#there are a lot if banks and lawyers offices nearby

[dokyeomini]

today was crazyyyyy at work

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (June 9/2021) -        New Citizens

Ponk has a chat with Sam, Fundy and Purpled officially join Las Nevadas, and Ranboo receives an update message from the Council.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Fundy

Purpled

Ranboo

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- Ponk continues building the bridge in his new valley

- He returns to Foolish’s summer home and finds the countersuit Puffy left. He reads it. Many of the claims he doesn’t think are actually against the law of the land. He insists he wasn’t quoting Roadtrip during his Banquet speech, but rather an old man

- Ponk will have the best lawyers (he also may pay the jury off but don’t tell anyone). He’s amused that Puffy would work with BadBoyHalo and call Ponk the ‘dirty Eggpire supporter’

- He finishes reading the lore suit and greets Purpled in chat, telling him that he’s getting sued by Puffy

- Sam logs on and Ponk takes him over to the valley. They’ve had their differences, but Ponk is in need of a good lawyer. Sam suggests Tubbo, but Tubbo is expensive and intimidating

- Ponk points out that Sam will be the only one in the jury with an elevated IQ like his own. Sam hasn’t been officially selected for the jury yet, and they might think he’s biased, having cut off Ponk’s arm (Sam says he did it for good reason)

- They reach the valley and Sam approves of Ponk’s bridge

Sam: “You can see Kinoko Kingdom from here.”

Ponk: “(gagging sound) No, you can see Niki’s place! Niki’s communist cult! It’s great! We’re gonna set up a nice trade agreement, and (mumbling) then we’ll burn Kinoko Kingdom down to the groun-- I mean, then we’ll have nice trade deals with everyone, you know?”

- Ponk is bitter about losing his arm and Sam blames it on him for stealing the keycards

Ponk: “Sam...just so you know, just so you know...You can come to me after...after everything. I will still support you, Sam, okay? You’ll have a place to stay, because, all the wrong you’ve done is gonna catch up behind you, you know? All the wrong that you’ve done--”

Sam: “I haven’t really done anything wrong.”

Ponk: “Haven’t you? Haven’t you?!”

Sam: “No, I think I’m a good guy.”

Ponk: “You think you’re a good person?”

Sam: “I don’t know, you don’t think I’m a good person?”

Ponk: “I mean -- my opinions are biased.”

- Ponk asks Sam to walk and talk with him on the way back to Spawn. Sam’s spoken with Purpled recently

- They visit the animal sanctuary and Sam suggests they steal the strider. Ponk tells him stealing is bad. Sam wants to let it out. They play with the strider a bit

- Ponk explains his conflict with Puffy in general terms

Sam: “Look, I have a random crossbow from one of those guys that we killed.”

Ponk: “You said that so casually...life is precious, you know.”

- Ponk asks about the bank. He’s free to work. Sam says it’s up to Hannah. The two discuss the bank system

- Ponk hasn’t seen Technoblade in a while. Sam thinks he must be overthrowing governments in a far off land or something

- Ponk offers to trade with Sam for two stacks of redstone blocks. He asks how much for his arm back. Sam says he destroyed it. Ponk is upset that Sam didn’t keep it, but Sam says it was too mangled

- Sam trades some gold for the redstone

- They fight a raid together and capture a Ravager

- The two continue to chat for a while

- Fundy stands by his bed. He had a great sleep! He dreamt about a Windows update and he’s looking...a little sleepy?

- He checks the to-do list. Today’s the day. He grabs some things for the road. Fundy decides he’ll go alone. He doesn’t want to risk losing his snow fox friend

- He says hi to his Aunt Panisha (a salmon in the river) as he sets off, asking her to wish him luck

- Fundy reaches Las Nevadas wonders where Quackity’s office is. After some deduction, he heads to the Needle and spots Quackity going up the elevator

- After some hesitation, Fundy goes up the elevator too and comes face-to-face with Quackity, who sees him and asks if he’s okay. Fundy says he’s doing fine, he had a weird sleep and may have woke up outside the window

- Fundy tells him that he took his advice and bettered himself. They sit at the table and Fundy shows him his new diet. Quackity says he’s proud of him

- Fundy mentions that last time they spoke, he suggested they play cards and back at home, he didn’t sleep because he was waiting for Quackity to come over...and then he didn’t

- Quackity explains he just had a bunch of paperwork to do

- Fundy spots some slime blocks bunched at the side of the room and asks what that’s about. Quackity says it’s “a friend” of his, that he’s probably asleep

- Quackity gets Charlie to emerge from the slime

Charlie: “Hey, Fundy from L’manburg!”

- He was in the middle of his gloop-morphosis. Fundy is confused at how he knows who he is. Charlie digs into the floor and gets Fundy to greet him, slurping up some slime

- Quackity tells Charlie he needs to speak with Fundy. Charlie says he can “sell it” and starts telling Fundy he looks like he wants to gamble. Fundy asks Quackity why he’s talking like this, and Quackity says he must have learned it from TV

- Fundy finds out that Charlie is incredibly old and asks Charlie about how he knew he was from L’manburg. Charlie declares them best friends

- Fundy tells Quackity that he’s changed, that he’s a better man. Quackity thinks it’s great, but he doesn’t want Fundy to portray a false version of himself

- Charlie looks at Fundy close-up and says he hasn’t changed

- Quackity doesn’t want Fundy to join under these conditions. Fundy insists he’s fine, he isn’t portraying a false version of himself

- Fundy’s lived in that cottage for way too long. All these nightmares are because of him interacting with people and he’s ruining it for them -- but ever since he’s improved himself and become more healthy, he hasn’t had those nightmares

- Quackity has thought about it a lot, and Fundy’s work in L’manburg was exceptional. He thinks Las Nevadas will be a stepping stone to Fundy’s success

- Charlie gets Fundy to smell him and asks him what it’s like to dream. Fundy sniffs and maybe swallows a piece of Charlie. Charlie tells him one day he’ll be whole again

- Quackity passes Charlie a bone of one of their “mutual friends” in L’manburg and asks Charlie to analyze it

- Quackity and Fundy leave Charlie in the Needle and go back down. Quackity brings him downstairs, where he tells Fundy there’s no going back. He wants to make sure Fundy can trust him and hands Fundy a book to sign:

---

All persons naturalized in Las Nevadas, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of Las Nevadas and the land wherein they reside.

The signing of this document subjects you to the rights and duties of the nation:

TAXES. Residents are required to pay a jurisdictional and financial charge to the nation to fund future projects and development of the nation. Failure to pay could result in the extinction of your permanent residence and possibly death.

MILITARY PARTICIPATION.  One of your duties as a resident of Las Nevadas is the complete protection of the nation. You’re required to participate in any wars, conflicts, or disputes of the nation, in favor of Las Nevadas.

LAND. One of your rights as a resident of Las Nevadas is a self assigned plot of land, approved by the proper authorities, to develop productive businesses, homes, entertainment centers, etc.

GAMBLING. Gambling is defined as staking of something of value, with consciousness of risk and hope of gain, on the outcome of a game. Gambling is completely legal in Las Nevadas, but subject to constantly changing regulations.

THE LV LEGAL SYSTEM ---------------------------- Las Nevadas and any disputes within the nation will be settled in the Las Nevadas court (TBA), with the presence of the conflicted parties, and the proper authorities.

FALURE TO RESPECT THE CONSTITUTION AND THE DUTIES WHICH ARE ASSIGNED TO THIS RESIDENCE WILL RESULT IN THE IMMEDIATE TERMINATION OF CITIZENSHIP,  AND, IF GUILTY OF A CRIME AGAINST THE NATION, YOU ARE SUBJECT TO

DEATH.

SIGNED .  .  .

QUACKITY

FOUNDER AND PRESIDENT OF LAS NEVADAS

---

- Fundy is nervous and hesitates

Quackity: “Fundy, I -- You’re like a brother to me. We’ve gone through so much. But I still have to protect my nation...surely you can understand that.”

Fundy: “No, I -- I can. Yeah. Yeah yeah yeah, um...it’s strong...You really believe in this nation, right? It’s like your child--”

Quackity: “Fundy...this is all I have left...if this nation dies, I die along with it.”

- Fundy signs the document with his full legal name:

Fun Jonatahan Micahel Vincent Georgina James Sus Dy

- He signs the book, gives it to Quackity and asks that if he ever reads it, to not call Fundy by his legal name

- Quackity welcomes Fundy to Las Nevadas as an official citizen!

- Charlie has control over the piece of slime inside Fundy. He tells Charlie not to do that

- Quackity asks Charlie if he has a name. They decide to call him “Meat” for now, but Charlie tells Quackity in “secret” (very loudly) that he isn’t actually meat...he is slime from the ground

- Quackity suggests they call him Slime From the Ground. He then says he is bones

- He leads the other two to the edge of Las Nevadas’ road and points out that they have a big issue: Tubbo’s outpost nearby. Quackity suspects that Tubbo may be planning some dangerous strategy against the country

- Quackity gives Slime some armor to put on

Slime: “Ready for war...don’t take my music discs!”

Fundy and Quackity: “Wh -- what did you just say?”

- Quackity has an informational video he can show Fundy later. They investigate the outpost. He reminds Fundy about the military protection portion of the document

- Quackity remembers the Butcher Army and asks how much experience Fundy has with the military. Fundy was part of every single one that’s existed

- Quackity suggests they build their own version of the outpost

- Slime starts breaking Tubbo’s windows. Quackity encourages it and tells Slime it’s called “griefing,” handing him dirt to spread around the place

- Quackity finds the two Totems of Undying they have at the outpost and asks if they should take them. He then says they should test them. He doesn’t know what they do

- Fundy isn’t sure they should, or what Tubbo’s intentions are. Quackity decides to leave them unless Tubbo retaliates for the griefing

- They notice the bridge and Quackity suggests a tollbooth

- Quackity explains the concept of taxes to Slime, who’s been watching Purpled recently. Purpled hasn’t done much, just farmed 

- They start building the tollbooth and Fundy brings up how medieval castles used to have boiling oil above the gates that they could use if there were people they didn’t like, and they could do something similar

- Slime starts throwing slime and Fundy can feel it (and it doesn’t feel good)

- Quackity asks for the bone he gave back, but Slime can’t tell the difference between all the bones

- Quackity remembers how when L’manburg exploded, Fundy and Niki came up to him and said it was a good day...what was that about?

Fundy: “The way I saw it was, during that time, everyone was trying to divide each other, right. Everyone was trying to divide each other...every one was either left or right and there was no in between. There was no...People always wanted to separate themselves and make war and destroy everything that was loved. When L’manburg was a thing, I cared about L’manburg, and then it got destroyed, right, and eventually, my hope at that moment was...that people just like, accepted that they shouldn’t--”

Quackity: “But you betrayed the nation...Fundy, the thing I’m getting at is, I don’t know your excuse or your thinking behind that...that will not happen again at this nation. No betrayals, no backstabbing. Not here. Understand?”

Slime: “What’s backstabbing?”

- Quackity and Fundy try to teach Slime how to backstab, then how to work the tollbooth against Tubbo

- Slime starts putting buttons on the walls. Quackity tells him not to, as it gives him bad memories

- Slime asks Fundy again what it’s like to dream. Fundy doesn’t want to talk about it, but Quackity notes that he’s been vague about it

- Fundy explains that every time something big happens in this place, he has dreams where he can sort of see what happens before it does. It’s like gazing into the future, except he loses details before it happens

- Quackity presses him on it. Let’s say they have a big war coming up, he takes Tubbo’s totems and Fundy sleeps and tells him what happens next so that they can prepare?

- Fundy doesn’t think that’s a good idea. Quackity doesn’t understand how real these things are

- What if they build an entire building for Fundy so that he can have these dreams comfortably? It’s just a possibility...

- Slime’s gloop-morphosis isn’t “complete” yet

- Quackity asks if Fundy knows Foolish. Fundy remembers one time he blew up a little bit of Foolish’s house and he finds out Foolish lives in Las Nevadas

- Quackity asks how long ago this was. Fundy says it happened a long time ago, but Slime corrects him

Quackity: “Just know, Fundy...he doesn’t know how to lie.”

- Quackity leaves to get diamonds and Fundy confronts Slime alone, asking him how he knows things. He tells Slime that in certain situations, it’s helpful to keep quiet on certain things for the benefit of other people

- They move on and Fundy teaches Slime a bit about fun and hobbies

- Quackity returns and they notice many squid in the nearby river. Quackity goes down and starts killing “cod” (salmon). Fundy corrects him that they aren’t cod, but to Quackity fish is fish. Fundy looks away while Quackity kills them

- They suggest Fundy be the food-gatherer. Fundy suggests a diet of fruit and plants

Slime: “What’s wrong with salmon? Your father loved them!”

- Quackity asks Fundy to elaborate on his father, if he came from a fishing family. Fundy asks Slime again about how he knows. Slime continually refers back to people “turning to dust.” 

- They ask about what Slime knows about them, then about Slime’s favorite memory. He digs a whole in the ground and waits for a bit

- They teach Slime about humor

Slime: “Two people walk into a bar. One is green, one is red. The green one is shaped -- is a bigger guy, and the red one is a smaller guy. To get to the bar, both got off a train. The train the red guy was on was going west at 40 miles an hour for 60 miles. The train the other guy was on did not serve lunch. They both walked into a bar, and 500 years later they were still just dust in the ground. At the end of it all, they were just still dust, and none of it mattered.”

- Slime tells another joke about a chicken turning into dust.

Quackity: “How long do you think it’ll take for me to turn to dust?

Slime: “I...I’ll make sure you never turn to dust, Quackity from Las Nevadas!”

- Quackity asks about Fundy’s father

Slime: “The sooty guy?”

- Quackity and Slime ask Fundy -- shouldn’t he know? Slime says Fundy can ask Wilbur about his history himself

Quackity: “Your dad’s alive, Fundy?”

- Fundy tells Quackity about how Phil came to him with some interesting news, that Wilbur is actually alive. Quackity ask when was the last time Fundy’s seen Wilbur. Fundy hasn’t seen him alive again yet

Quackity: “What’s your relationship with Wilbur?”

Fundy: “It’s...it’s complicated, man. It’s very complicated.”

Quackity: “Because...there’s an issue.”

- Fundy wants to talk to Wilbur about a lot of things. Quackity brings Fundy over to the headquarters and breaks the news that Wilbur came to see Quackity

Fundy: “...He saw you? He went on his way to see you, and -- and he’s not shown up to me to, you know -- why, why?”

- Quackity shows Fundy the “mark” Wilbur made. Wilbur asked to join Las Nevadas, and Quackity said no. He shows Fundy the name: Fort Big. Tommy and Wilbur are working together

- Quackity is just warning Fundy. He hopes this won’t get in the way of Fundy supporting the nation. Fundy just doesn’t know why Wilbur didn’t come to him, but he went to Quackity. 

Fundy: “Did he talk about me?”

- Quackity thinks he did, but he doesn’t remember what

- Fundy says goodbye to Slime and Quackity, heading off to settle down on his own. He stands at his plot of land, wondering if he’ll have to fight Wilbur

- Purpled is at his old base by the ruins of L’manburg. Life is good. He has DogChamp, he’s been fishing, no human contact

- He has something to attend to and goes to the cliffside nearby, finding Slime. He asks why Slime’s been watching him, who told Slime to spy. Slime avoids answering

- Purpled figures it’s Quackity and asks Slime more about how long he’s been above the ground, what he knows. Slime refers to him as “Purpled From a UFO” and Purpled shows Slime that his UFO has been destroyed by Quackity

- Purpled leaves Slime and visits the ruins. He notices Slime following him and tells him to leave again

- Slime traps himself in Dream’s honeymoon suite and Purpled continues down the path, looking at all the builds. He visits the Socializing Club and checks beneath the floor -- the trap he made all those months ago is still there. He wonders if anyone remembers these things

- Slime slimes his way out of the trap and Purpled visits L’manburg. He was just a pawn, there was no “Purpled in L’manburg” or “Purpled in Pogtopia” or “Purpled on Dream SMP’s side.” There was just no Purpled

- He returns to his house, gets DogChamp, puts him into a hidden chamber elsewhere. He stores his valuables...and rigs the entire place with TNT

He sets it off and it goes

- Slime talks to Purpled again. Purpled asks if Quackity is still interested in a new resident

- Purpled asks Slime to trust him as he retrieves DogChamp, and he gets Slime to lead him to Las Nevadas

- He makes it there and goes into the casino. Quackity doesn’t know what he has planned. He comes out to find Quackity there. Quackity takes him up to the top of the Needle

- Purpled makes it clear he only cares about the opportunity for himself, not for Quackity. He doesn’t stand for what Quackity does, doesn’t think there will ever be a time that he’ll respect Quackity as a person

- Quackity tells him they all change in some way or another. When he first became Vice President, he saw the best in everyone

Quackity: “I don’t really see the good in people anymore...but I do see opportunity.”

- Quackity tells Purpled that if they succeed with the nation, the two of them will be going down in history. Purpled starts to come around to thinking that maybe they are on the same page 

- Quackity had a citizenship document he meant for Purpled to sign, but he’s willing to gamble on it without

Quackity: “Welcome to Las Nevadas, Purpled.”

- He gives Purpled the document either way and tells him he has a right to a plot of land. Quackity will have a business meeting with all the residents soon

- Purpled asks for land behind the casino. He has an idea for something. Quackity agrees to give it to him

- Purpled leaves and speaks to himself with DogChamp at the stage. Things will be looking different around here real soon

- Ranboo goes to the mailbox he set up with the Council and checks it, finding a new update in the book along with a Netherite Axe labelled “axe of the end” in Enderman.

The update reads:

---

Hello. We have been observing the happenings around the server and we come bearing not news but rather a warning for you. We know that you like to stand idle and not engage in any kind of acts of violence and we respect you for that.

However, we also know that there are people that you care about and you need to understand that in order to take care of those people you are no longer able to just stand idle. You need to take a more active role again. We have given you something that can help with that. Use it carefully.

We respect your wishes. - The Council

---

- Ranboo takes the axe. He planned to work on Tubbo’s outpost, make it seem like more of a shop than an outpost

- He goes to the outpost and finds the griefing, cleaning it up

- As some protective measures, he leaves signs:

---

Hello! Whoever put a bunch of dirt everywhere, Dont!

This is going to be a new cookie shop! We dont have cookies yet

Please leave it alone! Or violence will be used.

---

- He continues working on the outpost and Techno logs on. Ranboo goes over to the new tollbooth and pays the toll of one bone

Techno: ranboo have you unlocked teleportation yet

Ranboo: not yet i dont think

Ranboo: let me try

Ranboo: yeah no

Techno: can you hurry up

Techno: asking for a friend

- Ranboo explores around Las Nevadas and makes a to-do list

- He makes a hidey hole in the strip club and strips some logs. He gets tempted to steal a Netherite block

His to-do list reads:

---

TO DO LIST FOR LAS NEVADAS: 1. Figure out what to get inside of. 2. Figure out what the hollow buildings are 3. Figure out why there are so many horses 4. Figure out who runs this place 5. Figure out what the black pillars are for

---

- He returns home and speaks with Tubbo in VC

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[megaguardain]

Fake AH Crew: The Bat-Heist Chapter 2

Note: This has been edited to remove James Ryan “The Asshole Guy” Haywood from the story. Please enjoy nonetheless.

Full Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22719961/chapters/54293320

Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/megaguardian

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/megaguardain

Chapter 2: Take a Night...

“Michael Vincent Jones,” the detective said as he tossed a hefty file on the metal table in front of a handcuffed Charlie, “aka, Mogar. Wanted for assault, gunrunning, grand larceny, grand theft auto-,”

“Love that game,” Michael interrupted.

“-murder, manslaughter, possession of a whole ton of illegal firearms and a much, much longer list of things I don’t want to list off because I have better things to do with my time. All of this in the Lone Star State,” the detective said. He leaned close to Michael and growled, “What are you doing in Gotham?”

“Sightseeing,” Michael snarled back at him.

“Right,” the detective agreed sarcastically, “You here with the Fake AH Crew?”

“I’m on vacation,”

“You rob banks while on vacation?” the other detective in the interrogation room asked.

“You have your hobbies…” Michael shrugged.

“You’re gonna have to give us something other than this vacation bullshit.” the first detective said rather threateningly.

“Don’t I get a phone call before you try to beat me?” Michael asked.

The detective grabbed Michael by the collar and lifted him out of the chair, “Listen to me scumbag,” the detective growled, “You’re gonna tell us why you’re really here and where your crew is or we’re gonna give you to-”

“Detective,” a woman’s voice said with authoritative tone. Everyone looked at the entrance to the interrogation room to see a woman with greying black hair wearing a trench coat with a gun and badge strapped to her belt.

“Uhhhh….Commissh?” the detective holding Michael asked, not putting the criminal down. The Commissioner looked at the detectives, then at Michael, then back at the detectives.

“He’s on his way,” she said before leaving.

“Who’s on his way? My lawyer?” Michael asked as the detective put him back in the chair, “Is it my dad?” he called as the detectives let the room and closed the door. Michael sat in silence or a moment before saying “Maybe it’s my mom,”

“Okay, you a get a million dollars but every piece of furniture you interact with is that breakaway stunt furniture from movies,” a British man with a large nose said. He wore a blue dress shirt and pants, sunglasses were holstered to a pocket on his chest. He sat in the passenger seat of a car parked across the street from a garage entrance. Above the garage door it said GCPD Parking.

“Every piece of furniture?” the man in the driver’s seat asked. He wore a white dress shirt with a dark vest, tie and pants.

“Every piece,” the British man explained.

“So, what if I’m really careful getting into bed? Will it collapse after I go to sleep?”

“No, it’ll collapse,”

“Damn...I don’t think I can do it, Gavin,” the man in the driver’s seat said, “I couldn’t go hang out with anyone without breaking their furniture!”

“You’re usually so careful Trevor. You might not break anything,” Gavin explained.

“I’d be way too stressed out that the slightest touch would collapse the table I’m setting a drink down on,” Trevor explained.

“It’d be like the most stressful game of Jenga,” Gavin joked.

“Exactly!” Trevor laughed.

The laughter abruptly stopped when they felt the car start vibrating.

“Why is the car-?” Trevor asked before they heard something roar. 

In the street in front of them, they saw a large vehicle swing in front of them and screech to a halt, facing the parking garage across the street. From what they could see of the vehicle, the rear had larger tires than the car Trever and Gavin sat in, and had a shell-like cover between the sets of the wheels. Below the cover was a large burner exhaust they could see heat emanating out of it.

“Hole….ly...shit,” Trevor gasped.

“That’s the Batmobile?” Gavin asked, leaning over the dashboard, “It looks like a tank had a baby with a Porsche or a Lambo,”

“Why do you think he’s just parked there?” Trevor asked after a moment of the Batmobile not moving, Gavin just shrugged.

Shortly after, the Batmobile began moving forward, rolling down the ramp toward the parking garage. As the car approached the large metal garage door it began to open, rattling as it the rows of links ascended and rolled back into the ceiling.

“Go, go, go, go!” Trevor whispered as he grabbed a satchel from the back seat and got out of the car with Gavin. The two moved to the edge of the ramp as the Batmobile entered the garage, as the Batmobile passed the garage door it bagan to close. They proceeded down the ramp as the Batmobile turned right and ventured down another ramp. The gate was about half way closed before they got close.

“Gavin!” Trevor hissed.

“On it,” he said as he outstretched his arm. His hand began to glow with a pale green aura and the garage door suddenly slowed to an almost standstill and gained the same pale green aura as Gavin. Trevor ducked under the door, followed by Gavin, keeping his hand trained on the door as he ducked under. Once inside, Gavin’s hand stopped glowing as he put it down and the door resumed closing at it’s normal speed.

