a/n: anywayyyyy. welcome to where shit kicks off. there may be a few time jumps between because this story is mostly focused on Jamie and her story and less on everyone else, but welcome to Iron Man's arc. this does draw a lot of parallels as well as opposite sides when it comes to drawing tony into the mix, but I've always loved tony stark because he's just a regular human that's just really smart, sort of like the inspiration i got for Jamie in her being a regular human in an extraordinary world. enjoyyyy.
also, I may put songs before chapters, but this chapter is heavily inspired by Nothing New from Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers. I listened to a lot of Swift and Bridgers when coming up with Jamie's character. Once again... take that as you will and keep tissues at the hand.
Breaking News: Eccentric Billionaire and Stark Industries CEO Tony Stark Set to Receive This Year's Apogee Award in Las Vegas This Weekend.
"Jamie!"
The redhead stumbled out of her room, toothbrush still ajar in her foamy mouth as she stuck her head out of her doorway. "Wha?"
"Ew," Margot scrunched her nose at the sight from where she stood near the front door of the loft. "Swallow first before you decide to come out of your room."
Parker, with his comedic timing, slid from his room still covered in a layer of sweat from his pre-patrol work out. "That's what she said," he chimed in. "Hey, has anyone seen my shaker?"
"Broom closet!" Logan shouted from somewhere down the hall.
Margot and Parker both paused, Jamie watching from her doorway as Parker slowly reached into the broom closet and pulled out his shake weight. "...Dude, what the Hell?" he muttered.
Jamie shook her head, popping the toothbrush from her mouth and retreating back to her bathroom to spit.
"Wait- Jay!"
The redhead quickly ran back to her doorway, this time ringing out her damp tendrils of hair she'd just released from the towel on her head. "What's up?"
"Are you positive you don't need a ride to the Globe today?" she prompted, a little pout forming on her lips.
Jamie leaned her hip against her mangle door frame, still running her fingers through her hair trying to dry it as much as she could. "It's my first day back at work, not my first day of Kindergarten, Go."
Margot held her hands up, "Okayyy, it was just a question."
"Bye, Margot," Jamie called over her shoulder before heading back into her room to finish getting ready.
With a parting, "see you for lunch," Margot left the apartment for work. Jamie was quick with getting ready. She had a big day ahead and she was nervous about how she would go about it. It wasn't every day that a reporter approached their editor with the biggest break of their career and possibly the biggest leak since the Pentagon Papers.
Jamie ran her hands down her face after finishing with her half-dried hair she'd pulled out of her face enough to look semi-professional. "Come on, Archer. Get your shit together." She muttered beneath her breath one last time before getting back to work. She applied a small coat of lip gloss and a reasonable amount of mascara, slipping into some navy blue slacks, slip on flats and white button up shirt with only a few wrinkles before calling it a morning well-spent.
There was a soft rap on her door.
"Jamie, you ready to head out?"
It was Logan. Her photographer-slash-intern-slash-roommate.
"Our meeting with Bushkin is in forty minutes."
Jamie let her head fall back, her eyes meeting the cracked ceiling above her. "Thanks for the reminder, Logan..." she whispered, not loud enough for him to hear from behind the door. "I'll be out in a second!"
Once Jamie had finished gathering her papers and photos, shoving them slightly haphazardly into her brown brown satchel, she skipped out of her room and rushed to Logan's side at the door.
He was already ready, waiting for her with his big, gaudy camera dangling from his neck like the proper photojournalist he was.
"Have a good day at work, Jay... Cyborg," Parker called from his doorway, soft thudding bass coming from inside as Pass the Dutchie played from his speakers. "Hey, did you need extra money for a Metro Card?"
"I got mine," Logan confirmed.
"Wasn't talking to you, ET," Parker retorted. "Jay?"
Jamie rolled her eyes, remembering the Metro Card Phil from her Dad's insurance agency had gifted her tucked safely in her wallet at the bottom of her satchel. "I have mine, too, Parker. And, hey, be nice to my photographer. He gets us good donuts."
Parker made a face. "Thought he was your intern..."
"Bye, Parker!" Jamie shouted, practically shoving Logan out the door so she could follow after him.
It was Monday in Manhattan, so naturally the second Jamie and Logan made their way up from the Metro, they were surrounded from all sides as they attempted to push-slash-shove their way through the crowds to get to the Globe.
"You have all the photo evidence?" Logan prompted, taking every hit and bump from passing people in stride. His height gave him advantage over the NYC crowds, but Jamie was still struggling to get by while making sure no one tried to swipe at her satchel.
She readjusted the strap to keep it in front of her instead of on her hip. "Yep."
"Watch it!" A passing pedestrian shouted at Jamie as his shoulder collided with hers.
"Asshole!" Jamie shouted back, Logan looking down at his reporter in surprise. When Jamie turned back to him, she noticed the surprised look on his face. "What?"
"You just... talk to people on the street like that?" Logan prompted.
Jamie shrugged. "Gotta give them a piece of your mind somehow. Come on, you'll get used to Manhattan in no time, Bronx Boy." She nudged his shoulder with hers playfully, jerking her head in the direction of the nearby coffee truck parked at the corner of 8th and 40th.
As they approached the line, moving one person at a time, Logan happened to notice Jamie nervously tapping her fingers against the metal clasp of her satchel. He was perceptive, sure. He noticed a lot of things not many others did. Mentally logging what time the Sun was at what angle in the sky for a perfect shot. He could tell how fast something was going just by watching. He probably had about a million useless facts compiled in his head when it came to the world around him and as a photojournalist it happened to come in handy.
But one thing he didn't really know much about was people.
Logan had relayed only a fraction of his life to the woman who had picked him out of a line up of about a dozen other photographers and the roommates they now had in their loft apartment. He had been in the foster system, grew up and out of it and eventually landed himself a few side jobs with a camera he'd spent four hot Bronx summers working to save up for.
But through every house, group home, foster family and shelter he bounced across, one thing he could never quite predict was the people around him. His deadbeat dad, his cracked out mom, the group home boys that would mess with him for money, his foster parents that fucked off with the welfare checks and his foster brothers and sisters falling off the face of the Earth the second he left that shithole.
He couldn't read people as well as he did the world. But Jamie was as lit up and readable as the big bright signs in Times Square.
She was blunt, brutally honest, and if she was deep in thought she made it known that she didn't want to be interrupted or disturbed. It's what kept Logan loyally attached to Jamie like a comet in constant orbit around a busy galaxy.
