Griffin's Eleven
Hand #6: Recon
Task one: reconnaissance. Inexplicably, the job had gone to Connie. Predictably, her seconds were Quagmire and Cleveland, a.k.a. Frank. Connie recalled Brian and Peter's words.
"I want to know everything that goes on in that casino," Peter told Connie.
"And we mean everything," Brian emphasized. "From the dealer rotation to the path of every cash cart. Everything on every guard, or any bigwig… basically anyone with a security pass. We need to know where they're from, what their nicknames are, their favorite songs, their relationship status, how they take their coffee…"
"Everything, then," Connie repeated.
"Everything." Brian paused. "Think you can handle it?"
Well… duh, Connie thought bitterly as she sat at a table in the main hall, her eagle eyes watching everything around her. She'd noted two different cash cart paths so far, sipping at a Starbucks coffee nonchalantly while pretending to listen to an iPod. In reality, she was preparing for anything. She wanted to know what was going on with the others, and Brian had agreed to feed her information through her black earbuds.
And, to ensure that Connie wouldn't be recognized by anyone willing to call off the Amber Alert, she'd, for lack of a better term, frumped herself up. Horn-rimmed glasses, a thick gray wind-breaker over an anime t-shirt of some sort (borrowed from Meg's closet), ripped up jeans, destroyed canvas shoes, and an old cell phone. It was an adequate disguise, and it seemed to be working… no one had noticed her shock of blonde hair yet.
Connie sketched out the path of the two cash carts she'd seen on a map given to her by Neil, quickly covering it with her notebook, and a sketch she'd been working on of Geri Halliwell. She'd always been a favorite singer of Connie's. As she added some dark streaks to Geri's hair, she felt her earbuds crackle to life.
"Hey, Amber, is that you?"
Connie sighed. Everyone had received a new name for the proceedings. Connie, jokingly, suggested to be named Amber. Quagmire – whose sole purpose in life seemed to be torturing her – decided it would make a good codename.
"Yep," Connie answered. "What's going down, Bond?"
Brian made a dull clicking noise with his tongue. "Just testing. Making sure you can hear me."
"Yep," Connie muttered again. "I've seen two carts, waiting for the other three."
"Okay, over and out."
"Out."
Connie's earpiece fizzled out once more. There was nothing in her head but silence. She turned back to her sketch before the allure of the blackjack table began to mess with her senses.
Connie fingered the money in her pocket, along with the fake ID and the various coins buried within her pants. She folded her sketchbook shut, pondering what to do. Of course, she could watch the other three carts from the blackjack –
No. The dealer would surely notice something.
But… she wanted to play.
Connie muttered a few assorted curse words before getting out of her chair. The urge to play was too powerful to overcome. Slowly, Connie retreated from her little hideaway in the middle of the lobby, grabbing her grubby shoulder bag and wandering over to the blackjack table. Slinging her bag over the back of the player's chair, she folded her hands over the red felt. Connie looked up.
"Back in five," the little plastic sign on the table read.
Damn horned-rimmed glasses, Connie grimaced, angrily stomping away, seizing her bag. In her fury, she slammed into a random employee. The two went skittering in opposite directions.
"I'm so sorry!" the employee, a girl, immediately cried out.
"No, it's -!" Connie responded before cutting off. Turquoise eyes, black hair, and a rough voice. That hellish voice that used to drive her crazy… Connie looked up, a strand of blonde hair falling down the bridge of her nose.
Connie stared at Cassandra. Cassie stared back. They recognized each other… Cassie narrowed her eyes, while Connie stood up quickly. Cassie grabbed the tray that had fallen out of her arms, standing up in a huff.
"…What are you doing here?" Cassie asked coldly.
"I could ask you the same thing," Connie intoned.
"You disappeared," Cassie murmured, her cheeks paling considerably. "Everyone's been looking for you, and here you are in Boston? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
"How's that pervert you used to know?" Connie shot right back, voice barely above a whisper. "Haven't seen him, have you? It's because he got bored."
"Matter of fact, I have seen him, and he was wondering why you stopped accepting money for your services," Cassie said bitterly, turning on her heel. "Much as I'd love to just stop and chat, I have a job, and work to do. You should probably leave, before someone recognizes you."
Connie pushed her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose. "I can't do that. For I have a job to do here, too."
Cassie stopped in her tracks. "…I wonder… is this about Lois Pewterschmidt?"
And then she walked away, a surreptitious grin on her face.
Connie, flummoxed, sat back down at her table, and took out her notepad and map, absentmindedly tracking the third cart.
"Amber, are you all right?" Brian's voice crackled to life in her earbuds. Connie choked on some spit and covered her mouth, acting like she meant to sneeze.
"…Watch Cassandra Buchem," she said in an extremely low voice. And then she sneezed.
iIiIi
Casinos are built as labyrinths.
Quagmire knew this extremely well. He needed to find the ways OUT, so that Peter would have the ways out. Especially now that Connie had delivered some startling news.
"She knows."
Connie's words echoed blankly throughout the penthouse. Brian could only stare at the runaway, who was ripping her baggy sweatshirt off of her lanky body. She was running about in a rage.
