Summary – Government secrets are meant to be secrets best looked after in the worst of wrong hands.
The Logistics of Crime
Chapter 1 – Legal issues
"Amy! He's rubbernecking!" Mort glared at the other man. How the hell Amy thought he would let Ted look over the list of things they had was beyond him. He was sure Todd was after something he had but for the life of him he wasn't exactly sure what that was.
"Look, legally you can't look at the list, sometimes people don't mind but…Mr. Rainy does," the insurance lawyer said.
"Yes," Mort put in," Mr. Rainy minds a lot!"
Amy rolled her eyes and turned to Ted: "Hey, why don't I take a walk around the block?" he asked.
"Yes," she nodded her head in agreement. As Ted walked towards the door to leave Mort couldn't help but give one last stab at the man: "Oh, hell Teddy, why don't you make it two?"
He didn't get much in return, but, nonetheless it made him feel better.
--Six Months Later--
Agent Sheldon Jeffery Sands stared at the man before him; where they really giving him his own case? Was he really ready to handle it? He hoped so, he knew that it was basically the first five cases a rookie took on by themselves that either made or broke their career. Bernard was sucking on his cigar; he was a large, fat man with no eyebrows and his face was always puckered, as if he was consistently sucking on something sour.
"What is this? Nothing's happened yet," Sands said with a glare at the man. He could swear Bernard had it out for him. Always giving him the stupidest shit to do.
"Yes. But we think Rainy has something of Governmental Issue and we need it back before it falls into the wrong hands," Bernard explained to Sands as if he were talking to a little kid who had asked a very stupid question.
"Okay, I get it that you don't like me. I totally understand, because half the time I don't like myself half as much as other people don't like and then again they tend to like me even less. However, I must concede to you and ask why the fuck you're having me spy on some stupid writer who hasn't the guts to actually sing the fuckin' divorce papers?" Sands replied.
"Didn't your English teacher teach you to not talk in unending sentences?" Bernard asked.
"And didn't yours ever tell you not to start a sentence with a retarded word such as "didn't"?"
"Who cares? Now then, get going before I decide to blow you're brains out. The higher ups wouldn't give a fuck anyway," Bernard replied. He blew smoke into Sands face. The young man gave Bernard the universal hand signal to go "fuck" himself before he left with the case file in hand.
--
The one thing you have to do before starting on a case, was, you had to make sure you knew everything about the suspect as humanly possible. Now, if you were a terribly dedicated person, you would get as many files on this person as you could. Run names and shit through the system (or as much of it as you could). Bring up criminal records (if any) and basically make a hell of a lot of paper work for you.
Sands wasn't that sort of person. Well, he was terribly dedicated (to his cigarettes) and he went the extra mile (if only to get a fuck) not to mention that sometimes he did something nice (if only to benefit himself in the end) and so – somehow- he had shown up in the small town of Tashimore Lake.
For Main, the bloody town was like any other small American town. It had a shitty motel for star-crossed lovers to rendezvous at whenever they felt like it. There was a stupid bank where everyone went anyway and a General store that also served as a diner. All in all, it was stupid.
He also had to find a way to blend in; not a tourist, this wasn't that sort of town. Probably the perfect place though for someone who wanted a bit of peace and quiet; which meant one thing, real-estate.
--
At first he had gotten lots of weird looks as he went in search of real estate broker. But in the end he found that rather small office. It had one desk and a chair that serviced as the living room. The back room must have been an office and a break room in one. The woman he talked too was youngish, no more the seventeen, maybe.
"How can I help you?" she asked. Sands smiled at her kindly.
"I am looking for a cabin," he said simply. The girl looked off into the distance for a moment while she un-seeing-ly got the current listings.
"Let me see, we have two. They're both by the lake," she replied.
"When can we take a look? Ye see, my buddy and I need a hunting cabin for the summers, and seeing as how its so nice up here, we figured it'd be the perfect place," Sands explained.
"I can take you by today, if you want," she replied.
"I'd like that," Sands grinned.
--
In the end, Samantha Somers hadn't come with him alone. Her boss (and Uncle if one could dream of it) had also decided to come along. They took their car, Sands sat up front with Horace Somers.
"Lake front property is pretty scarce these days, it's gotten only a bit better. But it was bad circumstances," Horace was explaining.
"How so?" Sands asked. They passed a driveway and a cabin as he asked this question. For a fleeting moment, Sands saw a man with sandy blond hair smoking outside.
"That man, he's Mort Rainy, it's said that he killed a couple of people," Horace replied.
"Oh?"
"Look here, mister, if your looking for a mystery. Leave that one be. The Sheriff all ready told him not to come into town, now he has to drive twenty miles to New England," Horace said.
"Is the Sheriff allowed to do that?" Sands asked.
"I don't think so,"
"Right, of course not, discrimination and all the shit," Sands muttered.
"Either way, I don't want to dissuade you from a purchase, just be careful of that one," Horace said.
"Don't worry 'bout me," Sands grinned. This was going to be fun.
--
In the end, Sands didn't decide on either cabin. If he had too he'd hole up in Rainy's. The other thing Sands had done when he found out whom he was shadowing, was pick up the current book the man had written. He also had old news papers the Company had saved.
None of the articles had Rainy in a good light. Most said he was crazy and half of them said that they didn't bother to ask him what had happened seeing as how no one wanted a shovel to their heads. Not that that was surprising. But, Sands wasn't scared of anything, he could shoot the man, and leave him alive. If he so chose.
Sands stayed up late that night learning more about his suspect.
--
Mort Rainy was just beginning to blink the sleep out of his eyes when the phone rang. He hated the phone. It was the bane of his life and yet, telephones tended to keep people alive. Well, sometimes. Like in the old slasher movies. You knew what was going to happen and yet, the character still died because they decided not to call someone or get out of the house. Instead they just went upstairs to a certain doom. Really, how stupid people could be sometimes.
So, without a seconds thought. Mort pulled the wire from his wall and the ring was killed off. Sighing, he decided to go back to sleep before getting any work done that day.
--
Writing wasn't for everyone. First of all, one had to have a slight idea where a story was going; second, you couldn't do stupid shit that would get you into deeper shit later on. You had to keep all your details in order to refer back to them later on.
That was why Mort never read any manuscripts. First, half the time the author really didn't know what the hell they were doing. Not to mention that half of them thought they were better anyway, so why waist time reading some shit if his opinion wasn't going to be taken seriously?
Right, he wasn't going to waist it that sort of time.
Mort was interupted from his slight writing rant when a knock came to his door.
--
A/N -- This is a slight experiment with these two fandoms. Please tell me what you think.