Ally Cat

Author:          BM

Genre:           ATF

Rating:          PG-13 (for violence)

Major 

Characters:   Ezra, non-romantic OC, seven

Disclaimer:   I obviously don't own 'em.  But since those who do aren't using them right now…..

Notes: Special thanks to all you out there who have been writing fan fiction for the Mag 7.  Your stories are great! Please keep up the good work!  Thanks to Mog for the ATF universe.  I love it!  The guys fit into it so well—I wish it were on TV! 

Team 8 appears courtesy of HeatherF.  They are great guys!  Thanks for creating them and for letting me borrow them.  I'll return them in tip top shape.

A huge THANK YOU goes out to HeatherF and Enola for all the help they gave me in writing this epic.  Thank you so, so much for all the feedback, advice and encouragement!  It would have never got out of the hangar, let alone off the ground, without you.  Thank you for being willing to put up with all my questions and for kindly being willing to read and critique this story.  And thanks most of all for all the inspiration!  You guys are truly talented writers and have my deepest gratitude and admiration.

Warnings:      Yes, there is some violence.  And there is some bad language (because face it, the guys just do not have the best vocabularies, save for Ezra, and even he resorts to the fouler sort when the situation calls for it).  The words are blanked out for my own conscience's sake, but you get the idea.  I don't speak that way personally, but, as I'm trying to keep them in character—well, you know how it goes.

I realize that some parts may sound familiar or similar to other stories out there, but any similarities perceived or otherwise are purely unintentional.  It's just that I've read SO many Magnificent 7 fan fiction stories, that they've all began to jumble up in my head, and certain ideas have just became canon to me.  Consider it to be a form of flattery!

Finally, yes, there is an OFC in this story, and she does play a major part, but she is NOT—and NEVER will be— a romantic interest or a Mary Sue, nor will she become a part of the seven, etc.  So, give her a chance, please?

This is my first attempt at fan fiction and I realize that the writing quality isn't all that great (especially at the beginning!), but I hope to improve with practice—indeed, I think it improves as the story goes along.  So if you like the story, please let me know!  I need all the encouragement I can get!


PROLOUGE

To those around him, Paul Randolph had everything—a six figure income, a mansion on the boulevard, a beautiful wife, a high performance stock portfolio.  He drove a Rolls-Royce, owned a private jet and a condo in Tahiti, had Sunday brunch with the governor, played golf with Supreme Court judges.  His was a true rag-to-riches story, having grown up on a dirt farm in Kansas as a boy, then working his way through college by holding two jobs.  He graduated at the top of his class and had his MBA a little over a year later.  He took a job in what was then Hansford Mutual Financing, Limited and quickly rose through the ranks to become the youngest partner in the company's history. 

Through his leadership, the company grew with leaps and bounds, and he easily filled the role of CEO when the position opened a few years later.  He had expanded the company's holdings and weathered the times of recession when other companies were failing all around him, emerging as a giant in the financial world.  The media haled him as the next Allen Greenspan, while his enemies admired his business sense and leadership.  Charities throughout the west held him dear as a generous philanthropist.  He donated money to fund schools, homeless shelters, and civic organizations.

 Every Christmas, he held a charity ball in the Clairmont Resort, of which he owned controlling stock, to raise money for the local children's hospital, and every June, he personally gave out scholarships worth full tuition for four years to the institution of their choice to deserving graduates across the city.  He was chairman of the board of Denver's Economic Council, a position which he had held with much success for the last four years, and was an honorary member of the University of Colorado's Alumni Association.  His employees respected him as a fair man, his friends envied his success, and many believed that he would easily be a future governor or senator, if he so chose.

          

But few knew the true Paul Randolph, nor his little secret.  By day, he was a successful entrepreneur and one of the most well-known and looked up to figure in Denver, but by night, he was the director of one of the largest criminal organizations in the country, with ties to the Russian mob, the mafia, and many of the American crime families.  He wielded great power on the black market, buying and selling goods around the world.  He owned interest in opium fields in East Asia, marijuana plantations in South America, and chemical plants in Mexico.  He was a money lender to several crime organizations, and was a silent partner in several Swiss banks. He routinely bought and sold munitions of all kinds with little thought or care into whose hands the merchandise fell. 

