A/N: More Kahl.
Enjoy~
He hated South Park in the mornings. Absolutely hated it. Given, he wasn't awfully fond of the town during the other hours of the day anyway, but seeing the small suburbs and bustling little city aglow with morning sunlight like some tourist ad gave him a deep-seated feeling of disgust. He wasn't entirely sure why he hated it so much, maybe just because living in the same place all one's life wore on a guy. Or, more plausibly, it was because this is where he was stuck. Physically and mentally alike, Kyle couldn't escape the humdrum life that he'd cornered himself in. It was his open-aired redneck mountain town prison, a personal hell that he awoke to each day to trudge through on his way to his enclosed cage.
He rolled up to the last stoplight before CartAd, able to see the building right down the way and he sighed irritably, ashing his cigarette out his car window. He leaned back, hand on the wheel tightening as he watched pedestrians passing in front of the vehicle, happily babbling to each other and going about their day. Kyle rolled his eyes, good for them to be so happy to be alive. A long stream of smoke broke through his lips, rolling up pleasantly against his face. 'Enjoy it now, it's the last you'll get until at least three,' he reminded himself bitterly before perking up a bit. Well, no, he could easily drag down a few on his way to his charity meetings.
The reminder made the excitement of prospective nicotine die down in the slightest. That's right, he had a 'fun' little mission for today. Staying up until two to finish up month end and clear his schedule was more than welcomed, despite the overwhelming exhaustion that was trying to take hold of him. This was far more important. He placed the filter between his lips again, taking a long, heavy breath and his eyelids fluttering at the sweet kiss of a menthol wake-up. Maybe he needed to see if he could work from home for awhile, let his day be filled with the combination of his paperwork and a nonstop haze of smoke filling his living room while he downed himself down bottle after bottle of vodka just to keep himself from tearing out his hair.
Fat chance. The fact that Cartman let him go home when his shift was up was enough of a miracle in of itself.
Sighing, he pulled his car back forward as the light turned, lazily eyeing his mirrors as he approached the building on his right. The rest of the world was dancing with one another in the bliss that this was Friday and they'd have the weekend to spend with their loved ones, get their houses in order, watch a game and take a damn break. Kyle twisted his lips irritably. He knew what tonight would consist of for himself: Going home to an empty house, Stan and Wendy calling him to meet them for dinner either tonight or the next night, and him agreeing just so he could have some face-to-face interaction, all the while wanting to punch his best friend in the damn eye for sucking face with his wife. And if Stan wasn't a cop, and a certain five year old wasn't always with them, he might have long since done just that. The rest of the weekend would be him working, just in his damn pajamas or jeans. Same shit, different attire.
He whipped the car into the parking lot, sliding his beaten-to-Hell timberwolf Camry into what he'd declared to be his spot. Not like anyone could stop him, he got there usually an hour or two before most of the other dead-eyed employees. He glanced up at a flash of color, seeing Butters' bright yellow Beetle pulling in beside him and rolling his eyes. He'd only had two cups of coffee as of now, he was not ready for cheerful morning greetings. Sighing and flicking his stunted cigarette out the window, he snagged his workbag, wincing at the weight as he pulled it over his shoulder, struggling to maneuver himself effectively enough to get out of his car. He cursed sharply as he remained trapped as he tried to step out, bag handle snared on the gearshift.
"Hey, Kyle!" Butters called from over his car.
"Hey," he muttered, shaking his head as he managed to free himself and stumble out onto the pavement. He sighed, kicking his door closed and beginning to trudge towards the building, Butters hurrying up beside him.
"Got any weekend plans?" he smiled brightly.
He snorted half-heartedly. "Does re-heating the same pizza that's been feeding me the last four days count as plans?"
The blonde's face fell into a pout, "Kyle, maybe ya should... get out more," he winced.
He looked at him dryly, "And do what, exactly?" he scoffed, snagging his ID off his belt and holding it up to the scanner, hearing the door click open and stepping into the foyer. He paused as the door closed, waiting for Butters to follow suit and step in beside of him. They both continued through the lobby, Kyle looking to the tired man behind the security window. He nodded, "Todd."
The man grunted and the redhead rolled his eyes. Same cheery disposition per the usual.
