Lockjaw

A/N: Ah, the joys of funny stories. Especially one with our favourite mini con man. Let's see what he gets up to next, shall we?

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On second thoughts, Charlie decided, begrudgingly, not to go straight to Max. He probably wouldn't believe the story anyway- not since he'd been forcibly removed from his club twice in the last thirty six hours. Instead, he happened to be trudging (with accompanying sounds akin to fingernails scraping down a chalkboard- his bones weren't used to this much exercise) up a seemingly everlasting staircase to one of the most expensive penthouse apartments in the whole of Rubacava.

Why on earth didn't they have a lift?

Once again muttering to himself- about his decidedly creaky joints, lack of elevator and the ungodly hour of the morning (ten thirty three, to be precise), he finally reached the top floor and had to lean against the banister for quite some time to regain any breath he had left.

It was strange, admittedly, how long it had taken him to track down his target. The owner of the suite was apparently scrupulous as keeping his privacy was concerned- it had taken him an hour and a half to find their address, pulling in on favours he'd been saving for… say… a very long time- he hadn't exactly been keeping track.

But, back to the matter at hand, Charlie pressed the gilded doorbell. And waited. For what seemed like hours. Finally, the door was wrenched open, and one certain Nick Virago was standing in the doorway, looking incredibly tousled and wearing a pair of mint green and bright pink stripy pyjamas.

Charlie could swear that the wall shook as the door slammed.

Meanwhile, inside the apartment, Nick was trying to steady his breathing, whilst wondering why he hadn't even attempted to lie about his name when he bought the apartment. It would have had to be a very good attempt, seeing as everyone knew who he was anyway, but it would have probably been worth it.

"I have told you many times before, I do not care who you have managed to annoy this time, I have my client. You couldn't pay me anyway. Now, do us all a favour and leave," he shouted through the door, in a vain attempt to assert some authority.

"But, Nicky," Charlie simpered, "what I know is something you wouldn't want to get out. It could even reach Maximino, and you wouldn't want that, eh?"

Nick decided to play safe: in other words; deny everything.

"I have no clue to what you're insinuating. Now, go; the cleaning lady won't appreciate having to use more than three cans of air freshener on the hallway." But, apparently, the skeleton on the other side of the door was having none of it.

"Well, I'll just go and tell Max that you and Olivia were up in a back room last night. Unless you want to stop me…" Charlie really was desperate for the payoff. He was over three months overdue with the rent on his own place, and the landlady had begun to chase him around with a large mop whenever he entered the place.

"Of all the cock and bull stories that you could possibly invent, this is what you come up with? That has to be the worst excuse to get into the High Roller's Lounge legitimately I've ever heard." Dammit, he thought. Olivia really needs to get blinds in her back room.

"Ah, but it true, eh, Nickynicknick? I could tell Max now and you'd be out of a job. You tide me over, I won't say a word. Nada." Yes, he was truly desperate.

What the…Nickynicknick? He needs to learn better persuasion techniques. Aloud, however, Nick voiced, "ah, but do you have evidence to back up your lies?"

"Well… No… But that's not important."

"Ah, but you see, my mentally challenged annoyance, you should know you need evidence to back you up. As stated in Chapter seven, Paragraph three Line seven of the Lawyers Handbook…" Charlie spent the next few minutes trying and failing miserably to follow the legal jargon the lawyer was spouting far too rapidly not to be a danger to the general public. As he paused for a quick breath, the diminutive con man moved back slowly, and then turned and fled back down the stairs as fast as his joints would carry him.

Ah, lawyer handbook quotes do the trick every time, Nick thought, smirking, as he listened to the dismayed squeak and crash that imminently followed, heralding Charlie's arrival into the entrance hall, but I really should consider getting a new pair of pyjamas…