By Natasha Shaitanova
Chapter 8: Tasks
Disclaimer: I don't own Ocean's Eleven and I don't own Harry Potter. I own…my cat? Nah, she'd pull a Hiroshima on my ass if I thought I owned her. Evil furry animals…
Quick A/M: yeah, I'm back, back again….Shaity's back…bring a friend!
Lol okay, that's gonna be my intro after a long lack of updates…
"Hey, watch it, bud!"
In the control room, a guard lifted his radio lazily to his mouth and drawled, "433, we have a visual impairment on the east door camera."
As he spoke, the flurry of multicolored balloons filled up his screen, effectively blocking all else.
"Copy that, I see them," replied the sentry at the east door, walking quickly over to the balloon carrier and the tourist.
"Excuse me, sir, you are going to have to move those balloons."
The sentry went ignored, however, as the "tourist" was too busy picking a fight with the balloon boy.
"Watch who you're calling 'bud', pal!"
"Who're you calling 'pal', friend?"
"Who're you calling 'friend', jackass?"
"Don't call me a jackass!"
"I just did call you a jackass!"
"Gentlemen…" the sentry attempted, but for all his girth he could not separate the Weasley twins from their show.
As the sentry was busy dealing with the balloon boy, Neville the technician walked quickly over to the east door, swiping a security card through the lock. Red blinked over to green, allowing the man to slide inside.
Neville walked briskly through the corridor. Taking the heavy-duty glove off his right hand, he checked the route through the cages, before wiping off his sweating forehead.
The guard in the camera room sat in a rather lethargic manner, playing with his radio string and staring vaguely at the balloon covered monitor. He paid no attention to the technician walking nonchalantly through the cages on a nearby monitor.
Neville glanced at his hand one more time before swiping his card through a lock at an unmarked door.
Entering, he was faced with rows of glowing cabinets, full of wires and switchboards. He made his way carefully to the last row, still checking the map on his hand. Finally finding the required circuit, Neville crouched down and pulled apart some of the wires blocking his view.
Fred and George stood nose to nose now, blocking the sentry's way to the balloons as they 'argued'.
"You hear about this new medical discovery they made?" George noted snidely, "It's called a sense of direction. Apparently, we're all supposed to have one…"
Fred snorted with great exaggeration, "Yeah, yeah whatever, jackass."
"Look at this behavior, sir!" George looked with mock pleading at the sentry, "I'm just trying to deliver my balloons!"
"Hah, balloons! Balloon boy, he's a balloon boy! Hey balloon boy…"
"Gentlemen," the sentry looked almost helpless.
Meanwhile, Neville clipped a "spider" onto the main circuit—a small, dark device that transmitter incoming data onto a designated receiver. Before leaving he quickly checked the signal on a small, hand-held receiver and sure enough, the feed came through.
The final click into place by Neville caused a short blip on the monitors in the camera room, but went unnoticed.
Back in hotel room, the computer screens in front of Harry and Draco lit up with the camera shots from around the casinos, as well as the cages and the vault.
Harry snorted, "Why do they always paint the hallways this color?"
"They say taupe is very soothing," came Draco's blithe reply, before he focused his attention on the monitors.
Neville slid out of the switchboard room, carefully closing the door behind him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead for the hundredth time, before looking at his hand to check the map.
"Oh shit."
The pen ink had smeared from the sweat, leaving an indistinguishable mass of blue.
Neville glanced feverishly to his left, to his right, but couldn't for the life of him remember the route. He was flying blind.
Neville chanced a left and marched down the corridor, looking more casual than he felt.
One of the guards from the camera room, dressed in a bright red uniform, was walking dead ahead, coming towards Neville.
Keeping his brisk walk, Neville walked right past the guard, looking straight ahead the whole time.
"Hey."
"Fine, thanks," Neville mumbled vaguely, and continued moving.
He was nearing the door, almost in the clear, when the security guard called him back, "Hey…"
In the meantime, the sentry finally managed to maneuver around the Weasley twins and grab the balloons away from the camera himself. George quickly snatched them back.
"Hey! Get your own balloons, moron!"