And right now, she was making it very clear that she was about to explode in a ball of nerves and anxiety as she continued to anxiously readjust and squeeze her satchel, stuffed full of photographic evidence of what her Dad had found in Afghanistan.
"You alright?" Logan prompted, knowing full well he probably wouldn't get a half-decent answer. One thing he picked up about Jamie was that when it came to answering questions about public danger, she would search for the right answers until the Sun came up. But when it came to actual questions about whether or not she was okay, she would dodge it better than the grimy politicians she stood toe-to-toe with on a daily basis at the Globe.
Jamie shook it off, her hand dropping from her satchel almost immediately as if she hadn't just been anxiously clutching it to her chest like a lifeline. "Yeah. Fine." Clipped. Short. She was going to have a meltdown at this point. "I've just, uh... got my pitch memorized, my speech, my potential defense questions and solution. The budget is on our side and everything, but I just..."
"You're scared Bushkin is going to say 'no' and shoot you down?"
Jamie nodded, anxiously swaying on the balms of her feet. "Yup," she answered. "If he says 'no'... I don't know what the Hell I'm supposed to do. This is my only plan and- what happens if this fails? What? Am I just supposed to go back to my day job writing fluff pieces and exposing brothels in Hell's Kitchen?"
"Hey- hey!" Logan had to quickly step in before the meltdown took place in the line for Nathan's coffee. People were already turning to tune into the conversation. "That piece on the brothel wasn't half bad. You got to meet a cool superhero-"
"Vigilante," Jamie corrected.
"Same thing."
Jamie raised an eyebrow. She was getting annoyed.
"Okay, but what I mean to say is, this shit means something to people," he exclaimed, gesturing to the stand of newspapers propped next to the end of the coffee cart. The headlines all read something different, but the one line of Globe papers all read the same name on the byline: Jamie Archer.
She sighed, her body visible relaxing when she caught on to Logan's point.
He went on. "Look, I only met your Dad like three, maybe four times since I got hired as your photographer, but I read his work. I read your work. And I'm pretty sure your Dad was and always has been proud of everything you've done. This pitch to Bushkin is important, but even if it doesn't go your way... whatever you do next, I'm with you, James."
Jamie smirked, a sad smile trying to form but didn't quite complete until a beat passed. "'James'?" she chuckled at the name.
Logan shrugged. "I don't know. 'Dude' felt wrong. So did 'bro'."
Jamie laughed at that one. Logan was glad he was able to crack through just a little for her to relax by the time they made it up to the cart window. Jamie stepped up to order, "I'll take a almond milk latte with white mocha-"
"Two. Decaf, please," Logan piped up, slapping a handful of cash to the man over the counter.
Jamie looked taken aback, her head turning to glance up at her photographer. "Assertive much?"
Logan shrugged, grabbing his drink from the counter as she grabbed hers. "Think you're right. I am getting used to Manhattan." Jamie shook her head before taking a swig from her drink.
Barney Bushkin was a real class act.
If 'class act' was a 62-year-old alcoholic with a handful of Title IX lawsuits beneath his belt and enough journalism experience to put Robin Roberts to rest.
Jamie didn't exactly like her editor and chief, but he was the first person to take a chance on her fresh from her part-time internship at a smaller newsletter directly after graduation. She made a decent amount of money as a newly promoted senior reporter at the Daily Globe, plus her bonuses for every headlining story that ended up making it to the news channels shortly after they broke.
Jamie loved her job though. It wasn't just about money.
Writing had been Jamie's passion for years, dating all the way back to the small little poems her Dad would read to her to fall asleep or the news clippings Jamie saved from all of her Dad's own headlining stories with the Daily Bugle. She loved writing. Sometimes she felt like it brought herself closer to her Dad, but in the end, the validation and the pleasant satisfaction that came with submitting a finished story and going out on a whim searching for clues to place them together for a completed answer the rest of the world could read about. Being a reporter was Jamie's life and passion.
But this was a risk.
Jamie had taken plenty of risks before. Trusting a vigilante in Hell's Kitchen, going toe-to-toe with corrupt politicians, demanding answers from even the toughest NYPD PIO's. This, however, was different.
She couldn't get fired for searching for the truth, could she? Bushkin had to say yes to this pitch... right?
"No."
Jamie and Logan deflated at Bushkin's immediate answer after a in depth breakdown and analysis of their story pitch about what her Dad found in Afghanistan.
"N-no?" Jamie stammered, not sure if she heard her editor correctly. He was old. Sometimes he stumbled on his words. Maybe this was one of those instances and she just misconstrued-
"No," Bushkin reiterated in his gruff voice. He sat, laid back in his rolling chair, staring down his large nose at the reporter and photographer at the desk across from him. "My answer is 'no.'"
"But- we have all of the evidence we need. We've done stories with less and you've let me run them," Jamie insisted. "This could be a huge story. Stark Industries selling weapons to terrorists in the Middle-East? CNN couldn't buy a better lead."
Bushkin averted his eyes down to his lap, his chubby hands coming up to straighten his tie laid out on his bulging chest. "Zimmerman," he addressed the reporter sitting beside Jamie. "Give Archer and I a minute, will you?"
Logan looked hesitant, turning to glance down at Jamie before reluctantly exiting the room. Jamie felt her entire body lock up. Without her moral support, this pitch started to feel like a meltdown in the making.
Once the door was closed, a beat of silence passed within the confines of Bushkin's office. It was unsettling to say the least.
"You know, when I hired you, I knew you were driven," Bushkin began, his chair squeaking and moaning in protest as he put all his effort into getting to his feet. He groaned once he was free from the cushioned seat. "...I didn't think you could be this stupid, though."
Jamie reeled slightly. "Excuse me?"
"This story, this lead, this... evidence," he gestured to the pictures she'd laid out for him. The pictures her Dad had died getting in Afghanistan. "It's nothing."
"It's proof!" Jamie insisted. "Proof that Stark Industries is compliant with warfare being conducted in the Middle-East. Proof that the company is double dipping in US military contracts as well as war profiteering."
Bushkin shook his head, slowly making his way around the corner of his desk. "Look, I let you take your risks. Brothels in Hell's Kitchen. Corrupt social workers in Queens. House Representatives in trouble with the IRS. I put my neck out to let you take these risks. But this? Going up against a weapons company funded by the US? It's out of our depth."
"Out of your depth. Not mine."
