Hey guys, it's winter and it's cold and you may or may not be in lockdown but I hope you get some joy from reading as we wind down to Christmas.
I know I owe you a date night, and a Christmas chapter, bear with me. For now, it's Fusco's world and we're living in it :D
As always, enjoy x
Friday 1st December 2017, 11.06pm, VIP Section – Triangle Bar, 8th Avenue, Chelsea, New York
"She was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar…" Leon Tao knew his evening was about to go left when he got a flash of the fourth player's emerald cufflinks in a platinum setting. From the moment John Whitmore chucked back a clear drink and laid down a flush at the poker table, he couldn't concentrate. The dealer noticed his sweating and assumed it was a combination of the high-cost game and his increasingly bad performance. After he was $25,000 in the hole, Leon showed some signs of a turnaround by laying down two pairs of spades until Whitmore beat him with a Straight.
"That's me for the night," John uttered with resignation. "The wife would go nuts if she heard I wasn't really out buying cigarettes. The other men laughed along with him while Leon sized him up, not quite knowing what to make of the yellow gold wedding band on his left hand fourth finger. "Could be worse though, I could be this guy. Larry, was it?"
"Yeah. Larry."
"Well Larry, drinks on me." It wasn't an offer as much as an order as Whitmore all but shoved him down the fire escape.
11.51pm, Triangle Bar, 8th Avenue, Chelsea, New York
As Finch said, "it's nice to see old friends" and there was something familiar about this dance because Leon was always consistent. He couldn't get over the implausibility of John being a married man. "Who's your wife? Mother Theresa?"
"Almost." John threw back another soda water while Leon tried to figure out what kind of woman would attach herself to that. "Who wants you gone, Leon?"
His opener was predictable. "It's not my fault this time."
"Really?"
"Really. I was on Sinker-"
"Sinker?" John wouldn't admit how much he enjoyed the explanations.
"Like Tinder, but for silver foxes and vixens."
"And that's you? The silver fox?"
Leon cleared his throat. "Not exactly."
"Who's the vixen?"
"Lady Emmeline of the House of Sewell."
If John listened more to Finch and paid a bit more attention, he would've recognised the name from a set of bone China teacups. "House of who?"
Leon downed two scotches with sodas which was a bad idea. "She's kinda sorta…an aristocrat. More like British heiress…to South African coal money."
"You gotta be kidding me. Mining money, Leon?" Times like these required Bourbon.
"So I took her out, we had a great time, and I convinced her to invest in Crypto. GenLoop coins. It's the future."
From where John was sitting his future didn't look very bright. How many cryptocurrencies crashed? All of them. "How much is the damage?" Leon whistled as he wrote on the napkin his drink came on. $650,000. With those six digits, Whitemore grabbed him by the back of the neck out of the back of the bar, through the garden with the fairy lights and wooden furniture, into the alley.
John sighed and ordered him to "Duck."
"Wh-" Once the shooting started, he got the message.
11.58pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York
No tea could compensate for the intolerable buzzing sound over the audio feed. "I asked Ms Shaw not to use a signal jammer for this very reason."
"She's not." Joss informed him. "That's her taser."
"Why is she-?"
"For sport. They're amateur art thieves and she's…Sameen Shaw on a half-empty stomach." Joss was undoing her workout by dipping into Shaw's maple bacon flavoured pretzels. "And shooting is messy in a gallery, all that blood all over the paintings and sculp-"
"I shouldn't have asked." Finch turned down the volume and sat in the chair Zoe left empty when she took Delta upstairs. "Thank you for this evening, Detective."
"The work's not done yet, Finch. Still got my delinquent to bring back in one or…enough pieces."
He saw through her half-smile. "You know The Machine can predict and calculate the probability of interpersonal conflict. I've long suppressed these capabilities because New York is more of an inflammatory city-"
"You don't say." She chuckled to herself. "Contrary to popular belief, women can work together. If Aunt Cammie and Ma can still make the famous Gibson family Rabbit Pie every year, I can work with Zoe. Considering."
"Touché. I'm glad you're here, Joss." He cleared his throat. "I'm also glad to have Zoe here, and Delta of course."
She wasn't used to the slightly personal tone of voice he was using but she got it. "Of course. You said it yourself; old friends." She changed the subject as she picked up John on a street camera…until she didn't. "John was right; their best bet is to make it back on foot."
"For four miles?"
"Four miles, three weapons, however many hitmen for hire, and a bulletproof vest; he'll make it. I just hope Leon knows when to duck."
"Hope springs eternal; Alexander Pope."
"Duck; John What's-his-name."
Saturday 2nd December 2017, 1.03am, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York
Joss couldn't remember the last time she saw Leon Tao in the flesh because they all blurred into the same scammy story. But she would never forget the incredulous look on her husband's face when Finch proposed Leon join the Team as John's assistant for the foreseeable future on the basis of his being alive on paper and forensic accountancy skills. "…I dare say-"
"You hear that, Joss? He dares." John interjected, making her smile because someone was sharing her pain.
Finch tried again. "We could always…broaden our skillset. Look at tonight; the lives, livelihoods and paintings that were saved through our collaborative efforts."
Joss rolled her eyes involuntarily. "Zoe's got skills. I'll admit it."
Finch was foolishly optimistic. "And Leon here is…"
"Wanted by a British mining family and makes me a human body shield." John sighed. "I guess I could tolerate it…until Bear is back."
Leon nodded. "So…about my salary?"
3.40pm, Big Pete's Eats, Canarsie, Brooklyn
Fusco had no idea why his girlfriend thought three boys would enjoy a cooking class in a foreign language, much less three in a row with tasting left to the very end of each session. Their displeasure was written all over their faces as frog legs, escargot in butter, and dark chocolate fondant cake weren't to their young, uncultured tastes. Which is precisely why Fusco's weekend family was much happier sitting at different tables on opposite sides of a family-run fast food place, split by age and generation, pretending they didn't know each other.
Martina didn't mind it as long as the boys were happy, and while they thought Fusco's hair was stupid and French food was stupider, they were. "I always wanted to go to L'École Culinaire. I walked past it every day going to my old job and never stepped in once. Thought it was too fancy. Tino liked it simple."
"'S nothin' wrong with simple." Fusco chipped in between gherkins.
She smiled. "Thanks for coming with."
"Thanks…for ordering the Grande platter."
She threw back her head and giggled until she snorted like a baby pig; another reason why he was in love. A few foosball games, some onion rings, ribs, coleslaw, a shared Chilli cheese dog and some jalapeno poppers later, the conversation turned serious as their boys failed repeatedly at playing the restored pinball arcade game in the corner that only took quarters.
"Ummm, I don't know how to say this. I mean I practiced in the mirror and it came out alright but now you're here it's kinda like I can't get the words out."
He slurped the ice at the bottom of his iced tea at the inopportune time like his high-kicking wingman. "Sorry. I always had bad timing."
"No, that's better. Keep eating." He didn't need her to tell him twice as there was a basket of curly fries left on the table. "Ummm, Tino had a bad heart from the day he was born. So…it was Sudden." Fusco nodded, but didn't look up from his food. He knew she was a widow and her husband passed as the age of 36. "…And he was young. And it runs in the family, so my boys…could go that way too."
Fusco rubbed his right eye. "And you?"
"Oh I'm fine, that's why I'm here I'm eating everything I shouldn't."
He tried to lighten the mood with humour as it wasn't the right place to take the conversation further. "I could do without the curly fries myself. Cholesterol and whatnot."
She posed a philosophical question that made his heart stop. "What would life be without curly fries, Lionel?"