The two followed the ramp down to their right, descending down deeper into the GCPD Parking Lot. They stuck to the walls of the garage and duck behind the police cruisers parked inside, even though they didn’t see anyone else. They travelled down three floors before reaching the bottom of the garage. It was a roundabout looking base, it was completely circular with a small set of stairs leading up to a set of doors with a sign that had an elevator symbol above them. The Batmobile was parked parallel to the doors, it’s left side facing Trevor and Gavin as they hid behind a police cruiser and looked around.

“See anyone?” Gavin asked.

“No, let’s go,” Trevor said.

They cautiously approached the Batmobile, Trevor pulled a collapsed drone out the stachel. The two looked over the car with confused expressions.

“Where do I even put this?” Trevor asked.

Gavin kneeled on the ground and looked under the car, “Here?” he suggested, pointing under the car’s armor and chassis. Trevor kneeled down and reached under the car. He made faces as he moved his arm around until he felt the drone magnetically stick to something.

“Now, let’s hope that doesn’t fall off,” Trevor said before he noticed Gavin giggling, “What?”

“What was with the faces?” he asked, still laughing.

“Listen, a man’s face does weird things when he’s focused on sticking something in someone’s undercarriage,” Trevor explained.

“Whatever, let’s leg it,” Gavin laughed, standing.

Batman was brooding as the elevator played cheerful music. Cassandra didn’t know why they needed to play the music in an elevator that only police took, but she didn’t really care. The elevator dinged and the doors opened and Batman was greeted by the sight of Commissioner Wayne.

“You changed the garage codes,” Batman noted, the voice distorter still active.

“We had a Joker attack this week, what did you think I was going do?” the Commissioner retorted. She turned and led Batman to the interrogation rooms, taking him inside one of the adjacent rooms. Inside was a one-way mirror window that let them observe the interrogation room next door. The bank robber Batman caught hours earlier sat handcuffed. He looked bored out of his mind.

“Name’s Michael Jones. Jersey native, moved to Tyler, Texas when he decided to become a career criminal,” the Commissioner explained, “Runs with a crew called the Fake Achievement Hunter Crew, mostly they commit robberies and other kinds of theft,”

“Where’s his crew?” Batman asked, watching Michael pick his nose.

“We don’t know, he won’t talk,” she said.

“He will to me,” Batman stated.

“Cass,” the Commissioner said, “these guys are crazy,”

“We’ve dealt with crazy,”

“No, I’m not talking about Joker and his cult, or Pyg or even Ivy. These guys don’t steal stuff to make a profit or plan to take over the world,” the Commissioner explained, “They do it for the bragging right,”

“Bragging rights? Really?”

“Yeah. They once stole a fighter jet from a military base just because someone online challenged them to do it,” she explained.

“I’ll stop them Helena.” Batman said matter of factly. Helena Wayne stared at Batman for a moment, “What?” he asked when he noticed.

“It’s kinda scary how similar you are to Dad sometimes,” Helena explained.

“I try to live up to his example,” Cassandra explained, not turning off her voice distorter.

“I know,” Helena said, “I’ll kill the lights so you can do your thing,”

Commissioner Wayne turned and flicked a switch on a nearby console and the lights in the interrogation room turned off.

“Hey! Who turned off the lights?” Michael called out. Helena heard a thump, “Fuck!” Michael shouted and she turned the lights back on. Inside the interrogation room, Batman had dented the table with Michael’s head and held it there.

“I miss doing that,” Helena said.

“Where’s your crew?” Batman demanded.

“Up your ass,” Michael retorted.

Batman slammed Michael’s head into the table again, “Tell me,”

“I did. You’re gonna need a proctologist,” Michael chuckled.

Helena began to hear a commotion outside in the bullpen, “What the hell is going on now?” she sighed. She left the room and saw her officers and detectives arguing with a man.

The man was about five and a half feet tall and wore a faded blue dress shirt with a police badge on a metal chain around his neck. He had dark brown hair and a full beard.

“And who are you?” Commissioner Wayne asked.

“I’m Detective Tapp,” the shorter one stated in what sounded like a Boston accent.

This is going to be a long night, Helena thought to herself.

“Okay, detective,” Helena sighed, using the term ‘detective’ loosely, “What are you doing here?”

“Got word you arrested one of the Fake AH boys,” Detective Tapp explained, “I’ve been followin’ them from Texas. They’ve been robbin’ all the way up here,”

“Well, they robbed a branch of Gotham Trust. Made off with ten thousand dollars,” the commissioner explained, motioning for the detective to follow her. She pulled out her phone and texted someone before stopping away from her officers, “Why are you following them?”

“They’re my beat. Been tryin’ to get something to pin’em for years,” Tapp explained.

“They don’t seem that good at hiding who they are or who did the crime,”

“True. But someone keeps posting their bail,”

“Who?” the commissioner asked. There was a moment of awkward silence as the detective was suddenly interested in his shoes.

“We...don’t know,” Detective Tapp admitted.

“Well, we’ll know in a few minutes,” Commissioner Wayne said, “Batman will get Jones to spill their beans shortly,”

“Jones? Michael or Lindsay?” Tapp asked.

“Michael Jones? Why does it matter?”

“Batman can’t crack Jones,” Tapp said, “Man’s like ten bears in a human body. He’s tough,”

“We’ve had a lot of people like that here, Tapp,” the commissioner said.

“You read his file?” Tapp asked.

“Yeah, man’s cuckoo for Coco-Puffs. I believe in Batman getting info out of him,” 

“Is he beatin’ Jones?” Tapp asked. There was an awkward silence between the two of them, “I’ll take that as a yes,”

“Listen, Jones is the Fake AH Crew’s go-to fixer. Beating him isn’t gonna work,” Detective Roger Davis explained.

“Let me guess, you have a plan?”

“Eat shit you pointy-ea-,” Michael said before being punched. He was face up on the heavily dented metal table, he was bleeding a little bit out of his nose.

“Tell where your crew is before I start breaking bones,” Batman growled.

Someone about Michael was off to Batman. On the road, his body language told him he wanted to escape. He did everything he could to prevent himself from being captured. His body told Cass everything; he’s a fighter, he’s confrontational and really enjoys alcohol, but now he wants to be here. Why?

“Alright!” a male voice behind Batman called. He turned and saw a men with the Commissioner. He presented himself as a detective like the commissioner, but he was something else too, Cass could tell. 

“Oh goddammit. Not this guy,” Michael groaned in annoyance after seeing who was in the doorway.

“Batman. A word?” the commissioner said. Batman let Michael go and followed the commissioner out of the interrogation room, leaving the man alone with Michael.

“What’s going on? Batman asked.

“He’s a detective from Tyler, Texas. Been going after the Fake AH Crew for years,” the commissioner explained.

���He’s not very good at it,” Batman said.

“No, but I had Tim verify his identity and it check out,” Commissioner Wayne explained, “He’s going to offer Michael a deal,”

“A deal?”

“Yeah. In exchange for where his crew is-,” the commissioner ware interrupted by intense shouting and crashing sounds from the interrogation room. Helena drew her gun as she and Batman approached the door to the room. They got within a few feet of it before it was kicked off its hinges by Michael.

“Freeze!” the commissioner ordered, aiming her weapon at Michael.

Michael ignored her as Batman charged at him, throwing batarangs ahead of him. Michael dodged the batarangs, Batman punched him in the face as he dodged. Michael didn’t budge.

Michael smiled as he jabbed something into Batman’s abdomen. Cass felt prongs pierce her suit and then an intense, hot prickling sensation spike across her body from the prongs. Michael dug the taser in deeper before punching her across the room.

Batman crashed into several desks, he felt his head go through a computer monitor as he slid across the desk tops. He slammed into the wall on the other side of the room. Everything hurt.

As Batman staggered up from the floor, there was a loud CRASH and the sound of a wall breaking. He looked up to see a large hole where a window used to be. Running over to the hole, he looked out onto the street, Michael was no where to be seen.

“What the hell happened in there?!” Commissioner Wayne demanded as Detectives Tapp limped out of the interrogation room.

“Why’re you yellin’ at me for? You didn’t properly restrain him!” Tapp groaned.

“He was cuffed! He had no weapons or tools!”

“He’s part Amazon! You think some steel handcuffs are gonna stop him?” Tapp yelled.

“And you didn’t think to share that information?!”

“It’s in his file!” Tapp exclaimed.

“That does not matter!” Batman interjected, sounding almost like a demon with his voice distorter, “He got out. We need to search for him and his crew,” he said, he turned toward the commissioner, “I will head back to the Cave and see what I can dig up. You,” he turned toward Detective Tapp, “tell her everything you know about the Fake AH Crew,” he said before heading toward the elevator.

Michael ran down a nearby alley and stopped.

“Where the fuck did they park?” he asked no one. Michael ran down the street around the GCPD building, keep his head down and hiding in the shadows. He eventually made it to an alley that faced the garage door of the precinct. He looked down the alley and found a car running in the alley.

“Hey-o!” Michael said, getting in the backseat of the car.

“Michael boi!” Gavin said.

“How’d it go on your end?” Trevor asked.

“Great. Got my ass beat by Batman,” Michael said as Gavin drove the car out of the alley and away from the GCPD building, “What about you guys?”

“We got the drone on his car, I was surprised he doesn’t have a sensor or something to detect that kind of thing?” Trevor said.

“Dude’s pretty confident,” Michael said, “Can we stop at like a Big Belly Burger before heading back to the warehouse?” 

[justjessame]

Double Shot Chapter 24

Clay helped me make several rooms in my childhood home look far more cheerful before we left and headed back to the cafe. We were in the kitchen, catching our breath as he braced me against the large island in the middle, when my eyes landed on the cup and saucer sitting just behind the glass cabinet over the sink.

“What do you see, Char?” Clay’s lips were on my bare shoulder, his eyes must have taken note of my focus out of the periphery. His lips left my skin and he turned so he could follow the line of my gaze. “Did they belong to her?”

I felt my lips curl up into a smile despite the sadness I felt. “Yeah, they were her favorites.” We had an entire set of perfect china, but the cup and saucer didn’t match the set, or one another, for that matter. They were a riot of color, mismatched and silly, and entirely perfect. I vaguely remembered asking her, when I was little why they didn’t match anything we owned, but like a lot of my memories of her, the answer was nowhere to be found.

“You want to take them home?” He was looking down at me, his hands on my shoulders. “We can wrap them carefully and you can have them nearby.” I moved my hands so they could pull his face down to mine, and as our lips met I felt his curve into the smile I’d fallen in love with. “Or we could make some more happy memories first.” He muttered against my lips.

When we finally returned to the shop, I found that Keli had taken the deposit to the bank, that our customers were taking the change of management with the grace that I expected, and that my father had visited. Fuck. That last part was exactly what I muttered when Jensen told me after Clay had dropped me off and I met the younger man in my office.

“Did you-” He shook his head. I let out a relieved sigh. “Well at least there’s that.” I sat down behind the desk and he took one of the other chairs. “Do you know what he’s sniffing around for?”

“Us,” he leaned back and gave out his own sigh. “I know that Clay wants to stick around, MAX is near, we all know it, but I got to say-”

“What if-” it hit me, hard and fast. Shit. “I’m bait.” Clay had said it, when they were doing my security system. That MAX could, if they thought it would work, use me as bait. What if that’s what they were doing? Walter coming in, even after I’d put my proverbial foot down. Matthew and Alex in and out, the warnings over and over. “Jensen, can you get a message to Clay, without GOING to Clay?” He barely moved, but I knew he understood. “The party-we’re going to have to make it a little bit bigger.”

Truth time. KNOWING that you’re being used as human bait to reel in your boyfriend and his team and being ALRIGHT with being bait isn’t the same thing. It’s really fucking difficult to act normally while setting your own trap for the first trap setters. I don’t even know how to word that, is there a word for it? Hunter/hunted?

Clay worked overtime. Not on trap setting, oh God no. I had a feeling that Lt. Col. Franklin Clay could set a trap in his sleep after being on a three day drinking spree while heavily concussed. No, Clay worked overtime to keep me from being so stressed out and tense that I gave up the fucking entire plan just from my twitchiness. And thank fucking heaven for that, since I had a cake to create.

Keli becoming my manager gave me ample reason to finally out myself as The Little Drip’s baker. I guess I could out myself as the owner too, but honestly, I was more excited to finally let people know that I created the treats they loved. The cake, a huge layered coffee cup, each layer a different flavor, each layer separated by a paired filling, was a work of edible art.

George helped me. Clay watched and cheered us on as the cake grew from a single layer to five. And when, on the day of the party, the final touches were completed, he whispered to me that EVERYTHING was in place, I knew that after that night, nothing would be the same.

Enzo’s was ready for our group, which included not only my staff and their significant others and families, but Davey and George, and Clay’s team and Carrie joined Jensen. Joey came to see the cake, sniffing at it, but then pulling me aside and forcing a promise from me that cannolis and tiramisu was off my menu out of professional courtesy he grudgingly offered that the cake looked delicious.

“Matthew and Alex Xavier are in the dining room with Walter,” Clay offered as he held my chair, and I knew that my smile grew a tad strained. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, this is our part.” A slight nod from me, and our party began with speeches, food, and cheers.

“Oh, I thought I heard your voice, David.” Walter, my lips pursed. “What’s worth all this celebration? Is my daughter finally going to get married?” I felt his eyes on me, but Clay’s warmth wasn’t by my side, since he’d slipped away a few moments before. “I don’t see her gentleman, guess not.”

“Walter,” it was George’s voice that answered, and I had to bite my lip at the venom dripping from it. “I don’t recall seeing your name on the invite list, perhaps you should scurry along to wherever the exterminator’s table might be, isn’t that what your LOVELY wife’s family does for a living?”

“Always so quick with the quips,” Walter bit out, “Too bad you weren’t faster at-” he never got to finish, since there was something of a very loud commotion in the front of the restaurant, some smoke, a few bangs, and a hell of a lot of screams. “What the-”

“Miss Ramble,” I was holding back the very long suffering sigh that seemed to have grown in the back of my throat over the course of MONTHS. Tweedle Dum was staring at his tiny notebook. “You said that this was a celebratory party for a Ms-”

“Keli Travis,” I offered for the thousandth fucking time it seemed. “Yes, because I promoted her to manager of my coffee shop. As I said.” For the thousandth fucking time.

“Right,” Tweedle Dee offered, his own tiny notebook upright. “And you were seated-” he was glancing around the event room of Enzo’s as though there were thousands of seats to choose from, than the ONE I was still fucking seated in.

“Right here,” I bit out, wanting to smack my fucking head on the fucking table. “Just like I-”

“Said, yes, we understand.” Do you? Do you fucking really?! “And since you were in this room, celebrating Ms. Travis’ promotion, sitting in THIS seat, there’s NO WAY you could SEE anything that happened in the other room, much less the front of the restaurant with Mr. Matthew or Alex Xavier and the gentlemen who claim they attacked them?”

I shook my head, feeling exhausted. “Carrie DiMarco said that there are security cameras outside, don’t they show the attack? I mean, why are you asking ME when there are cameras?” Seriously, leave me the fuck alone, please.

“Miss Ramble, you should know that we have to be thorough, every person must be spoken to. Every statement taken, every fact checked.” I raised an eyebrow and looked around the EMPTY room. Well, empty but for my uncles. “Other officers are taking care of-”

“You’re finished,” George hung up his cell phone and stalked up to us. “That was our lawyer. Unless you are taking our niece IN for further discussion AT THE STATION and READING her her rights, this is over. And if you ARE reading her her rights, then we’re invoking her right to having her counsel present.”

The cops shared a ‘she’s so guilty look’, but let me go. And I FINALLY let the LONG suffering sigh loose. For fuck’s sake, really?! In the car, with the quiet slowly rolling over the three of us, I waited for the first question to hit. Because I knew it would and I was curious. Not of which of my uncles would ask, not of what the question would be, but of how I would answer it.

[silverdaddyrdj]

Imagine: Veteran lawyer Hank Palmer wants to spoil you rotten but you’re unsure about the idea. But, he’s persistent and can put up a very good argument. 

Rating: Explicit/18+ (you shouldn’t be on this blog if you’re below 18, anyway)

Request your imagine headcanons and we will write a little something for you. And you get a bonus silver daddy picture to go with it. :)

"Anything you want, sweetheart. And I mean anything."

His voice is silky, playful, and he knows you're caught, like prey, in the carefully spun webs of his charm.

It started three weeks ago at the local café, where you stood waiting for your morning coffee. You checked and rechecked your watch, and willed for the line to move faster, but it didn't budge. If looks could kill, the cashier and the four people in front of you would've died on the spot.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you picked up your coffee and prepared to dash to your office across the street. If you timed it right, you could slide into the conference room just before the San Francisco office dialled in. You prepared to sprint, but, clearly, fate had other plans. Just as you were about to run out of the café, you bumped into a solid mass of designer suit and expensive cologne that reminded you of spotless sandy beaches and calm, clear ocean hundreds of miles away from the busy morning rush of Chicago. That's when you felt the warm dampness spreading down your front — the content of your cup was mostly on the ground, but it was also staining the beige top you wore, primed and ironed for the meeting.

"Fucking asshole," you said before you could stop yourself, and the hand holding out a silk napkin before you froze.

"I'm so sorry."

You looked up, ready to give the offender a piece of your mind for ruining your morning. But, you caught yourself in time and the words froze at the tip of your tongue. Later that night, you swore to your sister that you had seen the most beautiful pair of eyes ever known to man — and its owner, the apologetic culprit who spoilt the start of your day, wasn't all that bad. After all, he had graciously accepted your apology for the caffeine-deprived outburst and offered to pay for the dry cleaning bill.

That's how you agreed to meet him for a drink. You had gone to the pub intending to make up for your lack of manners and end the encounter on a friendly note because Chicago has an uncanny ability to appear very small sometimes. In your line of work — you’re a corporate lawyer at an investment bank — you deal with jocular finance bros all day, and almost everyone knows everyone else. And judging by the man's outward appearance — hand-cut suit, leather shoes, silver-dotted wavy hair that begged for your fingers — you had assumed he was someone important. But all of your strategic calculations went out the door that night, when, after three drinks, you tumbled into your queen-sized bed with him, your fingers in his hair, his lips on your thighs.

                                                              ***

You shift in bed, a solid mass pressing into your back. He traces a finger along the side of your ear, down the column of your neck, coming to rest on your bare chest. You're pleasantly sore and aching all over, and there are at least a handful of bruises on your skin — he's an attentive lover; last night, he broke down your defenses with methodical precision, tearing away at your sense of propriety as he left you squirming under the firm weight of his body, awash with such overwhelming pleasure that you didn't give a single fuck if your next-door neighbours heard you as you screamed, begged and urged him, your voice straining, to go harder, to push deeper, to take his pleasure from the dripping warmth between your legs. And, he obliged. 

"Well?" he nudges, resting his chin on your shoulder, his hands drawing circles around your navel. "You've gone quiet."

You try to pull away from him, but only half-heartedly, and he doesn't appear to be in a hurry to let you go. The two of you stay entangled in a heap of limbs and skin, in need of a shower and some concealer to cover up the secret you've chosen to keep from your friends.

It's complicated, you've argued, as you debated telling them the truth after he had left at the crack of dawn on your first night together. He's an influential man, you've got your own career ambitions; he's almost twice your age, never married, and avoids the topic of past dalliances. He isn't even interested in your history of failed or mismatched relationships, and yours lean more towards physical gratification. 

You've been meeting him whenever work lets you both escape for a brief time. It’s one of the upsides of having your office be less than a block from his. He takes you to lunch, you flirt with him over texts when you’re back at your desk, you both grab quick dinners from nearby restaurants. The nights end like clockwork: With him in your bed, climbing on top of you, or sometimes you’re straddling him, or he’s bending you over the chaise, pressing you into the wall, taking you against the floor-length window or by the door; he’s all over you, inside you, rocking your world, like clockwork. You enjoy the routine and he's adaptive enough that it doesn't feel monotonous. 

But you've still been wary about where this ends up — as much as the two of you connect physically, you've noticed his aloofness when he isn’t in bed trying to make love to you. Both of you roam in different social circles; he likes rock concerts, you prefer off-Broadway theatre; he plays golf on weekends, you're at Wrigley Field screaming your lungs out; he knows every Michelin star chef in town, you love Chinese takeaway from the shop three blocks from your apartment.

                                                             ***

You sigh. He's waiting for an answer. "I think it's a little weird," you say, finally, and it earns a soft-bellied chuckle from him. He looks cute when he laughs, it brings out the dimples on his cheeks. "Look," you say, gesturing around, "all this is great. The sex is definitely amazing but I can't accept gifts like this. It's too much."

"Can't a man spoil his lover?" he asks, and there's such an infuriating innocence in his tone, you can't bring yourself to call him out on the hint of cockiness in his statement.

Instead, you shake your head and this time, when he leans in for a kiss, you pull away and turn sideways so that you're both facing each other directly. You press a palm against his cheek and say, "As much as anyone in my place would be thrilled to have someone pamper them, I can't just spend your money so recklessly because you're telling me to." You hold up a hand when he looks like he's about to protest. "Let's do a trade-off. I'll let you buy me something nice like you want just this once if you let me take you out to a fancy dinner tomorrow like I’ve been wanting to. It’s only fair I get to spoil you rotten too once in a while."

He considers the proposal and smirks. "Deal."

It takes you another hour to get dressed, after both of you get carried away in the shower, where he has you pressed against the glass, your legs quivering as the pleasure drags on, setting your nerves on fire. He doesn’t stop moving when your body tenses up for the second time and it knocks the breath out of your body; you hold him like both of your lives depend on it. You clench down hard around him and he moans, his thrusts finally faltering and pushing him over the edge.  

                                                             ***

You end up spending the afternoon along the Magnificent Mile and you're impressed — for years, you've walked past the glass facades and fancy storefronts, admiring the catalogue of colourful designer bags, shoes and clothes on display, straight off the runway, sometimes, but you have always known any one of those items can do some serious damage to your bank balance. He seems to know every store attendant by name and they appear almost reverential in his presence. As the afternoon progresses, your resolve starts to crumble and every time you give in, he triumphantly, and with genuine delight, hands over his credit cards.

After your seventh purchase of the day, having spent at least a year's worth of rent in the city, you call it quits. He looks disappointed, like a kid who's just been told no, but at least he offers to put the bags in the car. That evening, you insist on taking him to the best pizzeria in the city. It's dirty, greasy, smelly and exactly why it's a fan-favourite. Watching him, the same man who wines and dines in the country's most elite fine-dining establishments, devour a large slice of pepperoni without a care in the world is perhaps, you think, the greatest present he could’ve ever given you. It makes you grin from ear to ear after as you walk back to the car, your hands entwined.

He looks pleased with himself. "I can't remember the last time I had this much fun," he says as you get in the car and you can see there's a tinge of regret in his eyes. Perhaps with time, you can uncover the mystery behind those brown orbs that look like they have seen the world a hundred times over — if you’re honest with yourself, you’ve fallen for them. Just a bit. You look forward to learning more about him and think, maybe, just maybe you might tell your friends the truth tomorrow. For now, you smirk and unbuckle your seatbelt, climbing over onto his lap, and the shocked look on his face is worth it. The indoor parking lot is pretty empty at this time of the evening. You think back on how he spent the entire week rocking your world, seven ways to Sunday, and, as you reach down for his zipper, you reckon it's time someone shakes up his world a little.

"If you thought that was fun, you're gonna love what I have in mind."