To those who knew the true man, Randolph was cold, calculating, and utterly ruthless.

CHAPTER 1

"Ladies and Gentlemen.  I thank you all for attending this special concert by the Denver Symphony Orchestra to benefit the widows and orphans fund of the Denver City Police Department.  The officers of the DPD stand as a wall of protection between us and the evils of our society.  They lay their lives on the line everyday to ensure our safety, sacrificing their own safety and sometimes, their very lives, for the greater good of those around them.  They are true heroes, deserving of our highest honor and respect. 

"But even as we lift them up and praise them, we must not forget that they are human too.  They are fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, sisters and brothers.  They have wives and children, families that depend on them and love them.  And at those times when the unspeakable happens and an officer is called upon to give the ultimate sacrifice—their very life—those families are left behind with much grief and sorrow, and many times, without a provider.  Yes, their families make a sacrifice as well, a sacrifice that can have dire consequences on their well being. 

"We are here tonight to honor those who have fallen in service to this city by providing a way to support those left behind.  And indeed, what better way can we express our gratitude to them then by ensuring that their families are taken care of?  So, as you open your souls to the music presented tonight, I ask that you open your hearts as well, and contribute to this most important charity.  And now, without further adieu, I present Ms. Catherine Caldwell and the Denver Symphony Orchestra.  May you enjoy the show!"  Applause roared across the symphony hall as a tall, blond woman dressed in black crossed the stage to take the microphone.  She warmly shook the hand of the host, smiling brightly in the glare of the spot light.  "Thank you, Mr. Randolph!"

Paul Randolph kissed her lightly on the cheek and gave the audience one last smile and wave of his hand before he exited the stage.  Behind him, the conductor introduced the first piece of the program, an aria by Mozart.  Randolph took the towel handed to him by one of the stage hands and wiped the sweat from his brow before taking a drink of the cup of water waiting for him on a side table. 

"That was simply marvelous, Paul!"

He looked up to find a distinguished older woman wearing a very flattering blue evening gown heading toward him, followed by a bemused man in a tuxedo.  He quickly set the cup back down and turned to greet his friends with a wide smile.

"I do am to please, Evie my dear." He took her hand and kissed it gently. 

A rough cough sounded behind him, and he rose up to grin at the lady's companion.  "Orrin!  You did make it, after all," he said to the gentleman as he shook his hand.

"Surprisingly, the board meeting finished on time for once," Orrin Travis greeted his old friend warmly. 

Evelyn Travis took her husband's arm and smiled up at him, a hint of mirth shining in her dark eyes.  "A true miracle, indeed, especially considering that it was a performance evaluation of the field teams," she quipped.

"I'm sure it wasn't all that bad.  After all, I've heard nothing but goods things about your boys, Orrin," Paul protested in good nature.

Travis snorted.  "I'm afraid your sources are not telling you the truth, my friend.  A greater pack of trouble magnets and misfits I've never seen the like!"

Evie swatted his arm gently. "Now, Orrin, that's not true.  Why, in the last six months alone, they've managed to cut the firearms traffic through our city by ten percent, not to mention bring down one of the largest crime lords in the state."  She turned to Randolph.  "They're up for a commendation for that."

"Yes," her husband broke in, "but they also received an official reprimand, as well, and the city is still clearing the rubble left behind from the fire that burned down half a city block in the warehouse district last month!"  He turned to his old friend with a mild look of distaste coloring his weathered features.  "And do you know what their explanation was? They said, and I quote, 'the city was planning to demolish that section of buildings, as it was, and were tied up in negotiations between contractors.  We did the city a favor by clearing those buildings, free of charge, and as such, the city should be compensating us'." He winced at the memory of that particular meeting with the team in question.

His head still ached at even the mention of the whole fiasco.

"Well, the city was going to tear those buildings down to make room for the new economic park planned for the area," his wife teased.

