The Smythe Chronicles Part One
A/N: Many thanks to everyone who has read my stories. Your warm welcome to the wide world of fanfiction has been truly overwhelming. I only hope that the stories bring you as much enjoyment in the reading as they have brought me in the writing. Thank you!--Shandiss
The characters belong to Janet Evanovich, not me. (ALL of them. Every single one that shows up in this story.) Rated M for mature content and some innuendo as well as a high eeeuuww factor. Please remove all liquids from the immediate vicinity for safety's sake. Completely Babe. This is an occasional series that started as part of the 2009 Perfectly Plum Lent challenge and is added to as the muse dictates. Concept/phrasing/spelling and language errors are all my fault. Any resemblance to people living or dead is completely unintentional.
Traffic was lighter than usual as Ranger parked the Cayenne in front of the bonds office. He was running late this morning. A high bond skip had decided to lead them on a serious chase through the underbelly of Trenton the night before, and Ranger had been up all night dealing with the aftermath.
As he slid out of the Porsche, he noticed the bumper of Big Blue peeking around the corner of the alley. He allowed himself a tiny glimmer of pleasure that Steph was still around. She never failed to brighten his day, and after last night he was very much in need of it.
The door yielded easily to his hand and he walked in, his usual quirk-of-the-lips-that-passed-as-a-grin ready. It wilted two steps over the threshold as the dead silence of the three women inside registered. "What—"
"SSHHH." Connie and Lula both shushed him as they leaned towards Vinnie's closed door. Steph was sitting on the couch, frozen in place, her hands gripping the files in her lap as if they were her last lifeline.
"You gave WHAT up for Lent?" Vinnie's anguished voice penetrated the thin walls easily. A light tenor voice with a cultured British accent answered him. The words were unintelligible, but the rhythm was precise and even.
Vinnie didn't bother to lower his voice. "But you CAN'T. We had an AGREEMENT!"
The door opened suddenly. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Plum. But Lent is a journey of self-reflection as well as self-denial. It's quite likely that I will make the termination of our arrangement . . . permanent."
Ranger tried to lean a little to his left to get a better look at the speaker. The doorway remained stubbornly empty, and he was trying to remember if Vinnie ever mentioned doing business with—
The mallard duck marched into the middle of the room. He shook his tail feathers, then nodded to Connie and Lula. "Ladies." Producing a perfectly-sized fedora from under his wing, he jammed it on his head and turned towards the door.
Abruptly he stopped, and Ranger found himself the uncomfortable recipient of an avian stare. The duck crossed the floor and stopped in front of him. "Are you Ranger Manoso, by chance?"
There wasn't a blank face in the world that covered this situation. "Yes. Who wants to know?"
The mallard extracted a tiny white card from under the other wing and held it up. "Cadwallader Smythe IV of the Sucker Point Smythes. I'm currently looking for a new security company for the family summer home. Call my personal assistant at the number on my card and he will set up an interview."
"I'll need specifications," said Ranger automatically. Gingerly, he took the card between his thumb and forefinger, and tried to get his brain to work. Fortunately, his mouth seemed to be capable of carrying on the conversation. "And price range."
"My assistant will have those for you." The mallard tipped his hat. "Sir." He turned to Steph. "Miss. Good day to you."
The door opened and Tank appeared. "Ranger, we—"
"I beg your pardon, good man." Cadwallader Smythe stopped in front of Tank and stared up at him with unblinking eyes. Tank gave the look right back to the mallard, then graciously stepped to one side.
"My apologies," he said, holding the door open. The duck tipped his hat, and marched out of the office.
Five sets of human eyes watched as the tail feathers gave a last shake before disappearing from view around the corner. Tank shook his head. "Only you, Boss."
"Boss?"
Ranger blinked, then squinted at the white ceiling. He looked around and found himself sprawled on the leather couch in his office. Sunlight streamed through the windows behind his desk and Tank stood in the doorway. "Boss, you ready to go? I thought I'd drive over to the bonds office with you. I have to explain to Lula what kept me out all night."
"I haven't been to the bonds office yet?" asked Ranger. He rolled to a sitting position and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep.
Tank frowned. "No, we just got in 20 minutes ago from the police station. You came in here to check your messages and must have fallen asleep."
"Yeah, I must have." He climbed to his feet and took a deep breath. "Let's go. I want to catch Steph before she leaves and ask her to lunch."
"Uh, you have a lunch date already." Tank looked apologetic. "A call came in while we were out and you're booked to meet with some guy from old money. Wants us to set up security for his summer home by Sucker Point."
"Cadwallader Smythe?" asked Ranger. He felt lightheaded, and visions of mallards with little fedoras danced in his brain.
Tank shook his head. "No, Bancroft Smythe." His second-in-command started walking out the door. "He's the personal assistant to Cadwallader Smythe."