"Who?" Brian demanded.
"That slut
Cassandra Buchem!" Connie screamed. "She works in that casino,
that one we're knocking over –" Connie glared at Quagmire, who
seemed to have slopped his drink down the front of his shirt. "Get
a grip on yourself! She ran into me, and…"
Connie related the
whole story as she changed and undressed and redressed, creating a
whole new persona to walk the streets of Boston in. Brian, Quagmire,
and Meg could only watch her as she raged and ranted.
"…Cassie is perceptive," Meg finally said, after Connie was done yelling. "We need to fix this."
Brian and Meg turned to Quagmire.
And that was why he was at the bar, taking a sip of some concoction. The drink was a formality. He never thought the day would come when he would actually use the skills he'd gained in his years of serial dating on Cassie, a girl he actually liked.
That's what they want me to do, Quagmire thought with a groan.
"It's eleven in the morning." A cold drawl reached his ears. He didn't have to look around to know who it was.
"…I know that," Quagmire murmured, turning around, biting his lip.
To his surprise, Cassie was embarrassed by her indifference. She turned red, wiping down some glasses just to keep herself busy. "…What happened?"
"Nothing you need to know about," he muttered. His self-loathing grew by the minute, wondering if this was part two of Brian's plan for getting revenge. Quagmire should have never smacked him.
Cassie stared at him, completely confused. "…You look like hell."
"Good to know I can count on you," Quagmire spat.
Cassie angrily threw her cleaning rag on the bar. "I'm trying to empathize with you, you prick!"
"You're the one who set the tone," Quagmire countered. "Remember? Constant rejections? Ringing any bells?"
Cassie sighed and looked away. "…You're so difficult, Glen!"
She didn't offer an explanation, instead retreating into an employee room. As soon as she was out of sight, Quagmire drained his drink and put it down tentatively. There was a reason he'd never 'looked like hell' in front of her before… she was too kind-hearted. Naturally concerned for anyone who looked down. He could've used that to his advantage countless times. He should have, Quagmire realized, because the punk wouldn't have him any other –
"Glen?" he repeated with a start. "Glen. …She's never called me that before."
lLlLl
Joe was wheeling around on the side of a Boston street, placing traffic cones around a manhole. Dressed in his police officer's uniform, he was operating under the guise that a dangerous fugitive was rumored to be hiding beneath the sewers near the Grand Cherokee.
Of course, when Lieutenant Swanson had told Leonard Cornfeathers over the phone about the rumor, he demanded that the he go check it out, even though he was normally stationed in Quahog. Thus started phase two – power.
"To be completely honest, I have no freaking clue how to blow the power," Peter thought aloud.
"A bomb. A bomb will do it," Joe noted, playing solitaire with Connie. While he was distracted, Connie, played four cards.
Quagmire was shaking a martini shaker and not really paying attention, but at the mention of a bomb, his ears perked up. "The power grid is in the sewers."
"…How do you know this?" Connie asked blankly.
Quagmire poured some pink liquid into a few martini glasses. "There was this girl, and her boyfriend was kind of following –"
"Scratch that, I don't want to know," Connie responded. Joe took the opportunity to play four cards, believing he now had the upper hand.
Joe lifted the manhole cautiously while a rookie cop tied a rope around his waist. "Just lower me down nice and easy, son."
"Are you sure you don't need a harness -?" the rookie asked nervously
"NO, I DON'T NEED A HARNESS!" Joe yelled. "Just be –"
The rope began to fray five feet above the swamped sewage river below. There was a block of cement directly underneath Joe, but if he swayed a bit to the left, he'd be deposited in waste.
"Um, Lieutenant Swanson?" the rookie moaned. "The rope is –"
"Just keep lowerin' me down," Joe interrupted.
The rope broke. Joe landed, face first, in a river of crap. The rookie looked over the lip of the manhole, shaggy black hair obscuring his eyes.
"Um, Lieutenant Swans -?"
"JUST LEAVE ME HERE!" Joe yelled back. The rookie's head retreated, but Joe waited a few more seconds before using his arms to push himself up out of the brown muck.
"This is disgusting," Joe muttered before wheeling through the waste, looking for the mythical power grid.
A/N: I like Cassandra too much. Originally this chapter was all about her. I mean ridiculously about her. And much as I enjoy the fact that Cassie fits into this story so nicely, I finally realized one of the reasons I was having trouble writing this story in the first place – not all the characters work well together. Cassie doesn't work well when paired with Peter. Quagmire doesn't work well in a scene with Stewie (though that didn't stop me from forcing scenes in The Silent Game…). Lois works terribly with Connie. All things I discovered when writing this chapter. (Yeah, Lois was gonna show up in this chapter. So was Stewie. Stewie's scene was reworked with Brian and put in a later chapter that's going to come soon; Lois' scene with Connie has been cut entirely.) Now that I've worked out who works best with who, updates will come more frequently. Thanks to everyone who's continued to read this story!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven. If I owned both… well, I wouldn't be here. Let's put it that way.