The judge raised his eyebrow at her in exasperation.  "Don't make excuses for them," he sighed.  "Sometimes I think I'm the assistant director of an elementary school instead of a Bureau of highly trained federal agents."  He raised his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head ruefully.

"But unorthodox problems sometimes call for unorthodox solutions," Paul reminded him before reaching for his water cup to take another drink.

Orrin smiled at his friend in agreement.  "Yes, they do.  And when it comes to unorthodox methods, those boys are the best.  And I do have to admit, they get results.  They took down the entire Finnich cartel in two months, something the FBI had been trying to do for years."

Paul raised his eyebrows at the other man over the rim of his glass for confirmation and shook his head in wonder as he set the glass back down.  "Quite an accomplishment, especially for a team that has only been active for six months," he remarked with surprise.  "I'm impressed."

"Yes, it is.  I believe we can expect great things from those boys." Orrin agreed with a bit of pride.

At that moment, the music rose in crescendo, reminding them of where they were, and they glanced back at the stage behind them, a bit startled.  "Oh dear," Paul grimaced before turning back to his friends and smiling apologetically.  "You're here for the concert, and here I am tying you up backstage." He motioned toward the side exit.  "Go on.  Enjoy yourselves."

Evie gave the judge's arm a slight tug.  "Mary must be wondering where we are right now."  She looked back at her friend with a smile.  "That was a marvelous introduction, Paul.  Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Randolph gave her a slight bow.  "Anything for you, my dear.  But this wouldn't have happened without your efforts.  I should be applauding you!" he protested.

Orrin smiled down at his wife and patted her hand gently.  "She does have a wonderful talent for pulling these things off, doesn't she?"

Evie blushed and lifted a hand to her cheek in her embarrassment.  "Go on, you two.  And it wasn't as though I planned the whole thing on my own.  I just gave the suggestion, and the committee took things from there."

Orrin tightened his arm around her shoulders in a slight embrace.  "Yes, but who is the chair of the committee?" he chided her gently.

Paul laughed.  "Just accept the compliment for what it is, Evie."  He gently pushed them toward the door. "Now go on before you miss much more.  I do know how much you enjoy the symphony."

"Are you not going to be seated yourself?" Evie asked, pausing in the doorway and looking back at him with a questioning frown.

"I have a few things to take care of back here first.  But I will be out a little later, I promise you," he smiled in answer.

The judge reached around his wife and opened the door.  "Then we should stop monopolizing his time."  He turned back to his friend.  "Are we still on for racquetball Saturday?"

Paul's smile widened.  "I wouldn't miss it.  I still owe you for the last game!"

Travis laughed.  "You can try, my friend, you can try."  He lifted his hand in a wave before following his wife through the door.

Randolph smiled and returned the wave before pivoting to head for the control room but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.  He turned to face the stagehand and lifted an eyebrow in question.

"Mr. Randolph, sir?" the young man asked politely, "You have a telephone call." He motioned toward one of the dressing rooms.  "You can take it in there."

Paul frowned; then nodded his head at the boy before crossing to the room and entering.  He gently closed the door before reaching for the phone sitting on the vanity, not bothering to take a seat in the plush folding chair in front of him.  He lifted the receiver to his ear.  "Yes?" he said softly.

"We have a problem," the gravely voice on the other end uttered shortly.

Randolph immediately recognized the owner and his features twisted into an expression of extreme displeasure.  "You know better than to call me here!" He hissed sharply.  "Take care of it.  That's what I pay you for."

"Yes sir, but this needs your personal attention.  Mr. Banning has been doctoring the books."

He ran his hand down his face. "How much?"

"I haven't had a chance to look through them thoroughly, but it looks like several thousand right now."

          

"That little b*****d!  I can't afford this right now, not with the new supplier coming in next week," he growled and slammed a fist down on the vanity top hard enough to cause the mirror to rattle slightly.  "You're right.  I will take care of this myself."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I'll be there in an hour.  Hold Mr. Banning until I get there.  We'll sort this out then."  He made to lay the receiver down, but paused.  Oh, and Tony?" he said as an afterthought.

"Yes sir?"