Fortunately for you, and maybe it's the added experience that comes with his age, he catches on quickly and the sudden smoulder in his eyes almost dares you to do your best. Never one to shrink from an honest challenge, you grin and crash your lips together.

[seasonofthegeek]

A Fortress of Your Own Design, Part 1

I made a post about how much I would like to see Max as the Guardian of the Miraculous and it made me realize I wanted to do a story with all the heroes grown and trying to juggle the hero gig and adult life so here we go. :D

___

“Perimeter breach,” Hawking squawked in his artificial voice. “Initiating security protocol alpha-three-tango--”

“It appears King Monkey is paying us a visit,” Markov interrupted, swinging over to Hawking’s charging bay. “Override security protocol.” The floating AI turned to his creator. “I’ll make a note to have his body scans put into the security system so his perimeter breaches can be ignored. Hawking’s hasn’t learned the difference between friend and foe yet. We need to reconfigure his knowledge banks.”

Max watched his friend stroll towards the building on the security feed, the large fence with its prominent NO TRESPASSING sign at his back. “He knows better than to try to sneak in. He doesn’t get any special treatment. Hawking, initiate the security protocol.”

“Max!” Markov’s digital eyes slanted in disapproval. 

“It’s a lesson he needs to learn.” He rolled his chair to a bank of monitors. “Bring up the last ten calls over the police scanner please, Olivia.”

“Yes, sir,” the computer replied in a pleasant tone. “Listed in order from oldest to most recent and will update for the next hour.”

“Thank you.”

“He’s taken down the shockbot you posted by the door,” Markov announced with a hint of amusement in his tone. “Knocked it against the wall with the back of his hand and laughed. I don’t think there will be any piecing it back together.”

Max ignored him. “Olivia, more information on line five please.”

“Silent alarm tripped in the Louvre Museum, exhibit four-nine-seven-bee,” she replied evenly.  “Police have been notified and are in route.”

“Security footage?” Max sat forward in his chair to watch as the grainy night vision footage played across the screen closest to him.

“Firewall is temporarily keeping me out on the inside but street and perimeter cameras show five possible perpetrators.”

“Five is a lot for a quick heist. Chat’s on patrol. I’ll see if he can swing by in case the police need help.” He held out his hand and Hawking crossed the room to  drop a tablet into his palm and floated back to its station. Max opened the communication app and moved back to his computer bank to pull up the security feeds around the museum as Olivia brought down the firewalls. “Chat Noir, do you copy?”

“Loud and clear. I was just finishing up my route, and I have the sneaking suspicion you’re going to tell me that’s not the case,” Chat Noir answered back. Ambient city sounds filtered in behind his voice.

“Louvre break-in. I can see if someone else is nearby.” Max pulled up the contact list on the tablet and checked GPS coordinates. “King Monkey is currently breaking in here so I can easily send him.”

“Sounds about right. You trying to electrocute him again?” he chuckled over the line. "I don’t mind swinging by the museum.” 

“He knows what to expect when he comes here.” Max felt his lips tug up in a smirk as he watched the paw print icon on one of his monitors change direction to head to the museum. “If you’re sure you can handle it on your own, I’ll hold off on calling in reinforcements.”

“Hey, been doing this longer than you have, Oracle.”

“Not my name.”

Chat Noir laughed over the comm line. “Sure, sure. I’ll let you know what I see when I get there. Ladybug is busy tonight though so don’t bother her.”

“I’m aware and I’ll be waiting to here from you.”  Max muted his line and leaned in to review the security footage Olivia had sent to his screen. “Any I.D. scans come through?”

“Running partial face scans through databases now. Currently no hits.”

“Hmmm.” He sat back in his chair and the springs creaked. “Big move for first offenders.”

“Hey, are you going to let me in or do you want me to break this door down too? I know you’ve been watching me, man,” Kim bellowed from the other side of the steel door blocking passage to the room.

“You didn’t follow protocol,” Max replied, opening up the video line so he could see his friend on the other side of the door.

Kim stared up at him through the screen with a confused expression. “Huh?”

“No one is supposed to come here except for emergencies. Is there an emergency?”

Xuppu stuck his tongue out from his place on Kim’s shoulder. “This guy,” he scoffed. “Are we sure he’s really the Guardian?”

“The emergency is I bet you haven’t eaten anything except those power bar thingies you keep in there and I know for a fact you haven’t been home in a few days. I checked with Marcus. He’s the best doorman ever. He even gave me one of the donuts he was eating during his break.” Kim lifted a paper bag and grinned. “And I brought something really good for you for dinner. Let me in, Max.”

“Code names,” he reminded him with a sigh. “And I’m fine. You might need to meet up with Chat Noir at the Louvre. There’s a break-in.”

“Cool. Let me in and I can meet up with him after I make sure you eat this.”

“I’m not a child. I know the exact amount of nutrients I need to function at my best level. Actually I knew that as a child as well. I was the one telling you what to eat, if you’ll recall.”

“Come on, Ma...Pegasus. Just let me in.”

“This place is supposed to stay secret. You can’t keep drawing attention to it by visiting so much.” Max shook his head. “Make sure you aren’t seen when you leave.”

“It’s an old office building with a construction fence around it. No one is paying any attention,” Kim whined. “Come on. I miss hanging out with you. You’ve been holed up in there for ages.”

“He has a point,” Markov chimed in to the irritation of his creator. “More human interaction would be good for your overall well-being. I can bring up statistics if you would like.”

“All the calculations show that it’s safer if I stay here for longer and varied bouts of time so an observer couldn’t pinpoint my schedule since there isn’t one,” Max pointed out. “I have everything I need. I’ll let Chat know you’ll be meeting him, King Monkey.”

Kim stared into the screen for a long minute before his shoulders dropped and he sighed. “Fine. I’m going to leave the bag outside the door so if you don’t get it soon, it’s gonna start smelling up the place. Your mom says hi, by the way. She misses you too.” He turned without another word and faded into the darkness of the hall.

“He’s trouble, that one.” Kaalki stretched and rose from the pillow she’d been napping on. “But I think I rather like him.”

Max watched the empty screen and tried to ignore the familiar lonely feeling creeping up on him.

___

“The wine and cheese is lovely and all, Marinette, but do you want to tell us why you really called this emergency girls’ night?” Alya set her empty wine glass on the coffee table and looked to her best friend expectantly.

Marinette stood and smoothed her dress down in a nervous gesture. “Right, uh, well, so here’s the thing... So there was this, um, offer, I guess? Wait, maybe I need to go back further than that.” 

Alix snorted. “Come on, just get it out. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

“Wait, you’ve been to this moment? Can you just tell what to do?” Marinette perked up hopefully. 

“Nope. I like to keep the future in the future. It’s safer that way.” The other woman grinned and plucked a piece of cheese of the tray. “But you’re going to be fine so go ahead and spill the beans already.” She popped the cheese into her mouth with a self-satisfied hum.

“You know whatever it is, we’ll support you,” Mylene added with a gentle smile.

“I was offered a job with a fashion house. Like a real position, not just an internship.” Marinette bit her lip and tensed for the reaction.

“That’s amazing, girl! Why wouldn’t you want to tell us that?!” Alya got off the couch and pulled her into a hug. 

“Well, um, it’s not exactly local.”

“How not local?” Rose asked.

Marinette winced, feeling Alya’s arms around her loosen. “New York.”

“Is there a New York in France now? Because I hope that’s what you mean.” Alya stepped back. “New York, really?”

“I never thought they would call me back,” Marinette explained in a rush. “I was looking for job openings and sent in my portfolio, and seriously, never in a million years did I think they would actually want me, but they called for a phone interview and then they called for another one and then the third one was today and the head designer herself offered me the job and I just...” She took in a shaky breath and met Alya’s eyes. “It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“You’ve had three phone interviews?” Alya raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t tell anyone, not even...?”

“No...”

“But she’s telling us now!” Rose interjected.

“Right, uh, now we know,” Juleka added after a nudge from her girlfriend. 

“Are you mad?” Marinette asked aloud but it was obvious who the question was meant for.

Alya shook her head. “Surprised but not mad. You deserve something like this, girl. Your work is amazing and you’re amazing and I think you already know what your decision is.” Marinette pulled her into tight hug, murmuring thanks into her hair.

“So now that that’s settled,” Alix stood and stretched. “Who wants to go grab some real food?” 

“We should crash Kagami’s lawyer gala downtown,” Mylene teased. “Chloe would have a conniption.”

“We mere mortals can’t be seen among the royal elite of Paris.” Alya flipped her hair dramatically while still keeping an arm around Marinette. “I could kill for some pasta though. I’ve been craving it all week.”

“Ooo, I think Japanese sounds good. Some teriyaki chicken maybe?” Rose added.

“I was just talking about a pizza or something,” Alix shrugged.

“Call in night?” Marinette suggested, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes after finally releasing her best friend. 

“Yes!”

___

“Wait, did Max send you too because I’m starting to feel a little self-conscious about his faith in my abilities.” Chat Noir looked over at Carapace as he settled down beside him and King Monkey. 

“Nah, Wayzz and I just needed to get out of the house and spotted you guys on the app. What’s going on?”

“One of the exhibit alarms was triggered and five perps were seen breaking into the museum on camera but the police haven’t found anything out of the ordinary,” he reported.

“So we’re waiting in case they’re hiding inside until they think the coast is clear,” King Monkey finished. “And at least you guys want to hang out.”

“Still no luck getting Max to leave his Guardian fortress?”

“Not so much,” he sighed. “I worry about him in there.”

“He’ll be okay. I think he’s just taking his role seriously.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He gets too caught up in stuff. He has to be reminded that there’s more to life.” The bigger man shook his head. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, but it’d make me feel better if I could get him to take a break.”

“Maybe we can storm his fortress and kidnap him,” Chat Noir suggested, amusement in his tone. “I just don’t want to get electrocuted or shot or something.”

“Eh, it doesn’t hurt as much as you would think.” King Monkey grinned at him. “I think I’m starting to like it actually.”

“That’s troubling.”

___

“Looks like we’re in for the night. Spotted three heroes staked out across the street. We’ll wait ‘em out.” The leader of the museum heist made a show of stretching his arms over his head. “All right, let’s get back into the wall. No need to get caught now when we’ve already gotten what we came for.”

“It’s so cramped in there, man. Can’t we just leave one at a time?” Another thief complained.

“Sure. You get caught and see what she does to you. I’ll see ya at your funeral.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

A third thief visibly shivered. “I’m just ready to be done with this job. The client gives me bad vibes.”

“Says the criminal,” the leader scoffed. “A job’s a job and this one pays well. Now shut up and get hidden with the others in case security comes sniffing around again.”

___

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[omgokiguess]

wow guys i just got out of rehab today

first of all. it was so terrible except for some of the people there. but also a couple of the people there really sucked too.

the staff was TERRIBLE. they were literally so mean and power hungry. i was friends with basically every patient (except for the few shitty ones) and was really nice to them.... like i took in this innocent 20yo girl who started calling me her big sister and i helped this 21yo girl so much with her anxiety..... like i took care of everyone that i could and i stuck up for everyone that the staff treated like shit. and the staff was so fucking rude to me. the whole staff said so many times “we have no problem giving you extra phone time/computer time to take care of things like work, aftercare, legal problems, financial problems, etc” but literally every single time i asked to call work or call my lawyer or anything i got a no. it literally took me two full weeks to get things straightened out with exelon and i literally got let go from anthro because they would just not let me get on the phone so that’s cool. i never once was able to speak to my lawyer or my pre-trial officer. neat. also i got in a pretty heated fight with this one bitch employee who told me i was disrespectful because i asked her superior to open the laundry room for me because i had my period and needed new underwear out of the dryer. we were like screaming at each other and she ended up being sent home for four days. two guys actually ended up leaving randomly and left all their shit including their phones and wallets. that’s how bad the staff was.

the doctor was really good and knowledgeable and helpful and i really liked him. he was really chill. but i do have to say he really was pushing meds on not just me but everyone. i didn’t get on any meds though, and honestly one of the nurses congratulated me for not getting on meds when i left. i thought it was fucked up that i was the only person not on meds. we’re just alcoholics.... there’s no way we’re all fucking psychotic or something. nobody was on less than 2 meds besides me and i would say the average number of different meds was about 4 for somebody my age.

the staff just really frustrated me. it’s rehab so obviously there are a lot of rules for the sake of having rules and i honestly did not have a problem with the rules even though a lot of them were very silly. like you would not find me complaining about the unhealthy food, the fact that they said the gym would be open certain hours but was actually never open because they were “understaffed,” that our bathrooms were locked from 7:30am - 9:30pm and 25 people had to share two toilets, that there were essentially no covid-19 precautions, that somebody checked where i was every 15 minutes, that smoking a pack of cigarettes a day is okay but the juul is not, that i had to get the actual doctor to approve me using contact solution or allergy medication, or any other stupid thing they enforced. i literally only complained about the fact that i couldn’t talk to my employer(s), couldn’t talk to my lawyer, couldn’t talk to my pre-trial officer, couldn’t figure out my aftercare, couldn’t call my therapist, and that the staff spoke to me like i was either an idiot, a delinquent, or like i was a bitch.

i did put up one little stink though. this bitch that worked there, if we were in our rooms, when she checked on us she didn’t knock she just fucking opened up the door, so i decided to just chill in my room and read in the nude one day cause i knew she would just open the door without knocking... and wouldn’t it be fun for her to have to deal with the sight of my entire bush..... so i went for it lmao. she told the entire staff that she walked in on me LOL and the “director of operations” (this woman is truly a dumb cunt) asked my roommate, who was a 45 year old MD from lake forest, if she wanted to switch roommates (???) and dr. nancy my hero was like “um no i actually lucked out with erin and also diana should learn to knock.”

anyway, nancy and brittany my two fave people, left on the same day which really sucked but whatever. then sam left which also whatever... i loved her too. and then..... oh god i hate to admit this so much.... but then michael came in. he made it in 3-ish days before i left.

i literally have NO IDEA why this would be, but okay the protocol is before you go to rehab you go through alcohol detox in the hospital, so i was an inpatient in the hospital for 5 days. i slept through most of that because they put me on valium for those 5 days so that I wouldn’t experience the hells of alcohol withdrawal. i’m glad i was asleep for most of it though because there was nothing at all to do, they had like 3 different crossword puzzles and no TV but as it turns out..... i wasn’t in the alcohol detox section of the hospital.... for some reason they put me in the psychotic wing..... there were only 6 patients total in that wing and i was the only person living in reality. one woman escaped the hospital because she thought her husband was telling her to leave, and the other 4 men were handcuffed to their beds. i was the only person in there with any sense of reality, and i had gotten there in the middle of the night so i was unaware of other wings in the hospital. on my last night there, they moved me to “2 north” aka the normal alcohol detox wing, which probably had 100 people in it. so in the morning we all had breakfast together and i was like WHAT THE HELL..... I COULD HAVE MADE FRIENDS HERE.... and that’s when i met michael. i knew him for like a full 90 minutes total in inpatient but we were literally instant best friends. we met because some old men were telling me jokes trying to get me to laugh and he was sitting nearby and he was like “so how old are you like 35?” and i was like “you’ve got to be kidding me fuck you....” and he was like “yeah lol i’m kidding” and i was like playing back, like “so how old are you like 45?” cause he looked about 30 and he was like “yes” and i was like okay bullshit so he showed me his hospital band and it said 45..... and i was like okay this is ridiculous. anyway he had been to the rehab i was going to before so he told me about it and he gave me a note for sam and i just thought he was really cool. he was getting ECT treatments which is “a treatment most commonly used in patients with severe major depression or bipolar disorder that have not responded to other treatments. ECT involves a brief electrical stimulation of the brain while the patient is under anesthesia.” aka it’s literally where they put those diodes on your brain and shock you. he got 16 treatments. i thought he might end up back in rehab with me. but he spent like 2 full months in inpatient which is super abnormal, almost everyone is there for exactly 5 days like me. anyways

so michael shows up right before i leave and the big question is WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME...... i spent like 3 days with him nonstop and we can probably all see where this is going but.... this dumbass of course falls for him....???? there were some cuties in rehab and i had NO INTEREST in any of them but idk michael is just kind of.... the personality i’ve been looking for.

couple problems. 1. i have a boyfriend. 2. michael is 5′6″ .... (???) .... 3. i cannot get his fucking stupid smile out of my head and i’m hoping i was just sexually deprived for weeks and this is just a dumb thing BUT

idk my boyfriend like made all these promises of things he was going to do for me while i was in rehab and he kind of didn’t follow through on any of them. i really basically only told him and my sister that i’m going to rehab and my sister lives in boston and so i kind of assumed he would do the things he promised he would do, which clearly was stupid on my part. i can’t rely on him. i should have learned that by now... if i want something done i have to do it myself. i didn’t even ask very much of him. he basically promised four things. 1. he would take care of my guinea pigs. 2. he would check on my car to be sure it doesn’t get impounded 3. he would clean my room before i get back and 4. he would bring me the stuff i need (contact lenses to fucking see, hairbrush, tampons, other necessities) since they wouldn’t let me leave hospital care between detox and rehab. the only one of those he did was take care of my guinea pigs, which is essentially nothing because he goes to whole foods every day and his MAID cleaned their cage.

and idk, we were allowed 10 minutes of combined computer and phone time a day (which is literally nothing), and i always called him and ignored the computer because i thought he would want to hear from me and i would want to hear from him too, but at least 30% of the time i left phone time upset and crying. i mean i was turning my whole entire life around and it took him 13 days just to check to see that my car wasn’t impounded, and he had the audacity to complain that he was overwhelmed with all the stuff he had to deal with on my behalf even though it was literally just feeding my guinea pigs and then he had his own work shit. i suspect he’s taking more adderall than he should again. but i can’t even complain. his dad found the lawyer that may end up saving my life. 

and anyway. he never ended up cleaning my room (he wasn’t even gonna clean it himself, he was going to hire someone to clean it and he couldn’t even do that even though he promised. i don’t need it i just kind of thought he was gonna keep his promise), and it took him 5 days to bring me the stuff i need. i kept in one pair of dailies for 5 days (i wore my last pair over from detox) and went blind for 2 days. my rehab was only 20 minutes from his house, a straight shot on the never-crowded 294. i left him with all of my debit cards and pins too, and bank logins so that he wouldn’t have to pay for anything i needed. 

and idk then when i talked to him, whenever i complained about rehab he would just kind of be like “this is why you should have gone to PSI” which is where he went to rehab for marijuana.... which costs and arm and a leg because his dad will pay for anything for him and he doesn’t understand that i’m paying for this myself. and i didn’t want some cushy rehab. i mean yeah i didn’t want the staff to be such a load of cunts but i didn’t want his cushy frilly rehab experience. i would have really liked my program if there had just been better people working there. and he wanted to talk about my sobriety so much and like.... i don’t want to talk about it with him. idk in his head i think he thinks i’m taking his exact same journey and like i’m NOT. like it’s not even the same drug. he acts like he totally understands and it’s like... yes there is a lot he understands but there’s a lot that’s different and there’s no way ANY two patients ever went through the exact same thing, ESPECIALLY when it’s different drugs!!!!

and i’ve been with him since about 1p today (he was late to pick me up, it was supposed to be noon, which he promised he wouldn’t be late, and him being late was also something i brought up a lot in rehab because it caused me so much stress..... i just KNEW he was gonna be late and it caused me a lot of anxiety and i told him this so much and he was still late) (and anyway the point here is).... i’ve been with him since 1 and he just keeps saying weird stuff about alcohol. which is EXACTLY why i didn’t want anybody to know i was going to rehab. like after eating hospital food for weeks i wanted to go to a nice restaurant and most nice restaurants serve alcohol.... which is FINE like i was not gonna drink.... but he kept saying things like “we probably shouldn’t go to a pub” or “lake forest food and wine hmm better not go there” and it’s like..... i’m fucking HUNGRY i purposely didn’t eat the hospital food because i wanted to eat good food and it took us till 2:30pm to get somewhere because he felt the need to beat around the alcohol bush.... and every time alcohol came up in conversation (which just HAPPENS because that is how life is....) he’d be like oh sorry shouldn’t mention that and it’s like I CAN HANDLE IT..... i literally finally said to him “wow I’m so glad I didn’t tell anyone i went to rehab because if everybody talked to me the way you’re talking to me that would make me want to drink”

and also right before i went to rehab i told him i was afraid i wasn’t going to like him anymore if i was sober. and boy was i right. and adding michael in did not fucking help. i told myself i would never like somebody fucking shorter than me but i can’t fucking help it. i’ve never liked people for their looks anyway and his personality is just fucking perfect. i can’t get his voice and his smile out of my head. and i trust him to be sober. i really do. this was his first relapse in five years, and he only spent one month drinking before getting help. and i think we could be sober together. 

idk maybe i was just so sex deprived that i was just horny or something. i don’t know.

i start online intensive outpatient tomorrow at noon. this week i have it wednesday thursday and friday but it’s gonna be different every week and somebody is going to at least speak with me every day. i’m doing it through derek’s practice and i told him to make sure i have a lot of homework.

i’m not sure how or when i’m going to get back to work. i don’t even really care though. i can always get another job. and after talking to my sister and working through some therapy at rehab, i almost think it’s best to move anyway. i think it would really help me to get away from my parents.

idk. my life is just so in limbo right now. i can stay on FMLA leave for 3 months and on my upcoming court date, that will mark one month. i think it might be wise to use the whole three months. it also might not be wise though because i need things to do. maybe if i could just get back to anthro.....

anthro terminated me in the weirdest way and i think my lawyer can get my job at anthro back for me with a simple letter. that might be the best thing for me right now. 

not to mention.... i haven’t been back to my apartment yet but.... the gold coast has been destroyed. i don’t know what i’m going back to at this point. this is really sad sad sad to say but i don’t think i will be living downtown chicago anymore, once i find some other solution or once this lease expires, i’m leaving. maybe i’ll stay in chicagoland but probably not. if i do stay in chicagoland i’m gonna be living in the suburbs. but i think it only makes sense to get out of here. i think it makes sense to go to the southeast. florida or atlanta or north carolina or virginia. california is always on the mind too but to move there i think i need to be really really confident in my sobriety.  

[heechulhamster]

The Truth You Can’t Hide IV

KIM JUNMYEON (SUHO) x Fem Reader

Chapter 4 [The Truth You Can’t Hide MASTERLIST]

1 - 2 - 3 -  4 - 5 - 6 - 7 ongoing

You did it so well for six years. You’ve hid your son from the biggest threat of his life. But one mishap led to the biggest secret in your life being face to face with the man you’ve kept him away from all these years - his father.

Mafia!AU, Angst.

Each muscle of your feet started to ache as the clock struck eight, the current case the law firm you worked as a paralegal in required you to go overtime. You’ve had an internal agreement with yourself to stay in the firm and distance yourself from Junmyeon’s line of work, as you know that his two separate businesses will always coincide with the other - and you wouldn’t want both of Jaejin’s parents to have an indecent track record. 

Only a few lights are lit at this time of the night, most of your officemates already in the comforts of their own home and family. An empty sigh of exhaustion escaped your lips as you sat back on your chair, freeing your feet from the tormenting heels before neatly stacking and organizing the paperwork left on your table. Organizing the case files by urgency as you plan to get your hands on it eagerly the first thing tomorrow. 

“Did Mr. Goo request you on overtime again? You should take a rest.” A sudden voice spoke behind you, making you turn around. You see Atty. Zhang, one of the associate lawyers in the firm. His cripst white dress shirt neatly tucked in his black pants as he leaned over the table next to yours. 

“No, Sir. I did it voluntarily. I’m really absorbed on this recent case.” You said with a light chuckle, trying your best to hide your fatigue from the day. 

