a/n links for the articles and websites mentioned, definitions, and Killer's photo are on my blog in today's post [1.18.13]. The link is in my profile. There is also Part one of a new Mercenary Ranger story called Could, Woulda, Shoulda. It is listed in the tabs. come read! love sunny

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This is for R and for B who send me adorable pix all the time and keep me smiling. Thx to H [M] for the inspirations.

Shelter from the Storm

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52 - The Cuteness Factor

[Ranger]

One of those days, one of those nights: I was cold and tired and hungry and late for a 9 AM meeting. I kept my blank game face on, but I was in no mood for the annual Rangeman state of the business meeting today.

We'd been up all night in the freezing rain, chasing a federal ''most wanted''. Jackson X aka Willy B. Jackson/ William Bonner Jackson was a neo-Nazi creep wanted for meth cooking and gun running. The local FBI had a line on the guy's whereabouts in south Jersey and they called me for help. Tank rode shotgun and my brother Anthony was along for the ride. Actually, he was the ride, we were driving his big black Mercedes SUV in hopes of keeping a low profile.

As if.

So...clusterfuck ensued. You know—rain, wind, darkness, testosterone-amped idiots on both sides converging at a barn in the middle of fucking nowhere. Willy X took off out the back door, jumped in his pickup and headed north. And we gave chase, this time with Anthony behind the wheel. Since the night was so stormy and dark, at some point Anthony switched on the hidden cop lights mounted behind the grille of his ride. More to warn other drivers than in hopes Willy would man up and pull over. Unfortunately we clipped the boundary of Trenton at some point, and picked up an unmarked police vehicle. By the time we cornered Willy in a warehouse area near the river, the Trenton cop was two inches off our ass and spitting mad.

And oh yeah, who should emerge from the green POS SUV but my best buddy Joseph Morelli.

Tank and Anthony chased down our skip while Morelli screamed in my face and tried to back me up against the Benz.

"I am throwing the book at you, asshole. Emergency lights are for law enforcement vehicles only. And you were speeding, out of control and, and, and...!"

I hoped that was rain, not Morelli spitting in my face. I did back up. I admit it. You would too.

''You're crazy, Manoso!"

Water dripped down our faces. I said, "I am not crazy, I'm just colorful." In a monochrome sort of way.

"What were you thinking? Do you know even what you're doing?''

''Yeah. Theoretically.'' But I didn't explain, why should I?"

Tank muscled Willy Jackson towards the arriving FBI Crown Vics, all the while he and Anthony bickered like a pair of cranky toddlers.

''Is that what you call giving cover?'' groused Tank.

''Is that what you call running? If I knew you were going to, like, stroll...all la-di-dah, dude...''

"Oh man..."

Anthony watched Tank shove Willy X to the nearest FBI truck. He shrugged, wandered over, looking clueless. (Danger, Danger!)

Anthony circled around us, shutting the doors on his expensive vehicle. When he got to the driver's side he reached in and shut off the ignition and the grill lights. But he was listening to Morelli's rant, I could tell.

"Yo. I was driving, not Ranger," he finally told Morelli.

"Fine! I'll arrest you too."

"Dude. Why?"

Morelli did the no grill flashers routine again, only louder. The FBI guys came and watched, like we were selling tickets. Finally Anthony dug out his [possibly bogus, but still] FBI creds and waved them in Morelli's face. And the FBI guys got their thumbs out of their asses and moved Morelli aside and out of play.

Momentary calm restored, Anthony handed Tank a brown bag. ''Have granola bar, man. They're homemade, it'll cheer you up.''

Tank took a big bite and moaned. ''Mmm." Offered the brown bag to me. "Ranger?'

''Hell no, his mother puts sugar in those things.''

''She does not.''

''Does so.''

"Not!"

''Shut up,'' screamed our skip from the FBI van.

We signed off and drove back to Haywood Street in silence. And without discussion, we tiredly got on the elevator and pressed five.

...

You know how you do: You walk into the small elevator space, you look at but don't really see the far wall, then you turn to face front. We did that.