          

"Feel free to show Mr. Banning what happens to those who cross me.  Just make sure that he is conscious and coherent for our little discussion."

"Yes sir!" the voice on the other end said gleefully before breaking the connection.

Randolph smiled coldly and placed the phone receiver back on the hook before straightening his tie and exiting the room.  He found the stage manager in the control room, directing the lighting crew members, and tapped her on the shoulder to get her attention.  "Carlotta? I'm afraid an urgent business matter has come up that I must attend to immediately.  Will you give my regrets to Mrs. Travis for me?" he asked charmingly as he quickly slid back into his upright citizen persona, all traces of his anger well hidden from view.

"Oh sure, Mr. Randolph, I'll let her know.  It isn't bad news, is it, sir?" the young lady asked in concern.

He smiled at the Hispanic girl and patted her arm.  "Nothing I can't take care of.  Thank you, my dear."

She smiled back brightly before her attention was diverted by one of her assistants, giving the older man time to slip out of the room.  He pulled out his cell phone to call his chauffeur as he quickly and purposefully strode down the corridor and pushed through the exterior exit door, the smile dropping from his face to be replaced by a chillingly cold expression. "Harrison?  Meet me out front.  We have a business matter to attend to."

* * * * * * *

Antonio "Tony" Vitalis had literally grown up in the business of crime.  His father had been a pusher for years, as well as a small time arms fence in Phoenix, and Tony had learned the trade at his knees.  At the tender age of thirteen, he had hunted down and gutted the three gang members who brutally murdered his father, earning him instant fear and respect in the community.  He joined a local street gang soon thereafter and quickly rose through the ranks to become leader after the former one was killed in a drive by shooting by a rival gang.  Through his leadership, they won the ensuing gang war and viciously defeated their opponents to rule that area of the city for the next couple of years. 

At seventeen, he dropped out of high school to focus on his 'career' after receiving a job offer from one of the local mafia men.  Tony had a business head and natural leadership abilities, gaining him a reputation of efficiency and loyalty to friends, family, and employers.  He proved to be shrewd, calculating and quite efficacious, traits his employers found especially beneficial, and he quickly rose from lackey to body guard to advisor.  

When he suddenly found himself needing a new location after a nasty bit of business involving the now-deceased boyfriend of his little sister a few years later, Randolph, having met the man through a business connection, gave him an offer he couldn't refuse.  Tony found that he liked Denver, and he quickly proved to be a very valuable asset to Randolph.  As his holdings expanded, Randolph needed a foreman, so to speak, and gradually turned more and more control over to Tony.  Together, they took the criminal world by storm. 

As with any business, records of any transactions had to be kept and accounted for.  Tony was a great manager, but did not have the time or the expertise to be accountant as well and thus hired Chester Banning, a small-time manager of a seedy little bank in the poorer part of Denver, to do it for him.  Banning was a nervous, puny little man, with a receding hairline and thick glasses that only served to magnify his watery, beady eyes.  His wife of fifteen years had divorced him because of his gambling troubles, and took him for everything he had, leaving the man nothing but his clothes and several thousand dollars in debt, not to mention a ridiculous alimony, while she ran off to New York with her lawyer. 

Banning found himself caught between a rock and a hard place, as he also owed several local bookies a couple of thousand apiece, so he had jumped at the chance to make more money on the side and willingly turned a blind eye to the shadier dealings of the organization he worked for.  He dealt directly with Tony, and knew of no one else in the 'company'.  He was smart enough to realize that Tony answered to someone else, but frankly, he was afraid to even speculate who that might be. 

The arrangement he made with Tony worked well for a few years until he had found himself in a bind and needing a little more money.  He carefully skimmed it from Vitalis's accounts, and when he wasn't found out, gradually became a little bolder, took a little more money.  But as it always does, the inevitable eventually happened, and he was caught.

Tony sat on the edge of the desk in the small, cluttered office of the old airplane hangar, cleaning his fingernails with the rather large switchblade he carried on him at all times.  Chester Banning sat tied to a chair in front of him, his head drooping to his chest and his eyes squeezed shut from the pain of the bruises and knife cuts on his person.  He was frantically trying to come up with a way to get out of this predicament, all the while wondering how he ever thought he'd get away with embezzling money from a criminal lord. 