Bushkin raised his eyebrows up at her, still seated before him. "Remember your place, Archer. The only reason you're in this news room is because I'd be damned before letting the Bugle snag both the Archer's in the journalism industry! You're about as useful as any other reporter in this office," he exclaimed, his voice becoming venomous as Jamie sank lower into her seat as the man began to tower over her. "And you can be replaced just as easily. So when I say 'no' to this fever dream of a story, your job isn't to argue with me. It's to go back to the drawing board and bring me something worth this paper's time and effort."
Jamie felt numb. She could feel that flame flickering in her stomach, the fear turning to anger after hearing her editor's demeaning words. All of her fears were suddenly coming true and all Jamie could think of was how not only insulting it was to her and her hard work... but her Dad's. And that was something she wouldn't stand for, especially not when it was coming from Barney fucking Bushkin.
"Fine."
Bushkin raised his eyebrows, taken aback slightly. "Fine?" Had Jamie Archer really been agreeable for once?
"Fine," she repeated, standing from her seat to collect all her Dad's photos from the desk to place them carefully back into her satchel. After grabbing her belongings, she stood up straight and looked Bushkin dead in the eye. "I'll clear my desk after my next paycheck goes through."
Before she turned to walk out of the office door, she saw Bushkin pale.
"W-wait! You're quitting? You can't quit!" Bushkin shouted, his raspy voice raising an octave as a fit of coughs overtook his body. "Archer! Archer!"
Jamie paused at the door, turning back to face the blubbering man whose white face began to flush red with rage and frustration. Good. Maybe now he understood what it was like working for him. "You said so yourself, I'm as useful as any other reporter here. So, if that's the case... have fun replacing me."
Jamie felt a rush of satisfaction surge through her as she walked down the aisles of desks leaving Bushkin's door ajar, hearing his combinations of coughs and him screaming her name as she speed walked to the elevator. It wasn't long before Logan joined her side.
Jamie glanced up at him as soon as they got into the elevator and noticed at that moment that Logan was carrying a cardboard box of belongings. "What's that?"
Logan shrugged, a bright smile on his face as he proudly held up the box. "Figured the meeting would go downhill after he dismissed me, so I took the liberty of packing your desk for you. Everything is in here."
Jamie floundered for words. "W-what about your desk?"
"Oh, I hated working here," he admit, not an ounce of shame in the joyous look on his face. "I barely even kept a pen and planner at my cubicle."
The elevator shut on two friends throwing their heads back in loud laughter as they took their abrupt leave of absence from the Daily Globe. If the Globe wasn't going to run this story, Jamie would just have to investigate on her own.
"You got fired?!"
Jamie threw her hands up in frustration. "I didn't get fired, Go. I quit! Big difference."
Across the living room, Margot crossed her arms as her body slouched down onto the olive green couch. She knew her best friend went through episodes of impulsiveness, but she'd never be one to do something like this. "Yeah, like no severance pay..." she muttered beneath her breath.
Jamie rolled her eyes, ignoring the comment for now as she continued to pack her suit case.
"Pfft," Parker scoffed from the kitchen. Jamie couldn't see him past her propped open door, but she heard the fridge open and close. "Like that Barney bastard would give them severance pay. Good on you for quitting alongside her, Cyborg."
Logan cleared his throat from his own bedroom, the door also propped open across the hall from the living room. "Thank you, Parker..." there was a strain in his voice that sounded like someone happy, but still slightly annoyed.
Jamie groaned, her hands riffling through her closet. "Margot!" she called out loud enough for her roommate to hear in the living room.
"Yeah?"
"Have you seen my blue button-up? The one I wore to Brown's Christmas party."
There was a pause. "...the Brown party in Midtown or the Brown party we snuck into on Long Island?"
"You guys have snuck into more than one Brown Christmas party?" came Logan's concerned voice from down the hall.
Jamie chuckled, her hands still searching and searching through every hangar and still coming up empty. "The party in Midtown!"
"Oh! Uh... I don't know. I never borrowed it," Margot answered back.
Jamie threw her head back in frustration, padding back to the edge of her bed to search through her already packed belongings. She loved that top. It wasn't too tight and it was almost thirty bucks. She'd bought it in an impulsive haul at an H&M her freshman year. That was her emotional support travel blouse now, like a good luck charm. But now it was missing and she wouldn't know what to do without it and-
"Is that it beneath your door?" Parker called back from the kitchen.
The redhead spun around and- low and behold- there it was. Her lucky blue Brown Christmas party button-up from H&M bundled up in a wad shoved up beneath her door to keep it propped open. "Oh!" Jamie gasped in relief, falling to her knees to snatch it, replacing the prop with one of her Birkenstock's sandals. Couldn't take those to Vegas.
"I-" Margot stammered from the living room. "Are you... Are you sure this is the best course of action? I mean- seriously? Las Vegas? What are you gonna do? What's the plan? You going to take down Stark Industries single handedly from Caesar's Palace?"
"If I have to," Jamie shot back, carefully folding her blouse and placing it nicely next to her black slacks.
Margot could be heard getting up from the couch with an exasperated sigh. "Jay," she began, her voice ticking up an octave as she walked over to her friend's doorway. "Jay," she tried again to get the bustling auburn-haired woman to listen. "Jay!"
Jamie just kept packing.
Eventually, fed up with her friend's stubborn antics, Margot stormed the rest of the way into the room and snatched the bra from Jamie's hands and put her foot down in an assertive manner. "Will you please just listen to me? For five seconds?" When Jamie sighed and pursed her lips, Margot went on. "Look, I know you called conch on this, but... you just lost your job. And, sure, your Dad's life insurance money can go a long way, but Vegas? And after that, what then? Los Angeles? You going to follow Stark Industries until it's buried in the dirt?"
"Considering they're the reason my Dad is buried in the dirt, yeah, Margot. I am," Jamie retorted. "If it takes me going broke, I'm going to do everything I can to do what my Dad intended me to do. Which is bury Stark Industries in the six foot grave right next to his at the Calvary." With that, Jamie snatched the bra back from her friend's hands and got back to packing.
Margot didn't know what to say at first. Jamie tried not to let it show that she regretted being as harsh as she was to her best friend.
Slowly, Margot leaned forward, making sure to speak in a soft tone so not to let the conversation to be heard from the other two roommates now standing close by the open doorway. "I'm always with you, Jamie. For everything, I've been on your side for going on five years now. But this? This revenge mission?" Margot grabbed Jamie by the shoulders and shook her straight. "You're going to get yourself killed, Jay. And I don't know if I can sit back and watch you do this to your life."