You heard him take light footsteps on the way closer to your desk, eventually you saw Atty. Zhang’s hands over the pile of paperwork on your desk. “Is this the one regarding the sexual harrasment case of that actor…” He snapped his fingers three times, apparently thinking about the name that’s on the tip of his tongue. “Seojoon? Bang Seo Joon?” 

“Yes, I’ve been re-reading his sworn statements and the victim’s.” You stated as he read through the pages of the case file. 

“This file’s been through a lot.” He said, smiling over the littered highlights and notations you’ve made all throughout the paper. “Now tell me if there’s anything you’ve found. Are we on the losing end here?” 

“There has been inconsistencies with the victim’s sworn statements. Like how she said that Mr. Bang and her met around dinner at that Monday, but she has also stated that her shift as a waitress ends at closing time. She had once said that he went on a date with Mr. Bang on a Tuesday the week prior, so both Monday and Tuesday couldn’t have been her off days. And the timeline of the alleged harassment doesn’t quite add up. There’s a lot of lapses here and there.” 

“You’ve really put your mind on this haven’t you? I’m impressed. Poor SeoJoon must’ve been framed.” He said smiling at you, the wells of his cheeks showing as adorable dimples as he shone his bright teeth in amazement. “But you need to rest for now, the case can wait for another day, don’t you think?” 

“I’m actually on my way out.” You explained as your hands tidied your desk a bit more, putting the scattered pens and pencils back on the green holder just on the corner of the black modern table. 

“I’ll come with you, then.” Mr. Zhang said with a hearty smile. 

Your way down the building was filled with short talks, including of which where he asked you to plainly call him Yixing as the both of you are in the same age. It would be an understatement to describe him as attractive, he’s magnetic - naturally absorbing every attention and respect by everyone graced by his presence. Yet oddly humble despite being aware of his huge presence. Yixing know how enticing he is, yet he doesn’t impose the fact on anyone. Just letting his trait speak for itself. 

“Where are you parked?” He asked, suddenly rising from your shared laughters as you both walk out of the building. 

“I take a cab to work.” You answered simply as a matter of fact. 

“Are you serious?” Yixing responded in shock, “Do they really pay paralegals that low here?” 

“No, it’s just that I haven’t had time yet to renew my license and fix papers for a new car, you know. It’s a hassle.” You explained. 

“Lucky you tonight, “cause I’m morally obliged to give you a ride.” He said lightheartedly, his chuckle low and baritone that it just lingers in your ear. 

“You don’t need to.” You waved your hands to accentuate your declination, yet the smile on his eyes told you that he’s insisting.

“Who told you I’m taking no for an answer?” And with his bright smile emphasised with his charming dimples, you wouldn’t even dare to say no. 

Only a few minutes in the ride, your phone flashed with a text from Junmyeon. Reading that he and Jaejin are out for dinner in a nearby restaurant and that as per your son’s request, both of them are waiting for you. 

“You know that Japanese restaurant near the station?” You asked Yixing, to which he answered a simple yes. “Can you drop me off there instead? Someone just texted and I’ll be meeting them there.” 

“Sure thing.” He responded with a chuckle, which stirred a confused look from you on the shotgun seat. “I almost thought you’d ask me out for dinner there.” 

His implication made you blush, something that you haven’t experienced for a while. “I’m sorry to get your hopes up.” You said with a chuckle rhyming his. 

“Too bad for me, I guess.” Another few laughters was all that you shared while he drove silently. Not yet developing a dynamic beyond being coworkers resulted in an odd silent tension between the two of you. As if feeling that both parties want to speak yet not finding the courage to do so. 

“How long have you been working in the firm again?” Yixing spoke, finally ending the tormenting ill-at-ease silence. 

“Barely three months.” You answered as-a-matter-of-fact. 

“That’s odd.” He simply remarked, sensing a sheer curiosity on the tone of his voice. You expressed a simple hum in the guise of an inquiry. “I mean, three months yet as far as I remember this is the first time we talked properly. Aside from you asking me for staples, of course.”

The growing blush on your cheeks finally bloomed when he spoke of that incident. It was the early weeks of your job in the firm, hardly even familiar to everyone in the workplace. Marking probably the first time you noted of Yixing’s existence, his youthful appearance made you think he was just one of the interns or a paralegal. Atty. Goo was a man who values his time, one that is always in a rush that’s why being assigned in his team challenged you. That day, you were running late for work - your cousin who was supposed to take care of Jaejin was a quarter of an hour late arriving at your home. You carried the files, or bundles of paper which aren’t stapled to Atty. Goo’s liking just yet. That’s when you came across him, carrying his leather suitcase and a cup of coffee, just when panic started to kick in. 

“Uhm.. Hi!” You waved your right hand as your left hand tightly gripped the bunches of papers, your feet dashing in front of him. “I’m new here, as much as I would like to do a proper introduction Mr. Goo needs these papers almost five minutes ago, so could you be my savior and lend me some staples?” You tried to flash your sweetest smile, maybe charming people would still work. 

“Hold a second.” He answered with his pearly white, magazine cover teeth showed. Probably laughing at how ridiculous you look for your new job. He put down his still steaming cup of coffee on the table nearest to the both of you, before scanning his bag for the said tool. Retrieving a few staple pins in his bag a few seconds later. “This enough?” 

“Yes! Thank you so much!” You rushed and not-so-carefully put the pages of case files and statements on the same table. Loading your stapler with the pins and organizing the pages by its groups. 

The moment you finished the dreaded task, the striking man was long gone by your side. And you quickly rushed to Atty. Goo’s room, politely apologizing for the delay as you laid down the papers at his desk. 

It was later that day that you discovered that the man you ambushed for staples earlier was no intern, nor a paralegal. Just outside Atty. Goo’s room, you saw the office that has been unoccupied for the first few days you’ve been there at the firm. They said that Atty. Zhang was back at China for personal reasons. And now he’s obviously back, and missing a few staple pins in his arsenal. 

“Don’t bring that back! Please.” You covered your face from his sight with your left hand in embarrassment. “It was so awkward for me to talk to you afterwards.” 

“It wasn’t a big deal, really. I found it oddly adorable, even.” Yixing noted. “I mean, I don’t look that old enough to be one of the lawyers, don’t I?” He said, a notion of cockiness evident in his statement. 

And he was just being truthful, the firm was filled by tenured and accomplished lawyers already in their 50’s. It was a shock to learn that he was among them. A tall, singularly handsome and well versed young lawyer already making his mark in the city.

“This is the place, isn’t it?” He pointed to the right, a remarkably cosmopolitan Japanese restaurant in the wealthiest areas of Seoul. “Are you going on a date? This seems to be too extravagant for a simple dinner. Expensive taste.” 

“It’s not a date. Easy to say that this person I’m meeting is a little bit too loaded in their bank account.” You said lightheartedly, to which Yixing also responded with a light laughter. “Thanks for the ride, Yixing.”

Before your hand even opened the door, he was able to hold you back by speaking again. “I was wondering if I could keep my hopes up and actually take you out for dinner some time.” 

Your eyes almost widened at his indication. “Is this dinner in line of work or…” 

“A date? Most preferably so.” He answered as his fingers lightly played with the steering wheel, signifying uneasiness or even nervousness. 

“Oh.”

“Does that oh means you acknowledge my statement or does it indicate that you’re declining the proposal?” Yixing’s choice of words made you feel like a defendant in inquisition. 

“It meant that oh, I didn’t expect to be in the receiving end of such proposal. But I’ll keep the offer in mind.” You playfully reciprocated his legalese tone.

“How long would the processing take?” Yixing asked back. 

“Three working days.” 

“Noted, see you on Friday?” He replied, understanding what you meant quicker than lightning. He flashed his charmingly irresistible smile yet again that made you flash one in return. 

“See you, Atty. Zhang.” 

The dinner was spent with Jaejin’s juvenile astonishment over the fact that fish can be eaten raw. Despite the fact that you haven’t allowed him to eat sashimi just yet, he was already looking forward on the day you’ll let him do so, settling on a good bowl of traditional and expensive ramen. And it’s in these times that you realize how close the two have gotten. How Jaejin and Junmyeon would share inside jokes that would leave you wondering on your own. The fact that the two already have bonded this tight relationship between the two of them that no one can penetrate. And that’s still in spite of Jaejin’s lack of knowledge regarding who Junmyeon really is in his life. 

And you’d be lying if you don’t admit to yourself that your life has been easier with Junmyeon in it again. You don’t even have to work the long hours just to make sure that you’ll be able to save enough money for Jaejin’s future while still making all ends meet. Junmyeon already opened a trust fund under your son’s name. The hassle of looking for someone to take care of him while at work was now long gone, with Jaejin having his own sitters that Junmyeon grew up with himself. He was already taking the majority of the parental roles even before he was formally introduced as his father. 

“Goodnight, Mama. I love you.” Jaejin declared with a youthful smile on his face just after he finished his nightly prayer. To which you answered the same sentiments before kissing his forehead and eventually walking out of the room. 

It was agreed upon you and Junmyeon for you to take the guest room. As Jaejin is now old enough to sleep on his own. And your habitual over time at work could cause a sense of discomfort to Jaejin if he’s still dependent at your presence for sleep. 

You were stunned to see Junmyeon standing outside Jaejin’s room after you shut the door. “Oh, Hi.” 

“Hey.” He answered thriftily. A few seconds have passed and nobody dared to talk, and all you were able to muster was raising your eyebrows. 

“Who were you with earlier?” Junmyeon asked curiously. 

“Huh? What?” You didn’t quite catch what he was pertaining to. 

“Who dropped you off earlier? I recognized that a Tesla was too extra to be just a cab.” You tried to sense any hint of emotion in his voice yet it just came off as a casual question. 

“Oh, it was someone from work.” You started walking, your steps rhyming with the cadence of his feet. 

“Workmate or… you know, someone.” He stalled, and you understand the connotation. 

“Workmate that kind of just expressed that he wanted to take me out on a date. Kinda.” You couldn’t help but chuckle as you remember that Yixing, an eligible bachelor as one could get, has just asked you out on a date. 

“So.. are you going?” Junmyeon’s eyes shrunk in curiosity. 

“Yeah. I mean he’s nice, undoubtedly attractive. Would be dumb to not give him a shot don’t you think?” You replied, still wearing a smile on your face. 

“I mean, you look excited. So I guess why not.” Junmyeon smiled back, but something in your guts just told you that it was visibly forced. 

“We wouldn’t have a problem with us having relationships right?” You tested the waters, as this relationship - cohabitation, coparenting, or whatever the two of you shared surely need to be clarified with bounds soon. 

“Yeah, yeah. No worries. We could go both live our lives, of course with Jaejin as priority.” 

“Of course. Another thing, I don’t think this would last much anyway. He doesn’t know yet that I have a son, whatever this is would probably end once he knows. I’ll just consider it as a dry run whether or not I still have it in me to be something for someone.” You continued as both of you approached the hallway where you would eventually part ways. 

“If he does that, it means he’s an asshole. And it will be his loss, his great loss.” Junmyeon smiled briefly and noticeably faint. 

You cleaned your hands on the apron that hung on your neck, dusting its material with a good amount of flour. Finally lining the pan with butter before pouring in the mix and eventually letting nature do its thing once you put it inside the preheated oven. Sitting on the chair at the kitchen island and a lonesome red juicy apple in hand, you just let yourself  to detach from reality as you relaxed. The piling paperwork slowly creeping up your sanity, and your only solace was Jaejin’s hugs at night - and maybe the few jubilant smiles that you and Yixing share at work. 

The past two days saw a rise of interactions between the two of you. Earlier, he even dropped by your desk to give a thoughtful warm cup of coffee when he saw you taking piles of papers head on. And Yixing’s brand new presence is your life is refreshing. To relinquish that juvenile feeling of excitement is a good thing to feel every once in a while, and for you it’s really been a while. 

“How’s parent life with ex holding up?” Your quiet thoughts were invaded by a man who you didn’t notice sit in front of you. 

“Minseok. I didn’t see you there.” You said, your widened eyes by shock looking at his feline features. 

“I could tell, pretty sure that apple’s gone dizzy from rolling over your hands too much.” He joked, where you answered a laugh to. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How’s things?”

“Well, obviously a lot has changed since you’ve last seen me.” And the last time he has seen you, aside from the unfateful meeting at the mall, was more recent than anyone would expect. 

“Yeah, I mean he walks now.” Minseok lightly tapped his fingers on the granite countertop. “Last time I saw him he still needs to be carried everywhere.” You just smiled at the thought, before he continued. “And the biggest change could be the fact that Jun knows now.” 

“Probably the biggest change.” You replied. 

The scorching heat of Los Angeles hasn’t gotten into your system yet. Your palms and back sweaty and tired from carrying all the grocery bags which you held with much caution. You’re body’s carrying too much, all these produce, milk cartons, and of course the baby that’s growing in your stomach. Struggling to put down the bags as you couldn’t quickly squat, you curse yourself again for deciding to go through this alone. 

“Need some help?” An oddly familiar voice presented itself beside you, making a chill run down your spine. He couldn’t be here, he shouldn’t be here. 

“Minseok…” You said in shock, your hands quickly lowering the grocery bags in an attempt to hide your 20 weeks pregnant stomach. 

“Let me get that, Y/N.” He stepped forward as he softly retrieved the grocery bags from your hands. Your stunned figure unable to protest nor to say anything. “Could you open your door now?”

“Yeah…” You answered with a nod, still unable to process his presence while getting your keys from your shoulder bag. 

Still silent, you both entered your small apartment. Barely decent enough for the way you were brought up. But this is all that you have now, and it’s better than nothing. The past four months were the hardest for you. A twenty two year old expectant mother cut off by her influential family and left alone to live and make ends meet in a foreign land. Tough luck, tough life, you thought. 

“Where should I put these milk, in the fridge or…” Minseok asked yet you’re quick to cut him off. 

“Did he send you here?” You looked in his easily distinguishable eyes, now painted with imminent confusion. “Junmyeon, did he send you here?” 

“Send me? I’m not his employee.” He answered with a short almost humorless laugh. “I’ve been in LA for business the past few weeks. Didn’t expect to see you while doing groceries, found a familiar face, so I trailed you down. Too creepy?” 

“Does he know?” You asked, not bothering with the small courtesies as you were more nervous of the possibilities of finding him here.

“Where you’re at? Probably. He probably still keeps track of you.” Your breath hitched at Minseok’s response. “That you’re pregnant? I highly doubt. If he does, he wouldn’t let you live alone in this barely modest apartment.” 

Your hand uncontrollably caressed your bump, a sense of protectiveness flowing all over you. “Would you tell him?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.” There was sincerity in his voice, and you know Minseok is a man of his words. “Junmyeon is my friend, but you are too.” 

He slowly walked over your form that just sat on the sofa. “But first you need to make me understand why you left him and why you’re living in this…” He looked around the bare white walls, the undeniable lack of furnishings and decor “..sad excuse for a home, with no offense meant.” 

“Suho.” You dryly answered with almost a whisper, folds forming in his face in your response. “I didn’t leave Junmyeon. I left Suho. Whatever he is, I don’t want my son to do anything with him.” 

“You know, don’t you?” You asked him again even before he was able to form any answer. 

“I…” He started off, still processing any suitable answer. “I am aware of that, yes.” He slowly nodded, finally sitting down the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of you. “How did you…” 

“Your friend was stupid enough to leave a folder full of transactions where I could read it.” You answered bitterly, still unable to accept the harsh truth behind the man you so dearly loved. 

“Does he know that you… know?” Minseok was obviously careful in choosing his words, not wanting to upset a pregnant friend.

“You think I’ll be here if he’s aware that I know his dirty secret?” You said with a humorless laugh. “I don’t think I’d even be alive if so.” 

“Come on, it’s not the best money maker but Junmyeon wouldn’t kill you. Not in a million years.” You just responded by shaking your head. “But, why are you here? And why in a place like this? I mean, it’s nice that you’re independent. But… isn’t this a little too low for your taste?”

“My parents cut me off when they discovered I’m pregnant. I begged them not to tell Junmyeon, had to make an excuse in my own expense just for them to not to lash it out on him. Told them the baby wasn’t his, a result of a drunken one night stand at a high end bar. Told me I was a disgrace for letting such a man as Junmyeon go, called me a whore for being pregnant with a random stranger. So I guess here I am.” A bitter taste still lingers in your mouth as you relayed what hell you’ve went through. 

“But you don’t need to go through all of these, you could tell Junmyeon and..” You decided to cut him off even before he finishes his ill advice. 

“And have my child live off the money he makes by breaking the law and ruining people’s lives? I’d rather stay here, Min.” You stated, not even considering to bend your moral compass. 

He just sat there, an uncomfortable silence grew between the two of you as he struggled to digest the information. Minseok looked as if he’s thinking for an advice he could give or any action he could take. 

“I wouldn’t tell Junmyeon, I wouldn’t tell anyone in one condition.” He finally spoke, which you just nodded for him to proceed. “Let me help you. You’re still my friend, and Junmyeon is my friend, it would be rightful for me to help your child. I can’t let you stay here knowing a baby is on the way.”

“Another thing, you couldn’t stay here any longer. Junmyeon probably has his men tracked on you, and you need to lose them before your belly grows too much to hide. I know a place.”

Minseok kept in contact with you, and he kept his promise too. There has hardly been any indication that Junmyeon was aware of your whereabouts, or the fact that he knocked you up. Minseok was even the one to help you arrange fees in the hospital when you gave birth. He’s an heir to a trademarked coffee shop line that has hundreds of branches so you took no guilt in accepting his offer. 

“We kinda lost contact after Jaejin turned two. What happened?” He asked, swirling the contents of his glass making a sound of ice and water splashing around.

“Found a guy, he served as Jaejin’s father at that time. So I figured that I should cut all possible ties with my ex.” You answered, still playing with the unfortunate apple with your right hand. 

“Fair enough, I guess. You could only think of how shocked I am to see you in that mall. I don’t even know that you’re back here. I had no idea that I didn’t even think that child was Jaejin.” He suddenly said lightheartedly.

“Maybe it was inevitable.” You answered with a deep sigh. 

“Yeah, it was bound to happen.” He replied back. “But he’s doing a great job as a father now, isn’t he? He’s nailing it.”

“I guess. He and Jaejin are inseparable now.” You said, accompanied by a slight chuckle. 

“If it makes any difference…” He started as he stood up from his seat, leaving the now empty glass on the countertop. “The gifts were from Junmyeon. Tricked him with the fact that I signed him up as a foster father overseas to help him recover from you. So that’s pretty much it, until next time.” And with that, he left you alone in the kitchen still waiting for the cake to finish. And wondering about the what ifs and what could’ve beens. 

The red-bottomed black stiletto heels that you had for years now fitted your feet perfectly as you cautiously walked down the pathway of an exclusive and undeniably expensive Chinese restaurant. The splendid and effeminate white dress clinging to your body in ways that made you feel confident to be in such a place. 

“Reservation under Mr. Zhang?” You told the receptionist that wore a red cheongsam. She asked your name for confirmation before she asked one of the butlers to lead you to one of the distant tables. 

And there you saw Yixing Zhang, clad in a wonderfully simple black blazer and white dress shirt. A humble outfit that only made his stature and facial features pop out from feet away. The place was exquisite yet he seemingly outshined all crystal chandeliers and golden adorned walls. 

“You look fantastic.” He stood up from his seat as he kissed your hand, a trail of electricity climbing up your cheeks resulting to an unconcealable blush. 

“You, too.” You answered as he pulled a seat for you. And they say that chivalry is dead but the epitome of a gentleman was living and breathing in front of you. 

“Isn’t this a bit too much?” You whispered, a tad bit ashamed at the immense effort. 

“I figured that you have a bit of expensive taste. It’s just right to be on your best foot at the first date, right?” Yixing answered, a smile slowly forming on his face and his eyes adorably forming a smile as he does so. 

He willingly and enthusiastically introduced you to a myriad of chinese cuisine. Chatting over his childhood back in his motherland that was sparked in remembrance over the presence of cua pao and char siu. The funny stories of his nameless cat and his fond memories shared with his beloved mother. How he transferred from China to Korea for the better law education, and you just willingly listened and admired how animated his hands become while he speaks about something he’s passionate about. Waving his hands around as he hold his chopsticks makes him seem so alive and vibrant, yet his face still tells a story of seriousness and sincerity as a result of his years of law practice. 

“How about you? Why stop on being a paralegal? Haven’t you dreamt of pursuing law school?” Yixing asked with his eyes full of earnest intent to listen. And you feel your mood slip down, if the tables have turned and you’re now the subject, it was inevitable to admit who you really are - a mother. And you’re scared of losing this spark that you’re enjoying once he knows the truth. 

“That has been my lifelong dream, honestly. But things came up, change of plans…” You delayed your revelation. It’s not that you’re ashamed of Jaejin, it’s more of being afraid of being deemed unworthy over again. 

“What change of plans?” He asked as he wiped the sweet and sour sauce on his lips with the table napkin. 

“Got pregnant.” You answered simply, trying to put it lightly. 

Yixing visibly stalled in front of you, trying hard to digest the bomb you just dropped. And you understand his shock, it’s not the first time a promising date went downhill by the fact. But it still made you a tad bit sad that Yixing’s not an exception. 

“Dealbreaker?” You tried to chuckle. “I’m sorry for dropping the truth a bit too late. This dinner was going well but I couldn’t let it go on without you knowing.” You shook your head. 

“What? No! It’s not a dealbreaker. It’s… awesome.” Yixing’s charm filled dimples presented itself yet again while he smiled. “I just… I didn’t expect you to be a mother. You don’t look like one just yet.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You said with a smile. 

“So how old is he.. He or she?” He asked again, and you could feel like he was sincerely interested in talking about Jaejin. “Wait, you’re not married right?”

“Jaejin, my son, is 6 years old. And yes, I’m not married.” You said with a smile.

“I know this is a sensitive subject but, where’s Jaejin’s father?” 

“We live with him, just for the past few months. But we’re not together. We’re civil just for the sake of Jaejin.” You explained. 

“So, coparenting?” He asked again. 

“Yes, I think you could call it like that.” You answered again, and a period of short silence enveloped the two of you before you spoke again. “Is it really okay with you? I mean, I totally understand if it puts you off I-”

“No! I promise it’s not a problem for me. It made me even more interested in you, really. It painted a whole new aspect of you for me, stronger.” Yixing had a happy tone which made you breathe in relief. “Right now I’m just really looking forward on the day I meet Jaejin.” 

And it was needless to say that put a smile on your face and lit a new fire in your heart.

“Is this where you live?” Yixing asked as the automated gates of Junmyeon’s mansion open and he started driving in. You answered a silent yup, trying to digest the clashing of worlds, the new one just ever so casually driving his car in the turf of your old. “So this is your ex’s place?”

“Yeah.” You answered with a low breath. 

“You’re uncomfortable?” He asked with a chuckle. “Yeah, me too. This is unusual.” He remarked as he parked right at the front of the huge carved wood main doors and the large white marble fountain. 

“So, thank you for tonight?” Yixing spoke again. “And I sincerely hope this wouldn’t be the last. I mean it.”

“I don’t think it would be.” You answered comfortably. 

Yixing went out of the car and around to your door as he opened it. The manly smell of his perfume overtaking your senses and now your face is only a few inches from his. You could almost feel your face gravitate to his until a voice called your name behind him. 

“Junmyeon…” You quickly fixed the way you stood and closed the door of his car. “This is.. This is,” Your hands moved in an awkward way. 

“Attorney Zhang.” Junmyeon suddenly muttered, finishing your sentence for himself. 

