Chuck vs. the Con
CHAPTER FOUR: "The Job"
CAST (in order of appearance):
young Jenny Burton – Abigail Breslin
Louis Silvestri – Al Pacino
John Casey – Adam Baldwin
Belinda Casey – Stockard Channing
Robert Casey – Tim Matheson
Oleg Karimov – Robert "Rob Zombie" Cummings
Sarah Walker/Jenny Burton – Yvonne Strahovski
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi
Jason K. Burton – Gary Cole
Karen Burton – Jennifer Morrison
Liz Burton – Kate Winslet
April 1992
Syracuse, NY
Jenny Burton sat in the backyard of Uncle Louie's Syracuse house, absent-mindedly whittling at a piece of oak with a Swiss Army Knife. She knew how to safely use a knife, too, having paid close attention while in the Girl Scouts.
But right at that moment, her mind was a million miles away from Syracuse. Her mother had been buried the afternoon before. Karen and Liz had both blubbered their way through the service, but Jenny had remained strangely dry-eyed.
She supposed it was because she had felt catatonic through the entire funeral. It felt like something had died inside of her when her mother died. A child therapist probably would've told her it was because she had watched both her mother and a police officer die, but Jenny's mind didn't act like that of a therapist.
How her mind did act was like that of an angry twelve year old girl. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that her mother had been taken away from her. It wasn't fair that her father got in trouble ALL THE TIME. It just wasn't fair at all.
As Jenny had been thinking, she hadn't been paying attention to the thickness of the piece of wood. Having carved it too thin, when she pressed the knife against it, it slipped, and the knife cut into the palm of her left hand.
It didn't cut deep, just barely drawing blood, but it still hurt like hell. With a wordless scream, Jenny stood up and hurled the knife across the yard. It flew end over end, burying itself point-first into a tree.
"Well now," she heard a voice behind her say. Turning around and suppressing a curse as she held her injured hand, Jenny saw her Uncle Louie walking up to her. "That was quite an impressive throw, young lady."
Jenny shrugged. "It just happened," she replied.
Louie cocked his head. "I'm not so sure about that," he stated. Reaching into the sport coat he was wearing, he withdrew a much nastier looking butterfly knife. Popping it open, he handed it to Jenny. "Try it again."
Jenny reached out and took the butterfly knife. She looked at it for a moment, and then whirled around, flinging it forcefully at the tree.
The knife flipped through the air, and embedded itself in the tree right below the Swiss Army Knife. "I don't think that 'just happened'," Uncle Louie said. "I think you have a bit of a talent."
Camden, NJ
The streets of downtown Camden were almost eerily silent. The only sounds heard were the noise of horses' hooves clopping, mixed with the engines of close to fifty police vehicles.
Lieutenant John Casey slowly walked down the street, clad in his dress blue uniform. He was just behind his parents, Robert and Belinda Casey. In front of them was a New Jersey State Police honor guard.
Behind Casey was a single riderless horse, being led by a state police officer, and behind that horse was a pair of horses pulling a carriage. In that carriage was a coffin bearing the body of state police Sergeant Mark Casey.
John Casey's face was, like his father's, a carefully crafted mask of emotionless. Inside, though, his emotions were rather similar to the grief pouring from his mother. He felt like his heart had been ripped out and replaced with a snowball.
Mark had always jokingly called John his "little brother" – the two had been born seven minutes apart. He would never do that again, though – his life ended by a senseless act of violence against an innocent woman.
Even as he maintained his air of inscrutability, John Casey swore that if he ever had the chance, he would make sure that the people responsible for this paid.
Rego Park, Queens, NY
Oleg Karimov was nobody. He was a very rich nobody, but he was still nobody.
His parents had immigrated to Queens five years before he was born. Oleg had spent the entire thirty-seven years of his life in Rego Park. He got involved with the Mob – the Russian version – when he was still a teenager, and since then, he had been a low-level enforcer.
The good thing about his job was that people were scared of him. As a result, Oleg had been able to muscle his way into management of, and eventually take over, one of the most prosperous "gentlemen's" clubs in New York City. There was no shortage of men in Queens who wanted to see naked women up close and personal, and so Oleg had gotten rich quickly.
The Mob got a cut, of course, but he kept enough to live a very, very comfortable life. Right at the moment, though, he was at "work", keeping an eye out in the lobby of a small office building while his boss had a meeting upstairs.
Oleg was bored and found himself drifting off. He was about to doze off completely when there was an unexpected BANG! The area around the doorknob on the front door disintegrated entirely, and then the door was kicked in.
Oleg leapt to his feet and reached for his gun, but the sight of a Winchester 30.06 shotgun pointed at his face froze him. "Ah ah, Oleg," Louie Silver admonished him. "Is that any way to welcome a guest?"
"Asshole," Oleg sneered. "What the hell do you want?"
"That's a bad boy, Oleg," Louie sighed. "You can't be cussing like that around my little niece."
Oleg looked down – and sure enough, there was a little girl, who couldn't have been older than twelve, standing next to Oleg. "You brought your niece with you on the job?" he asked in disbelief.
Louie smiled. "She's gonna guard you while I go take care of some business with your boss."
"Oh yeah?" Oleg ridiculed. "With what? A water pistol? Maybe she can hit me with a Barbie doll!"
Louie shook his head and looked down at the girl. "You want to show him what you can do, Jenny?"
Jenny Burton smiled and nodded. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the butterfly knife that Louie had given her earlier. Flipping it open, she took aim at the calendar on the wall –
And put the blade of the knife right through Miss April '92's cleavage. Oleg's eyes widened, and with an audible gulp, he sat down very quickly.
"Good boy," Louie said. Jenny crossed the room and retrieved her knife. "Now, you make sure Mr. Karimov doesn't cause any trouble," Louie told his niece. "I have some… business… to take care of upstairs."