"Well..." Jamie paused, fiddling with her fingers and unable to meet her friend's eyes. "You won't have to. I'll have my stuff out of the apartment when I get back from Vegas." She turned away, tossing the last of her sock rolls into her bag and turning back to her desk in search of her good gel eyeliner.
Margot, stunned and hurt, slowly backed away. But not before one last departing question, "Was this what your Dad wanted you to do with this? Run yourself ragged until every last piece of your life is destroyed?"
Jamie ran a hand through her hair, turning back to Margot one last time. "Well, we wouldn't really know, would we, Go?"
Margot nodded, tears forming in her eyes. The brunette turned and stormed out of the room before the crying started, but all Jamie could do was stay frozen in place, looking so dejected and feeling like a sort of numb zombie. Maybe it was the grief keeping her so motivated to finish this one story for her Dad, but this part... the part where she put these barriers up between her and the people closest in her life... this fucking sucked.
"Logan!" Jamie shouted into the living room. When there wasn't an immediate answer, she continued, "Be ready to leave by ten tonight. We got a Redeye flight, I'm not going to miss it because you're not done packing your essential oils!" There was a loud, resounding bang when she slammed the door shut.
Jamie walked to her bathroom and turned on the faucet. The running water still didn't drown out the sounds of her hiccups and sniffles in between the body-racking sobs.
The Vegas Strip was busier than usual.
Jamie figured that maybe since it was almost November, most people would think to spend their holidays with their family and not getting wasted on fruit mixed drink at the Freemont Experience. But from the looks of how packed the sidewalks and streets outside their $45-a-night hotel on the Strip was, she was clearly incorrect.
"Come on," Jamie nudged Logan after they had finished hastily-unpacking and getting all dressed up to head out for the night. She'd already pulled on her nice blue button-up blouse and the black slacks she'd packed, haphazardly straightening her auburn curls and slapping on clip-on earrings she'd bought at Target. "We can't be late. I only got us in under the condition we make it look like we're gambling for a little over an hour. By then, Stark will have gotten his award and start leaving the ceremony. What's the plan then?"
Logan frowned in concentration, his fingers fumbling with his tie as he tried to wrap it around his neck correctly. "I, uh, distract his security from one side by pretending to be apart of the Paps while you sneak up from the opposite side looking like a..."
"Like a what?" Jamie called back to him from where she sat at the end of her Queen sized bed, fishing out her heels from the suitcase at her feet.
"Do I have to say it?" Logan groaned.
"Say it!"
There was a beat of silence. "Like a... like a fresh piece of meat- your words, not mine!" Jamie snickered as she tightened the heel straps tightly around her ankles. "You distract Stark, ask him what he knows about the photos your Dad took of his weapons being shipped in loads to the Afghan desert and finally get some answers so everyone can go home in one piece."
Jamie hesitated at the word... home.
Her freshly painted fingernails lingered against the straps of her heels. As she glanced down at the black pumps on her feet a faint memory recalled of Margot lending her these shoes for her surprise party at one of Parker's many speakeasy's that he bartended at.
"You know, we don't have to do this right away," Logan stated, emerging from the bathroom, tie slightly ajar and partially undone still. Jamie glanced up at him. She wanted to focus on his words, but all she could focus on was how crappy his tie was. "We can... take a day to just scope out Stark's speech and the people he interacts with there for reconnaissance. Then when the ceremony is over, we can reconvene back in New York-"
"I meant what I said, Zimmerman- come here," she groaned, jumping up with her new height in the heels to reach his tie. She began to undo it as she spoke. "I'm moving out after this. I don't want to put Margot and Parker through the gutter with me. My Dad gave his life to getting the truth out. So what if I give a few months of my life, my job and my apartment?"
"And what about your friends?" he prompted, glancing down at her as she focused on fixing the tie in front of her face. "Your Dad want you to lose those, too? Your life down the drain, you push away the people you love-"
"How about you just shut up and do your job," Jamie cut him off promptly with a sharp tug of the tie, tightening up a fraction than she needed to. Logan tried not to let it show how much her harsh retort had hurt him because they had a job to do, but still... just because he hid his emotions well didn't mean it stung any less.
They didn't talk about Margot, Parker or the Globe for the rest of the time they spent getting dressed and taking a cab down to the main Strip from their fancy hotel and casino.
Caesar's Palace was already filling up with people, both tourist, gamblers and rich somebodies clambering in through the vast entrance around the large water fountain where expensive cars already sat in valet. It wouldn't take long for the pair to navigate the innards of the hotel and casino to figure out where the Apogee Awards were being held in a large ballroom with sparkling chandeliers and white velvet tablecloths. Everyone was wearing a suit and tie or floor-length gown with way too many sparkles, while Jamie and Logan stood wearing discounted office clothing they'd either bough or borrowed.
"You remember the plan?" Jamie spoke to Logan for the first time since her outburst earlier as they lingered near the back of the room. Tony Stark's introductory video was already playing on the screens above, signaling his appearance soon.
Logan nodded. "Should I run back to the casino entrance to bombard him now?"
Jamie shook her head. "Wait a second. We need to figure out where he is first." The pair began to search the crowd of black and white ties to try and find the all-too-familiar goatee with an ego the size of the moon. As the intro video came to a close, a man in a military uniform stepped onto the stage.
Logan wrinkled his nose as the crowd applauded. "That's not Tony Stark."
Jamie rolled her eyes, "No shit, Sherlock." When she realized she had sounded like Parker in that moment, she sheepishly turned to look back at her intern with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry."
At the podium, the military man began his speech.
"As liaison to Stark Industries, I've had the unique privilege of serving with a real patriot," the man began. Jamie could feel a piece of her shrivel up and die at him referencing to Tony Stark as some kind of patriotic hero. "He is my friend and he is my great mentor. Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present this year's Apogee Award to Mr. Tony Stark!"
The room filled with loud triumphant victory music and ringing began to fill Jamie's ears. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath as she waited for the man responsible for her Dad's death to rise up to stage to accept an award he never deserved.
The clapping continued, the music kept playing, and everyone's heads were swiveling around attempting to spot where the eccentric billionaire was in the crowd. After a few awkward seconds of stagnant clapping, however, Jamie started to come to the realization that Tony Stark wasn't going up...
"Tony" The man on stage called out again, more clapping continuing as a spotlight went down to a round table. At the table, a man sat shaking his head beside an empty seat.
"Hey, I recognize him," Logan stated, gesturing to the bald man.
