This story is written for Sandalaris, in Live Journal Secret Santa Challenge.
I chose a prompt Board Game Night Gone Wrong.
First, I had to think of how to herd those five cats into one room long enough to play anything, so I thought about a flu that would keep them inside. After that, I had to come up with where did that flu come from, and why.
After that point, when I decided on a client and a case, everything went wrong. Well, everything except that Board Game :D Plot spread. I applied 3 Act structure, happy I could finally stay strict to it. That meant 4 chapters. Plot spread some more. I entwined this story to be number 4 in my Leverage series, but I didn't want to fill it with things you knew nothing about. I only had two mentions of Boston-trouble. (
This episode takes place in their first days in Portland, between The Very Big Bird Job and The Blue Line Job.
Did I already mention that the plot spread?
In the end, of the entire Board Game Gone Wrong prompt, remained only a scene with that board game, but Gone Wrong disappeared somewhere along the way. :/ I'm sorry. (Plot ate it.)
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Chapter 1
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"If we were still in Boston, this would never have happened."
Sophie sounded as if the pillow she was resting on was placed over her face. Nate sighed and pushed a steamy cup closer to her nose.
"No, seriously, Nate. Viruses breed and multiply better in humid air. Portland is awful, awful, I say! - is that a hot chocolate?"
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He closed it, took a deep breath and tried again, this time forcing the air out over his scraped throat.
"Sure. Hot." It sounded like a croak. And it hurt.
She took the cup and sank deeper in her chair. Nate turned the chair a little so she could face the screens, and struggled to his feet.
Hardison sat at the desk behind their chairs, only six feet away, yet that distance felt like a mile. His legs were shaky. He put another cup on the table before the hacker, amidst the mess of paper towels, mostly used.
"They're almost done," Hardison said. His eyes were half shut, stuck in permanent squint mode. He could work on his laptop, but watching the screens was difficult. At least his voice was normal and not distorted by the flu. "Parker will soon be above the office, still unnoticed." He squinted harder, watching behind Nate, so he slowly turned towards the screens.
Damn, every movement hurt.
Black and white security feed was good quality, but it showed a corridor, not a vent with Parker. A human shape fled backwards from right to left, clearly hit by someone.
"What was that?" he asked the hacker.
Hardison sighed. "That would be Eliot."
The same human shape – and a very pissed off one – returned in focus and charged from left to right, disappearing on the other side of the feed.
"It was… what, the third time?" he asked wearily.
"Yep." Hardison nodded, then held his head with both hands, when nodding stirred his liquefied brain.
Nate felt the same. Parker and Eliot probably felt the same also – but the two of them didn't have a fever when they left to hunt for the incriminating photos they needed for their client. It wasn't a job that needed all five of them, thank god.
Crescent Casting Agency only had a few security guards. Eliot wasn't supposed to have problems with keeping them busy while Parker sneaked in and out unnoticed. She was directly above the office and-
A loud sneeze thundered through their earbuds; all three of them clutched at their heads.
"Parker, noise-" A quick barrage of Parker's sneezes ran over Eliot's gravelly whisper. He managed to put some growl into it too, after an entire day of only whispered words, but it was too late a warning.
"We have an intruder!" A yell shook them all. Hardison felt his keyboard, half- blind, and lowered the volume. "Somebody is in the vent!"
So much about getting those pictures unnoticed. "Pull them out, Hardison," Nate said.
Eliot flew backwards across the screens, this time from left to right.
Nate sighed and went to make two more cups of hot chocolate.
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36 hours before
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The Spruce Goose Job had landed in their lap before any of them had time to adjust to Portland and their new setting, basically during the first hour of their stay there. Only after they had finished it, did they have time to settle and examine their new surroundings.
Nate researched potential marks in Oregon while waiting for the first client to knock on the brewery's door. The rest of the team were busy and mostly nowhere to be seen. Hardison and Eliot spent their days in the brewery and kitchen, dealing with staff and putting the restaurant in motion. Their conversations, from the snippets Nate could hear, consisted mainly of non-stop arguing. They set their personal record the third day after the Spruce Goose Job. They argued about the vegetables menu for twenty whole minutes in one uninterrupted monologue – each of them speaking at the same time.
Every now and then, Hardison would wander into the office with a sample of the new monstrous fluid he produced, and Nate quickly ran out of encouraging hm-hm's.