"Okay, Uncle Louie," Jenny replied.
Louie smiled and tousled his niece's hair, then headed toward the stairs. Before he ascended them, though, he turned back to Jenny. "One last thing?"
"Yes, Uncle Louie?"
The smile faded from Louie Silver's face as he stared at Oleg Karimov. "If he tries anything, you have my permission to make him a girl."
Tempe, AZ
November 2008
"A couple miles up the road," Louie Silver said, "there is a little institution known as Northern Arizona University. Within these particular hallowed halls of learning, there is a biochem department that likes to study some very interesting things." He paused and looked around the room. "For example, weapons grade anthrax."
Chuck's eyes widened and his back stiffened. He could feel Sarah's hand grip more tightly around his. Slowly he turned to look at her. WEAPONS GRADE ANTHRAX?! he mouthed.
"In fact," Louie continued, "it is the same strain of anthrax that ruined several peoples' days back in 2002. Now, the actual anthrax that did that came from Fort Detrick, but nonetheless."
He looked Sarah in the eyes, and then did the same with each of her sisters. "Now, there is a particularly loathsome worm who is employed at Northern Arizona University by the name of Oleg Karimov."
"Wait a second," Jason Burton interrupted. "Oleg Karimov? Seriously? The strip club king of Queens?" As he mentioned the name, Chuck heard Sarah's breathing get a little louder. He stole a look over at Sarah, to see that she had gone almost white as a sheet.
"I almost didn't believe it myself," Louie agreed. "But apparently, his smarts extend beyond marketing naked women. In the last fifteen years, he has somehow gotten himself a doctorate and wound up working at Northern Arizona."
He turned and looked at Sarah again. "You remember Oleg, right, Jenny?"
Sarah nodded slowly. "If he ever tries anything, I have your permission to turn him into a girl."
Louie smiled. "Very good, Jennifer. I'm glad to see you remembered that."
He turned his attention back to the group as a whole. "Now, according to my sources, Dr. Karimov is planning to sell some of this weapons grade anthrax to a bunch of equally unpleasant sand worms who work for a little organization known as Al Qaeda. That's not going to happen. We will intercept the shipment before it's even out of Arizona, and turn it over to the Department of Defense – for a tidy fee, of course."
Louie looked at Chuck. "Now, Mister Carmichael, since my lovely niece brought you along, I'm assuming she trusts you enough to be in on a con of the sort we're going to have to pull."
Chuck squirmed internally, but kept the cool Carmichael front. "Mr. Silvestri, nobody can trust me," Chuck said. "But let's just say I'm good for the job."
Louie raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Is that so," he chuckled, turning away. Chuck glanced over at Sarah, who shook her head and rolled her eyes.
"So, Jason, what do you think?" Louie asked his brother-in-law. "What are we gonna need to pull this off?"
"Well," Jason said slowly, "aside from my three beautiful daughters here to head things up, we're gonna need a tech, a couple of gun-slinging wheelmen, some muscle, a medical type or two just in case something happens, and somebody with some biochem knowledge to make sure we're handling this stuff right."
"Who you thinkin'?"
Jason laughed. "I have no idea, Louie," he replied. "When I went in the joint, Bill Clinton was president, remember?"
"I can get you those people," Chuck spoke up, plunging forward before actually thinking. Sarah squeezed his hand – HARD – and he turned to look at her.
What are you doing?! the look on her face screamed. He gave her a reassuring smile, as if to say, "I got this."
"Well, let me rephrase," he backed up. "I can get you MOST of those people."
"Can you now, Mr. Carmichael?" Louie asked, a note of interest in his voice.
"Sure," Chuck replied. "I can do tech – I can disassemble a computer behind my back in my sleep. I know a couple of drivers who just happen to be excellent shots, I know a big thug-like animal, and a couple of doctors. I unfortunately don't know any biochem people, but I'm sure my people can find somebody."
Chuck took a breath. "I will need to go back to Los Angeles to assemble my crew, but once they're all together, I think we can give Danny Ocean a run for his money."
Louie Silver smiled and shook his head. "Alright, Carmichael," he said. "You talk a big game, but I want to see if you're good for it. You got forty-eight hours. Go back to L.A., get your crew together, and then give me a call."
Camden, NJ
Today was John Casey's fortieth birthday.
That meant that it was also Mark Casey's fortieth birthday.
John Casey had spent the last half hour standing outside the cemetery gates, debating whether or not to go in. He didn't have flowers – he NEVER put flowers on his brother's grave, because he knew he'd be getting an ass-kicking in the afterlife if he did that. Instead, he just had a birthday card, signed by every member of Mark's old division.
Finally, he walked into the cemetery. Slowly, he traced the path he knew well, until he stood in front of the block of granite. MARK RICHARD CASEY, it said. NOVEMBER 18, 1968 – APRIL 15, 1992.
"Hey, asshole," Casey greeted his brother, just as he always did – just as he always had when his brother was alive. "Happy birthday."
Leaning over, Casey set the card against the grave stone. He didn't say anything else – he wasn't big on the "Forrest at Jenny's grave" sort of speech. In fact, he thought it rather unmanly, and refused to do it.
So he just stood there for nearly twenty minutes, staring at the spot where his brother lay. His reverie was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone.
Pulling the offending object from his belt, he saw the name "WALKER" appear on the screen. Casey sighed and answered the phone.
"Casey."
"Casey, you need to get back to Los Angeles as soon as possible."
Casey raised an eyebrow. "Mind if I ask what's going on?"
Sarah was quiet for a moment, likely trying to figure out how to answer the question on an unsecure line. Finally, she said, "Let's just say it's Chuck's fault," a mix of annoyance and amusement in her voice.
Casey snorted. "What a surprise."