“Mr. Kim, it’s been a while.” And you swear you could feel the tension rise between the two as you stood there mind boggled on the fact that they’re aware of each other’s existence. Like two overlapping circles on a venn diagram.

“You know each other?” You cluelessly asked, head turning back and forth between the two men who had their eyes intensely looking at each other, almost boring a hole at each other’s heads. 

“You could say that we have a bit of a history.” Yixing answered, a dry smile trying to facade the growing friction reflected in his eyes. 

[phroyd]

He was limp and dusty from an explosion, conscious but barely. A far cry from the fierce, masked Islamic State fighters who once seized vast swaths of Iraq and Syria, the captive was a scraggly teenager in a tank top with limbs so thin that his watch slid easily off his wrist.

Chief Petty Officer Edward Gallagher and other Navy SEALs gave the young captive medical aid that day in Iraq in 2017, sedating him and cutting an airway in his throat to help him breathe. Then, without warning, according to colleagues, Chief Gallagher pulled a small hunting knife from a sheath and stabbed the sedated captive in the neck.

The same Chief Gallagher who later posed for a photograph holding the dead captive up by the hair has now been celebrated on the campaign trail by President Trump, who upended the military code of justice to protect him from the punishment resulting from the episode. Prodded by Fox News, Mr. Trump has made Chief Gallagher a cause célèbre, trumpeting him as an argument for his re-election.

The violent encounter in a faraway land opened a two-year affair that would pit a Pentagon hierarchy wedded to longstanding rules of combat and discipline against a commander in chief with no experience in uniform but a finely honed sense of grievance against authority. The highest ranks in the Navy insisted Chief Gallagher be held accountable. Mr. Trump overruled the chain of command and the secretary of the Navy was fired.

The case of the president and a commando accused of war crimes offers a lesson in how Mr. Trump presides over the armed forces three years after taking office. While he boasts of supporting the military, he has come to distrust the generals and admirals who run it. Rather than accept information from his own government, he responds to television reports that grab his interest. Warned against crossing lines, he bulldozes past precedent and norms.

As a result, the president finds himself more removed than ever from a disenchanted military command, adding the armed forces to the institutions under his authority that he has feuded with, along with the intelligence community, law enforcement agencies and diplomatic corps.

“We’re going to take care of our warriors and I will always stick up for our great fighters,” Mr. Trump told a rally in Florida as he depicted the military hierarchy as part of “the deep state” he vowed to dismantle. “People can sit there in air-conditioned offices and complain, but you know what? It doesn’t matter to me whatsoever.”

The president’s handling of the case has distressed active-duty and retired officers and the civilians who work closely with them. Mr. Trump’s intervention, they said, emboldens war criminals and erodes the order of a professional military.

“He’s interfering with the chain of command, which is trying to police its own ranks,” said Peter D. Feaver, a specialist on civilian-military relations at Duke University and former aide to President George W. Bush. “They’re trying to clean up their act and in the middle of it the president parachutes in — and not from information from his own commanders but from news talking heads who are clearly gaming the system.”

Chris Shumake, a former sniper who served in Chief Gallagher’s platoon, said in an interview that he was troubled by the impact the president’s intervention could have on the SEALs.

“It’s blown up bigger than any of us could have ever expected, and turned into a national clown show that put a bad light on the teams,” said Mr. Shumake, speaking publicly for the first time. “He’s trying to show he has the troops’ backs, but he’s saying he doesn’t trust any of the troops or their leaders to make the right decisions.”

Chief Gallagher, who has denied any wrongdoing, declined through his lawyer to be interviewed. Mr. Trump’s allies said the president was standing up to political correctness that hamstrings the warriors the nation asks to defend it, as if war should be fought according to lawyerly rules.

“From the beginning, this was overzealous prosecutors who were not giving the benefit of the doubt to the trigger-pullers,” Pete Hegseth, a weekend host of “Fox & Friends” who has promoted Chief Gallagher to the president both on the telephone and on air, said this past week. “That’s what the president saw.”

‘No One Touch Him. He’s Mine.’

Chief Gallagher, 40, a seasoned operator with a deeply weathered face from eight combat deployments, sometimes went by the nickname Blade. He sought out the toughest assignments, where gunfire and blood were almost guaranteed. Months before deploying, he sent a text to the SEAL master chief making assignments, saying he was “down to go” to any spot, no matter how awful, so long as “there is for sure action and work to be done.”

“We don’t care about living conditions,” he added. “We just want to kill as many people as possible.”

Before deployment, he commissioned a friend and former SEAL to make him a custom hunting knife and a hatchet, vowing in a text, “I’ll try and dig that knife or hatchet on someone’s skull!”

He was in charge of 22 men in SEAL Team 7’s Alpha Platoon, which deployed to Mosul, Iraq, in early 2017. But his platoon was nowhere near the action, assigned an “advise and assist” mission supporting Iraqi commandos doing the block-by-block fighting. The SEALs were required to stay 1,000 meters behind the front lines.

That changed on May 6, 2017, when an Apache helicopter banked over a dusty patchwork of fields outside Mosul, fixed its sights on a farmhouse serving as an Islamic State command post and fired two Hellfire missiles reducing it to rubble.

Chief Gallagher saw the distant explosion from an armored gun truck. When he heard on the radio that Iraqi soldiers had captured an Islamic State fighter and took him to a nearby staging area, he raced to the scene. “No one touch him,” he radioed other SEALs. “He’s mine.”

‘Got Him With My Hunting Knife’

When the captive was killed, other SEALs were shocked. A medic inches from Chief Gallagher testified that he froze, unsure what to do. Some SEALs said in interviews that the stabbing immediately struck them as wrong, but because it was Chief Gallagher, the most experienced commando in the group, no one knew how to react. When senior platoon members confronted Chief Gallagher, they said, he told them, “Stop worrying about it; they do a lot worse to us.”

The officer in charge, Lt. Jacob Portier, who was in his first command, gathered everyone for trophy photos, then held a re-enlistment ceremony for Chief Gallagher over the corpse, several SEALs testified.

A week later, Chief Gallagher sent a friend in California a text with a photo of himself with a knife in one hand, holding the captive up by the hair with the other. “Good story behind this, got him with my hunting knife,” he wrote.

As the deployment wore on, SEALs said the chief’s behavior grew more erratic. He led a small team beyond the front lines, telling members to turn off locator beacons so they would not be caught by superiors, according to four SEALS, who confirmed video of the mission obtained by The New York Times. He then tried to cover up the mission when one platoon member was shot.

At various points, he appeared to be either amped up or zoned out; several SEALs told investigators they saw him taking pills, including the narcotic Tramadol. He spent much of his time scanning the streets of Mosul from hidden sniper nests, firing three or four times as often as the platoon’s snipers, sometimes targeting civilians.

One SEAL sniper told investigators he heard a shot from Chief Gallagher’s position, then saw a schoolgirl in a flower-print hijab crumple to the ground. Another sniper reported hearing a shot from Chief Gallagher’s position, then seeing a man carrying a water jug fall, a red blotch spreading on his back. Neither episode was investigated and the fate of the civilians remains unknown.

Chief Gallagher had been accused of misconduct before, including shooting through an Afghan girl to hit the man carrying her in 2010 and trying to run over a Navy police officer in 2014. But in both cases no wrongdoing was found.

SEALs said they reported concerns to Lieutenant Portier with no result. The lieutenant outranked Chief Gallagher but was younger and less experienced. SEALs said in interviews that the chief often yelled at his commanding officer or disregarded him altogether. After the deployment, Lieutenant Portier was charged with not reporting the chief for war crimes but charges were dropped. So SEALs said they started firing warning shots to keep pedestrians out of range. One SEAL told investigators he tried to damage the chief’s rifle to make it less accurate.

By the end of the deployment, SEALs said, Chief Gallagher was largely isolated from the rest of the platoon, with some privately calling him “el diablo,” or the devil.

A Fox Contributor’s Cause

Chief Gallagher was reported by six fellow SEALs and arrested in September 2017, charged with nearly a dozen counts including murder and locked in the brig in San Diego to await his trial. He denied the charges and called those reporting him liars who could not meet his high standards, referring to them repeatedly in public as “the mean girls” and saying they sought to get rid of him.

David Shaw, a former SEAL who deployed with the platoon, said he saw no evidence of that. “All six were some of the best performers in the platoon,” he said, speaking publicly for the first time. “These were guys were hand-selected by the chief based on their skills and abilities, and they are guys of the highest character.”

Chief Gallagher’s case was already simmering on the conservative talk show circuit when another service member, Maj. Mathew L. Golsteyn, an Army Green Beret, was charged last winter with killing an unarmed man linked to the Taliban in Afghanistan. On Dec. 16, barely minutes after a segment on “Fox & Friends,” Mr. Trump took to Twitter to say he would review the case, repeating language from the segment.

At the request of many, I will be reviewing the case of a “U.S. Military hero,” Major Matt Golsteyn, who is charged with murder. He could face the death penalty from our own government after he admitted to killing a Terrorist bomb maker while overseas. @PeteHegseth @FoxNews

38.1K people are talking about this

In the tweet, Mr. Trump included the handle of Mr. Hegseth, who speaks regularly with the president and has been considered for top jobs in the administration. An Army veteran, Mr. Hegseth served three tours in Iraq and Afghanistan before heading two conservative veterans organizations “committed to victory on the battlefield,” as the biography for his speaker’s bureau puts it.

Upset at what he sees as “Monday morning quarterbacking” of soldiers fighting a shadowy enemy where “second-guessing was deadly,” Mr. Hegseth has for years defended troops charged with war crimes, including Chief Gallagher, Major Golsteyn and Lt. Clint Lorance, often appealing directly to the president on Fox News.

“These are men who went into the most dangerous places on earth with a job to defend us and made tough calls on a moment’s notice,” Mr. Hegseth said on Fox in May. “They’re not war criminals, they’re warriors, who have now been accused of certain things that are under review.”

Mr. Hegseth found a ready ally in Mr. Trump, a graduate of a military high school who avoided serving in Vietnam by citing bone spurs in his foot. Mr. Trump has long sought to identify himself with the toughest of soldiers and loves boasting of battlefield exploits to the point that he made up details of an account of a “whimpering” Islamic State leader killed in October.

In March, the president twice called Richard V. Spencer, the Navy secretary, asking him to release Chief Gallagher from pretrial confinement in a Navy brig, Mr. Spencer later wrote in The Washington Post. After Mr. Spencer pushed back, Mr. Trump made it an order.

In honor of his past service to our Country, Navy Seal #EddieGallagher will soon be moved to less restrictive confinement while he awaits his day in court. Process should move quickly! @foxandfriends @RepRalphNorman

27.5K people are talking about this

By May, Mr. Trump prepared to pardon both Chief Gallagher and Major Golsteyn for Memorial Day, even though neither had yet faced trial. At the Pentagon, a conservative bastion where Fox News is the network of choice on office televisions, senior officials were aghast. They persuaded Mr. Trump to hold off. But that was not the end of the matter.

In June, Chief Gallagher appeared before a military jury of five Marines and two sailors in a two-week trial marred by accusations of prosecutorial misconduct. The medic who had been inches away from Chief Gallagher changed his story on the stand, claiming that he was the one who killed the captive.

In early July, the jury acquitted Chief Gallagher on all charges but one: posing for a trophy photo with a corpse. He was sentenced to the maximum four months in prison and demoted. Having already been confined awaiting trial, he walked out of the courtroom a free man

“Congratulations to Navy Seal Eddie Gallagher, his wonderful wife Andrea, and his entire family,” Mr. Trump tweeted. “You have been through much together. Glad I could help!”

The President Intervenes

In the months afterward, Chief Gallagher was feted on conservative talk shows. Mr. Hegseth spoke privately with Mr. Trump about the case.

As it happened, the president shares a lawyer with Chief Gallagher — Marc Mukasey, a former prosecutor representing Mr. Trump in proceedings against his company. Mr. Mukasey said he never discussed Chief Gallagher with anyone in the administration. “I have been religious about keeping matters separate,” he said.

Another person with ties to Mr. Trump who worked on Chief Gallagher’s case was Bernard B. Kerik, a New York City police commissioner under former Mayor Rudolph W. Giuliani, who is now the president’s personal lawyer. Like Mr. Hegseth, Mr. Kerik repeatedly appeared on Fox News pleading Chief Gallagher’s case.

The much-investigated president saw shades of himself in the case — Chief Gallagher’s lawyers accused prosecutors of improprieties, a claim that advisers said resonated with Mr. Trump.

Mr. Spencer tried to head off further intervention. On Nov. 14, the Navy secretary sent a note to the president asking him not to get involved again. But Pat A. Cipollone, the White House counsel, called to say Mr. Trump would order Chief Gallagher’s punishment reversed and his rank restored. In addition, he pardoned Major Golsteyn and Lieutenant Lorance.

“This was a shocking and unprecedented intervention in a low-level review,” Mr. Spencer wrote. “It was also a reminder that the president has very little understanding of what it means to be in the military, to fight ethically or to be governed by a uniform set of rules and practices.”

Mr. Spencer threatened to resign. The Army secretary, Ryan McCarthy, also weighed in, arguing that the country’s standards of military justice protected American troops by setting those troops up as a standard around the world.

Defense Secretary Mark T. Esper took the complaints to the president. The Pentagon also sent an information packet to the White House describing the cases, including a primer on why there is a Uniform Code of Military Justice. Mr. Esper and Gen. Mark A. Milley, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, told the president it was important to allow the process to go forward.

The Navy Secretary Fights and Loses

Caught in the middle was Rear Adm. Collin Green, who took command of the SEALs four days before Chief Gallagher was arrested. He made it a priority to restore what he called “good order and discipline” after a series of scandals, tightening grooming standards and banning unofficial patches with pirate flags, skulls, heads on pikes and other grim symbols used to denote rogue cliques, similar to motorcycle gangs.

For Admiral Green, the Gallagher case posed a challenge because after his acquittal, the chief regularly undermined the SEAL command, appearing without authorization on Fox News and insulting the admiral and other superiors on social media as “a bunch of morons.”

The admiral wanted to take Chief Gallagher’s Trident pin, casting him out of the force. He called both Mr. Spencer and the chief of naval operations, Adm. Michael Gilday, and said he understood the potential backlash from the White House, but in nearly all cases SEALs with criminal convictions had their Tridents taken.

Both Mr. Spencer and Admiral Gilday agreed the decision was his to make and said they would defend his call. Mr. Esper briefed Mick Mulvaney, the acting White House chief of staff, on Nov. 19 and the next day the Navy established a review board of fellow enlisted SEALs to decide the question.

But a day later, an hour after the chief’s lawyer blasted the decision on Fox News, the president stepped in again. “The Navy will NOT be taking away Warfighter and Navy Seal Eddie Gallagher’s Trident Pin,” Mr. Trump wrote on Twitter. “This case was handled very badly from the beginning. Get back to business!”

The Navy will NOT be taking away Warfighter and Navy Seal Eddie Gallagher’s Trident Pin. This case was handled very badly from the beginning. Get back to business!

36.8K people are talking about this

Three days later, Mr. Spencer was fired, faulted by Mr. Esper for not telling him about an effort to work out a deal with the White House to allow the Navy process to go forward.

In an interview with Mr. Hegseth this past week, Chief Gallagher thanked Mr. Trump for having his back. “He keeps stepping in and doing the right thing,” the chief said. “I want to let him know the rest of the SEAL community is not about this right now. They all respect the president.”

Phroyd

[junipershill17]

twelve Things You Should Consider When Acquiring Your First Condo

1) Analysis the Builder:

Not all building contractors are alike. Many create high quality condos and have some sort of track record of success, while others slice corners and build substandard condos. Aside from reviewing the general contractors webpage, one should also carry out an internet search for watchdog studies, lawsuits and discussion boards to get proposed and existing accommodations. One thing to look out with regard to is whether the builder who is project you are interested in, has a background for completing their assignments on time. I had a client who have purchased with a builder (who shall remain nameless in this particular article) that habitually forced back completion dates. Our client was promised typically the keys a little under 36 months after purchasing the unit, plus the builder delayed possession thrice from their original projected conclusion date. After many irritating delays, he final acquired the keys a whole a couple of and a half years after the authentic scheduled completion date. This specific tied his deposit funds up for an a total regarding 5. 5 years. It was almost considered like a 2 . 5 12 months interest free loan on the builder! In retrospect, as a possible investor, he would have loved to invest in another project from 15% deposit, then take other 10% and rescued another 5%, and put that money into one more project, returning him probably double the return, including 2 . 5 less yrs. This is why it pays to research often the builder!

2) Choose the form of condo that meets yourself:

Not all condos are likewise. Some have age constraints, and rules about animals. Other condos are more loved ones friendly in terms of the unit measurements and amenities. Still other folks cater to retiree's. A good way to decide this is have a look at the number of bachelor's, one, two and a few bedroom units in the complete building. You may also contact the house manager for the condominium to be able to verify whether it is a lifestyle condo catering to a certain demographic. People fewer two and several bedroom units will likely not appeal to large families. juniper hill

3) Identify financial status:

If you are a newbies buyer, getting pre-approved to get a mortgage is a must. Contact your loan company to determine your buying ability, and get a firm commitment page from them locking in the level, and approval amount. No-one wants to be left around the closing day without a mortgage loan approval after you already produced the purchase. I have acquired countless past clients that have been given what they thought has been an approval from their bank, exactly where in fact it was nothing more than a new verbal agreement. Some people have gotten credit issues in the past which could warrant a more difficult endorsement process, and possibly at a increased rate. It is always better to understand that you received a formal pre-approval before you fall in love with a home you can not afford.

4) Talk with local real estate agent:

Real estate agent's can give you statistics of which condominiums are appreciating well in Mississauga as well as the most popular unit sorts, and floor plans. This will likely help you to make a direct assessment between different condo properties in order to establish the true associated with the unit you are interested in. Don't merely settle for any real estate agent. Once more, not all real estate agents are the same. Make an effort to work with a local expert that are experts in the type of properties that curiosity you. After all, why can you work with a realtor that markets mainly full sized residences in the suburbs, when you are seeking purchase a condo in the metropolis? It is like going to the dental office for your flu!

5. Carry out your own research:

If you plan to get a home without a real estate agent, you ought to look into the sales of the adjacent area yourself. Again, these kinds of resources will be less obtainable to the general public, but you could have access to the asking rates of similar properties. That does not mean that those prices will be the market values for that certain property, or even necessarily whatever they sell for. Be careful while information gathering. I have experienced a number of past clients reward me after their hunt for educating them on location values, and explaining to these what to look for when they are searching. Why don't get the assistance of a regional expert, when they're providers are free?

6. Find out modification capability:

Although freehold qualities allow the owner to carry out restorations without anyone's consent, condo properties have restrictions on what may be altered for each unit. A standard rule of thumb should be to request composed permission from the property supervision before making any renovations. The house managers consent is always needed to various degrees depending on the residence. Usually renovation work that requires removing a wall or maybe upgrading bathtubs and baths will have limitations on what can easily, and cannot be done. Several require that a detailed reconstruction plan be submitted into the condo board for agreement prior to the renovation taking place. It will always be better to be proactive. An individual wouldn't want to reverse the actual reno back once it is completed! I had a client who all removed all the carpet inside their unit, to replace with wooden. She did this to boost the value of their unit before selling it, only to learn that management had to agree to any floor renovations. The lady tried to then sell the system thinking that hardwood wood raise the value of her unit. That did increase the value of your ex unit, but in failing to utilize and receive consent from your property manager, she was could possibly be renovation restrictions in the developing. It was later found that will she did not use the appropriate sound-proofing underpad beneath the hard wood. The condo corporation regarded that this would hinder the particular enjoyment of the unit owner immediately below hers because of sound. Consequently, she had to split out the hardwood, install fresh underpad, and then replace the wood. This ate into just about all her profit, and your girlfriend investment, and time was certainly not rewarded. The moral in the story is to always check into these renovations with the rental property manager before you begin. It could save you lots of money!

7) Ask for a disclosure statement:

The developer as well as builder of a new terme conseillé is required to have an information report giving details of the building, along with the legal terms under that this condominium will operate. The particular booklet is available immediately after typically the Agreement of Purchase along with Sale is signed. With resale units, this "Condo By Laws and Declarations" booklet is always made available through the 10 day conditional interval when you purchase a unit. It is placed on the status certificate that may be forwarded to your lawyer regarding review. Your lawyer and then has 2 business days and nights to review the certificate, in addition to consult the purchaser together with his/her findings. If almost everything checks out, the buyer may progress with the purchase. If there are usually red flags in the documents, often the purchaser always reserves it is your right walk away within the conditional time.

8. Ask for a site program:

It is important to know if the model that you want to purchase is in the 1st, second or third period of development so that you understand any future construction which could block your existing look at. Of equal significance will be knowing when, and everywhere more development may take place around this building. New improvement adjacent to the building will influence the use and enjoyment of your house due to noise, vibration, unpleasant construction, dust and nasty smells. It is also good practice to master where your unit will be inside proximity to the elevator, rubbish disposal room, and services, as units near these components usually have a stigma installed on them in the resale industry. Besides, who would want to scent the garbage room after a very long day at work.

9) Establish development plans for the associated with area:

Many condos can be purchased under the premise of a very clear view to the Lake, scenery, or green-space. To ensure that the lovely view will be maintained in the long term, an easy trip to the Planning Department will let you ask if any other innovations are planned nearby, and have a look at the architectural pictures. The planners should be able to assist you to understand the types of developments which can be proposed around you. I have got many calls from people that bought privately through the creator units with south landscapes of the lake as an investment property. These investors would hold the unit until they obtain the keys, and the building subscribes as a condominium corporation. At this time, they would try to resell it, only to be shocked which a new condominium just commenced construction in front of they're system, obstructing their perfect to the south view. The investors blunder was being too excited during the buy process, without taking a take a step back and asking the right concerns up front.

10) Review service details:

If the developer provides a swimming pool, it is important to really know what size and whether it is inside or outdoor. The same is true of party rooms, exercise locations, gyms, sports fields, doctor offices and lockers. Find out how huge, how many, and where will have them located.

Again, these 12 considerations can affect both your entertainment, and the resale value of your current condo. It is always better to research before you buy upfront, and then enjoy the returns of your hard work once you have shifted in!

References Apartment

[booksalves]

The Sound of Murakami

Try reading an excerpt from The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle to my curated playlist!

June and July 1984

Tuesday's Wind-Up Bird

Six Fingers and Four Breasts

   When the phone rang I was in the kitchen, boiling a potful of spaghetti and whistling along with an FM broadcast of the overture to Rossini's The Thieving Magpie, which has to be the perfect music for cooking pasta.

   I wanted to ignore the phone, not only because the spaghetti was nearly done, but because Claudio Abbado was bringing the London Symphony to its musical climax. Finally, though, I had to give in. It could have been somebody with news of a job opening. I lowered the flame, went to the living room, and picked up the receiver.

   "Ten minutes, please," said a woman on the other end.

   I'm good at recognizing people's voices, but this was not one I knew.

   "Excuse me? To whom did you wish to speak?"

   "To you, of course. Ten minutes, please. That's all we need to understand each other." Her voice was low and soft but otherwise nondescript.

   "Understand each other?"

   "Each other's feelings."

   I leaned over and peeked through the kitchen door. The spaghetti pot was steaming nicely, and Claudio Abbado was still conducting The Thieving Magpie.

   "Sorry, but you caught me in the middle of making spaghetti. Can I ask you to call back later?"

   "Spaghetti!? What are you doing cooking spaghetti at ten-thirty in the morning?"

   "That's none of your business," I said. "I decide what I eat and when I eat it."