Eliot would usually follow with a pained martyr expression, and recite a long list of obstacles the world – obviously in a form of a relentless hacker – put before him to fight. It was easier with Eliot. He didn't need encouragement, just an occasional nod. Yet, Nate couldn't help but notice the flame of challenge in his eyes. They enjoyed it, both of them.
That, also, reminded him of another danger that might disturb their nesting. Sophie had proclaimed it was time for Eliot to start dating again.
"Don't look at me like that! We are in a new town, and that means new people. New beginnings. Hardison and Parker are together, you and me, well, that's complicated, and then there's Eliot. I'll give him a week or two more, but enough time had passed since Boston."
Some flames of challenge, when seen in a particular pair of eyes, were very disturbing. That time, Nate tried with smiles. It worked. Sophie took it as encouragement and approval, so she returned to her new pet project – her theatre. Deeply engaged in choosing the students for her acting class, the grifter was seen only in the evenings when they would all gather at dinner. Her full report of her day was usually interrupted with brewery problems, so those evenings were easier to endure. Eliot didn't pay any attention to her gentle nudging and probing, though he was aware of her intentions, so Nate didn't have to intervene.
Parker didn't bother anybody, nor did she speak of her doings.
Nate suspected she spent her days mapping out Portland and everything interesting in it. Her smile, dangerously like cats with a mouth full of feathers, was content and lazy.
Nate wasn't the only one who noticed that nuance in Parker's grin; Hardison was on high alert. Running between the brewery, food and his laptops, Hardison did try to involve Parker in any, and all of that. Without any success.
"And, what about Board games?" Nate heard his desperate attempt at the end of a long list of things Parker could do here, and not out in the town. "You don't want to hear anything about food, I understand that. Beer is not enough to keep you busy. So, why don't we do something fun?"
"I'm having fun."
"I know, I know, but together. As a team? We can make a Board Game Night, and proclaim it official, once a week. Team bonding. Popcorn, competition. Monopoly."
"I've never played Monopoly. And I don't want to."
"Whaaat?" Hardison voice jumped into higher octave. "That's… just sad. We are definitely playing Monopoly. It has an Out Of Jail Free card, did you know that?"
"I don't need Out of Jail Free card. I don't get caught."
"That's not what I meant…"
At that point, Nate sneaked away unnoticed. What they definitely needed, before all of them start killing each other, was a client.
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The first client came with Sophie. It also came with a flu virus.
That particular morning when Sophie called was soggy and cold, and nobody was in a good mood when they gathered together.
Sophie insisted Eliot should meet the client with Nate, and they both expected a troublesome case dealing with dangers or killers.
They met with a willowy young woman, sitting with Sophie by the window. The brewery was full, yet nobody took any of the tables near the windows, so not to look out at the grey depressive rain. That woman shone in the dimmed light, as if the murky cover only ignited her spark. Fiery red hair, check. Porcelain skin, check. Green eyes, check.
Unfortunately, Nate wasn't the only one who saw this as the perfect set up.
Even amongst the music and murmur of voices, Nate heard a low growl vibrating in the hitter's chest. Eliot skipped his usual early levels of annoyance and jumped directly onto Biblical wrath phase.
Sophie welcomed them with an insanely gentle smile, and hard con eyes. Nate knew that calculated look.
"I don't like her," Parker said in their ears.
Eliot gritted his teeth after that confirmation of this trap, and Nate sighed. If even Parker was able to see through Sophie's motives…
"This is my friend, Ann Lisa," Sophie started with the pleasantries, guiding them all through the awkward handshakes and smiles. The woman's eyes were red and glazed; she held a handkerchief in a slightly trembling hand. Maybe, but just maybe, the damsel in distress approach wasn't that bad an idea.
"You're quite fast at making friends, Sophie," Eliot said.
"I'm a lovable person. This nice young lady auditioned for my acting class a few days ago. She is an amateur actress and a promising model." Sophie waved to a passing waitress, then continued, "She is, also, a Portland State Police Officer."
Eliot's silence was an admonition of her dramatic skills. Nate used those seconds to lean a little more forward and smile. "Why would a cop seek help from a consulting agency?"
Ann Lisa rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief; she looked as if she had a terrible headache. "Mr. Ford…" She looked left and right first, then straight at him. "The Crescent Casting Agency threatens to make my photos public. They were supposed to be my agents. I had several shoots for catalogues. Nothing was suspicious at the beginning, the first four times. I even got a few calls for interviews. But the fifth time they called in a hurry with great news – a famous magazine wanted a set of artsy black and white photos, and they chose me."
