey, "I'd like to address the agent that infiltrated the Syndicate yesterday. Who was standing watch aside from Tango's operatives?" Momma looked around the room, pausing to look each member in the eyes. All shrugged, with the exception of Tony.
Tony looked at Momma, then laughed nervously. "Well, it goes like this, see," Tony explained. "There was this new lady. Shortish, squeaky voice, kinda tacky clothes. She relieved me of guard duty, said she had permission from you, and you wanted me at the meeting. She had a paper with your signature and everything, an' she knew everyone's names, even Danny's. So, I left and went upstairs." Tony leaned back in her chair at this point, looking for reactions from Momma and her associates. She began again, upon noticing everyone's impatience at hearing the rest.
"After I 'disposed' of the dude who tried to kill ya, I checked the streets. No trace of the infiltrator's cronies, no sign of short-squeaky- voice lady either. No blood or nothing within running distance, every direction, and I got my men to interview bystanders, witnesses... They all said the same thing. They saw our lady gettin' paid from your almost- assassin, then she walked off. She's alive... And from the looks of things, she's a double-dealer to boot."
Chapter Five
The atmosphere in the room was thick with concern. Even Joey, usually quite calm in situations of distress, seemed anxious. The five invitees looked at one another worriedly, no one willing to break the eerie silence that befell them at the discovery of a spy. Big Momma was the first one to speak. Her expression was thoughtful, and she paused before each word, as if choosing them very carefully.
"You mean to tell me that a woman whom you hadn't met dismissed you from guard duty?" she asked, her voice forcedly quiet. Tony raised a hand tentatively, silently asking permission to speak, but was ignored. "You mean to tell me that you left your post for slip of paper?!" Momma's voice grew louder, as the restraint she'd previously shown dissolved. She diverted her gaze and took a second to absorb the bare facts. Then once her composure was regained, she looked back at Tony.