   "True enough. I'll call back," she said, her voice now flat and expressionless. A little change in mood can do amazing things to the tone of a person's voice.

   "Hold on a minute," I said before she could hang up. "If this is some new sales gimmick, you can forget it. I'm out of work. I'm not in the market for anything."

   "Don't worry. I know."

   "You know? You know what?"

   "That you're out of work. I know about that. So go cook your precious spaghetti."

   "Who the hell-"

    She cut the connection.

   With no outlet for my feelings, I stared at the phone in my hand until I remembered the spaghetti. Back in the kitchen, I turned off the gas and poured the contents of the pot into a colander. Thanks to the phone call, the spaghetti was a little softer than al dente, but it had not been dealt a mortal blow. I started eating - and thinking.

   Understand each other? Understand each other's feelings in ten minutes? What was she talking about? Maybe it was just a prank call. Or some new sales pitch. In any case, it had nothing to do with me.

   After lunch, I went back to my library novel on the living room sofa, glancing every now and then at the telephone. What were we supposed to understand about each other in ten minutes? What can two people understand about each other in ten minutes? Come to think of it, she seemed awfully sure about those ten minutes: it was the first thing out of her mouth. As if nine minutes would be too short or eleven minutes too long. Like cooking spaghetti al dente.

   I couldn't read anymore. I decided to iron shirts instead. Which is what I always do when I'm upset. It's an old habit. I divide the job into twelve precise stages, beginning with the collar (outer surface) and ending with the left-hand cuff. The order is always the same, and I count off each stage to myself. Otherwise, it won't come out right.

   I ironed three shirts, checking them over for wrinkles and putting them on hangers. Once I had switched off the iron and put it away with the ironing board in the hall closet, my mind felt a good deal clearer.

   I was on my way to the kitchen for a glass of water when the phone rang again. I hesitated for a second but decided to answer it. If it was the same woman, I'd tell her I was ironing and hang up.

   This time it was Kumiko. The wall clock said eleven-thirty. "How are you?" she asked.

   "Fine," I said, relieved to hear my wife's voice.

   "What are you doing?"

   "Just finished ironing."

   "What's wrong?" There was a note of tension in her voice. She knew what it meant for me to be ironing.

   "Nothing. I was just ironing some shirts." I sat down and shifted the receiver from my left hand to my right. "What's up?"

   "Can you write poetry?" she asked.

   "Poetry!?" Poetry? Did she mean . . . poetry?

   "I know the publisher of a story magazine for girls. They're looking for somebody to pick and revise poems submitted by readers. And they want the person to write a short poem every month for the frontispiece. Pay's not bad for an easy job. Of course, it's part-time. But they might add some editorial work if the person-"

   "Easy work?" I broke in. "Hey, wait a minute. I'm looking for something in law, not poetry."

   "I thought you did some writing in high school."

   "Yeah, sure, for the school newspaper: which team won the soccer championship or how the physics teacher fell down the stairs and ended up in the hospital - that kind of stuff. Not poetry. I can't write poetry."

   "Sure, but I'm not talking about great poetry, just something for high school girls. It doesn't have to find a place in literary history. You could do it with your eyes closed. Don't you see?"

   "Look, I just can't write poetry - eyes open or closed. I've never done it, and I'm not going to start now."

   "All right," said Kumiko, with a hint of regret. "But it's hard to find legal work."

   "I know. That's why I've got so many feelers out. I should be hearing something this week. If it's no go, I'll think about doing something else."

   "Well, I suppose that's that. By the way, what's today? What day of the week?"

   I thought a moment and said, "Tuesday."

   "Then will you go to the bank and pay the gas and telephone?"

   "Sure. I was just about to go shopping for dinner anyway."

   "What are you planning to make?"

   "I don't know yet. I'll decide when I'm shopping."

   She paused. "Come to think of it," she said, with a new seriousness, "there's no great hurry about your finding a job."

   This took me off guard. "Why's that?" I asked. Had the women of the world chosen today to surprise me on the telephone? "My unemployment's going to run out sooner or later. I can't keep hanging around forever."

   "True, but with my raise and occasional side jobs and our savings, we can get by OK if we're careful. There's no real emergency. Do you hate staying at home like this and doing housework? I mean, is this life so wrong for you?"

   "I don't know," I answered honestly. I really didn't know.

   "Well, take your time and give it some thought," she said. "Anyhow, has the cat come back?"

   The cat. I hadn't thought about the cat all morning. "No," I said.

   "Not yet."

   "Can you please have a look around the neighborhood? It's been gone over a week now."

   I gave a noncommittal grunt and shifted the receiver back to my left hand. She went on:

   "I'm almost certain it's hanging around the empty house at the other end of the alley. The one with the bird statue in the yard. I've seen it in there several times."

   "The alley? Since when have you been going to the alley? You've never said anything-"

   "Oops! Got to run. Lots of work to do. Don't forget about the cat."

   She hung up. I found myself staring at the receiver again. Then I set it down in its cradle.

   I wondered what had brought Kumiko to the alley. To get there from our house, you had to climb over the cinder-block wall. And once you'd made the effort, there was no point in being there.

   I went to the kitchen for a glass of water, then out to the veranda to look at the cat's dish. The mound of sardines was untouched from last night. No, the cat had not come back. I stood there looking at our small garden, with the early-summer sunshine streaming into it. Not that ours was the kind of garden that gives you spiritual solace to look at. The sun managed to find its way in there for the smallest fraction of each day, so the earth was always black and moist, and all we had by way of garden plants were a few drab hydrangeas in one corner - and I don't like hydrangeas. There was a small stand of trees nearby, and from it you could hear the mechanical cry of a bird that sounded as if it were winding a spring. We called it the wind-up bird. Kumiko gave it the name. We didn't know what it was really called or what it looked like, but that didn't bother the wind-up bird. Every day it would come to the stand of trees in our neighborhood and wind the spring of our quiet little world.

   So now I had to go cat hunting. I had always liked cats. And I liked this particular cat. But cats have their own way of living. They're not stupid. If a cat stopped living where you happened to be, that meant it had decided to go somewhere else. If it got tired and hungry, it would come back. Finally, though, to keep Kumiko happy, I would have to go looking for our cat. I had nothing better to do.    

   I had quit my job at the beginning of April - the law job I had had since graduation. Not that I had quit for any special reason. I didn't dislike the work. It wasn't thrilling, but the pay was all right and the office atmosphere was friendly.

   My role at the firm was - not to put too fine a point on it - that of professional gofer. And I was good at it. I might say I have a real talent for the execution of such practical duties. I'm a quick study, efficient, I never complain, and I'm realistic. Which is why, when I said I wanted to quit, the senior partner (the father in this father-and-son law firm) went so far as to offer me a small raise.

   But I quit just the same. Not that quitting would help me realize any particular hopes or prospects. The last thing I wanted to do, for example, was shut myself up in the house and study for the bar exam. I was surer than ever that I didn't want to become a lawyer. I knew, too, that I didn't want to stay where I was and continue with the job I had. If I was going to quit, now was the time to do it. If I stayed with the firm any longer, I'd be there for the rest of my life. I was thirty years old, after all.

   I had told Kumiko at the dinner table that I was thinking of quitting my job. Her only response had been, "I see." I didn't know what she meant by that, but for a while she said nothing more.

   I kept silent too, until she added, "If you want to quit, you should quit. It's your life, and you should live it the way you want to." Having said this much, she then became involved in picking out fish bones with her chopsticks and moving them to the edge of her plate.

   Kumiko earned pretty good pay as editor of a health food magazine, and she would occasionally take on illustration assignments from editor friends at other magazines to earn substantial additional income. (She had studied design in college and had hoped to be a freelance illustrator.) In addition, if I quit I would have my own income for a while from unemployment insurance. Which meant that even if I stayed home and took care of the house, we would still have enough for extras such as eating out and paying the cleaning bill, and our lifestyle would hardly change.

   And so I had quit my job.    

   I was loading groceries into the refrigerator when the phone rang. The ringing seemed to have an impatient edge to it this time. I had just ripped open a plastic pack of tofu, which I set down carefully on the kitchen table to keep the water from spilling out. I went to the living room and picked up the phone.

   "You must have finished your spaghetti by now," said the woman.

   "You're right. But now I have to go look for the cat."

   "That can wait for ten minutes, I'm sure. It's not like cooking spaghetti."

   For some reason, I couldn't just hang up on her. There was something about her voice that commanded my attention. "OK, but no more than ten minutes."

   "Now we'll be able to understand each other," she said with quiet certainty. I sensed her settling comfortably into a chair and crossing her legs.

   "I wonder," I said. "What can you understand in ten minutes?"

   "Ten minutes may be longer than you think," she said.

   "Are you sure you know me?"

   "Of course I do. We've met hundreds of times."

   "Where? When?"

   "Somewhere, sometime," she said. "But if I went into that, ten minutes would never be enough. What's important is the time we have now. The present. Don't you agree?"

   "Maybe. But I'd like some proof that you know me."

   "What kind of proof?"

   "My age, say?"

   "Thirty," she answered instantaneously. "Thirty and two months. Good enough?"

   That shut me up. She obviously did know me, but I had absolutely no memory of her voice.

   "Now it's your turn," she said, her voice seductive. "Try picturing me. From my voice. Imagine what I'm like. My age. Where I am. How I'm dressed. Go ahead."

   "I have no idea," I said.

   "Oh, come on," she said. "Try."

   I looked at my watch. Only a minute and five seconds had gone by. "I have no idea," I said again.

   "Then let me help you," she said. "I'm in bed. I just got out of the shower, and I'm not wearing a thing."

   Oh, great. Telephone sex.

   "Or would you prefer me with something on? Something lacy. Or stockings. Would that work better for you?"

   "I don't give a damn. Do what you like," I said. "Put something on if you want to. Stay naked if you want to. Sorry, but I'm not interested in telephone games like this. I've got a lot of things I have to-"

   "Ten minutes," she said. "Ten minutes won't kill you. It won't put a hole in your life. Just answer my question. Do you want me naked or with something on? I've got all kinds of things I could put on. Black lace panties . . ."

   "Naked is fine."

   "Well, good. You want me naked."

   "Yes. Naked. Good."

   Four minutes.

   "My pubic hair is still wet," she said. "I didn't dry myself very well. Oh, I'm so wet! Warm and moist. And soft. Wonderfully soft and black. Touch me."

   "Look, I'm sorry, but-"

   "And down below too. All the way down. It's so warm down there, like butter cream. So warm. Mmm. And my legs. What position do you think my legs are in? My right knee is up, and my left leg is open just enough. Say, ten-oh-five on the clock."

   I could tell from her voice that she was not faking it. She really did have her legs open to ten-oh-five, her sex warm and moist.

   "Touch the lips," she said. "Slooowly. Now open them. That's it. Slowly, slowly. Let your fingers caress them. Oh so slowly. Now, with your other hand, touch my left breast. Play with it. Caress it. Upward. And give the nipple a little squeeze. Do it again. And again. And again. Until I'm just about to come."

   Without a word, I put the receiver down. Stretching out on the sofa, I stared at the clock and released a long, deep sigh. I had spoken with her for close to six minutes.

   The phone rang again ten minutes later, but I left it on the hook. It rang fifteen times. And when it stopped, a deep, cold silence descended upon the room.    

   Just before two, I climbed over the cinder-block wall and down into the alley - or what we called the alley. It was not an "alley" in the proper sense of the word, but then, there was probably no word for what it was. It wasn't a "road" or a "path" or even a "way." Properly speaking, a "way" should be a pathway or channel with an entrance and an exit, which takes you somewhere if you follow it. But our "alley" had neither entrance nor exit. You couldn't call it a cul-de-sac, either: a cul-de-sac has at least one open end. The alley had not one dead end but two. The people of the neighborhood called it "the alley" strictly as an expedient. It was some two hundred yards in length and threaded its way between the back gardens of the houses that lined either side. Barely over three feet in width, it had several spots at which you had to edge through sideways because of fences sticking out into the path or things that people had left in the way.

   About this alley, the story was - the story I heard from my uncle, who rented us our house for next to nothing - that it used to have both an entrance and an exit and actually served the purpose of providing a shortcut between two streets. But with the rapid economic growth of the mid-fifties, rows of new houses came to fill the empty lots on either side of the road, squeezing it down until it was little more than a narrow path. People didn't like strangers passing so close to their houses and yards, so before long, one end of the path was blocked off - or, rather, screened off - with an unassertive fence. Then one local citizen decided to enlarge his yard and completely sealed off his end of the alley with a cinder-block wall. As if in response, a barbed-wire barrier went up at the other end, preventing even dogs from getting through. None of the neighbors complained, because none of them used the alley as a passageway, and they were just as happy to have this extra protection against crime. As a result, the alley remained like some kind of abandoned canal, unused, serving as little more than a buffer zone between two rows of houses. Spiders spread their sticky webs in the overgrowth.

   Why had Kumiko been frequenting such a place? I myself had walked down that "alley" no more than twice, and Kumiko was afraid of spiders at the best of times. Oh, what the hell - if Kumiko said I should go to the alley and look for the cat, I'd go to the alley and look for the cat. What came later I could think about later. Walking outside like this was far better than sitting in the house waiting for the phone to ring.

   The sharp sunshine of early summer dappled the surface of the alley with the hard shadows of the branches that stretched overhead. Without wind to move the branches, the shadows looked like permanent stains, destined to remain imprinted on the pavement forever. No sounds of any kind seemed to penetrate this place. I could almost hear the blades of grass breathing in the sunlight. A few small clouds floated in the sky, their shapes clear and precise, like the clouds in medieval engravings. I saw everything with such terrific clarity that my own body felt vague and boundless and flowing . . . and hot!

   I wore a T-shirt, thin cotton pants, and tennis shoes, but walking in the summer sun, I could feel a light film of sweat forming under my arms and in the hollow of my chest. The T-shirt and pants had been packed away in a box crammed with summer clothing until I pulled them out that morning, the sharp smell of mothballs penetrating my nostrils.

   The houses that lined the alley fell into two distinct categories: older houses and those built more recently. As a group, the newer ones were smaller, with smaller yards to match. Their clothes-drying poles often protruded into the alley, making it necessary for me to thread my way through the occasional screen of towels and sheets and undershirts. Over some back walls came the clear sound of television sets and flushing toilets, and the smell of curry cooking.

   The older houses, by contrast, gave hardly any sense of life. These were screened off by well-placed shrubs and hedges, between which I caught glimpses of manicured gardens.

   An old, brown, withered Christmas tree stood in the corner of one garden. Another had become the dumping ground for every toy known to man, the apparent leavings of several childhoods. There were tricycles and toss rings and plastic swords and rubber balls and tortoise dolls and little baseball bats. One garden had a basketball hoop, and another had fine lawn chairs surrounding a ceramic table. The white chairs were caked in dirt, as if they had not been used for some months or even years. The tabletop was coated with lavender magnolia petals, beaten down by the rain.

   I had a clear view of one living room through an aluminum storm door. It had a matching leather sofa and chairs, a large TV, a sideboard (atop which sat a tropical-fish tank and two trophies of some kind), and a decorative floor lamp. The room looked like the set of a TV drama. A huge doghouse occupied a large part of another garden, but there was no sign of the dog itself, and the house's door stood open. The screen of the doghouse door bulged outward, as if someone had been leaning against it for months at a time.

   The vacant house that Kumiko had told me about lay just beyond the place with the huge doghouse. One glance was all I needed to see that it was empty - and had been for some time. It was a fairly new two-story house, yet its wooden storm shutters showed signs of severe aging, and the railings outside the second-story windows were caked with rust. The house had a cozy little garden, in which, to be sure, a stone statue of a bird stood. The statue rested on a base that came to chest height and was surrounded by a thick growth of weeds. Tall fronds of goldenrod were almost touching the bird's feet. The bird - I had no idea what kind of bird it was supposed to be - had its wings open as if it wanted to escape from this unpleasant place as soon as possible. Aside from the statue, the garden had no decorative features. A pile of aging plastic lawn chairs stood against the house, and beside them an azalea bush displayed its bright-red blossoms, their color strangely unreal. Weeds made up the rest.

   I leaned against the chest-high chain-link fence for a while, contemplating the garden. It should have been a paradise for cats, but there was no sign of cats here now. Perched on the roof's TV antenna, a single pigeon lent its monotonous cries to the scene. The stone bird's shadow fell on the surrounding undergrowth, breaking apart.

   I took a lemon drop from my pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into my mouth. I had taken my resignation from the firm as an opportunity to quit smoking, but now I was never without a pack of lemon drops. Kumiko said I was addicted to them and warned me that I'd soon have a mouthful of cavities, but I had to have my lemon drops. While I stood there looking at the garden, the pigeon on the TV antenna kept up its regular cooing, like some clerk stamping numbers on a sheaf of bills. I don't know how long I stayed there, leaning against the fence, but I remember spitting my lemon drop on the ground when, half melted, it filled my mouth with its sticky sweetness. I had just shifted my gaze to the shadow of the stone bird when I sensed that someone was calling to me from behind.

   I turned, to see a girl standing in the garden on the other side of the alley. She was small and had her hair in a ponytail. She wore dark sunglasses with amber frames, and a light-blue sleeveless T-shirt. The rainy season had barely ended, and yet she had already managed to give her slender arms a nice, smooth tan. She had one hand jammed into the pocket of her short pants. The other rested on a waist-high bamboo gate, which could not have been providing much support. Only three feet - maybe four - separated us.

   "Hot," she said to me.

   "Yeah, right," I answered.

   After this brief exchange of views, she stood there looking at me. Then she took a box of Hope regulars from her pants pocket, drew out a cigarette, and put it between her lips. She had a small mouth, the upper lip turned slightly upward. She struck a match and lit her cigarette. When she inclined her head to one side, her hair swung away to reveal a beautifully shaped ear, smooth as if freshly made, its edge aglow with a downy fringe.

   She flicked her match away and exhaled smoke through pursed lips. Then she looked up at me as if she had forgotten that I was there. I couldn't see her eyes through the dark, reflective lenses of her sunglasses.

   "You live around here?" she asked.

   "Uh-huh." I wanted to motion toward our house, but I had turned so many odd angles to get here that I no longer knew exactly where it was. I ended up pointing at random.

   "I'm looking for my cat," I explained, wiping a sweaty palm on my pants. "It's been gone for a week. Somebody saw it around here somewhere."

   "What kind of cat?"

   "A big tom. Brown stripes. Tip of the tail a little bent."

   "Name?"

   "Noboru. Noboru Wataya."

   "No, not your name. The cat's."

   "That is my cat's name."

   "Oh! Very impressive!"

   "Well, actually, it's my brother-in-law's name. The cat sort of reminds us of him. We gave the cat his name, just for fun."

   "How does the cat remind you of him?"

   "I don't know. Just in general. The way it walks. And it has this blank stare."

   She smiled now for the first time, which made her look a lot more childlike than she had seemed at first. She couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen. With its slight curl, her upper lip pointed up at a strange angle. I seemed to hear a voice saying "Touch me" - the voice of the woman on the phone. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.

   "A brown-striped cat with a bent tail," said the girl. "Hmm. Does it have a collar or something?"

   "A black flea collar."

   She stood there thinking for ten or fifteen seconds, her hand still resting on the gate. Then she dropped what was left of her cigarette and crushed it under her sandal.

   "Maybe I did see a cat like that," she said. "I don't know about the bent tail, but it was a brown tiger cat, big, and I think it had a collar."

   "When did you see it?"

   "When did I see it? Hmm. No more than three or four days ago. Our yard is a kind of highway for the neighborhood cats. They all cut across here from the Takitanis' to the Miyawakis'."

   She pointed toward the vacant house, where the stone bird still spread its wings, the tall goldenrod still caught the early-summer sun, and the pigeon went on with its monotonous cooing atop the TV antenna.

   "I've got an idea," she said. "Why don't you wait here? All the cats eventually pass through our place on their way to the Miyawakis'. And somebody's bound to call the cops if they see you hanging around like that. It wouldn't be the first time."

   I hesitated.

   "Don't worry," she said. "I'm the only one here. The two of us can sit in the sun and wait for the cat to show up. I'll help. I've got    twenty-twenty vision."

   I looked at my watch. Two twenty-six. All I had to do today before it got dark was take in the laundry and fix dinner.

   I went in through the gate and followed the girl across the lawn. She dragged her right leg slightly. She took a few steps, stopped, and turned to face me.

   "I got thrown from the back of a motorcycle," she said, as if it hardly mattered.

   A large oak tree stood at the point where the yard's lawn gave out. Under the tree sat two canvas deck chairs, one draped with a blue beach towel. Scattered on the other were a new box of Hope regulars, an ashtray and lighter, a magazine, and an oversize boom box. The boom box was playing hard-rock music at low volume. She turned the music off and took all the stuff out of the chair for me, dropping it on the grass. From the chair, I could see into the yard of the vacant house - the stone bird, the goldenrod, the chain-link fence. The girl had probably been watching me the whole time I was there.

   The yard of this house was very large. It had a broad, sloping lawn dotted with clumps of trees. To the left of the deck chairs was a rather large concrete-lined pond, its empty bottom exposed to the sun. Judging from its greenish tinge, it had been without water for some time. We sat with our backs to the house, which was visible through a screen of trees. The house was neither large nor lavish in its construction. Only the yard gave an impression of large size, and it was well manicured.

   "What a big yard," I said, looking around. "It must be a pain to take care of."

   "Must be."

   "I used to work for a lawn-mowing company when I was a kid."

   "Oh?" She was obviously not interested in lawns.

   "Are you always here alone?" I asked.

   "Yeah. Always. Except a maid comes mornings and evenings. During the day it's just me. Alone. Want a cold drink? We've got beer."

   "No, thanks."

   "Really? Don't be shy."

   I shook my head. "Don't you go to school?"

   "Don't you go to work?"

   "No work to go to."

   "Lost your job?"

   "Sort of. I quit a few weeks ago."

   "What kind of job?"

   "I was a lawyer's gofer. I'd go to different government offices to pick up documents, put materials in order, check on legal precedents, handle court procedures - that kind of stuff."

   "But you quit."

   "Yeah."

   "Does your wife have a job?"

   "She does."

   The pigeon across the way must have stopped its cooing and gone off somewhere. I suddenly realized that a deep silence lay all around me.

   "Right over there is where the cats go through," she said, pointing toward the far side of the lawn. "See the incinerator in the Takitanis' yard? They come under the fence at that point, cut across the grass, and go out under the gate to the yard across the way. They always follow exactly the same route."

   She perched her sunglasses on her forehead, squinted at the yard, and lowered her glasses again, exhaling a cloud of smoke. In the interval, I saw that she had a two-inch cut next to her left eye - the kind of cut that would probably leave a scar the rest of her life. The dark sunglasses were probably meant to hide the wound. The girl's face was not a particularly beautiful one, but there was something attractive about it, probably the lively eyes or the unusual shape of the lips.

   "Do you know about the Miyawakis?" she asked.

   "Not a thing," I said.

   "They're the ones who lived in the vacant house. A very proper family. They had two daughters, both in a private girls' school. Mr. Miyawaki owned a few family restaurants."

   "Why'd they leave?"

   "Maybe he was in debt. It was like they ran away - just cleared out one night. About a year ago, I think. Left the place to rot and breed cats. My mother's always complaining."

   "Are there so many cats in there?"

   Cigarette in her lips, the girl looked up at the sky.

   "All kinds of cats. Some losing their fur, some with one eye . . . and where the other eye used to be, a lump of raw flesh. Yuck!"

   I nodded.