The noise of the unloading several crates of armaments from the back of an eighteen wheeler could easily be heard through the thin walls, providing a bit of distraction from the tense silence.  The office itself was small, windowless, and filthy, with grimy walls and grungy floors, and a drop ceiling missing several tiles.  An old, battered, metal desk occupied the center of the room, and the walls were lined with boxes and filing cabinets.  A tall, metal storage cabinet filled the far wall, one of its doors hanging open and slightly crooked.

The hangar itself was not in much better shape, but that didn't really matter since this was only temporary storage.  Tony's people would be by later in the morning to take the shipment to their permanent location outside of the city.  It had been a last minute change brought about by the seller, but Tony didn't mind too much.  One could never be too careful nowadays, especially with the new ATF teams prowling the city.  But he didn't really worry about the ATF, despite the rumors about one team in particular.  They just presented a challenge, made things more interesting for him, instead of being a true threat. 

He had been beating the feds at their own game for years now; what was one more bunch of them?

He slid off the desk as he heard the large exterior door open and walked to the office doorway to make sure it was who he thought.  He grinned back down at Banning, his white teeth a gleaming contrast to his tanned skin and dark hair.  "Now we settle this," he sneered, taking great pleasure in the obvious fear that radiated from the captive man.

He stood back as the door opened to admit the tall, silver haired form of Paul Randolph.  "Mr. Banning," he said, "meet Mr. Randolph, our boss."

Banning went sheet white and his eyes bugged out as he recognized the smartly dressed man in front of him.  "M-m-mr. Randolph?  Mr. Paul Randolph?" he squeaked.

Randolph merely gave the man a cold once over before quickly scanning the office, his features drawing into an expression of distaste.  He turned back to his lieutenant, his displeasure clearly shining in his icy blue eyes.  "Was nothing better available for this delivery?  I understand that you would prefer to do business in neutral territory, Tony, but I do not want to give our business associates a poor impression of our holdings.  It could lead to trouble in the future."

Tony nodded respectfully.  "Yes sir, I know that, but we had to change the location at the last minute, and this place is really safer than most.  There's not a place for the feds to hide for a hundreds yards all around and the power station next door provides interference for surveillance equipment.  And this delivery is with someone we've dealt with for years."

Randolph focused back on him.  "And the reason for the change?"

"Donnell's the one who asked for it.  He's been spooked by that new ATF team, and keeps seeing feds around every corner.  He would have backed out of the deal otherwise," Tony shrugged an apology.

Randolph's eyes narrowed.  "Travis's new team.  I have heard that they are very proficient.  Do you think they will be a problem?"

His lackey shook his head.  "Nah, they've just been lucky so far.  I can handle them.  And if they do interfere," he flicked his knife out with a snap, "I'll take care of them," he grinned malevolently, his eyes glittering with determination.

Randolph waved his hand in dismissal.  "Yes, yes, I'm sure you will.  Now to the business at hand.  Show me the books."

Tony picked up a briefcase that had been sitting at his feet and opened it on the desk, pulling out two ledgers from inside.  He opened both of them on the desk's surface, one above the other for easy comparison.  "This is the one that I had," he pointed to the lower one, "and the other is the one I found in Banning's office safe.  Both of these are tallies for the shipment we took in last month.  The numbers he showed me say that we paid out fifteen grand for it, and made a little over twenty-two grand in profit.  However, this book," he motioned to the upper one, "says that the actual profit was closer to twenty-three grand, making us about a thousand short."

Randolph examined the two books closely, flipping back several sheets. "What tipped you off?"