"Let me guess," he said. "Those particular sets of photos were nudes?"
"Half nudes." She winced a little. "They showed me their previous photos: beautiful images, decent and classy. Black and white is a perfect medium for nudes, especially when lighting is scarce and the shadows hide almost everything. Silk, shadows and skin, in the hands of a professional, really is art."
"And what happened?"
"There wasn't nearly enough shadows." Her words sounded bitter. "And I wasn't alone. Another woman was on that set. The first photos were separate, then we were both in focus, and before I could react, her hands were all over me and the cameras were shooting in barrage mode from all around. I stopped everything and demanded to see the photos; they refused. They pulled a contract on me; I left the agency. Now, they're threatening to make them public if I don't pay the fees. It's simple blackmail, and my hands are tied. Being a woman cop is hard enough without that."
"You were lured into that for a reason," Eliot said. "That blackmail was planned from the beginning."
"And it's getting worse," Sophie said.
The waitress brought two waters for them. Both Eliot and Nate waved off the offer. Ann Lisa waited until the waitress left, holding her glass with both hands.
"The Crescent Casting Agency is under investigation," she said. "I found that out only yesterday. I received a phone call in the middle of my class with Sophie. My partner called me to inform me that we've been added to the team that's working on it – and I broke down."
Sophie gently patted her hand, receiving a twisted smile in return.
"You didn't tell your partner about your account with the agency?" Nate asked.
"No. I froze on the phone, acted like I'd never heard of them – and later I didn't know how to tell him; or if I should tell him at all. I'm now officially on the team that will work that case, and eventually we'll find my incriminating photos. That might ruin the entire case."
"Even if you tell them now, the case will be compromised because you were part of the investigation," Eliot said.
"That's right. I don't know what to do."
"Tell me more about the agency," Nate said.
"They rent a building in Downtown Portland. Three story business building with two warehouses in the backyard. These are the studios and shooting sets with props. Hundreds of women walk in there every day. Their security is top notch. Every new client is taken on the tour through the building. Hi-tech security, safes for the photos, security checks on every floor… I really felt safe there, in the hands of professionals who value the integrity and privacy of their clients."
"Until you realized they don't make their living on commission, but on blackmail," Nate said. "It's a well known scam, though I have to admit I didn't hear about this big one. They've put this confidence scam on an entirely new level. Somebody finally broke down and reported them?"
"Worse than that. We found two bodies, both females, both clients. They were killed last week. Same MO, and only three days between killings. We are investigating the agency because it was the only common denominator."
"So, what exactly do you think we can do for you?"
"Sophie told me you are very persuasive and excellent in negotiating. And, that you've managed before to help people in my position, without public humiliation and without paying the money. Can you make them destroy my photos and terminate my account before the police investigation finds out about that?"
Nate leaned back in his chair, careful not to dart a glare at Sophie. Involving a cop so early, in their first few days here, might prove dangerous – but he understood her motives. Cop or not, this woman was in the kind of trouble that no law could solve.
"We'll see what we can do," he said. "I won't promise you anything before we do our recon."
"I understand." Though her smile was twisted, her nod was grateful.
Eliot's nod, on the other hand, was almost invisible. Stalling was the best option in this case, at least until Hardison did his thing.
Ann Lisa got up and collected her purse. "I hope this will end well and, and…" A loud sneeze cut off her words, and she quickly pressed her handkerchief to her nose.
"Bless you!" Sophie smiled at her. "Truth, you see? It will all end well. Go home and make yourself a nice cup of tea, and-"
"No, I have to go to work. I'm already running late. Thank you, again." And with that, she left.
All three of them turned to the window, following her progress across the street to her car. Nate knew Eliot waited for him to broach the subject.
"And now," he said, "we should discuss bringing cops in as clients, without checking them out first."
"But, she is an actress, Nate. We can trust her."
"Yeah, right. That certainly clears her of any-"
"She is also being followed," Eliot said. He continued to watch her through the window. "Black limo was parked behind her – it went after her, leaving three cars between them. Too far away to see the license plate. Hardison?"
"I'll pull the surveillance feed," Hardison spoke in their ears. "Though that part of the street isn't covered. I'm already working on that modeling agency."
"Good," Nate said. "Sophie, if I were a cop, and wanted to infiltrate a suspicious new consulting agency in my town, that happens to run a brewery, I would've found a way to get closer. For example, approach through another channel, like an acting class, playing a victim."
