disclaimer: The Ocean's Eleven-Twelve-Thirteen trilogy belongs to someone else. (I assumes Steven Soderbergh, since he directed it. But I could be wrong.) Either way, alas, it does not belong to me.
notes: A short snippet of a fic that takes place between scenes in the Ocean's Thirteen movie. Mild spoilers to follow, although not that many; nor are they particularly important ones.
the chinese scam
"So, uh," Linus said, easing himself onto one of the stools beside Livingston. "How'd Danny and Rusty learn all that Chinese, anyway?"
His hands caught in the mechanics of a card-shuffler, Livingston gave him a shady, nervous look. Not that Livingston had any other kind. "I-I don't know what you mean," he said, cleared his throat, and hurriedly ducked back to his machine.
"Aw, come on!" Linus whirled on the stool in frustration, kicking out his legs. One foot struck the counter. He winced, seethed between his teeth, and forced himself still. "Why does everything have to be a big secret around you guys, huh? I mean, I went out and got the name of the security system--"
"--Greco," Frank muttered, snickered and shook his head. "Not much of a name, if y'ask me."
"--it took me forever and three of my identities. I should be counted part of the club now, right?"
"Linus," Livingston said.
"What? What?"
"Th-there's no club," Livingston said.
"Yeah," said Frank. "You do a couple of jobs with the same guys, same crew, you get to start pickin' up some of the same experiences. It's got nothin' to do with boys' clubs. And even if it does, it's not like we get any," he blustered, "special dinners or anything. Well, maybe they do." He tossed Livingston a sudden wary look. "If they been goin' out to 'em without me."
Both of them stared at the quavery Livingston for a moment. Livingston tried to concentrate on his machine.
"Naw," Frank concluded after a moment. "Ain't nobody on the planet who's going to take Livingston out to dinner over me."
"Well," said Linus, "okay. Maybe there aren't any special dinners, but there's sure some way that Rusty and Danny learned Chinese."
He folded his arms and stared as steadily and accusatorily as he could at Livingston. Avoiding his gaze, the man fumbled at the inside a little longer before slamming it shut.
"Okay," Livingston said at last. He licked his lips, flicked a glance towards the window, and leaned close. "The-- the-- thing is... Danny and Rusty don't actually understand a word of Chinese."
"Wha--. But they talk to him! All the time, I saw them. He talks at them in Chinese, swears like a sailor in English, and..."
"They know what he's supposed to answer, and he gives them signals. Directs them toward what answers he's feeding them. It creates..." another nervous look, "that sense of exclusivity that you were talking about. It's all a scam."
Linus leapt from the seat, scowling. "I knew it," he snapped his fingers, "Dammit, I knew it. They always -- why do they always have to try and cut me out of..."
As Linus railed on, Frank glanced at Livingston, who was smiling a very tiny smile as he got back to the shuffler.
"Y'all are crazy paranoid," Frank muttered. He shook his head and headed out the door, back to play his own part in the general scheme.
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end
feedback: is received with all the delighted reverence of Basher appreciating a complex piece of machinery.
Well. Perhaps not that much. But still quite a lot.