Jamie narrowed his eyes. She could barely see the side of his face, how could Logan possibly recognize this man? "From where?"
"He was... He was on the screen like five seconds ago," he explained. "Stark's mentor or something. His Dad's right hand man at the company who took over after he died. What's his name?"
Jamie shrugged. "I don't know, but it doesn't matter," she called over the music and the clapping still playing through. "Stark isn't here. We lost our lead..." With that, the redhead pushed past another couple dressed properly entering the room to catch a glimpse of the missing Awardee to go back into the bustling casino area, Logan calling after her.
The redhead wasn't one for drinking after several blacked out nights spent with her head over a toilet, trash bin or the unfortunate incident on a ferry one time. Drinking 'til she got shitfaced was a habit she left behind after graduating college. She'd vowed to be a little more classy with her alcohol habits after crossing the stage and getting a real job, but all of the stress in her life was starting to pile on.
I deserve this, she told herself as she hoisted herself onto a gaudy golden stool at one of the long bars at the end of rows of slot machines. The bartender clocked her the second she placed her black clutch onto the bar counter. "Can I get your strongest mixed drink with bourbon in it, please? Thank you." The bartender was lightening fast and slid her her drink with a cube of ice floating at the top in record time. "Keep the tab open, too," she added, beginning to drown the strong and sour concoction in her glass.
This was all a mistake.
Coming to Vegas, hoping to find a man so far above her in every way. She was a flea attempting to stop a freight train, where everything and everyone was against her. She was more practical than this. Logan was right, this should've been about reconnaissance, they should've put more time into this plan instead of just diving head-first into the shark infested waters. Now they were at a casino, thousands of miles from home and jobless.
"Another one?" the bartender prompted.
Just as Jamie was about to nod, loud shouts coming from across the gallery of games, slots, and tables. The woman turned in her chair to glance over at all the ruckus and found a crowd of people flocking around one of the crabs tables. Through the crowd, she could see the center of attention was focused around a man at the end of the table wearing a maroon button-up and weird thick-rimmed sunglasses.
Jamie's first thought was, "what douchebag wears sunglasses inside at night?" which was immediately followed by her second train of thought, "why does that douchebag look familiar?"
"Ah, we're gonna let it ride!" the man exclaimed, his voice all too familiar after she'd heard it many times on the news and in online videos of drunken disorderly nights and MIT commencement speeches. Tony fucking Stark.
"On second thought," Jamie stammered, reaching into her clutch to grab a twenty and her recorder, slapping the first onto the counter beside her empty glass with the partially melted cube of ice still in it. "I'm closing the tab."
It was difficult to push through so many people walking through the tables and slots in black pumps. She was thankful she had opted out of wearing a dress and she'd only have to be in this clown costume for a little while longer once she got the quotes she needed.
As she got closer, she realized the striking amount of security around Stark as the entourage began to move away from the table, the night of gambling and award winning had supposedly come to an end. Shit, how was she supposed to get through clingy high-end prostitutes, men in uniforms, and stuffy security for one man?
She wasn't pretty enough or showing enough cleavage to catch the billionaire's eye to get him to peel away from the military uniform and scantily clad black cocktail dress on either side of Stark. What the Hell was her plan B?
"Hey! Over here, Mr. Stark!"
Bright flashes began to appear over the entourage of men as the familiar rapid click of the camera echoed in the marble halls.
"Right over here! Show me the award! What are you wearing tonight, sir?!"
Logan. Jamie felt a rush of relief upon realizing he'd caught up on the plan to distract the security.
"Alright, alright, pal!" One of the men in the suits began, raising his hand in the way and pushing the group of men around to where Stark was on the opposite side of the camera and directly three yards in front of Jamie.
Her feet faltered momentarily, the bright lights and shouting and people and slot machine sounds and ringing in her ears made her stumble.
There he was.
She had a million questions and all she wanted was one answer: did he know?!
"Mr. Stark!" Jamie called from where she stood in place.
At the assertive sound of a woman's voice, Tony Stark spun around. At first, his eyes were scanning the crowds of people flocking around the casino games until finally stopping at her. She probably looked like an idiot with the way she was dressed and the old recorder in her hands and her hair half-done and strikingly dark red amongst a sea of blonde and brown. She was 22 staring down a man well in his mid-thirties.
Before Jamie could second guess herself any longer, she did what she did best. She hit the record button on her device and asked away.
"Were you ever aware of the Stark Industries weapons shipments being moved in the Middle-East under your ownership?"
Stark reeled slightly. His security didn't notice as they were still occupied with getting Logan and his flashing camera away. The boy could be persistent if he wanted to be. He was probably getting fed up with how much film he was wasting on his camera right now.
"W-what did you just say?" He choked out, eyes wide as his smug persona broke away to reveal a man that had just been asked something he'd never thought he'd hear before.
Jamie was having a hard time deciphering whether that was the look of someone who just got caught or the the look of someone who'd just been told their life was lie. She couldn't tell.
"Back off, buddy!" Another security guard of Stark roughly shoved Logan against a wall as the rest quickly ushered Stark off. Jamie wanted to get more answers, but the entourage must've caught on to her as well because they all swarmed around their guy, effectively cutting off the impromptu interview between Tony Stark and Jamie Archer.
Jamie stood still, her finger pressing the pause button on her recorder as the rest of the world kept spinning around her.
Stark was lost, would probably be on his private jet going to fuck off down a bottle of liquor after winning an award he couldn't be bothered to grab from down the hall and Jamie would be here. In this place full of gamblers and liars with unanswered questions and a few hundred dollars wasted on a trip that was doomed from the beginning. How else did she think this little mission was going to go?
"You okay?" Jamie prompted her photographer, his tie a little undone and his suit a little roughed up from being shoved.
Logan shook his head, "Fine. Assholes. Did you... did you get to speak with him?"
Jamie shrugged, glancing down at her recorder in her palm. "This was a mistake."
The pair still stared off after the moving crowd of security and women, their last hope, leaving the casino.
"Come on," Logan patted Jamie's arm, the two dragging their feet as they moved towards the exit.
Unbeknown to them, down the hall they had been standing on, the bald man who had moments ago accepted an award his prodigy couldn't be bothered to show up to get, had watched the entire interaction. His fists clenched and unclenched as he maintained his composure around a series of expensive ball busters and military men he'd just embarrassed himself in front for the sake of Tony Stark for the last time.