"Ya should go out and... and I dunno, go to a bar or somethin'?" Butters suggested.
"Why do that when I can drink for cheaper at home?" he cocked his brow, leading the way down the hallway and towards the stairwell.
He shrugged, fiddling with his backpack anxiously. "Well, ya can't meet no one sittin' at home, Kyle," he murmured.
Kyle begged to differ. He'd met plenty of people from home in the span of his self-alloted ten minute breaks when his eyes began to blur and numbers tried to cross one another. Plenty of people on sites willing to jerk off with a lonely accountant. Given he knew their dicks and not their faces, and he highly doubted that '8inchslick' was on anyone's driver's license, but it was good enough for him. Brief conversation and brief satisfaction before returning to the constant grind he endured. It was far better than nothing. Not to mention the joy of avoiding the lack of fucking build-up. No awkward small talk, no fucking ridiculous questioning to see if interests lined up or professions merited his attention in the slightest, and no paying out the ass to have three beers and loosen up enough to finally blurt out the reason he was staving through the chit-chat. That was the life of starry-eyed, hopeful college Kyle. Adult Kyle had far too much else on his plate.
They reached the top of the landing and Kyle offered him a half-hearted shrug. "Butters, I have a lot of shit going on, you know that better than anybody."
"Doesn't mean ya can't stop and smell the roses."
"I'm allergic to roses," he batted off automatically.
Butters stopped off at his office and sighed, "Just don't wantcha in the hospital, Kyle."
He waved off the notion. "I'm fine. Busy, but fine. Shit'll ease up once we get you trained," he assured him, continuing down the way and digging his key out of his pocket. He sighed, hearing Butters fighting his way into his own room and shaking his head. Butters getting trained couldn't fucking come soon enough. He opened the door and hit his light switch, scratching at his hair and kicking his door shut behind him. At least today would shake up his damn routine, able to get out of his chair and stretch his legs at the very least, even if it was still nothing but numbers in his future.
He tossed his workbag down beside his desk, automatically going over to work on setting up a mug of coffee to be filled. He grimaced, shuffling through flavors of K-cups and settling on a cinnamon vanilla nut, plopping it into the brewer and letting it go through the motions. He turned to his desk, glancing for his schedule and narrowing his eyes as he found it gone from the spot he'd left it. "The fuck?" he muttered. He caught sight of a stray paper tucked under his meeting binder and snared it up, blinking at the handwritten note lingering atop his schedule.
"What the..." he whispered. He was the last person to leave the building the night before, and he damn well knew where he put his schedule. He grabbed the stack of papers, reading it in silence under the steady drizzle of amber bliss into his mug. He finished, eyes going wide and looking around his office confusedly. Who the fuck could get into his damn office without him there? Cartman was the only one who could, and he never did so. Or, if he did, he definitely never left a fucking note.
His eyes lingered on the signature resting at the bottom of the message. 'M'. He narrowed his eyes. Who the fuck was M? He automatically started letting his mind fly through the M's that he knew worked in the building. Mitchell Numan in design? Maddy Kline the secretary? Hell, he didn't think the two of them even knew his damn name, let alone enough to get into his fucking office.
He bit his lip, eyes falling onto the line '...there's something going on here, and I think you know it, too.' He narrowed his gaze, something going on with what? With the missing money? He blinked, did someone spill? This could easily be someone investigating him if they knew. Maybe Bebe let it out, and this M stood for 'My money now or I fucking kill you, Broflovski'. Or maybe Butters let himself loose in the storm of office gossip and one of the workers went to the fucking authorities and he was dealing with a marshal. Or maybe even a murderer. He grit his teeth nervously, scratching again at his hair. Who the fuck would want to meet him so late at night in an empty office except for someone out for his damn head?
He paused, glancing at the first line again and raising his brow. This person was telling him that going to charities was dangerous. They wanted to prevent him from looking further into the matter. So... he could easily be dealing with the person leaking funds. He bit his knuckle. The note said alone, but maybe he should call Stan, get him to hide behind the damn door to burst in and shoot someone down if things got out of hand. But this person was probably going to be watching for him and only coming out if he was alone. "Shit," he whispered, flinching at a knock at his door. He blinked, seeing Cartman lingering in the window, staring at the wooden barrier impatiently. He grabbed the letter and shoved it into his pocket, hitting the door lock and trying to rid his face of any dismay.