"She isn't that good an actor, trust me." Sophie's light, reckless smile disappeared. Sophie Devereaux in serious mode even erased Eliot's scowl. "I'm a grifter; I know how it's done, and how much preparation one needs to put into that kind of scam. We've been in Portland a little over a week, and I rented a theatre just a few days ago. It's too short a time frame to set up her role, if she was a plant. Hardison can see how old her account at the agency is, and then we'll know for sure."
"You could do all of it in two hours."
"As I said, she isn't that good an actor. She is just a woman in trouble, who happens to be a cop." Sophie got up. Her gentle smile returned. "And she is also gorgeous. Eliot, you said she was followed… maybe you should go and protect her, or something."
"Or. Something," the hitter slowly repeated. "You know, Sophie, you should stay out of-"
Nate raised his hand. "Instead of protecting our client, we'll first see what exactly is threatening her. Then we'll decide what to do."
"Yeah, you do that," Eliot didn't lower his glare at Sophie, but at least he didn't continue. "I'll need as much info on those two bodies as you can find. I don't like that part of the job."
Yeah, that part was interesting, indeed.
Nate watched them both going their separate ways, and waved to the waitress to bring him a large glass of Jack.
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Detective Randall Coddington enjoyed rain. That invariably gained him a lot of odd looks from native Portland cops, when he first came from Boston. Now, a couple of months later, they'd accepted his weirdness, and nobody batted an eyelid anymore when seeing him walking around, splashing in puddles and refusing to use an umbrella.
That day, though rainy as usual, his walk to the Portland City State Police building was anything but enjoyable. The phone call he received from one of his informants, confirmed one of his suspicions, and put his partner into the middle of the murder investigation.
Unfortunately, on the wrong side.
Ann Lisa acted strange when they first started working on the Crescent Agency case, yet he paid no attention to that. She'd caught a cold and she wasn't at her best. It was only when the investigation grew deeper, and they suspected that the agency had an informant inside the police department, that he felt a twitch of unease. Every step they moved closer to the agency, put a more haunted look in her eyes.
He checked her GPS – hoping to clear his suspicions, not to prove them – and found out she was a frequent visitor. He took her for a drive to observe the agency building. When he asked her, neutrally, did she know anything about that block and building, she said it was her first time there.
It wasn't enough, though. She could have had hundreds of reasons for lying. Yet, when they returned to the station, a briefing revealed that someone from their inner circle had warned the agency owner, Danny Manners, about the ongoing investigation.
Tracking her phone records would require a warrant and opening a case against her, and that was the last thing on his mind. Instead of that, he followed her.
Nobody approached her while she jogged that morning. When she returned home, he hid at the far end of her street, waiting for her car, then drove behind her. She stopped after twenty minutes and parked, then went to the grocery store and into a brewery pub. He made a note about the Bridgeport Brew Pub, to investigate it later; the place looked busy, though not crowded enough for him to follow her inside unnoticed.
Maybe she only had a coffee, he said to himself when she appeared half an hour later and drove directly to their Station.
And maybe, just maybe, he should ask her outright about his suspicions, and clear everything up.
Tomorrow, he said to himself, and followed her to their office.
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"Why did it take one entire day to collect enough info on that guy?" Eliot asked Hardison when the hacker finally proclaimed he was ready. He used that time to work on the final menu for the brewery restaurant, and came from the kitchen when Hardison called. Nate and Sophie weren't there yet, and Parker was also nowhere to be seen.
This case wasn't that urgent, there was no imminent danger, yet Hardison was much slower than he was used to. In the last four hours, the hacker had made three visits to his beer brewing– or whatever beer did while, well, becoming beer. That could explain his slower than usual pace. Hardison developed an annoying habit of standing there and staring at the fluid, as if he could speed the process up.
Or maybe he sent it some green, new age good vibes, Eliot thought while taking his place at their new workstation in front of the big screens. Every time they moved to a new town, their table got a few new fancy thingies… lights, glass, and various new switches. The next time, he promised himself, he would be the one choosing their new office. And, he also swore, he would fill it with rocking chairs, just to give Hardison the creeps; lots of rocking chairs and an old wooden table. No lights, no buttons.
He cleared his throat and took a sip of his beer to ease the strange tickling sensation in it. His head hurt.
"Because his files are partially sealed," Hardison said.
He glared at him. "What?"
"You asked me why it took me an entire day to collect info on that guy. That's why."
True. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. The throbbing seemed to spread.
"How do you think I find things out about our marks? Going through their Facebook pages and looking at their old photos? Or calling their wife to ask for details? Huh?" Now Hardison rubbed the back of his neck and cleared his throat.