He thought he'd have all his problems solved by tomorrow when that brat shipped off across the country into the jaws of death, but now he had to mop up a new mess. That redheaded girl with the recorder was next on his list of things to do before he ascended to his rightful place as Stark Industries' CEO and owner, Obadiah Stane.
"Were you ever aware of the Stark Industries weapons shipments being moved in the Middle-East under your ownership?"
"W-what did you just say?"
Click. Replay.
"Were you ever aware of the Stark Industries weapons shipments being moved in the Middle-East under your ownership?"
"W-what did you just say?"
Click. Replay.
"Were you ever aware of the Stark Industries weapons shipments being moved in the Middle-East under your ownership?"
"W-what did you just say?"
Click. Replay.
"Were you ever aware of-"
"How long are you going to keep listening to that tape?" Logan prompted from inside the room. The door was shut, but it wasn't that hard to hear the constant sound of the few words exchanged between his reporter and Stark on repeat for the thousandth time in the bathroom.
Jamie hit pause on the recorder. Logan was right. It wasn't getting her anywhere, hearing Tony Stark's stammered response to her blunt question. It didn't prove anything. Not guilt. Not innocence. Not compliance. All it did was remind her that she had a shot and she missed it.
After coming out of the bathroom, she tried to pretend like she hadn't just been in there obsessing over a fucking recording.
"Almost done packing?" she prompted.
Logan had just finished shoving the last of his things into his over-sized and probably heavy backpack. He'd opted not to buy an overpriced suitcase and was now suffering the consequences for it. "Just about, yeah. I hope I packed enough stuff."
"Well, we won't know how long we need to be in Afghanistan, but luckily, we won't have to worry about dropping another hundred or so on room and board," she explained, plopping onto the end of her bed to finish folding the last of her clothes again. "I've got points saved up from other trips and travel awards for the plane tickets."
"You've got the address to your Dad's old place?" Logan prompted.
They'd made the decision shortly after getting back from the casino that the next course of action would be going to investigate the roots of this story. And that wasn't going to be found at Tony Stark's Malibu mansion, it was in the Afghan deserts.
"Yup," she replied. "I'm hoping the locals knew him well enough to know his habits and where he frequented so we won't have to start canvasing from scratch. We can start at the postal service who shipped his package to the States and work from there."
Logan didn't really seem enthusiastic about this predicament, but he was along for the ride for the time being. "Alright."
The McCarran International Airport wasn't as busy as it had been the night they flew in, but there was still a decent amount of people.
The pair arrived an hour before boarding time and had already wasted twenty minutes going through security and another fifteen in line for Starbucks. They'd grabbed their drinks and made it to their gate on time for boarding.
Jamie distracted herself with rereading one of her Dad's last journals she'd packed with her. It was like her Holy Bible. In college, all through her journalism courses and communications studies, she relied on her Dad's intuition and investigating process he'd formed over time through his journal.
Michael Archer had been everywhere after he'd graduated from college at Northwestern University. South Africa, Ethiopia, Kuwait, Alaska, Venezuela, the Canary Islands, Greece, China, Vietnam, Washington DC, Mexico, New Zealand, and most notably his time in Boston where he met her mom and raised Jamie for the next seventeen years. After Jamie graduated, her Dad went to the Daily Bugle where they sent him out to do even more assignments. In places like Kyoto, Hong Kong, Berlin, Moscow, Chernobyl, Panama City, and the most recent: a small village in Afghanistan.
This particular journal was dated from May, 1964 to January, 1984. For twenty years, her Dad had jotted everything down in a small leather bounded journal he'd picked up in an airport gift shop on his first flight out of Boston, his hometown long before her Mom anchored him back to the city.
Jamie had always wondered what her Dad's life would have been like if she hadn't been born and if her Mom hadn't left. Her Dad probably would've kept going in his career. Win a Pulitzer. Tenure as a professor at Cornell. Get himself on a CIA watch list. Write his own book.
But instead, he stayed. He chose to stay with his wife and their baby despite every right, chance and reason to leave and continued out his career of traveling the world and learning new things, meeting new people and telling a thousand more stories. Then she left... and he still stuck around.
Maybe that was the reason Jamie was pushing so hard. To repay a debt he'd reassured her a thousand times she never had to repay him for.
It dawned on her in that five hour plane ride from Vegas to Atlanta that she couldn't live without her Dad. She didn't know how. And maybe this was just her pathetic way of trying to get him back when she knew he was dead and gone. They get to Afghanistan to prove what? He was right? Then they go up against a multitrillion dollar weapons company with a few pictures and one dead body?
They'd be buried right alongside her Dad. She had to go about this the smart way, but she wanted to so badly prove to herself that she could do what her Dad expected her to do.
The layover in Atlanta thankfully gave Jamie time to get her thoughts reorganized.
It was only an hour layover, so in the thick of getting their luggage and hightailing it to get to the other side of Jackson International, Jamie found herself cooling off from the past forty-eight hours. From getting fired, to her fight with Margot, to the flight to Vegas, seeing Stark, and the flight to Atlanta... Jamie was ready to turn back.
Until...
"Attention, passengers, if you are boarding for the 10:45 Flight 672 to Hamid Karzai International in Kabul, Afghanistan, we are unfortunately being instructed by the federal government to pause all flights out to this destination due to recent events. If you have a ticket, please see the front desk to get your voucher for room and board and travel agents will assist with further steps to get you guys home..."
As the crowd of people began to scramble for their phones to inform family and rush to go stand in line with the travel agents, Jamie paused for a moment. With her satchel in hand, she glanced over her shoulder to Logan at her side. "What recent events? What's going on?"
Logan shrugged, already scrolling through his phone. "I don't- I don't know-" he stammered.
As Jamie began digging into her purse, her eyes momentarily caught sight of a nearby charging kiosk where a man had a full screen image of the Breaking News channel. What she read made her double back and stare in awe as she tried to comprehend what she was reading.
"No..." Jamie uttered, retracting her hand from her purse and slowly walking towards the man with the laptop open. Logan quickly caught her eyesight and came up behind her to watch the news play the breaking report.
The headline reading: Tony Stark Kidnapped on Military Business Trip in Afghanistan.
"Oh my God..."
The news rattled the media waves online.
Logan was already getting calls from other papers who'd heard he was available for travel now that he was unemployed from the Globe and Jamie had gotten a few of her own emails from a couple of her Dad's old coworkers at the Bugle wondering if she had any leads since her Dad was the senior reporter stationed in Afghanistan. She gave them nothing.