"Mornin', Jew," Cartman greeted.
"Fatass," he said back, working past an awful lump forming in his throat.
Cartman stepped up to his desk, glancing at the schedule in his hand and smirking, "Taking the offensive on our little problem?"
"Yeah," he nodded slowly. "I uh, I gave Butters a how-to on doing the daily report in case I don't get back before three."
"That's fine," he waved it off. "So long as it's done. How'd month-end turn out?"
He shrugged, "Looked fine. Everything matched penny for penny. You may wanna sit in with the design meeting tomorrow, though," he advised. "They're going over budget. Either that or we need to work that out with them together."
"Got any free time this week?"
Kyle shook his head, "Filled to the brim with these guys," he waved his papers. "Butters is taking notes on all the meetings sans two for me."
"We'll bring it up in your meeting then," he informed him. He nodded down towards the paper in his hand, "Can you make me a copy of that, just so I know where you are if shit starts blowing up?"
"Sure," he nodded, turning and heading towards the bulky stand-up printer resting against his back wall. He slowly began to boot it up to life, turning a bit to see Cartman lingering at his desk, staring down at the surface intensively. He raised his brow, "Uh, Cartman? You okay?"
The brunette flickered dark eyes up to meet his and he gave him a casual shrug. "Just tired. Ready for the weekend."
"Hm," he mused, turning back to the task at hand. He sighed, watching the light of the scanner sliding under his paper and letting out a stifled yawn. Too much going on for before 6:30. He paused, eyes narrowing. 6:30. He turned back, staring at his boss questionably. "Why are you here so early?" he asked.
"I run a fuckin' company, Jew, Christ," he scoffed. "God forbid I step in on your precious time."
He frowned, reaching back and snagging his copy and the original, heading back towards him. "Butters and I are the only ones who come in this early," he said lowly. "Usually if you show up by nine, it's a miracle."
Cartman scoffed, snagging his paper and smacking it against his hand. "I have some extra paperwork to do. You know, to help you," he drawled. Kyle paused, sinking embarrassedly as the man continued, "I fuckin' go out of my way to make your life easier and you're treating me like I fuckin' murdered your shithead brother. Jesus fucking Christ, Kahl."
"Sorry," he murmured, rubbing his neck. "I'm just... tired."
"Well you can fuckin' sleep it off this weekend," he cocked his brow primly. "Don't need your attitude bringin' everyone down." Kyle was silent, frankly just too sleepy and still too reeling from his surprise note to put up much of a fight that he knew he would lose in the end. "Have fun on your little adventures," Cartman gave him a lazy wave and headed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
The redhead stared after him, lip being grated anxiously. He looked towards his pocket bulging with the hastily hidden note, pulling it out once more and staring at the slipshod scripting. 'Be here, stay safe'. He sighed, ripping open his fridge and fumbling for his creamer, grabbing at his mug greedily. Something here was amiss, and he could very well be waltzing himself right into a dangerous situation with someone who knew who he was. He mixed his concoction, taking a long sip and staring still at the crumpled paper. A thousand mismatched thoughts were parading through him, ranging from 'Why meet here?' to 'I should've bought a fucking gun like Stan told me to'. But, of course, the most prominent question of all outshone all the rest: 'Who am I dealing with here?'
He twisted his lips, fingers curling possessively around the ceramic in his palms. Guess he'd have to wait until tonight to find out.
Stepping back out of his car in front of a quaintly painted yellow building with a tiny sign hanging off the awning reading 'Park County Heart Disease Foundation', Kyle's stomach sank worriedly. If that note was any kind of clue, he'd find here what they'd found with Kenny's charity. The thought was terrifying, knowing that if events went that way, he'd be finding himself drowning in trying to solve the mystery on top of everything else he had going on.
The redhead gulped, grabbing his workbag and making his way up to the building, forcing himself into an easygoing smile. It was the best trick in his book: Beat down the worry, don't let other people see it. It'd taken years of practice, realizing after his plainly spelled expressions ended a fourth relationship in college that he was a little too on the nose if he wanted to get by in the business world. But a smile spoke volumes, even if the decibels were lying to the receiver.
