It's finally here! After a disatroust loss of the original documents, I now present Unexpected Consequences, chapter eleven!

Un-beta'ed, as always.

- o – o -

Chapter Eleven: Little by little…the Egg shall walk

Dana paced around her apartment, feeling more on edge than usual. Three days ago, she and Trip had nearly been killed by gunmen who'd been shooting at ARK cops. Trip had nearly died…Hell, she'd nearly died! If not for Taylor and Michael—his twin brother—she and Trip would likely be residing in the morgue.

Today, she'd nearly been killed on her front stoop. The gang war was getting out of control, and even the bodyguards weren't helping. Palm City was in a state of open war…and Fleming didn't seem to be doing anything about it.

Taylor had advised her to stay at home that day, a decision that had been backed up by Scales, and then a phone call from Travis. Taylor had checked the apartment for bugs and then disappeared with his brother, presumably to do whatever it was that bodyguards did when they weren't working.

How two men that large and that solid had vanished so thoroughly and quietly was still a mystery.

Dana growled in frustration as the clock began chiming. It was five now, and she still hadn't figured out what to make for dinner. If the public defender's office had still been open (one of the gangs had decided to set off a bomb the evening before), she'd have picked up carry-out or made macaronis.

After the shooting and everything else, though, she didn't really know what to make. Her stomach growled, letting her know that it hadn't forgotten about food, though.

A knock on the door had Dana jumping in alarm. Now who the hell would… Dana leaned against the door, arms crossed as a scowl appeared on her face. If it was Scales, she was going to keep him locked out and make spaghetti. If it was Travis coming to check up on her and Trip, she'd let him in and order a pizza.

She looked through the peephole a few seconds later and sighed. Spaghetti it was, then. The deformed smuggler was standing in the hall outside her apartment, bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. His hands were behind his back, and Dana guessed he was holding something there. She half-wondered what it was as she opened the door as far as the chain would allow.

Scales looked up as he heard the door open, a smile on his face. "'Ello luv," he said cordially, by way of a greeting. Dana nodded and smiled, suddenly wary. The last time he'd shown up on her doorstep this cheerful, he'd announced that he'd set Chess on her.

So, what had he done this time? Convinced a third world nation she was responsible for piracy?

"What have you done now?" Dana asked after a few minutes. Scales looked at her, one eyebrow raised. After a few seconds confusion, his face cleared up and he grinned.

"Not nothin', luv," Scales replied, still grinning. "Beat one of my employees for talkin' to the cozzers, locked another in the trunk, but no' anythin' illegal."

Dana blinked, unsure of how to respond to that statement. She didn't know what universe Scales thought he lived in, but those acts were illegal. Obviously, he was as demented as the news painted him…

"Uh-huh," she replied, instead of saying what was actually on her mind. "So, why are you here? If you're checking up on me," she added with a rather sardonic grin, "you can see that I'm perfectly fine."

Scales grinned again, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I dinnit know if you'd ate already, so…" He shuffled awkwardly, before producing what he'd been holding behind his back. Judging by the smell emanating from it, the canvas bag had Italian food in it, and it smelled wonderful.

Dana grinned ruefully as her stomach growled again. She shut the door and unbolted the chain, before opening the door so the deformed smuggler could enter her apartment. After Scales had stepped in, Dana bolted the door shut before crossing the living room to the window.

She didn't know if the reporters had given up after a month, but she wasn't taking any chances with their video equipment. She didn't want anyone to see her current company. Not a known criminal, during a gang war at any rate. Trip didn't need another parent destroyed.

Speaking of Trip… Dana looked into the kitchen and saw her son sitting at the kitchen table. A text book was open in front of him, but it looked like he was using it as a pillow. She smiled and shook her head, before returning her attention to Scales. The man had set the bag on the coffee table, and seemed to have made himself at home on her sofa.

She sighed. A smuggler who brought her dinner and wanted to know if she was alright. What else was going to happen today? A city-wide fire?

Dana's worries were unfounded though. The entire affair went smoothly; Trip managed to stay awake long enough to eat, and Scales managed to avoid destroying her furniture. Despite the stories she'd heard about him, Dana was having some trouble equating that with the man who was so casually trading jokes with her son over plates of lasagna.

Despite the surrealism of the scene, it was nice. And if she closed her eyes, Dana thought as she sipped some water, she could imagine that it was Vince sitting across the table from her and eating dinner, instead of a criminal.