"Ah shit," Eliot said. "Don't tell me your eyes burn, and your throat feels as if you swallowed a bucket of sand?"
"As a matter of fact…"
He didn't have to finish his sentence. A loud sneeze came from above them, and Parker landed on the table with an ungraceful thud. The thief's eyes were red.
"My head hurts," she said.
Dammit, Sophie.
"Work on that till Nate and Sophie arrive," he said to Hardison as he stood up. If they show up at all.
"Where are you going?"
"Kitchen."
To make a gallon of chicken soup. They were so going to need it.
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"Daniel Charles Manners," Hardison said. "AKA Danny Manners."
A robust man in his mid-forties smiled down on them from the screen. Parker followed his appearance with a slurp of her soup, and Eliot's skin crawled.
Nate and Sophie also looked annoyed with the thief, and that said a lot about how shitty they were feeling. Especially Sophie. Her voice was raspy, Nate's croaky, Hardison's throaty… a few more, and they would have all seven dwarves. Their Snow White with porcelain skin - he did notice that - did a great job of spreading her viruses on all of them.
"Englishman. Lived in France. Ex-military. Ex-mercenary. Ex-president of Field Gunners of Portsmouth. Ex- president of Oregon Honda Club."
"He is a lot of ex's," Sophie said.
"He's led an ex-citing life." Hardison pulled up a map of Europe with Africa and the Middle East, and many red dots danced across it. "His military career was with Her Majesty's Royal Navy." He zoomed out from it, and new dots sprinkled over USA and made a cluster around Oregon. "Today, he is in our neighborhood. The Crescent Casting Agency is only a branch of Crescent Moon Productions. He is organizing major sport events and competitions, and his hostesses are-"
"Imported and very expensive." Eliot finished Hardison's sentence. "And now that business with blackmail looks natural. That's how you start… you import a few high class prostitutes and quickly make your name, then fill your ranks with the best of the blackmailed ones. It's the same with horses."
"What? Horses? What do you mean?"
"Amateurs spend fortunes on an entire stud farm, counting on returning the investment through races, over time. They lose big time. Pros buy one or two champions, spending the same amount of money, and return the investment quickly, by winning, and then they spread out and buy more. Manners don't want money from Ann. He wants her for his stable."
"You can't know that," Parker said. "Maybe he wants the money. And she isn't poor, isn't a drug addict; he can't make her a whore."
"No." Nate smiled. He got up and went closer to the screen, studying Manner's smile. "Okay, maybe yes. But that's not how I would do it. She is currently in the first stage, when they slowly increase the pressure. They are asking for money right now. If she gives them some, they will offer for her to pay the rest a different way. After the first client – and that one will be chosen very carefully, so as not to spook her; someone classy, a gentleman, rich and handsome – they will reward her. After her second client, not only would she pay off everything, she would make a profit, and a solid one. Another champion in Manner's stable, and all with a couple of risqué photos."
"You're creepy." Parker finished her sentence with another slurp, and that was too much. Eliot took the bowl from her, and put it on his side of table.
She followed the bowl with wide-open eyes; a yelp on its way out turned into a coughing fit.
Eliot rolled his eyes and immediately regretted it. It felt like the inside of his eyelids was made of sand paper. He squinted and gave her the bowl back.
"And she didn't tell them she was a cop," Nate said. "Good for her – if she had, maybe she would've been the third dead body. She is only a model and actress for them, an easy target."
"About those models…" Hardison filled the screen with small images of beautiful women. "Blondes and redheads swarm the place. Manners has a soft spot for blondes. All his first clients were Nordic types, and only recently did he add ginger-haired beauties." He zoomed in on two of them, deleting all others. "These are the dead ones that Ann's team is investigating. Both were blond."
Eliot glanced at Nate, monitoring the depth of his concentration. It wasn't manic, yet, but it was better to slow him down now, than later. "We only need Ann Lisa's photos. Portland cops are already working on those dead blondes."
"Yeah, of course." Nate's reply sounded absent. He stared at the screen.
"Nate," he tried again. "Photos. We don't solve murders. We most definitely don't catch killers."
"We take our marks down, Eliot. Even better if they happen to be killers, don't you think?"
"What are you going to do?" Sophie said.
One corner of Nate's mouth jumped up. "I'll give Manners a blonde," he said.
This time, Eliot checked Hardison's frown. It matched his own.
Parker slurped the soup and grinned.
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