He pushed in through the glass door, seeing a young man sitting at the front desk mindlessly flipping through a book. He looked up at the visitor, obviously astonished at a break in the mindless droning of the day. "Hi," he greeted blankly.
Kyle snorted, "Hi. Guessing you don't get many people walking in here?"
He smirked and shook his head. "Nah. Mailman is about the extent. Can I help you?"
"Name's Kyle Broflovski, I had an appointment with Amy."
"Ah, right," he nodded. "She's in the office down the hall, last on your left," he pointed.
He nodded, "Thanks." He readjusted his bag, making his way down the tight corridor and sighing tiredly. He wondered if he would be better off in a place like this. Making little to no money but having such humdrum days he could just zone out. Given, that'd never exactly been his strong suit either. He liked to be kept busy. He needed a damn middle ground thrown in there somewhere.
He made his way up to the door, knocking on it and waiting for a "Yes?" before pushing it open. A woman in her no-doubt late thirties glanced up from her computer and smiled. "Mr. Broflovski?"
"Kyle," he grinned back with a nod.
"I remember you," she pointed at him a bit. "Met you to sign the contract re-work last week."
He chuckled lightly, shutting the door behind him and heading to sit in front of her desk. "That's what I live for, making more paperwork."
She snorted, "Tell me about it, I'm right there with you," she waved dismissively to a good-sized stack at the edge of her workstation. Kyle inwardly smirked, wishing his stack of work could be so small as a mere ream. He shook himself out of it as she continued, "So, what can I do for you?"
He plastered back on his business savvy grin and eyed her curious expression. "I'm prepping my company for an audit, need some finality with our correspondents' finances," he lied smoothly.
She cocked her head, "You don't have everything on record?"
"Mrs. Flor-"
"Amy," she cut him off.
"Amy," he corrected. "Have you gone through an audit yet?" She shook her head and he cleared his throat, "Well, it's awful," he said plainly. "And I like to be thorough and make sure I didn't miss something along the way. Besides, if something arises between our companies in the future, we know that we're on the same track. You know how it is when numbers don't correlate."
She laughed, "It's a nightmare."
"Exactly," he pointed at her with a sly smirk. "Every cent matters on both our ends. So I'm trying to compare ledgers to make sure that everything's in order and my boss didn't just forget he spent two dollars of petty cash on post-its, ya get me?" he shrugged.
Amy nodded, "I do. What do you need to see?"
"Quarterly and monthly subsidiary ledgers if you don't mind," he said sweetly.
She nodded once more, getting to her feet, "I'll be right back," she promised, heading out around her desk and out the door. Kyle waited for it to click closed before sighing tiredly and slumping in his seat. He hated lying through his teeth, especially since if word got out, this entire endeavor would make him seem even more suspicious. He groaned, dragging his hands down his face before reaching down and grabbing into his workbag. He snagged out the folder labeled for the foundation, smacking it against his knee and staring at the family picture of Amy, her husband, and daughter on her desk. He sighed to himself, wondering just how many goddamn framed memories he was going to be forced to see while someone scurried around for the paperwork he needed. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, eyes going lax before he let them slip shut.
'Please let Kenny's place be the exception in all this,' he prayed. 'Please just let this be a glitch in the damn system. Let him be able to just sue the fucking bank and everything go back to normal...' he opened his eyes once more, snapping his head back down as the knob on Amy's office door turned and straightening himself up. Air of professionalism was more than essential when lying your way through a damn meeting.
Amy pushed back in with a small stack of folders in her arms, making way to sit in her chair once more. She handed Kyle the one on top with a smile, "Here's this past month's," she informed him.
He accepted it gratefully, opening and snagging the ledger sitting prettily at the top. He pried open his own folder, holding it up to prevent her from reading his set of numbers and letting his eyes scan along the bottom sums lines. His heart sank, entire body tensing with dread. They were hundreds of dollars off from each other. 'Oh fuck,' he thought, a gulp falling down his throat as he struggled to keep his face straight.
He flickered his eyes up to the woman sifting through folders before she landed on one and murmured a 'ah ha'. "Here's the quarterly," she said, waving one in her hand.
"Amy, can I make copies of your reports?" he asked.
