Authors Note: Okay. Don't be suprised if this is like, ya know, boring. God help me, I need a brain.
This is his so-called "normal life." So don't expect sudden explosions. You see, let's get one thing straight:
I absoloutley fucking love Knoxville (Johnny, not the place) and Ryan. Ahhh, this is the reason why I'm using him as Spencer, hmm? Ya get? Okay, no...I'm gonna do what WHATtF did, okay? Ok. Click my profile, there will be links to pictures of the characters (Actors and actressess, okay?) OK? If there's a new character (a main one) then, look and check. Oh-kayyy? Ok.

Spence: I have good quality advice for you...never miss a good chance to...shut up.

A/N: Okay, okaaayyy..

TWO

Reeford Royals drove to work the usual time, the usual way. The Mercedes was as soothing as ever. The sun was shining, as it should be in this time of year. The drive to the city was normal. Normal traffic, no more, no less. But today, he wasn't exactly going to work. He had an appointment at exactly eight thirty. He hated that. But his finance director had recommended this guy. Everyone had recommended this guy because this guy was able to loan him some money…enough to keep his business up there before the bank even notices that they're broke.

This man, Nightshade, was supposed to be an old man in his late fifties. Gray hair, skin soft and lined, complete with the cane. No different from any other bloke he dealt with. He told himself to relax, think of this as any other meeting, but he couldn't. It wasn't any other meeting, the man was, literally, holding his life in the palm of his hands. His business. Five generations of Royals running this company could get flushed down the toilet any time. Somehow, the name sounded familiar…he just couldn't place it.

From the outside, Reeford looked and remained as calm as he could but inside, he was nervous as hell. Like a little boy about to piss his pants. He checked his watch and went inside the building. The building his fate was to be decided. Took an elevator fifty floors up and stepped out into the quiet deserted corridor. The ceiling was low and the place narrow but it was cozy and welcoming, thick red carpet leading down into a reception area. It looked normal, something he could had to his normal day. Surprisingly normal and ordinary for a millionaire.

There was a brass-and-oak counter, an attempt at magnificence, and a female receptionist sitting behind it. Reeford paused and cleared his throat, straightening himself up and fixing his tie before stepping over towards her. "Reeford Royals." he said in a no-nonsense tone he picked up from his father. "I've got an appointment with Mr. Conan Nightshade."

The receptionist smiled at him and he was shown straight in instead of being kept waiting. Reeford had expected to sit in for about twenty minutes, out in the reception area in one of those uncomfortable chairs.

That was what he would have done. If a desperate person, like himself, was coming to him, he would've kept him waiting. Let him sweat for thirty hellish minutes, making it last as if it was a lifetime. The inner office was large. Twice more than his, that's for sure. And his was large enough to fit a dozen bulls. More than that, Reeford thought. Many, many more. The wall behind the desk wasn't exactly a wall, it was thick glass with horizontal blinds, open more than narrow slits.

The room was bright and grand. There was a big desk. Facing it was a sofa, more comfortable looking than the ones outside, then there were two armchairs, completing a square. A huge square, brass and glass, coffee table in the middle, standing on the rug. The whole thing looked like a living room display in a store window. A large, grand living room.

There was a man behind the desk, facing away from him. And Reeford stood there like an idiot. What was he waiting for, an introduction?

He started the long walk in towards him, he dodged between the chairs and crabbed around the coffee table. Approaching the desk, he cleared his throat and put on what he called 'the happy act', trying not to make it sound desperate. "Mr. Conan Nightshade?" he asked, he stuck out his right hand. "I'm Reeford Royals."

The chair spun around before he could finish his sentence and he stood there again, like a moron, too surprised or too confused to move. His legs frozen, literally. And the dumb thing was, there was no reason why he should be. An old man in his late fifties? No. Gray hair? Nope. Skin soft and lined? Uh-uh. There wasn't even a cane…and he really expected a cane. The man was nothing like the description. He was a fit man in his early thirties, dark brown eyes, darkly attractive. His smile was warm but in some sense, it was like the guy was mocking him.

It was a very awkward moment. There was nothing more awkward than standing there ready to shake hands while the gesture was ignored. Foolish to keep standing there like that but somehow worse to pull it back. So he kept it extended, waiting. The guy looked at him, half smiling, looking him up and down. Then, finally, he spoke, serious, and challenging, "Where's your mommy?" Reeford stared at him blankly, finally realizing, "Daniel Wesley Nightshade?"

"You bet your ass," Danny replied. Reeford knew the man. Hell yeah, man. This guy was the smooth-talking, sexy gambler who proved catnip to the ladies. A guy he once knew…the guy who ignored him a lot. Danny had a red mark on his forehead, like a fresh bruise. The hair on his temple was newly combed but wet, like he'd pressed a cold cloth to his head. "Well, don't just stand there like the moron that you are. Sit somewhere." He said. Reeford felt uncomfortable by following orders from a man younger than him. Especially from a man who wasn't Conan Nightshade after all. But he did it anyway, he sat on the sofa. There was silence in the grand office. Reeford lowered his head and stared at the edge of the coffee table. Time to change his script.