Jamie felt numb, her fingers trembling as she typed out on her laptop in search of a hotel nearby that would accept their pathetic airline voucher for room and board. The news at the end of the gate still played as the sun had began to linger in the horizon, the orange light creating an ominous setting in the gate of glass and empty seats.
Her Vans tapped against the back of the leather chair she was sitting incorrectly in, her laptop propped on her chest and thighs. "Anything?" she prompted her photographer, sitting right-side up in the chair beside her dangling legs.
He frowned, his fingers still idly scrolling on the pad of his laptop. "Nothing. You?"
She shrugged. "I've got a seedy motel a few blocks from here. A cab fare would be thirty bucks, though."
"Aw, come on!" Logan threw his head back in frustration.
Jamie lifted her head then as a bright bulb of an idea flickered to life. "Hey, how much travel credit, you got?"
Logan shifted the laptop in his lap to glance down at the floor where Jamie had her head laid atop her wadded up jacket. "Yeah, but I thought you said you wanted to wait out the embargo here-"
Jamie shot upright on the floor. "Give me your card," she demanded, holding out her hand as she slammed her laptop closed with the other.
"What- why?"
Half an hour later and a long trek across the airport with their luggage and the carry-ons they had to reclaim at baggage, Jamie and Logan stood inside the airport parking lot waiting patiently for their rental vehicle to be dropped off from the lot.
"This is your brilliant idea? Driving back to New York?" Logan prompted the redhead.
"No," she rolled her eyes. "I got us a big van. I take the middle, you take the back and we just stay parked in a garage somewhere. The cheap way of living."
Logan harrumphed, an amused smile gracing his lips as they both watched the rental place worker begin to approach in a large black SUV, paid in full with travel rewards on Logan's card.
"Where'd you learn that trick?" he prompted as the worker exited the car and tossed the keys to Jamie.
She caught them in one hand and wished the guy a 'goodnight,' turning back to her photographer. "One of my Dad's old tricks for when he traveled. Call it a hermit-habit," she explained, rolling her suitcase towards the trunk of the car.
After packing in and camping out at a parking garage across the street from a McDonald's with good Wi-fi connection, Jamie had already started to set up camp in the middle row of the SUV.
"CNN is reporting that several other members of the convoy transporting Stark have been reported to be dead and injured, but the Secretary of Defense has yet to give us a number of the casualties that they're confirming-"
"-Stark Industries has released a statement that they are monitoring the situation closely-"
"-by an organization known as the Ten Rings. Officials say this terrorist organizations has been on the FBI, CIA, and Interpol's potential threat list for some time now-"
"The US government has a zero negotiating policy when it comes to terrorist cells. It is a possibility that Tony Stark may be held for longer than Stark Industries can afford-"
Jamie slammed her laptop closed, her head falling back with a thud against the window of the SUV.
Sitting opposite in the row of seats behind hers, Logan leaned back from his own screen to glance up at her. "Come on... we'll get something-"
"It's not that," Jamie insisted. "It's just... everything is stacked against us right now. Who's going to believe a washed up reporter with the Daily Globe with pictures delivered from an unknown PO box by another dead journalist that Stark Industries is dealing mass amounts of weapons beneath the table to terrorist cells just after a well-known terrorist cell just abducted Stark Industries' crowned prince, owner and CEO- God!" she slammed her head against the window again, her hands clasped together in front of her mouth as she tried to focus on breathing. "This is such a mess."
"Hey," Logan leaned forward, his hand coming up on the back of the seats to pat her shoulder. "You can make this work. I've seen you in action and if anyone could've done a better job, your Dad would've sent those pictures to them, James... so think."
Think.
Pfft. He made it sound so easy.
As her eyes fluttered to a close, she wondered maybe if it was that easy.
Think.
Think. Think. Think.
"Okay... okay, okay, okay." The redhead dragged her hands down her face. "Maybe we're looking at this wrong."
"What's that?" Logan prompted.
"Stark gets kidnapped in Afghanistan just a day and half after I question him in public about SI double-dealing their weapons. Not a coincidence," Jamie concluded. "So maybe... maybe we were wrong about Stark knowing."
"Stark's the CEO and owner. How wouldn't he know what was going on?"
Jamie rolled her eyes, propping her laptop back open to pull up a series of news article to display to the photographer in the backseat. "Probably because he's been busy either covering up a sex tape, buying out Fortune 500 companies or snorting coke off of hooker's sparkled and waxed butt cheeks-"
"Oh, God!" Logan made a face of disgust. "That was... a mental image I didn't need to picture right now."
"My point being that he's been a little preoccupied with literally anything other than the interests of his company. Besides, Stark only just took over reigns when he turned 21- what- ten, twelve years ago?" Jamie guess-timated.
"Sixteen," Logan corrected her. "Off by like four years, give or take."
Jamie rolled her eyes, "Smartass." Logan ignored the jibe. "So... if he took over in '92 the year after Howard and Maria Stark died in that car accident, who was in charge in his stead? Clearly, had his parents not died the company would've been passed to a more of-age and more of-sound predecessor. Who was it?"
"That guy!" Logan gasped, sitting upright in his seat, his fingers typing away on his keyboard. "The- the- the- the guy from the Apogee Awards ceremony. The guy on the screen that the intro said was his mentor or some crap."
"Military man?" Jamie wondered aloud, still not catching his drift.
"No, no, no. The other one."
"Bald guy?"
"Bald guy," Logan nodded in confirmation. "What was his name- ah-ha!"
"Got it?" Jamie laughed in amusement.
Logan nodded enthusiastically. "Obadiah Stane!"
"Ew," Jamie frowned, slouching back. "Sounds like an asshole... An asshole who was probably the one double dealing beneath the table. Maybe even back when Howard was still alive..." As she trailed off, her brain began to catch up with her mouth. "Oh, shit."
"What?"
Jamie sat straighter then. "Tony Stark getting abducted in Afghanistan after I asked him those questions at the same event Stane was at wasn't a coincidence. Do you think maybe... maybe Howard Stark found out about Stane's side con within the company and he..."
"Woah, woah, woah, woah- Halt that right there," Logan stated, shutting his laptop and shoving it to the side. "You're talking about full blown conspiracy here, Jamie. This isn't some brothel in Hell's kitchen or a corrupt Sheriff's department outside of Atlantic City. We're talking billionaire cover ups, larceny, homicide, privatized weapons manufacturer, terrorist cells-"
"This is everything my Dad worked for-" Jamie insisted.
