Pretty Pictures (ATF)

by Brandgwen

Disclaimer: The guys belong to Mirisch, etc., the universe belongs to Mog, "Addicted to Bass" belongs to Daemion/Abrahams (copyright 1998 Prozaac Recordings) and "Last Ditch Cabaret" belongs to Mark Seymour (copyright 1997 Mushroom Records). Ezra's past is the sum of previous fanfics, but the rest comes purely from my head, so don't hold me to any facts. I'm not making money, I'm not worth suing.
Author's Note: This fanfic is the first in the Deep Cover series.

Smythe

The next photo was of the primary shareholder within the company. Margaret Smythe owned fifty-two percent of the entire operation, meaning nothing went on without her approval. Aged forty-one, she was an extremely attractive woman who dressed in flattering business suits and wore her hair coiled in elaborate French rolls. She had originally inherited her money, but, thanks to an unscrupulous approach to business, had multiplied her net worth many fold.

Getting to know Margaret Smythe was not difficult. A born socialite, she wished to be adored by all she encountered and was willing to work at it. She charmed and flattered Ezra, believing his regard would help secure his loyalty.

"Thank you, Mr Mitchell, for your kind assistance. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Please, Mr Mitchell, I'll not be satisfied unless you call me Margaret."

"Why, Alex, I'm so glad you could join us, this afternoon. Would you mind lighting my cigarette, I'm awfully clumsy when it comes to that sort of thing."

Ezra played along. To do otherwise would offend her and make his job that much harder. He would light her cigarette and then one for himself and smile graciously at the lady. Like drinking, smoking was a social habit. A suspect at ease was often easier to get close to and Margaret was no exception. Within a month, she truly believed Alex Mitchell would take a bullet for her.

This did not mean she trusted him with business. The daughter of a well-respected family, she was very conscious of the image she projected. As a result, not only did she fear criminal proceedings, she was shy of any hint of scandal. Ezra had tried for weeks, unsuccessfully, to get information on the heiress. It was impossible to plant listening devices in her offices, or home; she had each swept twice a week by at least two of Ezra's subordinates. It was just as difficult to plant a device on her person. Ezra had to find some other way to get near her.

At all times, one of Ezra's men would be assigned the task of chauffeuring Ms Smythe around. The lady had never learnt to drive, herself, and was much more comfortable with one of her hired guns at hand. Upon reviewing the monthly rosters, as was his job as head of security, Ezra discovered she had three favourites, whom she occasionally requested; Mercer, Ballantyne and Ellis. Each had been with the company for more than ten years. During that time each had received regular promotions and pay increases. In desperation, Standish decided to look at these men, to see if they might be involved in any wrong doing.

There seemed to be little pattern to when Mercer was requested as chauffeur. At least once a fortnight, he would drive Ms Smythe to her cabin outside of town, they would stay the night and return the next day. On might have suspected an affair was being had, but Standish did not think her so obvious. Besides, Mercer, ill-kempt and overweight, did not seem to be Margaret's type.

Mercer invariably wore a lightweight, brown jacket. Standish had never seen the two parted, except when the security guard undressed to shower in the guards' locker room. It was during such a shower that Ezra snuck into the locker room, took the jacket from its hook and silently unpicked a seam holding the lining to the jacket. He slipped a tiny bug into the lining and resewed the seam. Before Mercer had finished rinsing his hair, Standish was gone.

During the day, Ezra occasionally checked the reception from the bug, but didn't bother really listening, until nightfall. In a dark blue rental car, with portable listening equipment, he followed his quarry out of town. The two spoke little; they had driven this road many times before and so had nothing left to say.

As they neared the cabin Mercer spoke. "Ms Smythe, would you like to see Robert now, or go to the cabin, first?"

Margaret sighed. She truly despised this chore. Her nephew had been in hospital five years, now, and while she loved him dearly, she hated to see him in so much anguish. She would have preferred to stay away and just pretend that everything was alright. However, part of her could not abandon the boy. "The hospital, I suppose."

Intrigued, Ezra followed the car to a very beautiful, if somewhat remote, private hospital. He looked at the sign that marked the front drive - "Saint Helen's Psychiatric Hospital" - and understood Margaret's desire for secrecy. This woman, somewhat behind the times though it was, would be devastated if people were to discover there was mental illness in her family. Ezra pulled out of the driveway and returned to town.

Jimmy Ballantyne was the most frequently requested chauffeur. An amateur boxer, Jimmy was fit and muscular. His thick neck and crooked nose made him look somewhat stupid, by Ezra knew him to be both clever and ruthlessly efficient in his job. Margaret had chosen her bodyguard well.

Every Thursday morning, Ballantyne would take Ms Smythe on a three hour shopping trip. He would pick her up from her home at around nine, drive her to whichever shopping centre she felt like visiting and return around twelve, bearing various parcels. It was a simple task for Ezra to plant a listening device on this man; he was in the habit of leaving his gun holster locked in the weapons room with his gun, overnight.

The first two hours of the expedition went as they should have. The two shopped, stopped at a cafe returned to the car. We're running a little early, Ezra noted. At this rate they would be back before eleven.

As Ezra followed their vehicle, he came to realise that they were not heading for the Smythe house. Rather, Ballantyne drove down a toward a secluded road.

"Stop here, James," Margaret's voice was low and husky.

Here's the illicit affair, thought Ezra. He listened to the rustling and the moaning for less than a minute before pulling out of the road and returning to his office.

Ellis was requested as chauffeur only once a month. Standish was unsure if he was even worth looking into, but things were getting desperate. Ezra followed the car at a safe distance for more than an hour. They seemed to be travelling in circles. All the while, Margaret Smythe talked on her mobile phone.

The conversations were mainly business related. She began by talking to her banker and then her stock broker. Her lawyer was also on the list. Ezra wondered why she felt the need to speak to them from her mobile. Then she called her accountant. No names were mentioned, but Ezra suspected Smythe used Jennings, the company man. If so, he would be using a company line and so the call would be all but untraceable.

"... yes, I do appreciate that these things take time, but I must insist you move the Moloney money to a different account, post haste. It has been sitting there for almost a month and the Christchurch payment is due any day, now. We can't allow a build up of funds..."

Moloney and Christchurch? Ezra almost laughed. These names had been drilled into his head for the two weeks before he had gone undercover. They were gun dealers and serious ones. Ezra watched the tape reels turn as the conversation was recorded. Gotcha.