And time for a bold move. "Look, Wes…" but he was soon cut off with the sound of Danny's fingers drumming on the table, "Mr. Eager Beaver…" Danny said thoughtfully, "I was thinking -maybe something you don't do very often, but still -I'm going to loan you the fifty million dollars you've been begging and nagging for…only if you shut up." Reeford's head snapped up, trying to think if this was some kind of test. He swallowed hard, oblivious to the insults.

You see, Wesley here can do two things some people have problems doing. Firstly, he can be adorable, likeable, polite, cute, and incredibly hot. The other thing was…he insults you like hell and can be very obnoxious. Verrryyy. One day, Reeford had approached him and for some reason, he was punched in the crotch…which ended up with somebody laughing like a maniac and somebody else crying like a little baby. Those were days he didn't like. Other days, Danny would be very quiet and nice. Very pathetic and pitiful considering he was all alone. Reeford approached him and the two talked. The guy was actually pretty fucking hilarious. Polite, nice, and likeable. Almost as if he was a kid. A very drunk kid.

Those were days he liked but today…today was one of the days he didn't like.

"What about security? What does Mr. Conan want?" Reeford asked. "Mr. Conan doesn't want anything. I'm the one your dealing with." Danny replied, he pulled out a printed form from the desk drawer. Slid it across to the front of the desk. "There. I prepared that."

Reeford crouched forward off the sofa and picked it up. It was a loan agreement, fifty million dollars, a month, fifteen per cent, and a standard stock-transfer protocol. Reeford blinked and thought about the options. He had none.

As if reading his mind, Danny said, "You can't do it any other way. You won't get anything better anyplace else." he paused. "Actually, you won't get a damn thing anyplace else."

Danny was five feet away behind the desk, but Reeford felt like he was sitting right next to him, smiling, holding a gun pointed to his head. Bam. Reeford made a faint silent movement of his head that was a nod and went into his coat, a shaky hand taking out a black ink pen.

Stretched forward and signed in both places against the cold hard glass of the coffee table. Danny watched him, and smiled, clapping his hands once. "All right, Reese! Now, get out, I wanna watch the basketball game on channel five. Lakers vs. Kings. I'm for Kings…"

Reeford looked at the man in disbelief. Danny sighed and leaned back on the chair, "I assume you want the money in your operating account?" he asked. "Where those blood-sucking banks won't see it?"

Reeford nodded again, in a daze. "That would be great." he said, not believing the fact that he hadn't thought of something like that and that he just signed a paper agreeing onto giving him fifteen percent of stock. Danny made a note. "Okay, okay, okaaayyyy…Yeah, it'll be there when it gets there." Reeford couldn't hold in the excitement, he was sure he would scream with joy as soon as he got out of the building. But he couldn't do that now.

"Thank you." Reeford said appreciatively. It seemed appropriate. "Very much."

"So now, I'm the one over the edge. And I'm telling you, it doesn't feel good. One month with no real security…" Danny exhaled deeply, "…feels like shit." Reeford looked down and replied grimly, unsure, "There won't be a problem." he said, to himself more than to Danny. "I'm sure there won't." Danny said. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom in front of him. Reeford heard a buzzer sounding faintly outside in the anteroom.

"Nyssa. The file please." Danny said into the microphone as he gazed and the sharp letter opener in his hand. Reeford shifted in his seat nervously. There was silence for a moment, and then the door opened. The receptionist named Nyssa walked over to the desk. She was carrying a thin black file. She bent and placed it in front of Danny with a smile. Walked back out and closed the door quietly. Danny used the letter opener to push the file over to the front edge of the desk. "Take a look at that, Mr. Royals."

Once again, Reeford crouched forward and took the file. Opened it up. There were nothing but photographs in it. Several big eight-by-tens, in glossy black and white. The first photograph was of a house. Clearly taken from inside a car stopped at the end of a driveway. The second was of a young and attractive woman. Shot with a long lens as she walked in a flower garden. The third was of the woman coming out of a diner in town. A grainy, long-lens image.

Convert, like a surveillance photograph. The fourth picture was a close-up of the license plate of the woman's car. The fifth and last was also of her, smiling and talking to her friends in her bedroom. Taken at night through her bedroom window. To get that picture, the photographer had been standing in her lawn or something. Reeford's vision blurred and his ears hummed with silence. He could picture Danny behind the desk, smiling. His eyes clouded, Reeford shuffled the pictures together and returned them back into the folder. He put it down and stared into space, his eyes watery.

"Your daughter, Mr. Royals." Danny said. "That's my security."

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