She blinked but nodded, "Of course you can. Is something wrong?"
He smiled softly and shook his head, ignoring the absolute panic his body was enduring. "No, but like I said, it's good to keep us on the same track."
"Is this going to be a monthly thing?" she asked. "I can set it up so my reports get emailed to you."
"If you could, that'd be wonderful," he said appreciatively. "Get the new contract off to a great start."
She chuckled, "You must be drowning in papers already, Kyle."
"Not far off," he shrugged sheepishly.
She laughed, grabbing the folders and waiting for Kyle to hand her back last month's report. "I'll have Dave make you copies," she said, bustling back out the door.
Kyle watched after her, putting a hand over his mouth and staring down at his own figures. This was bad. This was more than bad. This was his worst goddamn nightmare come true. He needed a smoke. And a drink. And to stand doused in alcohol and let someone light him on fire because this was slipping out of his hands faster than he could possibly keep up with. He placed the folder on the empty chair next to him, crossing his arms and fidgeting anxiously. He didn't know how to start figuring this out.
The door opened again and he looked back to see Amy walking in with that kind smile still on her face. She looked at him a moment, grin dropping in the slightest. "Are you all right?"
Apparently he wasn't as amazing at being deceptive as previously thought. "I'm fine," he lied. "Just have a lot to do today."
"Ah, more charities?" she asked, heading back to her seat and staring at him with a slightly cocked head, bobbed caramel brown hair dipping onto her shoulder.
He nodded, "Yeah. Gotta meet all of ya this week to get this thing ready to go."
She smiled sadly, "Don't you have an assistant?"
He snorted, "My assistant makes copies, shreds paperwork, and schedules appointments, that's about it."
"Hm," she hummed, sharp hazel eyes skimming over a slightly disheveled appearance on the man in front of her. "You need to get out more," she commented.
Kyle pouted, "Come on, you don't know me and what I do. You're not allowed to make that comment."
She smirked knowingly, "I don't hear you denying it, Kyle." He slowly closed his mouth, continuing to pout. "You need to find yourself a wife."
He sputtered with laughter, shaking his head. "Yeah, no, that's not my thing. Besides, I came here for business, not relationship advice."
Amy shrugged, "We finished business, didn't we?"
"Well, yeah-"
"Then hush, this is the most interesting part of my day," she cocked an amused brow. He hated to admit he was in the same goddamn boat. At least in the means of pleasantly interesting. "So, wife not your thing, huh?" she repeated. "Not willing to settle?"
He rolled his eyes and laughed quietly. "Let's just say I'm not looking for Eve."
The woman laughed, catching the connotation right off, "Ah, looking for Steve, then."
"Well thank you for making sure I still stay first in line," he chuckled. "Doesn't matter either way. I run the finances of a company that runs this town, I don't have time for working in a boyfriend or whatever," he shrugged.
Amy nodded, "You do seem to have a lot of business."
"That's what happens when the owner is good enough to knock other companies off the map," he sighed tiredly. "Considering one of our clients is the mayor's office, we have to keep everything running pretty high-strung."
She stared at him sympathetically, "And you're the only one who works it?"
He shrugged again, "Yeah."
"What all do you do?" she asked.
"Controller stuff," he waved his hand dismissively. "You know, I'm chief financial officer and treasurer and whatnot. And I handle human resources, and set up all our functions, and work with separate teams to make sure everything's done right, and I'm the first person people interview with for a job, and do performance reviews, and-"
"Whoa," she held up her hand, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You do all that?" Kyle nodded and she bit her lip. "Honey, they're taking advantage of you."
He blinked, "Huh?"
"That's not what a controller is, you're just supposed to handle accounting stuff," she elaborated. "It's one thing if you work for a small company like this to handle all that," she waved aimlessly. "But how many employees do you have?"
"Uh...sixty-eight I think," he looked up thoughtfully.
She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair and biting her lip, "How much do you make?"
"Getting a little personal, aren't we?" he said dryly.
She shrugged, "So sue me. I'm not asking as a business partner."
He cleared his throat, "Ninety thousand a year. So, you know, plenty for the job I'm doing-"
"You're being cheated," she said sharply and he stopped, looking at her in bewilderment. "Anyone else doing all that? They'd be getting about one-twenty thousand."