But.

I spun around. ''What the fuck!?" I growled. Yes there really was a large poster on the back wall with a picture of a couple baby penguins, who were improbably kissing if indeed penguins can kiss. And it said, "Be Nice."

At the bottom in smaller letters it said, "Good karma is contagious. Catch some today."

Tank grabbed my gun hand, just as the doors opened on five. I stomped out with Anthony's voice in my ears, "Man, I just love baby penguins, they are like so freakin cute...so like, aaawww...."

I took three strides into the comm room and stopped dead. Both Tank and Anthony crashed into me. I swear I heard snickering as we disentangled ourselves but when I looked everyone was staring calmly at their monitor screens, not a smile to be seen.

"Vince!" I barked at the day's comm room manager. "What the fuck are these stupid posters doing on my walls?"

The poster here was a small grey kitten with huge eyes hanging precariously from a bar of some sort. It said, "Hang in there!" And not in an ironic kind of way. My skin crawled.

Vince shrugged. "Not me, boss. Uh, Tank?"

Tank took my bicep in his big hand and steered me to the conference room. "I'll explain everything at the meeting, Ranger. No worries."

Anthony definitely snickered.

...

The annual January State of the Business meeting is loosely patterned on state of the state meetings: we look at where we've been, assess where we are right now, and project our, hopefully successful, future. My accountants and business managers give brief financial information; I reaffirm Rangeman's mission plan and goals. And I entertain new ideas and suggestions from the attendees. Who are: besides the aforementioned suits, Tank, Brown, Santos, Mitch, Vince, Hector, Stephanie, and myself. A few other key personnel. Anthony is here as part of the money aspect.

Do I need to do this? No. Rangeman is owned solely by me, for the purpose of providing a cover story for my existence in Trenton and ostensible career as a bounty hunter and security expert. But in my experience, covers and cons are the most believable if you act like the scenarios are real. Therefore I run Rangeman like it's...well, I suppose it is—a successful multimillion dollar security corporation.

The most crucial aspect here today goes quickly; the accountants stand up, and say we make a shitload of money. (Anthony sighs, Steph eats donuts.) I focus and give a few remarks about our various operations and contracts, staying of course impenetrably non-specific since most of these people do not need to know.

And then the meeting is opened to new ideas.

But first. "Anyone care to explain the stupid posters on my walls?''

"Ahem." Frederick Rodriguez raises his hand. I nod.

This is the real Freddie Rodriquez, pencil pushing business guy—not me in one of my covers; I just use his name and info now and then .Don't get confused, okay? Rodriguez is thirty-five, good-looking in a Latino kind of way, and smart. He never kills people. Ever.

He has an unfortunate penchant for wearing bowties.

Now he says, "I have one word for Rangeman's future, boss."

("'Plastics?''')

"Yes?'' I make a go on gesture.

''Kawaii.''

''Kawaii?''

Anthony: "Dude! Rangeman Maui. Awesome."

Rodriguez frowns. ''Kawaii, not Hawaii, sir. Kawaii."

?

?

?

''Kawaii is the Japanese term...''

''I know what it means,'' I interject. "Now I want to know what the fuck it is doing on my walls."

Freddie aims his beloved remote at his projector (Anthony sighs again. Steph hands him a donut.)

Rodriguez: "If I may?"

''Get on with it!''

''Kawaii implies a certain attribute of cute, lovable, and/or adorable. Or in other words, nonthreatening. Cute. To put it the simplest terms..."

("Oh like thank god, dude.")

''—it means the Cuteness Factor. It has been proven scientifically that cute sells. And more! But first, maybe foremost (''redundant, dude''), 'Cute' sells!...Arnie?"

Arnie our staff psychologist says, "Studies have shown that people are more receptive—MOST receptive to cute. So for example, your clients will feel better, more open, more comfortable, if the person selling them their security system is dressed in an appealing manner. Certainly not armed, dangerous, and all in black.''

(''Pink golf shirts, bro. I keep sayin'." )

"...And certainly if their alarms do go off, they will be more reassured if the responders are dressed in a non-confrontational manner...yes indeed, Mr. Stewart, perhaps in pink golf shirts."