"That sell of weapons we made to the IRA in December.  I knew those rifles were worth fifty grand easily by themselves, not to mention the grenades and the explosives, but the profit from the sales was only about fifty-five grand.  I talked to some people, found that my numbers didn't agree with theirs, and I got to wondering why.  Asked him about it, and got some double-talk, which started making me curious.  So I did a little research and found some interesting information." Tony pulled a sheaf of papers out of the briefcase.  "These are the deposit statements for a few bank accounts across the city.  This one is registered to a Mr. Charles Billings, this one to a Clarence Baldwin, and this one to a Clay Brentwood.  All three accounts had large deposits made on the fifteenth, the same day as the sale.  When I totaled the deposit amount, it came to about three grand, which just happened to be the exact amount we were short by.  It took some work, but I traced those accounts back to one Chester Banning.  Got to looking deeper, and found that all three accounts were opened around July, and have had several deposits all coinciding with the dates of the last four big transactions.  The total amount always tallies up to the same amount we were missing."  He shook his head at Banning.  "You should have covered your tracks better than that."

Randolph rifled through the bank statements, his expression neutral.  He finally looked up at Banning, who was sweating profusely.  "Your explanation?" he asked mildly, fixing the man with a deceivingly bland stare.

"Well, you-you see, Mr. Randolph, s-sir, I needed some money to p-pay off a debt to Little Monty, my bookie. H-he wanted his money and threatened t-to break my legs.  I only borrowed a little, and I-I was going to pay it back, I swear!"  Banning squeaked, his voice pitched high in his desperation to be believed.

"I'm sure you were," Randolph placated the little man with a belittling tone as he laid the papers on the desk and leaned back against it with crossed arms.  He raised an eyebrow at Tony, who nodded in agreement. 

"Yeah," the thug verified, "that part of his story checks out.  He was moving the money into the accounts of several bookies across the city."

Randolph tsked and shook his head.  "Terrible habit, my friend.  Gambling leads to all kinds of trouble.  You really should get some help."

"Yeah, join Gambler's anonymous or something," Tony agreed with a smirk.

"Then d-does that mean you're g-going to let me go?" Banning turned his wide eyes from Tony's malicious gaze to Randolph's disimpassioned face, hope filling his pallid, sunken features.

Randolph settled himself more firmly on the worn surface and propped his right elbow in his hand, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  "Well, now.  You did steal from me, and I don't take kindly to thieves, Mr. Banning.  I do believe some sort of punishment is merited.  What do you think, Tony?"

Tony walked around behind the chair, flicking his knife open and closed all the while, before he stopped behind the man and leaned down to breath in his ear.  "Yes, sir.  We can't give our other employees the wrong impression about us—makes for bad PR."  He grinned as Banning jerked around to meet his glittering black eyes, the man's own filling with horror before he twisted back toward the older man with a beseeching expression.

Randolph rested his arm on his leg and leaned the other arm across it as he studied the little man.  "Indeed.  In this line of business, to appear soft is a death warrant.  I can't afford to lose face, you understand, especially with this new venture I'm trying to set up overseas.  Therefore, punishment must be meted out and must be equal to the crime.  What do you think I should do, Mr. Banning?" he asked calmly.

Banning licked his lips and swallowed harshly while glancing wildly around the room.  "I-I don't know," he stated nervously.  "I-I don't have much to offer, lost it all in t-the divorce.  Don't own my house, and my c-car is old.  B-but I know I could come up with something.  Maybe borrow it from the b-bank?"

Randolph shook his head.  "Now that would be robbing Peter to pay Paul, and you would still be in a bind.  Besides, that just wouldn't set the example I need.  I must give an appropriate warning to others that I am not to be trifled with.  Tony, do you have any ideas?"

"We could give him a visible reminder, like maybe a nice, deep cut." The thug grabbed the accountant's hair suddenly and jerked his head back.  He flipped his switchblade out and pressed it beside Banning's right eye, drawing a thin line of blood.

Banning trembled and whimpered in terror as all blood left his face.  Tony flicked the knife closed and pushed Banning's head forward, then walked around in front of him and picked up a lead pipe that was laying on the floor, tapping it against the small man's leg.  "Or we could break his legs."

"P-please, n-no!  I'll do anything!  Anything you want!  Just please don't hurt me!" Banning begged, jerking his leg as far away from the pipe as he could while looking from Randolph to Tony with wide, imploring eyes.