He coughed lightly into his hand, "Well I mean, we're a small company, can't expect to be making so much," he shrugged.
"Either you should be or your assistant should be able to do more than just your bitch work," she frowned.
He waved it off, "We're gonna get him trained, I got my boss to compromise. Lost my raise, but oh well, this is more-"
"Wow," she cut him off again, shaking her head. "Your boss is determined to put you in the ground."
Kyle shied down, face changing hues, "I can handle it just fine. Look, I appreciate the concern and whatnot, but it keeps me busy, and busy is good."
She raised her brow, "Not when it makes you look my age, Honey." Kyle pouted again, honestly just too tired to argue. He wondered if he'd be looking upwards of fifty by the time he figured out where all the missing money was going. They both jolted at the door opening and the receptionist walking through, smacking his head.
"Goddammit, sorry, I forgot to knock again."
Amy snorted, "You're fine. All done?"
He nodded, walking over and handing Kyle a labeled file. "That's all of 'em," he informed him.
"Thank you," he said gratefully stuffing the folder and his own down into his bag and hiking it onto his shoulder, hopping to his feet. He reached over and shook Amy's hand, "Thanks again, this is really helpful."
"No problem, Kyle," she assured him. "Try to relax after this audit is done, all right?"
He smirked sadly, "No promises. I'm sure we'll be in touch." He waved to the both of them and turned on his heel. Scurrying out of her door and down the hall again, he gulped through a dry throat. His fingers dug into his slacks, ripping out his car keys and bursting through the door back into the fresh air, barely able to catch his breath. He walked over to his car, staring at his exhausted reflection and shuddering. He shook himself out of it and quickly unlocked the vehicle, throwing everything inside and sliding in, shakily lighting up a cigarette and vehemently ignoring just what building he was in front of as he did so.
"Goddammit," he whimpered, head falling back and staring up at the carpeted ceiling. He didn't know what to do, who he could tell or talk to without it screwing him over in the end. With trembling fingers, he did up his seat belt and turned on the car, ignoring the music starting up with a bassline that made the entirety of the vehicle tremor. "Deep breaths, Kyle," he guided himself, turning down the music. "You'll figure this out. You always figure this shit out," he reminded himself. He'd found himself in more than one tight predicament, financial or otherwise. He'd get to the root of it. He looked up determinedly, disengaging his parking break and backing out of his spot, heading towards the road with a scowl beginning to settle on his slender profile.
From beside the quaint, yellow building, two sets of eyes watched him as he pulled away, looking at each other; one with a piercing hazel stare and the other's intimidation coming from his stocky build. "Ve need to call heem?" Kashkov muttered.
"Yeah," Burke sighed, pulling out his cell phone and scrolling for names, slamming his thumb into his target and watching Kyle's car turn off to an adjacent street.
"What?"
"He just left the heart disease place," he reported, scoffing silently to himself for the job he'd been handed.
A moment of silence passed, "How did he look?"
"Like someone just told him his mother died," he said dryly.
"Fuckin' Jew," Cartman muttered. He sighed, "Keep on him. Do NOT let him out of your sight. If he heads towards the cops-"
"We got it," Burke rolled his eyes. "We'll keep you updated." he hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He looked up at Kashkov and shook his head. "Remember when we weren't babysitters?"
The man shrugged, the both of them heading towards his car parked a few lots over. "I do not see problem," he said. "Ve get paid same, just for vatching ryzhevolosyy."
Burke grunted, "I guess. The fuck is he wanting to figure out about this kid, anyway?"
Kashkov shrugged once more. "Ryzhevolosyy eez trying to find money. He finds eet, ve lose job."
The man nodded, both of them looking out towards the street once more and Burke sighed. "Guess that's a good enough reason for me." He reached into his pocket, snaring out the photocopied schedule and nodding to himself. "He's headin' for the abuse shelter next." He nodded curtly, pressing his car's unlock button and the both of them clambering in. Kashkov silently fired up the engine and pulled the vehicle out of the lot, mission set in search of the beaten timberwolf Camry.
A/N: Yey meeting is next chappie
ryzhevolosyy is redhead in Russian btw, pft
thanks for R&Ring!