   "I've got a relative with six fingers on each hand. She's just a little older than me. Next to her pinkie she's got this extra finger, like a baby's finger. She knows how to keep it folded up so most people don't notice. She's really pretty."

   I nodded again.

   "You think it's in the family? What do you call it . . . part of the bloodline?"

   "I don't know much about heredity."

   She stopped talking. I sucked on my lemon drop and looked hard at the cat path. Not one cat had shown itself so far.

   "Sure you don't want something to drink?" she asked. "I'm going to have a Coke."

   I said I didn't need a drink.

   She left her deck chair and disappeared through the trees, dragging her bad leg slightly. I picked up her magazine from the grass and leafed through it. Much to my surprise, it turned out to be a men's magazine, one of the glossy monthlies. The woman in the foldout wore thin panties that showed her slit and pubic hair. She sat on a stool with her legs spread out at weird angles. With a sigh, I put the magazine back, folded my hands on my chest, and focused on the cat path again.    

   A very long time went by before the girl came back, with a Coke in her hand. The heat was getting to me. Sitting under the sun, I felt my brain fogging over. The last thing I wanted to do was think.

   "Tell me," she said, picking up her earlier conversation. "If you were in love with a girl and she turned out to have six fingers, what would you do?"

   "Sell her to the circus," I answered.

   "Really?"

   "No, of course not," I said. "I'm kidding. I don't think it would bother me."

   "Even if your kids might inherit it?"

   I took a moment to think about that.

   "No, I really don't think it would bother me. What harm would an extra finger do?"

   "What if she had four breasts?"

   I thought about that too.

   "I don't know."

   Four breasts? This kind of thing could go on forever. I decided to change the subject.

   "How old are you?" I asked.

   "Sixteen," she said. "Just had my birthday. First year in high school."

   "Have you been out of school long?"

   "My leg hurts if I walk too much. And I've got this scar near my eye. My school's very strict. They'd probably start bugging me if they found out I hurt myself falling off a motorcycle. So I'm out 'sick.' I could take a year off. I'm not in any hurry to go up a grade."

   "No, I guess not," I said.

   "Anyhow, what you were saying before, that you wouldn't mind marrying a girl with six fingers but not four breasts . . ."

   "I didn't say that. I said I didn't know."

   "Why don't you know?"

   "I don't know - it's hard to imagine such a thing."

   "Can you imagine someone with six fingers?"

   "Sure, I guess so."

   "So why not four breasts? What's the difference?"

   I took another moment to think it over, but I couldn't find an answer.

   "Do I ask too many questions?"

   "Do people tell you that?"

   "Yeah, sometimes."

   I turned toward the cat path again. What the hell was I doing here? Not one cat had showed itself the whole time. Hands still folded on my chest, I closed my eyes for maybe thirty seconds. I could feel the sweat forming on different parts of my body. The sun poured into me with a strange heaviness. Whenever the girl moved her glass, the ice clinked inside it like a cowbell.

   "Go to sleep if you want," she whispered. "I'll wake you if a cat shows up."

   Eyes closed, I nodded in silence.

   The air was still. There were no sounds of any kind. The pigeon had long since disappeared. I kept thinking about the woman on the telephone. Did I really know her? There had been nothing remotely familiar about her voice or her manner of speaking. But she definitely knew me. I could have been looking at a De Chirico scene: the woman's long shadow cutting across an empty street and stretching toward me, but she herself in a place far removed from the bounds of my consciousness. A bell went on ringing and ringing next to my ear.

   "Are you asleep?" the girl asked, in a voice so tiny I could not be sure I was hearing it.

   "No, I'm not sleeping," I said.

   "Can I get closer? It'll be . . . easier if I keep my voice low."

   "Fine with me," I said, eyes still closed.

   She moved her chair until it struck mine with a dry, wooden clack.

   Strange, the girl's voice sounded completely different, depending on whether my eyes were open or closed.

   "Can I talk? I'll keep real quiet, and you don't have to answer. You can even fall asleep. I don't mind."

   "OK," I said.

   "When people die, it's so neat."

   Her mouth was next to my ear now, so the words worked their way inside me along with her warm, moist breath.

   "Why's that?" I asked.

   She put a finger on my lips as if to seal them.

   "No questions," she said. "And don't open your eyes. OK?"

   My nod was as small as her voice.

   She took her finger from my lips and placed it on my wrist.

   "I wish I had a scalpel. I'd cut it open and look inside. Not the corpse . . . the lump of death. I'm sure there must be something like that. Something round and squishy, like a softball, with a hard little core of dead nerves. I want to take it out of a dead person and cut it open and look inside. I always wonder what it's like. Maybe it's all hard, like toothpaste dried up inside the tube. That's it, don't you think? No, don't answer. It's squishy on the outside, and the deeper you go inside, the harder it gets. I want to cut open the skin and take out the squishy stuff, use a scalpel and some kind of spatula to get through it, and the closer you get to the center, the harder the squishy stuff gets, until you reach this tiny core. It's sooo tiny, like a tiny ball bearing, and really hard. It must be like that, don't you think?"

    She cleared her throat a few times.

   "That's all I think about these days. Must be because I have so much time to kill every day. When you don't have anything to do, your thoughts get really, really far out - so far out you can't follow them all the way to the end."

She took the finger from my wrist and drank down the rest of her cola. I knew the glass was empty from the sound of the ice.

   "Don't worry about the cat - I'm watching for it. I'll let you know if Noboru Wataya shows up. Keep your eyes closed. I'm sure Noboru Wataya is walking around here someplace. He'll be here any minute now. He's coming. I know he's coming-through the grass, under the fence, stopping to sniff the flowers along the way, little by little Noboru Wataya is coming closer. Picture him that way, get his image in mind."

   I tried to picture the image of the cat, but the best I could do was a blurry, backlighted photo. The sunlight penetrating my eyelids destabilized and diffused my inner darkness, making it impossible for me to bring up a precise image of the cat. Instead, what I imagined was a failed portrait, a strange, distorted picture, certain distinguishing features bearing some resemblance to the original but the most important parts missing. I couldn't even recall how the cat looked when it walked.

   The girl put her finger on my wrist again, using the tip to draw an odd diagram of uncertain shape. As if in response, a new kind of darkness - different in quality from the darkness I had been experiencing until that moment - began to burrow into my consciousness. I was probably falling asleep. I didn't want this to happen, but there was no way I could resist it. My body felt like a corpse - someone else's corpse - sinking into the canvas deck chair.

   In the darkness, I saw the four legs of Noboru Wataya, four silent brown legs atop four soft paws with swelling, rubberlike pads, legs that were soundlessly treading the earth somewhere.

   But where?

   "Ten minutes is all it will take," said the woman on the phone. No, she had to be wrong. Sometimes ten minutes is not ten minutes. It can stretch and shrink. That was something I did know for sure.    

   When I woke up, I was alone. The girl had disappeared from the deck chair, which was still touching mine. The towel and cigarettes and magazine were there, but not the glass or the boom box.

   The sun had begun to sink in the west, and the shadow of an oak branch had crept across my knees. My watch said it was four-fifteen. I sat up and looked around. Broad lawn, dry pond, fence, stone bird, goldenrod, TV antenna. Still no sign of the cat. Or of the girl.

   I glanced at the cat path and waited for the girl to come back. Ten minutes went by, and neither cat nor girl showed up. Nothing moved. I felt as if I had aged tremendously while I slept.

   I stood and glanced toward the house, where there was no sign of a human presence. The bay window reflected the glare of the western sun. I gave up waiting and crossed the lawn to the alley, returning home. I hadn't found the cat, but I had tried my best.    

   At home, I took in the wash and made preparations for a simple dinner. The phone rang twelve times at five-thirty, but I didn't answer it. Even after the ringing stopped, the sound of the bell lingered in the indoor evening gloom like dust floating in the air. With the tips of its hard claws, the table clock tapped at a transparent board floating in space.

   Why not write a poem about the wind-up bird? The idea struck me, but the first line would not come. How could high school girls possibly enjoy a poem about a wind-up bird?    

   Kumiko came home at seven-thirty. She had been arriving later and later over the past month. It was not unusual for her to return after eight, and sometimes even after ten. Now that I was at home preparing dinner, she no longer had to hurry back. They were understaffed, in any case, and lately one of her colleagues had been out sick.

   "Sorry," she said. "The work just wouldn't end, and that part-time girl is useless."

   I went to the kitchen and cooked: fish sautéed in butter, salad, and miso soup. Kumiko sat at the kitchen table and vegged out.

   "Where were you at five-thirty?" she asked. "I tried to call to say I'd be late."

   "The butter ran out. I went to the store," I lied.

   "Did you go to the bank?"

   "Sure."

   "And the cat?"

   "Couldn't find it. I went to the vacant house, like you said, but there was no trace of it. I bet it went farther away than that."

   She said nothing.

   When I finished bathing after dinner, Kumiko was sitting in the living room with the lights out. Hunched down in the dark with her gray shirt on, she looked like a piece of luggage that had been left in the wrong place.

   Drying my hair with a bath towel, I sat on the sofa opposite Kumiko.

   In a voice I could barely catch, she said, "I'm sure the cat's dead."

   "Don't be silly," I replied. "I'm sure it's having a grand old time somewhere. It'll get hungry and come home soon. The same thing happened once before, remember? When we lived in Koenji . . ."

   "This time's different," she said. "This time you're wrong. I know it. The cat's dead. It's rotting in a clump of grass. Did you look in the grass in the vacant house?"

   "No, I didn't. The house may be vacant, but it does belong to somebody. I can't just go barging in there."

   "Then where did you look for the cat? I'll bet you didn't even try. That's why you didn't find it."

   I sighed and wiped my hair again with the towel. I started to speak but gave up when I realized that Kumiko was crying. It was understandable: Kumiko loved the cat. It had been with us since shortly after our wedding. I threw my towel in the bathroom hamper and went to the kitchen for a cold beer. What a stupid day it had been: a stupid day of a stupid month of a stupid year.

   Noboru Wataya, where are you? Did the wind-up bird forget to wind your spring?

   The words came to me like lines of poetry.

              Noboru Wataya,               Where are you?               Did the wind-up bird               Forget to wind your spring?

   When I was halfway through my beer, the phone started to ring.

   "Get it, will you?" I shouted into the darkness of the living room.

   "Not me," she said. "You get it."

   "I don't want to."

         The phone kept on ringing, stirring up the dust that floated in the darkness. Neither of us said a word. I drank my beer, and Kumiko went on crying soundlessly. I counted twenty rings and gave up. There was no point in counting forever.

[h-orus]

Conveyancing Solicitors Solihull

Finding a Solihull conveyancing solicitor: prices, guideline, what you need to watch out for

Need a property solicitor but have no idea exactly how you can locate one? We expose what you need to know, including what cost-free online sources are readily available, how much it may cost, what to anticipate and how to complain if things go wrong.

When do you need a lawyer for property conveyancing?

Throughout your life time, there will be lots of time-consuming as well as demanding things you may do, such as acquiring or marketing a residence or even creating a will to get ready for the most awful.

Thankfully, building lawyers can help with these stressful life occasions by using lawful suggestions and also support when individuals need it most.

A conveyancing solicitor's obligations are not restricted to guidance as well as help alone.

They can aid companies deal with the legal aspects of business deals and help secure people' rights, as well as ensure they obtain payment if they are dealt with unfairly.

Solicitors function directly with customers on a range of cases, including:

Injury; Family regulation problems such as separation, Criminal law; Wills and probates; General administration of estates; Immigration; Dealing residences -( you can likewise choose a conveyancer). Solicitors might support the community by carrying out free lawful job or utilising some of their time to offer free help to those incapable to pay for lawful help.

Lawyers can specialise in many locations, so it's easy to be daunted by the prospect of discovering one that's right for you.

This overview ought to aid you every action of the method whether it's searching for a conveyancing solicitor or one more type of lawyer, ensuring they're the best selection for you, as well as how to whine if you're unhappy with the solution provided.

Exactly how to find the appropriate solicitor or conveyancing solicitor. First of all, it is very important to recognise that lawyers often tend to be experts in one or two areas of the regulation.

So, it's essential you find the appropriate one for you as a solicitor specialising in resolving divorces may not be the best individual if you need assistance creating a will or getting a residence.

The Law Society has a free tool to assist you find organisations or people providing lawful solutions in England and Wales that are managed by the Solicitors Policy Authority (SRA).

You can browse the database of almost 200,000 legal professionals by the sort of legal problem and also area of the lawyer.

What if you have no suggestion what your choices are, what kind of lawyer you need or desire more details?

Legal Choices, which is run by lawful regulatory authorities in England as well as Wales, is an excellent area to start if you have a legal problem and also are unclear of what to do.

The site supplies pointers on how to survive all sorts of problems as well as information of all legal regulators-- there are eight in overall.

Whether you will certainly need a lawyer depends upon your individual circumstances.

As an example, you will certainly require a solicitor for reserved legal solutions such as the conveyancing procedure, probate as well as for showing up in specific courts.

However non-reserved activities such as most work legislation as well as will writing, can be given by uncontrolled individuals without particular training or credentials.

Some will creating companies could not have lawyers, be regulated or not have a minimal advisable degree of expert indemnity insurance.

Professional indemnity insurance policy aims to cover the price of any type of cases versus the business by a customer for any kind of losses endured as a result of their work.

However they might be a choice for those with easy wills or if they are not bothered concerning having a certain degree of protection.

Just how to find the appropriate Solihull solicitor or conveyancer

You'll need to pick a solicitor or conveyancer as quickly as you have actually concurred a deal, as they will supervise the process that transfers the legal ownership of the residential or commercial property you are buying or selling. 

Yet how do you locate the ideal solicitor or conveyancer?

What is the difference in between a solicitor and conveyancer?

Both lawyers (who are managed by the Solicitors Regulation Authority) and also Licensed Conveyancers (who are regulated by the Council for Licensed Conveyancers) are completely regulated as well as guaranteed. 

In regards to managing your building deal they will run to practically similar conveyancing practices and also procedures. It's worth noting the major distinctions, since you're likely to see a rate distinction when you contrast conveyancing quotes.

- Licensed conveyancers are specialist property lawyers, concentrating greatly on house, proceeding transactions like your own everyday - A solicitor is a competent attorney, with comprehensive training in several aspects of legislation, and can offer full legal services such as separation process or taking a person to court - Engaging a solicitor to undertake conveyancing instead of a conveyancer might for that reason cost more

When should I utilise a solicitor instead of conveyancer?

If you are dealing with especially hard transactions, a totally qualified solicitor may be the best option. If there's a conflict over the limit or if the sellers are obtaining separated, using a solicitor with expertise past residential or commercial property conveyancing law would be required. In most instances, a conveyancer will certainly be able to handle your deal from starting to finish.

What are the drawbacks of using a solicitor?

Solicitors are usually more pricey than conveyancers. When you're trying to make a decision, make sure to obtain full quotes from a solicitor so you can make a direct contrast in cost with choices, as rates can vary extensively. See our guide on conveyancing fees to offer you a concept of what conveyancers and solicitors include in their fees and also just how much you need to expect to pay.

Some individuals discover that lawyers can be distracted-- they will generally be taking care of numerous various other much more complex instances with immediate due dates which can press your normal conveyancing to the bottom of the in-tray. Moreover, some lawyers operate in tiny practices and also have difficulty providing continuity of service if they take place holiday. If they are a little practice, ask what vacation cover they have.

Solicitors may additionally demand seeing you face to face to verify who you are. This can be bothersome as well as implies you should not make use of a solicitor whose office you are not prepared to check out.

It's important to additionally comprehend that most solicitors are highly specialised, but some are generalists that do the periodic little conveyancing. Able to deal with property or leasehold purchases if you do decide for a solicitor ensure they are a home specialist.

If you are getting a mortgage

If you're trying to choose between a conveyancer or a solicitor when you're obtaining a mortgage, there are a couple of points you require to think about:

- Mortgage lenders will just manage certain conveyancers and lawyers-- those on their "panel"-- who subsequently normally pay the lender for the opportunity If you do not make use of a conveyancer or solicitor on their panel you will typically have to pay for the financial institution's depiction costs, -. This is typically around ₤ 200 yet varies from bank to bank

- Ask your conveyancer or solicitor what panels they are on as well as laid out what lender you are taking into consideration for your mortgage

Should I choose the estate agent's referral?

Estate agents will certainly frequently suggest a local solicitor or conveyancer. They often do so since they get a large commission that can add numerous hundred extra pounds to your bill. The threat is that they suggest the individual that pays the greatest compensation rather than the one that uses the very best solution to you.

It can work to your detriment that the estate agent understands the ins and outs of your purchase. Read ought to I utilise my estate agents solicitor for additional information on why it's a negative suggestion.

How else can I locate a conveyancer or solicitor?

The best way to locate the appropriate conveyancer or solicitor for your purchase, is to see to it you look around as well as compare conveyancing quotes. This will certainly help you find the least expensive, finest rated or nearby conveyancer in minutes.

When limiting your shortlist, you need to check out the online reputation of the conveyancer or solicitor and not just their charges. HomeOwners Partnership makes it easy for you to discover the conveyancers and solicitors that our participants have had the very best experience with, by showing you a score beside a few of the quotes. This is based upon feedback from people who have utilised that specific business, and also is made to help you make an educated choice.

It's worth noting that if you instruct a solicitor or conveyancer through our locate a conveyancer device, you'll get a no completion, no legal fee assurance-- which implies you will not have to pay legal charges if you do not total (but you will certainly still have to cover third party prices such as disbursements).

Things to look out for with a Solihull Conveyancing Solicitor

Buyers and sellers can come to be frustrated with their conveyancer or solicitor. It's wise to recognise the usual risks, so you can maintain this in mind when you're searching for the appropriate conveyancer.

The common irritations include: - The conveyancing process involves a lot of documents and it is important that all elements are appropriately completed. They can cause considerable delays to the procedure if the solicitor or conveyancer is reliable and also not persistent in sending off the best little bits of paper at the appropriate time. To assist smooth the procedure, modern conveyancing practices operate with on the internet case tracking facilities permitting you to access as much as date info on your purchases 24 hr a day.

- Some solicitors and conveyancers can be difficult to acquire, making it tough to track how your case is going, or to get any type of concerns addressed. This can be particularly the instance with lawyers who embark on various other job beyond conveyancing which might mean they are in Court or in and out of the workplace which can hinder customer communication. Conveyancers are often workplace based, which can allow better client communication.

- Inspect that inexpensive quotes aren't missing surprise prices. Do your study and also make certain you understand what the final expense will be; our overview on conveyancing fees will certainly assist. And whatever you do, prevent solicitors/conveyancers who bill a hourly rate, and watch out for any type of quote that does not completely itemise all fees You can prevent falling foul of these irritations by asking the ideal inquiries prior to you instruct, and choosing your conveyancer meticulously.

Getting or selling a house is possibly the biggest 'deal' in your life. A key component of this is selecting a vetted solicitor that you can count on.

1. Look for individual (as well as recent) referrals

Great old fashioned word of mouth is among the most reliable techniques of ensuring you get an excellent service-- in any type of sort of trade. Ask friends and also associates who have actually just recently gotten or offered residential or commercial property if they enjoyed with their solicitor or (qualified conveyancer) as well as whether they would advise their solutions. The evidence, after all, remains in the dessert.

2. Ask the agent offering the residence

The agent in charge of marketing the residence may also have the ability to suggest a good solicitor-- nevertheless, they manage them daily and recognise which ones are much more aggressive as well as which are much less so.

3. Think about a regional conveyancing specialist firm

As much of the conveyancing process is now executed online (or by means of the traditional article) it's not crucial that the firm you select is local to your present home. Nevertheless, if time pressure is on later on down the line, it can be comforting to recognise you can deliver records or picture ID for instance, by hand.

4. Audio them out

While you may not completely understand the ins and outs of what a solicitor does, remember you are a paying customer and it's your right to scope out what you can anticipate in terms of get in touch with, speed and estimated expense.

Constantly telephone the solicitors prior to making an instruction as well as ask to talk to whoever will be dealing with the case. This is also a chance to develop a connection which might verify useful later on down the line.

5. Think of the dimension of the firm

Especially if it's throughout the summer or Xmas holiday, you might wish to take into consideration using a larger firm of solicitors. By doing this, there'll be most likely to be others that can action in as well as cover if your solicitor is off-- as well as maintain that critical momentum going.

6. Don't plump for the most affordable

It's a great suggestion to obtain an approximated repaired expense upfront from your solicitor, do not be lured to simply head directly for the most affordable. The stating, "if you pay peanuts you obtain monkeys," is one that occurs. My advice is to choose high quality.

Both solicitors (who are managed by the Solicitors Regulation Authority) as well as Licensed Conveyancers (who are managed by the Council for Licensed Conveyancers) are completely managed as well as insured. See our overview on conveyancing costs to offer you an idea of what conveyancers as well as lawyers consist of in their fees and also just how much you should anticipate to pay.

Home owners Alliance makes it very easy for you to find the conveyancers and also lawyers that our members have actually had the best experience with, by showing you a ranking following to some of the quotes. If the solicitor or conveyancer is not thorough and efficient in sending off the ideal little bits of paper at the right time, they can create substantial hold-ups to the procedure. - Some conveyancers and also solicitors can be hard to get hold of, making it hard to track exactly how your situation is going, or to get any kind of inquiries answered.

Anthony Stockton Solicitors

First Floor, 2 Manor Square, Solihull B91 3PX 0121 289 3088

[mini-james-bond]

STORMBREAKER SCREENPLAY 2.0

written to cope with my utter disappointment with the movie

2. The Funeral

The next morning… the rain has finally stopped. The gutters are filled with muddy water and dead leaves, the sky is the same wet-grey as the pavement, it feels like the world has been encased in an enormous concrete box.

CUT TO…The RIDER HOUSEHOLD. We’re in a large, airy billiards room, tastefully furbished with dark mahogany, the perfect place for a sophisticated gentleman to retire. ALEX stands over a forgotten game of pool, cue in hand. He is in jeans and an old sweater, watching the rain slowly drip from the gutter…TAP...TAP…TAP… CUT TO…an OLD VICAR, with a kindly but vacant expression, stares expectantly at Alex. He has just asked ALEX a question.

VICAR: Well, Alex?

ALEX looks up at the OLD VICAR…

CUT TO…The living room, ALEX stands motionless before a wall of photos. The grandfather clock the corner shows it is 6:30am…TICK…TICK…TICK…

The photos chronicle ALEX’s childhood, most of which feature some sort of outdoor activity; rock-climbing, karate, BMX, the kid’s done it all, and on every continent of the world too. JACK appears in almost every one of them, starting from when he was as young as 5, looking more like an older sister than a housekeeper.

In comparison, there is only one picture which has both IAN and ALEX. It’s the smallest one by far and half-hidden behind a vase. It’s last year’s ski-trip, their faces mostly obscured by protective gear. ALEX grinning and exhilarated, IAN inscrutable…

JACK’S voice floats out of the kitchen. She is talking on the phone, the forced evenness of her voice betrays her agitation. ALEX hears the words VISA… MORE TIME…I HAVE A KID…HE NEEDS ME…

CUT TO…Lunchtime, A burger king, mostly empty save for a JACK and ALEX, picking at their meals in silence. JACK eats with one hand, and holds tightly onto ALEX’s with the other, her head is bowed, weighed down by sombre thoughts. ALEX looks up, his mouth opens as if to speak…but nothing comes out.

CUT TO… The OLD VICAR looks down expectantly, ALEX gives him a false, reassuring smile.

ALEX: Yes. I’m fine.