Neville, already at the door, hurriedly swiped his card through the lock and punched in the six-digit code.
The red light did not switch.
"Hey!" The security guard was coming up fast behind him.
Neville frowned slightly before swiping the card again, the right way this time. The little light blinked to green but as he tried to push open the door, the red-dressed guard grabbed his shoulder.
Neville turned swiftly, faking a surprised look, new drops of sweat rolling down his forehead.
"You dropped this," the guard thrust the portable receiver into Neville's hand.
Neville covered his relief well, "Thank you."
"Take it easy, man."
But Neville was already out the door.
Harry and Draco exhaled simultaneously and shared an apprehensive glance.
"Well…"
"Yeah, that was close," Draco dragged a hand over his face.
"Yeah. Fourth task: construction."
The group hauled in building materials into the warehouse, paint, wood, metal bars, etc., with Cho dragging more than half her share—a balancing circus act in a construction zone, really.
Harry directed the scene, "Okay, people. We need to build an exact, working replica of the Bellagio vault."
"For practice," Draco chimed in as he sent a series of metal bars traveling down a conveyor belt.
"Something like that…"
Nodding to Ron, at the end of the conveyor belt, Harry continued, "Firth task: intelligence. We need those codes, Ron, from the only man who has all three."
Ron wrinkled his nose, "Snape."
"Learn to love his shadow," Harry smiled sardonically, "You'll be in disguise, don't worry."
"Wait, wait, wait!" Ron almost missed a traveling metal bar in his excitement, "All I get to do is trail the guy?!"
Harry shrugged, "For now. You've been out of real practice. Gotta learn to walk before you crawl."
Draco looked up and wriggled his hand at the pair, "Reverse that."
"Alright," Harry cut off the exchange, "Sixth task: transport."
Outside a retail car dealership, the Weasley twins jumped enthusiastically on the opposite bumpers of a van, supposedly testing its durability.
From inside the main building, the sales clerk, a Billy Tim redneck, fretted over the Weasleys' exploits, barely paying attention to what Dean was trying to say to him.
Finally, the salesman turned back to his customer, "Look, I'm sorry, but eighteen-five each is the best offer I can make you."
Dean, well into his act, just waved his hand with a flourish, "Oh, I understand perfectly, hon. Those are beautiful vans…Well! I thank you for your time, Mister…?"
"Denham. Billy Tim Denham."
"Yes, Denham, like a jean," both chuckled in a very fake manner as they shook hands, "You know, you have lovely hands. Do you moisturize?"
Dean kept an oblivious look on his face as the salesman was thrown by the off-beat question.
"Eh…I'm sorry?'
"I swear by it," Dean proclaimed, not letting go of the man's hand, "I try all kinds of lotions. I went through a fragrance-free period last year, but now I'm onto this new brand that is fortified with rosehip…My sister, you know, she uses aloe vera with the sunscreen built in…"
Billy Tim, meanwhile, was desperately trying to yank his hand back, without success, "Uh-huh…You said you were willing to pay in cash?"
"I did," Dean continued obliviously, "You know, they say cinnamon is great for you pores. I read that on the internet. But ideally you should be wearing gloves to bed and find that interferes with my social agenda, if you know what I mean," Dean leered at the clerk, before chattering on, "The problem is, I get a reaction to camphor, so I can't really get into the traditional remedies…"
"Yeah," Billy Tim grinned uneasily, "You know, if you would be willing to pay cash, then I could drop the price to maybe seventeen—"
Dean gave the hand a tight squeeze.
"Sixteen! Sixteen each."
"No, you would do that?" Dean exclaimed, in fake surprise.
"Oh yes, I would," the salesman backed off and tried to shake feeling back into his mutilated hand, "ah, just let me get the paperwork and I'll be right back…"
"You do that," this time, Dean's grin was genuine, "That would be lovely."
A/N: Alright, that's it. I don't feel like going on to the next part right now.
Next time, things start to get a bit more exciting. :)
Please REVIEW! Do it for…damn I'm running out of things…oh! Stylish, Armani-suited Draco's, Harry's, Sirius's, and uh…whomever you like :)
-Shaity out.