"Don't hurt you?"  Randolph raised an eyebrow at the quaking man before him.  "But you have greatly hurt me.  You were more afraid of a small-time bookie than you were of me.  Do you realize what damage that will do to my reputation if this gets out?"

"I'm s-sorry.  I won't do it again.  I-I'll pay you back, I swear!  Please, just give me a chance," the bank manager pleaded desperately.

Randolph studied the man for a moment before lifting his eyes to meet the gaze of his foreman.  He nodded in decision and motioned for Tony to free the man.  "Cut him loose."

Banning hiccupped and closed his eyes in relief as he felt the ropes fall away.  Rubbing at his wrists distractedly, he looked up at Randolph with gratitude shining in his eyes.  "You won't be sorry, sir.  I won't let you down again!"

The crime lord stood and smoothed his jacket front before raising his cold, feral eyes to meet those of the timid mouse of a man before him.  "No, you won't."  He looked toward Tony and turned away with an air of finality.

Banning's breath caught in his throat as he suddenly caught the layered meaning of those words and he spun around in his chair to see the large thug pull a gun from the shoulder holster under his leather jacket and aim it between his eyes.  "Mr. Randolph?  Please, don't do this!  Please!" he screeched.

A single gunshot roared through the night, causing the men in the hangar to pause in their work and look at each other warily before returning to their tasks.  Inside the office, Randolph pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed lightly at a few dark stains on his sleeve while Tony replaced his gun in its holster and nudged the body in the floor with his foot in distaste.  Randolph gathered the papers and placed them in the briefcase, then casually flipped through Banning's ledger, taking a closer look at the figures he had glanced at previously.  He sighed.  "I am disappointed in you, Tony," he said without turning around, his censor clearly heard in his tone of voice.

The thug shrugged an apology.  "I'm sorry, sir.  I know I should have caught onto him sooner, but what with the increase in sales this winter, and the need for tighter security with the new feds out there, I was stretched pretty thin."

The older man turned to face him.  "We can't afford mistakes like this.  This is a cutthroat business.  When my associates get word of this, they may get the wrong ideas."  He stared at his manager piercingly until the other man turned away in contrite.  He placed the ledger back into the briefcase with the other.  "How are the negotiations going with the new supplier?" he asked as he shut the case, effectively changing the subject.

"They are going very well.  He was impressed with our record and with our merchandise.  He is definitely interested in doing business with us.  He'll be here next week to look over our operation.  If he likes what he sees, then he said he would seal the deal." Tony answered.

"Good, good.  This deal means a lot to me, Tony.  It would prove to be very lucrative and advantageous to both of us.  I have wanted to break into the European market for a while now, and he has wanted an outlet on the west coast.  Hammings is a big deal in Europe.  To be aligned with him would gain us much influence and power.  I will not allow anything to mess this up," Randolph warned.

Tony shifted uneasily.  "I understand, sir.  This incident won't happen again."

His employer nodded.  "See that it doesn't."  He drummed his fingers on the briefcase; then sighed.  "I suppose we'll need a new accountant, now, especially before the meeting with Hammings.  It is going to be troublesome to find someone dependable on such short notice." He pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"Maybe not, sir," Tony spoke up.  "We have a new guy working for us, Miles Walker.  He helped me out in this incident.  He's good, sir, real good.  He's a whiz at accounting."

Randolph looked up at him sharply as he dropped his hand to rest lightly on the case.  "How long has he been working for us, and is he trustworthy?  I do not want a repeat of this matter."

Tony flinched slightly at the thinly-veiled reprimand but continued on.  "He's been with us for about a month.  He's good.  He's originally from Miami, got his degree down there, worked for some big company until he got caught covering up for his employers.  Lost his license and spent a couple of months in prison.  He got out and headed out here looking for a new start.  He was working for Carnelli when I met up with him."

Randolph tapped his finger against his lips thoughtfully.  "Carnelli?  That's the pawnshop owner over on 5th and Carver?"  Tony nodded.  "He recommended this man?"