"With the Bugle," Logan refuted. "We are unemployed, running around chasing leads with only an envelope of evidence. It's solid, yes. But we're going up against some of the most powerful men in the world. And if what you're saying is even remotely true, if Obadiah Stane and the other shitheads at SI really had the power to take out Howard and Maria Stark and now had Tony Stark abducted in the Middle East... imagine what they could do to us if we piss them off enough."
Jamie stubbornly shook her head. "We'd be untouchable if we released what we knew now-"
"Who's to say they couldn't make it look like an accident that would be untraceable to them-"
"But they'd already be under the microscope if we release the photos-"
"Or it'd be just another headline swept beneath the rug by skeptics claiming it's BS now that Stark Industries CEO is kidnapped overseas," Logan retorted. "I know you want to take these assholes down, but we gotta do it the smart way. The safe way."
Jamie shut her eyes. "My Dad didn't die to get me this evidence just for us to play it safe, Logan."
Dejected and at a loss for more arguments, Logan slid his laptop back into his bag. They were done for the night. Jamie Archer had made up her mind and she'd pulled her Dad card. He wasn't getting through to her. Maybe she was right to cut Margot from her life because he was started to regret watching her go down this road and putting herself in danger in the process.
"Alright..." he exhaled. "What do you want to do next?"
Jamie shrugged, "I'll start looking for flights to LA first thing in the morning and we'll go from there."
And that was it. She was willing to risk it all just for a dead man's approval. It was then that Logan Zimmerman realized she was never going to give this up. Even if she killed herself to get the truth out, bury the assholes who buried her Dad.
It was around 9am the next morning when Jamie had dropped Logan off at the airport to get their bags checked for their 10:30 boarding time. If there were going to make it to Los Angeles with time to kill in order to get a decent priced hotel room, they were going to have to multitask. Which left Jamie to dropping off the rental car.
The fee was cheap, but the service was still slow. One guy to cover an entire garage and the front office. Ten minutes passed and Jamie was still waiting idly on the side of the curb by the office in the parking garage waiting for the man to come back with her receipt.
As she waited, it gave her time to scroll through her messages. There were a few from Parker, all to check in on her and the search.
P: checking in because my twin is too much of a chicken shit to admit she wants to know you haven't been killed and left for dead in a ditch somewhere in Vegas.
Jamie smirked, her thumb tracing the keypad on her Blackberry as she thought out what to text back that would give Parker some piece of mind- Margot, too, apparently.
J: i've actually taken up prostitution on the corner of Nunya and Business.
A minute passed. Still no car rental guy back with the receipt. Another message came through.
P: never heard of it.
The redhead laughed a little at that one.
J: you wouldn't. very high-end. also in atlanta.
Just then, Jamie perked her head at the sound of rolling wheels approaching. A large black SUV, much nicer than one that would be found in a car rental garage, was slowly coming to a stop a few yards away from her.
P: keep us posted. love u, kiddo.
Jamie hesitated, idly paying attention to the SUV parked nearby and the text convo at her fingertips.
J: yea. will do.
Slowly, a prickling of anxiety washed over her like waves rolling in. Something was wrong. That SUV didn't belong there and neither did she. Where the Hell was that car rental guy with her receipt?
Unnerved, Jamie slid her Blackberry into her satchel, but kept her hand idly inside the bag in case of something happening. She waited... and waited... and waited... Until finally the back door on the passenger's side of the SUV opened. Jamie took a step back, not knowing what to expect but still putting some distance between herself and whoever was stepping out of that car.
She couldn't have predicted who she would see once the back door slammed shut.
"Jamie Archer. Just the girl I was looking for," Obadiah Stane beamed at her, clapping his hands together with a resounding smack that echoed throughout the parking garage and made Jamie flinch despite herself. "I've read some of your work. Real class act. Truly. And that's a high compliment coming from me."
"How did you find me?" The redhead uttered, her eyes bouncing between the man slowly stalking towards her, the still running SUV behind him and the rest of the garage in search of the rental place guy for her receipt... or to be a witness.
Obadiah Stane only smiled some more, not even at all bothered by how terrified the short woman in front of him seemed. "I wouldn't concern yourself with that information. I also wouldn't advise concerning yourself with anything to do with information you think you have on me or Stark Industries either, Miss Archer."
A spark of defiance lit up in her chest and without thinking, her big fat mouth stammered out, "Sounds like you're just confirming what I already knew to be true." Fuck.
"Knew?" Obadiah Stane laughed, the deep sound coming from his chest and making Jamie question why the fuck she just said something. Why would she say something? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He took another step towards her, Jamie kept staggering back until her foot stumbled off the edge of the curb onto the street. She was beneath him and he was towering over her in more than just height. She felt like a corner animal and all her instincts were suddenly out of the window.
"You, Miss Archer, are just another washed up unemployed reporter with daddy issues. Who'd ever fucking listen to you?" he sneered through his clenched smile as he bent down to her level, face-to-face. "So I suggest you crawl back to that rundown loft apartment in Manhattan and stick to fluff pieces from now on."
Fear trembled deep within her chest as her skin broke out into goosebumps. He found her here. He knew where her apartment was. And he probably tracked her using Logan's card they rented the car with... Dear God. What had she gotten herself into?
After Obadiah Stane successfully scared the ever living shit out of this poor young journalist at the bottom of a parking garage with only his SUV driver as the witness to her potential assassination, he began to back away. His smile still beaming from the second he stepped out of his car, like he hadn't just threatened to bury her alive.
"You have a safe flight. Where are you headed to?"
Jamie suddenly couldn't remember to form coherent thoughts. He'd shoot her point blank if she gave up where they were actually going. "Uh... New York."
"Good girl. I look forward to reading more Globe pieces about gambling addicts and weird shaped prostitutes working near the Hudson," Obadiah laughed, climbing into the SUV and slamming the door shut behind him.
By the time the SUV pulled away from the curb, Jamie collapsed to her knees on the curb in a puddle of tears, shaking and whimpering as she tried to keep her breathing under control. As she attempted to dodge the impending anxiety attack she was about to succumb to in this dingy ass parking garage still waiting for her fucking receipt, Jamie pulled her clenched hand out of her satchel to reveal her recorder. Sometime after Obadiah had first stepped out of the car, the red light still blinking.
She'd gotten everything... but what was she supposed to do with it?
Her head fell into her lap as she melted into even more body-wracking sobs.
Just then, the rental car guy decided to pull up then. "Uh, ma'am, I've got your receipt!"
For fuck's sake.