Scales leaned against the wall outside Dana' apartment, feeling more tired than he should have after relaxing for an hour. He was getting in far too deep with this woman… And if it weren't for the fact that he was still holding out for reciprocation, he wouldn't have done more than give Dana her husband's innocence.

"Stop moping, you stupid tit," he muttered under his breath, straightening up. There was work to be done, and he couldn't be mooning over a woman who was so dedicated to another man. And added to his current problems, Fleming wanted another meeting.

Bloody effin' wonderful…

Half an hour later, Scales was in the lot behind his warehouse. Fleming wanted another meeting, no doubt worried by the gang violence that had erupted violently over the last two weeks. The smuggler smirked at that thought; two weeks had caused more chaos than the man who controlled the police could handle… Who'd have thought it?

The smuggler stood up and began pacing again, feeling anxious for no reason he could discern. He practically had Fleming on the ropes where the gangs were concerned. And as far as Fleming was concerned, his loyal dog was controlling the gangs.

Scales paused as he saw the headlights approaching. Show time, he thought.

The smuggler leaned against the hood of his car in an attempt to look casual as he waited for Fleming and his lackeys to arrive. That rude arse, Mick Reese, Fleming himself and… The smuggler smirked as he saw the last member of the unholy trio. The chief of police had deigned to come as well. Despite that, Marty Voyt didn't look very comfortable with the situation. In fact, Scales thought, the man looked like he'd been ill recently.

"Fleming," Scales said genially, a grin on his face. The businessman smiled back, although his expression was forced-looking.

"Mr. Raoul," Fleming replied stiffly. He shifted his stance, weight resting on his left foot now, almost as if he were preparing to run. "This afternoon, three men decided to shoot at ARK police officers outside city hall—in the middle of the business district. I thought we'd agreed that you were to keep the gang lords in line."

Scales shrugged, looking bored. "Dinnit 'ear you say nuffin' about th' gang ladies or the rank and file," he replied. He could tell that Fleming didn't know what he'd meant in reference to 'gang ladies', and felt no need to enlighten the man at this point.

"I don't give a damn about the gangs!" Fleming snapped irritably. "What I care about is the fact that my police officers are still getting shot in the business district!" He paused and took a deep breath, as though he were trying to calm himself.

"I don't care about what activities the gangs decide to participate in outside of the business district," Fleming continued, having collected himself, "But they continue to be a nuisance where I don't want them."

Scales resisted the urge to smirk. He instead replied "Well, wot the 'ell 'appened t' Czyjak, then? 'E coulda kept those geezers in line for ya." Fleming paled considerably, and Scales heaved a mental sigh. Fleming had gotten rid of Czyjak then. Bloody brilliant, that.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Scales," Fleming replied coldly. "I expect you to keep the gangs in line," he continued in a soft snarl. "Keep them in line, or I'll make you vanish next."

It was all Scales could do to keep smiling as he leaned back against the hood of his car. It wasn't that he'd been threatened by Fleming (that had at least proved the man had a good pair on him), but that the delivery had been…weak. He'd honestly been expecting better from a man who was a) reportedly one of the smartest men on earth, and b) was a psychotic criminal mastermind in his spare time.

Scales sighed, rubbing his hands together as he straightened up. "Alrigh'," he said suddenly, startling Fleming. "I'll get those geezers in line for ya."

"Ex—" Fleming began, only to be interrupted by Scales.

"In return," Scales continued, "I want some quality time wiv tha' bird, Carter, from the news station. Go' a few issues with th' girl." Let Fleming decipher that, Scales thought with a vicious smirk.

After a few minutes, Fleming sighed and rubbed his temples. "Alright," he said wearily. "Curtail the gang war, Scales. My bid for the contract is coming up," he added. Scales rolled his eyes at the reminded, a gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Fleming, who scowled.

Before the billionaire left, he turned back to the deformed smuggler. "Oh, and Scales?" he drawled, drawing the smuggler's attention. "I don't really give a dam who you're having sex with, but I expect my associates to be…discrete, about such things."

Scales froze in ill-disguised shock. It wasn't until well after Fleming's limo had disappeared that he was able to shake himself out of his daze. Kazzie passed him the cell phone before he had a chance to ask for it, earning the man a few points in Scales' mental tally.

The smuggler dialed a number from memory and waited for the man on the other end to pick up.

"'Ello, Jake? I'm callin' in a favor…"

- o – o -

Author's note: So, what did you think? Good? Bad? Think Scales is being an idiot again? Drop a line and let me know!