Tony again nodded.  "Yes, sir.  We've been doing business with Carnelli for years.  When I told him about my suspicions about Banning here, Carnelli sent me this guy."

"And you said this man knows his work and knows how to be, shall we say, discrete?"

"Definitely.  He's a regular wizard with a computer and financial documents.  The only reason he got caught in Miami is because his boss turned him in to save his own hide."

Randolph nodded.  "When can we get him in here?"

Tony smiled.  "He's already here.  I had him oversee this shipment while we took care of this business."

Randolph returned the smile and motioned for the door.  "Well, then.  Let's go meet Mr. Walker." 

Tony opened the door and they stepped out of the room, paying no heed to the body on the floor.

* * * * * * *

A few seconds passed after they left before the crooked door on the storage cabinet slowly eased open.  The girl hiding inside peered cautiously out from the murky depths; then pushed the door open wide enough to slip through.  She pointedly avoided looking at the body and the growing puddle of blood on the floor, her stomach unsettled and her face pale from the shock of what she had witnessed.

She had been looking for a warm place to spend the night out of the cold rain and had slipped into the building by way of an old forgotten window in the back in the early hours of the evening.  When Tony and his men had entered the building, she had quickly ducked into the office to avoid discovery, trying to find a back exit.  She had hidden in the cabinet when Tony dragged Banning into the office, tied him to the chair, and called his boss.  Trapped in the cabinet, she was an unwilling bystander to the following beating and torture of the man and the meeting with Randolph.  She had hunkered down in the far corner of the dark space, having a clear view of the desk and the drama unfolding beyond, praying all the while that she did nothing to reveal herself.  She had been horrified when she realized what she was about to witness, but knew there was nothing she could do that would not result in her own death.  She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and had bitten down on her finger when Tony pulled the gun.  She jerked with the shot, but had not given herself away.  She sat trembling in the dark, trying to distance herself from what had just happened and waiting for them to leave so she could make her escape.

She pulled her scruffy backpack from the floor of the cabinet and crept to the office door, peaking out into the main room at the group of men a scant fifty feet away.  Shadows lingered in the corners, and she realized that this would probably be her only chance to escape without detection.  She looked back into the room, catching sight of the body and quickly pulling her gaze up as her stomach again rolled rebelliously.  "Not now!  Get control of yourself, Ally.  Get out of here first—then you can fall apart!" she commanded herself angrily.  She once more looked around the room, hoping that an alternate exit would magically appear and sighed when none presented itself.  "Front door it is, then," she muttered.  Her gaze fell on the briefcase laying on the desk, and on impulse, she grabbed it up.  "I may not have been able to stop this," she whispered to herself, "but I can do something to make sure they pay for it!"

She moved to the door and took one more peak out before hitching her bag higher up on her shoulder.  "Here we go," she muttered and slipped out into the main room.  She was almost to the exit when the shouts from the group of men caused her to spin around in surprise.  When she realized what was about to happen, she frantically looked around for something, anything she could use as a distraction.  She spied a pile of oily rags and several old jugs and tools lying beside an old broken down cart across from her, while a ladder leading to a low hanging catwalk that stretched across the room lined the wall nearby.  She picked up a jug and smelled the contents, then eyed the catwalk, a hazy plan forming in the back of her mind.  She stashed the briefcase and her bag underneath the cart, grabbed a couple of rags, and began to climb the ladder.  "I am not going to witness another murder tonight!" she vowed fiercely as she stepped onto the catwalk.  She stuffed a rag into the top of the jug and fished in her pocket for a book of matches.  With her cocktail in hand, she strode determinedly toward the scene unfolding beneath her.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

two guesses as to who Miles Walker is! ***grins***

Yes, this is my OFC.  Again, she is not a Mary Sue!  If at any point she seems to be leaning toward that, please, by all means let me know and I will change it!

PLEASE REVIEW—as I said before, I really need the encouragement to keep going (fragile ego and all that), but

PLEASE DON'T FLAME—if you don't like OFCs or this story in general, then just don't read it!  Don't bash me because we simply have different tastes!

I hope you enjoy this crazy ride! :)