Stephanie snorts and sprays coffee all over the table. Anthony hands her a napkin.

I count to ten. Then I count to fifty. "Is there more? This ...ah, idea doesn't explain the stupid posters."

''Yessir, there is more. Tank?"

Tanks stands up and meets my eyes.

Traitor.

"Remember when I got my kitties? A few years ago? And suddenly I was no longer a thug, I was, well, a cuddly bear type of guy?"

?

?

"In Japan, in a controlled, scientific study, researchers found that students in a "cute photo" group outperformed those in the two other not-cute groups by a significant margin.

''This is a good thing, Ranger.''

No it is not.

I say, "Gentlemen, I hope for your sake there's a hidden camera here somewhere and this is an episode of Prank My Boss. Otherwise...''

Tank ignores that warning. "Studies have shown that emails featuring squee baby animal pix, posters with cute furry baby animals—all these things slow your employees' heart rate, lower their blood pressure and thus they are able to concentrate—or better and more clearly process information, with higher comprehension and recall. In their paper, published in the most recent edition of the online journal PLoS ONE, the authors concluded that 'kawaii things not only make us happier, but also affect our behavior' and that 'viewing cute things improves subsequent performance in tasks that require behavioral carefulness, possibly by narrowing the breadth of attentional focus.'

"In simpler terms, our men will utilize their training most effectively if they are surrounded by kawaii—or cute—images. Cuteness will result in safer, smarter, more effective employees and happier, calmer clients."

''And so ..here is our new screen saver!'' Freddie Rodriguez puts it onto the white walls [don't ask.] ''And I have ordered more inspirational posters, for the gym, break room, the toilets, and for each cubby. I have also sent everyone a new emoticon link, one that specializes in young, hip, cute! kawaii emoticons!"

I may not talk a lot but I am never rendered speechless. Until now. I paste my meanest look on my face and open my mouth to say—

''Daddydaddydaddy!'' That is not me, people. The door slams open and in bounces my four year old daughter. She is bundled up in a ridiculously puffy pink snowsuit and she is lugging her obscenely adorable fat pug Killer. His belly swells with squee cuteness and his tiny feet drag; his wrinkles are deeply etched and mournful. The dog looks sad. As well he should, because he is dressed in a pink fake fur onesie with bunny ears and a fluffy white tail. He knows he reeks of squee-dom. Squeeishness?

''Daddydaddydaddy!''

Everyone in the room relaxes and sighs, "Aaaw."

(snickers from Anthony and Stephanie.)

"Killy can has a Cheezburger! Lookit!"

Freddie Rodriguez quickly flashes the website photo on my white wall. Not a pretty sight. It features a stupid In joke and poor Killer. Rodriguez stands tall and stares me down as best he can. "Need I say more, boss?"

Squee.

...

Later: ''It's just a bunny suit not a dress, daddy. You need to chill.''

Later still...

"...and do not ever wear a bowtie on these premises again, Rodriguez."

"But sir.''

''Ever.''

yet again later, in the break room:

Stephanie and Lester Santos are hunched over diet Pepsi, giggling. Gossiping.

Steph has a mirror set up and is working a blue eyeliner pencil, trying to fix her laughter-tears ruined makeup. "Hee hee hee, just stop! Les, I gotta stop laughing!"

"Man, did you see Ranger's face!? Horror story...in a blank sorta way?"

"Well, here's the thing, Les. You guys just don't get it. I always tell him: Ranger is cute, he is so effin' cute. Seriously cute. I mean it, you know it too! Am I right, or what?"

"Ha-ha-ha, when you're right, you're right, Steph," laughs my idiot cousin.

Stephanie nods, winces as the eye pencil pokes her eye. ''Cute Factor, guaranteed. And hot. Baby animals are not required.''

I step into the room.

"Babe.''

the end, series tbc

thanks as always for reviewing. Don't forget to go look at the links and pix and new story! enjoy.

/ full link on my profile