CUT TO…Evening, ALEX stands in his room, looking out of the upstairs window. He is dressed for the funeral, with an untied tie around his neck. A black hearse pulls up to the house and a non-descript man in a suit gets out…

CUT TO… An hour ago, ALEX stands before a heavy oaken door, it’s IAN’S OFFICE. A mysterious room befitting a mysterious man. He pictures his younger self, gazing up in wonder at this door, IAN turns, fixes him with a brief, piercing look, and the door is shut behind him.

ALEX blinks away the image. His hand reaches for the doorknob, hesitates – out of old obedience to IAN- then his hand closes around the cold brass handle…

It’s locked.

CUT TO…The present, ALEX walks down the stairs, and runs into JACK going up. She is putting on a brave face.

JACK: There you are! We’re about to go -oh, look at your tie! You’d loose your head next, if it wasn’t screwed on!

She ties his tie and smooths back his hair, clicking her tongue all the while. They descend.

ALEX: (in a voice far too serious for his years) Jack… JACK: Yes, hun? ALEX: Don’t you find it…strange? JACK: (concerned) Find what strange? ALEX: The police…they said Ian wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, but you know how careful he is! He won’t even drive me around the corner without making me put mine on. JACK: (sighing) Yeah, I guess so. But accidents do happen Alex, even to the most careful of people. Why would the police lie to us?

At the bottom of the stairs stands the non-descript man. He smiles blandly and extends a hand.

CRAWLY: Crawly, from personnel. All of us at the Royal and General Bank are deeply shocked and saddened by this tragic accident.

CONT…inside the hearse, on their way to the funeral

JACK: (exasperated) –and I am at my wits end! Because we’ve already spoken to the lawyer, and he doesn’t know a thing!   ALEX: (also exasperated) What does it say in the will? CRAWLY: (in a reassuring manner) There’s no need to worry, everything will be taken care of by the bank.

They arrive at the cemetery, there are 30 or so people already there. ALEX: (whispers) Do you know any of these people? JACK: (whispers back) No, I think they’re all from the bank. Everyone is uniformly dressed in black suits, whereas ALEX and JACK just wore what ever formal clothes they had available, they stand close together, feeling quite out of place.

As the service starts, a black Rolls-Royce pulls up. A barely perceptible hush falls over the crowd. Two BODYGUARDS with grim faces climb out, followed by a man in a grey suit. CRAWLY taps ALEX on the shoulder. CRAWLY: That’s Mr. Blunt, he’s the chairman of the Royal and General bank. The bodyguards scanned the crowd, heads turning like radar dishes. ALEX has his eyes fixed on MR. BLUNT, he is unnerving to look at, his face is utterly lifeless, everything about him, from his skin to his hair, is grey. As if he has a sixth sense, BLUNT’S head turns, and ALEX quickly averts his gaze.

The service passed slowly for ALEX, who found no comfort in listening to a stranger drone on about the uncle he barely seemed to know. He found his mind wandering to the nearby park where some kids his age were playing footie. The cheerful vignette is sharply contrasted by the maudlin voice of the VICAR in his ears. Here he was, standing in the deep shadows of old trees, separated from the normal world by death, his own life had become so uncertain and grim.

VICAR: Above all, he was a great man, a patriotic man, and he will be dearly missed.

ALEX frowned. Odd choice of words, more fitting for a soldier than a banker…

VICAR: May he rest in peace, amen. EVERYONE: Amen. ALEX: (caught off guard) Amen.

The funeral ends and the crowd begins to disperse. ALEX wades through the sea of black, searching for JACK. He is not paying attention to where he is going, when he looks up, he sees BLUNT and BODYGUARDS standing before him. The crowd almost appears to have funnelled him... Alex is hesitant, but this may be his only chance to get some answers. He approaches. BLUNT is not tall, and appears even shorter when flanked by two powerfully build BODYGUARDS. But he has a powerful presence, and he stares ALEX down like he is a lab specimen. His voice is like dead leaves.

BLUNT: You must be Alex Rider. Your uncle often spoke of you. ALEX: (putting on the “innocent schoolboy” act) That’s odd. He’s never mentioned you, sir. BLUNT: (A muscle twitches in his jaw, he might have been annoyed, or amused.) Ian was a good man, and good at his job. He will be missed.   ALEX: What was he good at, my uncle? He doesn’t talk about his work, either.

CRAWLY steps INTO FRAME at that exact moment. What a coincidence. CRAWLY: (with subtle condescension) Your uncle was in charge of our over-seas branches, you must have known that, at least, Alex. ALEX: (He bristles, a hint of edge creeping into his voice.) I know he travelled a lot, he’s been all around the world, sometimes at the drop of a hat. And I know he was very careful, especially about things like seat-belts. BLUNT: (Impassively) Not careful enough, it seems. Behind BLUNT, the bodyguards raise their fingers to their earpieces in unison.

BLUNT: Well, this has been a pleasant chat. (He flicks the word away, like lint. Then he taps his chin thoughtfully.) Yes…I believe we will be seeing each other again very soon, Alex. Right on cue, the Rolls-Royce pulls up to the kerb, and BLUNT climbs in. As BODYGUARD #1 closes the door, the wind blows open his jacket, revealing a holstered pistol. He quickly covers it back up, but it is too late… ALEX’S eyes widen in surprise. BLUNT turns towards ALEX, something very close to an emotion slithers onto his face…Then the moment passes, and the car drives off. JACK appears behind ALEX, startling him. JACK: Alex, there you are! I’ve been looking all over-! Honey, what’s the matter? ALEX: Nothing. JACK: C’mon lets get out of here, cemeteries give me the creeps! ALEX: (muttering) Yeah, and a couple of creeps have turned up too… JACK: Don’t run off like that, I thought someone kidnapped you. ALEX: Seriously? JACK: I know, who would want such an ugly child? ALEX: Hey, people in glass houses-

They wave off CRAWLY and the car they arrived in, opting to walk home instead. CRAWLY opens his mouth to object, but decides against it.

CUT TO…The pair cross onto a familiar street, the journey has only taken them 15 minutes. ALEX has loosened his tie and JACK is walking barefoot, heels in hand.

They notice a strange VAN parked outside their house, on the side it says STRYKER AND SON, HOME MOVERS.

ALEX: Hey, I wonder what that’s doing there- The VAN drives off in a screech of tires. ALEX’S suspicious are roused. Small details only increase his suspicious. The doormat is slightly askew, letters on the table are now on the floor, the closed door is now ajar…Someone has been in the house. ALEX runs upstairs two at a time, ignoring JACK’S voice from the living room. CUT TO…He bursts into IAN’S STUDY, and wheels about the room in shock, chest heaving. Every single piece of furniture has been removed, desk, chairs, cabinets, everything. The room is completely empty. All that’s left are a few pale patches of dust. A watery beam of sunlight enters through the window. Motes of recently disturbed dust float around ALEX like snow. Where the light hits, they appear briefly to dance and twirl, only to disappear again…FADE TO BLACK END

[socialjusticeartshare]

In Mexico, kidnappings and misery for asylum-seekers waiting in camps for a shot at life in the U.S.

‘It infuriates me. This is a crisis,’ says a Brownsville resident and Iraq vet.

MATAMOROS, Mexico – Edwin Vaquiz’s frustration was rising as the 42-year-old Honduran asylum-seeker passed out supplies from a tent with a hand-lettered “Tienda No. 3” sign. There was little water available for drinking at Store No. 3, but there were two kinds of soap for washing clothes in the dirty Rio Grande. There were few portable toilets, but plenty of toilet paper.

Soon the camp of asylum-seekers would be blanketed in darkness and there would be no security.

“Miserable,” Vaquiz said last week of conditions at the migrant camp where he and his wife and daughter have been waiting for the last five months.

This sprawling camp is one of the most visible signs along the border of how the U.S. asylum process has slowed to a crawl, leaving thousands of people essentially stranded in Mexico, many in danger because of the high crime rate and violent cartels.

The violence in the state of Tamaulipas, where Matamoros sits, has forced about 2,000 asylum-seekers to cluster for protection here at the banks of the Rio Grande and along the Gateway International Bridge into Brownsville in Texas. A former Army nurse here estimates 18 people were kidnapped through October, probably by the dominant criminal group in this region. Then she stopped counting.

Volunteers from around the U.S. — from Dallas and Houston to Florida and Maine — regularly cycle through the border’s camps with food, tents, blankets, jeans, sweat shirts, diapers, toys — and even songs for the children. While the efforts are extraordinary and a patchy organization is slowly emerging, it clearly isn’t enough.

Vaquiz is grateful for the kindness. But what he could really use to protect his family is a battery-powered lamp. That way no one could sneak up on their tent.

Many people here whisper about the dangers. Migrants are taken by the local cartel members and their lookouts, who openly walk into the camp, at any hour, said a Honduran who didn’t want to be identified because he feared for his safety. A Honduran woman who has been at the camp for several months said a man posing as an asylum-seeker within the camp has molested two small girls. “We can’t complain. It’s a mafia and they will come and beat us,” she said.

No one runs the camps. There are no controls for who enters the encampment. Some migrants have clustered their tents on the sidewalks leading to the nearby Gateway International Bridge to be ready if their asylum cases are called, but they’re also hoping for more safety. Passing cars provide a bit of light. But the vast majority of people, hundreds more, have secured space on the tree-lined grounds near the river where the camp has grown. They are the most vulnerable.

“This is one of the worst situations I have been in, merely for the fact there are so few resources and security is so bad,” said Helen Perry, a former Army nurse who now runs operations for the small nonprofit Global Response Management. “We know people are trafficked out of the camps, and kidnapped. … It goes back to not having formal camp management.”

Traditionally, the United Nations refugee agency might be one of the groups that would play a role in organizing and running the place. But danger is keeping the usual help away.

Mike Benavides, a veteran of the Iraq War and a co-founder of the nonprofit Team Brownsville, said much more help is needed.

“It infuriates me. This is a crisis,” Benavides said.

Conditions were more sanitary in Iraq than they are here at this camp, Benavides said. Infectious diarrhea and dehydration are two of the biggest dangers. Recently, children have been coming down with the flu. And there are many pregnancies.

Giovanni Lepri, the deputy representative for Mexico for the U.N. refugee agency, praised Team Brownsville and other volunteers for work he called “amazing.” But they aren’t trained in camp management, he said. The U.N. was focused more on Mexico’s southern border where Mexico’s tiny refugee agency maintains an office, he said. They also opened an office in Monterrey, about four hours west of Matamoros.

Lepri acknowledged that the U.N.’s security advisers warned against opening a permanent office in Matamoros because of the danger in the region, which includes the more dangerous cities of Reynosa and Nuevo Laredo. “Our security unit, which is the U.N. security unit, has recommended for the moment we don’t establish a permanent presence,” Lepri said.

In November, the U.N. began using a mobile unit in the region. The staff sleeps on the U.S. side of the border, Lepri said.

The U.S. State Department has issued its harshest no-travel warning for the Mexican border state of Tamaulipas – a level 4 warning like the ones in war-torn Syria and Somalia.

More than 56,000 asylum-seekers who have made it to the U.S. border from Central America and other places have been sent back to Mexico by U.S. authorities to await the processing of their cases under what the Trump administration calls the Migration Protection Protocols. The policy was phased in earlier this year; in the past, once asylum-seekers got to the U.S., they would await the outcome of their cases in the States.

Most asylum-seekers wait in Mexico in the haphazard camps. Those with more money might rent apartments — but that can make them even more vulnerable to gangs.

Kidnapping is rampant in Matamoros, said immigration attorney Charlene D’Cruz, who runs a Lawyers for Good Government resource center near the camp. Asylum-seekers expect to be kidnapped and the risk increases the longer they stay.

“The resignation to die is how we dehumanize them,” the attorney said.

Life in the camp

In the stench of the camp, families have begun building their own ovens with mud bricks. They cut wood branches from trees for fires. And the smoke covers the smell of feces.

In a country of music-lovers, there is no music here. Muffled conversations come from inside tents. Sometimes, children can be heard laughing, but even that is infrequent.

Some families have been given pallets to place their tents on in case of rain. Others string clothes lines among the trees or place laundered clothes on fuchsia-flowering bougainvillea bushes near the entry lanes into Texas.

Last Sunday at the camp, some of the children received an early Christmas with gifts from a Brownsville group called Angry Tias y Abuelas of the Rio Grande Valley. The volunteers wrapped the gifts and tagged them with the names of children they saw regularly.

Others in the group prepared to read to the children, who in a normal world would be in school. There are geography lessons with an emphasis on the countries of origin of the migrating families. And lessons on the colors of the rainbow.

“Apurate,” shouted a skinny little girl to a smaller companion. “Apurate!” Hurry up, the little school is about to start, she urged.

On another night, a Houston volunteer plopped herself on the sidewalk to read to children a story from a picture book illustrated with Monarch butterflies, a symbol of migration.

“You are very valiant. You are so strong. Your journey is a miracle. I admire you,” she told the children in Spanish.

Then, she explained, “That’s what the butterfly says because they have flown so far.”

A Houston volunteer (right) reads to a group of asylum-seeking children by the Gateway International Bridge in Matamoros, Mexico, on Dec. 14, 2019.  (Lynda M. Gonzalez / Staff Photographer)

Another group of boys played checkers, using bottle caps made of creamy white and red plastic.

Other boys sat comfortably on flattened cardboard that covered the powdery dirt. They pushed their plastic green dinosaurs through a kingdom of the imagination. Then a child hit another on the head. Wails began. A father came to scold the group.

Another day, a toddler in a diaper waddled toward a hammock in stripes of blue, purple, yellow and red. But he was sullen. Vaquiz, the Honduran, stroked his puffy cheeks and called him “Donald Trump.” Why? “Because the child is always angry,” the Honduran said.

Grasp as they might for a normal childhood and a normal world, the children’s anxiety levels are high, medical doctor and volunteer Anjali Niyogi said. Some seem traumatized by the violence they fled in their home countries — and some are traumatized by the dangers within the camp.

“We see a lot of depression, anxiety, PTSD,” said Niyogi, who teaches at Tulane University School of Medicine in New Orleans.

Some children in the camp are even emotionless, so strong is their depression, the doctor said. “Moms tell me, ‘He just stopped eating.’ “

Recently, fierce dust storms swept through the camp, making it difficult to see until the wind died down. The doctor fears fecal matter has been scooped up into the air and children will be most susceptible to health risks.

The asylum program

Every weekday, immigrants’ names will come up for hearings in the U.S. immigration courts near the international bridge. Hearings are held in tent courts in Brownsville. Asylum-seekers cross into the U.S., and are sent back to wait in Mexico unless their asylum cases are advanced so that they can formally enter the U.S.

In Brownsville, hearings under new program began in September. The asylum caseloads there have rapidly made this the border’s second-busiest area for Border Patrol apprehensions through November, according to the Syracuse University nonprofit Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse, or TRAC.

Already, through November, a fourth of all Migrant Protection Protocol asylum cases — nearly 14,000 — are pending here, TRAC data shows. About 16,400 cases are pending in the El Paso area.

“How can we really say that somebody can make a free choice to continue an asylum claim in the U.S., when they have to spend several months ... risking to be kidnapped or worse?” said Lepri, the U.N. representative.

Mexicans, too, are showing up in the camps. An increasing number of them are mostly indigenous Tzotzil Mayan people from the southernmost state of Chiapas. About a dozen Chiapans told The Dallas Morning News about a resurgence in violence there related to decades-old oppression against their people, including the murder of family members and the seizure of their land and homes.

Under U.S. asylum law, a well-founded fear of persecution because of race or nationality would be acceptable grounds for an application.

But a man from Chiapas who wanted to be identified only as Osiel said, “The guard just told us that asylum has been shut down. We are suffering here,” he said.

“We want to know if there is still asylum. If not, we don’t want to be here suffering,” he said.

Nearby, Gloria, a Honduran woman, said some parents are so worried about lengthy waits at the camp that they’ve sent their children alone across the border. “At times, it is the only exit one has,” she explained.

Jodi Goodwin, a Harlingen immigration attorney, said she faces difficult choices in what she tells asylum-seekers. Still, she persists in giving sidewalk workshops near the bridge to let them know their rights, or threading them into the volunteer network of Lawyers for Good Government.

They are like the kid with his finger in the dike. Only 4 percent of immigrants in the Migrant Protection Protocols program are represented by lawyers, according to TRAC.

What does Goodwin tell an immigrant who feels hopeless?

Sometimes it’s, “You got to fight and fight to the end.” But other times, she says she is brutally honest.

“Why sit here in squalor without the ability to minimally take care of your family for a case that I can tell you right now has zero chance of winning,” she explained.

Goodwin fears that the attorneys’ work will get only more difficult in January when asylum cases will be partially transferred to judges who sit in a year-old immigration court center in Fort Worth, which handles cases by video conference. Government attorneys are in another courtroom in another city and immigrants can be in yet-another location.

“It is so messed up,” Goodwin said. “This is not how you practice law.”

Caught amid the camp squalor, the danger and the tent court system, many immigrants aren’t showing up for their asylum hearings. TRAC found that of those required to wait in Mexico, about half failed to show up for a hearing. By comparison, 9 out of 10 immigrants who are allowed to remain in the U.S. while their cases are adjudicated attend every court hearing.

Trying to help

Into this misery flows charity aid – everything from beef burritos and chicken soup, sliced oranges and cashews, powder milk and plastic buckets for hauling water of dubious quality to volunteer medical teams. Late last week, a huge water purification system was being tested thanks to a charity donation from a group called the Planet Water Foundation. 

“We need to build everything to U.N. standards so, should the U.N. show up, all this will stay,” said Blake Davis, a volunteer with Global Response Management. The paramedic from Maine was overseeing the prize donation of the water purification system, hoping it would make a significant change in the bleakness and sickness at the camp.

Businesses, veteran charities and foundations, and some freshly formed nonprofits all lend assistance. Among them are Samaritan’s Purse, Church World Service, Physicians for Human Rights, Good Neighbor Settlement House, Manos Juntas of the Mexican Methodist Church, Lawyers for Good Government, and an anonymous T-Mobile manager who forgave a huge bill run up when migrants at the Brownsville shelter called family in Central America instead of the U.S.

Cassie Stewart, a former child protection social worker, started her nonprofit Rio Valley Relief Project during the summer of 2018 when she was shocked by seeing migrant parents separated from their children, causing global protest. Stewart began collecting donations, clothes, powdered milk, and diapers for long drives to a respite center run by Catholic Charities of the Rio Grande Valley.

Sometimes, she would bring along her husband, immigration lawyer Daniel Stewart, who inspired her with stories about his work.

This night, the Rio Valley Relief Project distributed 1,000 beef tamales and 850 bean burritos as the sun set in hues of pink and orange. Cassie Stewart’s group spent hours in the Brownsville kitchen of the nonprofit Good Neighbor Settlement House, where asylum-seekers lucky enough to pass U.S. review can shower, get new clothes and move on to their next destination.

Later, a slow-moving man dressed in soiled clothes shuffled along the sidewalk to ask if there was any comida left. No, Stewart quickly said. Then, the Dallas woman took note of his brown eyes, his small, thin frame. She told him to wait.

Stewart grabbed the last canister of cashews and almonds and poured a mound on a white paper plate with some dried mangoes.

The man took the plate and disappeared into the indigo night.

Article Source

[lemonjoonah]

Under Fire - Pt 5

Masterlist | <Previous | Next >

Title: Under Fire Word Count: 4K+ Rating: M Genre: Gang AU, Drama Warnings: Violence  Pairings: Hyung Line x Reader (Primarily Namjoon x Reader), very slight OT7 x Reader.   Pairings (in this chapter): V x Reader, Namjoon x Reader, JK x Reader (small part, I promise he’ll get more time soon) 

Summary: As a child you lived among the most wealthy and powerful, after the death of your mother you were shipped off to stay with her sister. Even after finishing your education you continue to live apart from the elite, but a visit home creates an unexpected disaster. You are suddenly roped into a darker world, and who better to be your guide than the infamous gang known as BTS.

A/N: Going forward you are going to see other k-pop groups popping up more and more. It makes it so much more readable to include other groups than OCs. For a GangAU you need a lot of additional characters. I know that I am not portraying them perfectly, but well... someone has to play the villain...

Chapter 5 - The Art of Evasion

POV (Y/N)

The next morning you wake encircled by Namjoon. His arms are cradling your head to his chest. His cheek rests on the top of your head. You both are still lying on the lawn chair in the cold morning air, sun peeking out behind the skyline.

The brightness however, isn’t what wakes you. That action lies with Suga, a pot, and a wooden spoon.

“What the hell Suga?” Yells Namjoon.

“Just trying to scare the pigeons away from you.” He says in his lethargic tone.

Namjoon looks to the sky, it’s empty.

“Pigeons... Really Suga? If you were jealous just say so.”

You instantly flare with a blush.

“Even if I was jealous, at least I am not taking advantage of her while she is in a vulnerable state. That would just be inconsiderate.”

Namjoons arms suddenly fling up over his head as if in surrender.

Suga cracks a smirk and leaves.

“Wow, that got to you didn’t it?” You ask. “Suga was just pushing your buttons. I am an adult, I can make my own decisions.”

He checks his watch, “We should head to the kitchen, the others will be waking up and we need to discuss plans for the day.”

On your first attempt to get up you want to vomit. You clutch your head and groan.

“Hangover?”  You make a pointing gesture with your finger at him in confirmation. Fearful of opening your mouth. He laughs, “You have my permission to blame it on Suga.”

“Thanks but I just built that bridge, I don’t think I want to risk burning it.”

Suga was in front of the stove when you enter, the other members starting to pour in too.

“Why is Suga up so early?” V yawns.

“He’s on breakfast duty this week for almost poisoning (Y/N), while simultaneously giving Jin a heart attack.”  There is a clatter of pans as Suga continues his work, while ignoring Namjoon. You go over to help Suga feeling equally responsible, but he wordlessly points you to a seat.

Suga places dishes in front of each of you consisting of eggs and toast. You look over at Namjoon’s plate to see that the toast is far darker than your own, and there seems to be a crunch to his eggs as he bites into them. Namjoon finishes off his plate but glares at Suga the entire time, Suga just smirks back at him.

“Any suspicious behaviour from VIXX?” Namjoon asks Hope.

“No, I think that they were just heading there for a drink, it didn’t seem like they knew that Suga and (Y/N) were going to be there.”

“Good, we will have to call the Rail Bar off limits for now though, just in case. (Y/N), V is going to take you to the bank today to meet with the lawyer and manager who handles your Father’s accounts. Jimin and JHope will be stationed nearby. JK will be monitoring.” You smile at JK warmly, feeling bad for not having a chance to speak with him yet.

“The new clothes are on your bed,” J-Hope informs you with his mouth full.

“I’ll be down here when you’re ready.” States V.

You step out of the Kitchen and Jin follows, “How’s your shoulder?” He asks he accompanies you upstairs. “I would like to take a look at it, probably change the bandage too. Meet me in my office after you shower.”

Hair still damp you wrap yourself in a towel and head to the small infirmary that is Jin’s office.  You did not expect to collide with a tall dark haired statue outside your door. JK grabs your waist to steady you, but once he realizes what you’re wearing quickly lets go.  A blush creeps onto his face he looked down at the floor and stutters.

“Sorry, I wanted to talk to you before you left. I didn’t mean to catch you like this.”

“It’s fine, Jin just asked to change my bandage before we head out. I’ve wanted to say thank you for your help the other day, without you I wouldn’t have made it out.”

“It was nothing,” he says shyly. “RM says that you are pretty tech savvy yourself, I was hoping once you were finished with the bank that you could assist me with creating a line to your set up in Busan. I figured it would be less intrusive to use your door to access the police database then create my own.       

“Ah, he told you about that did he? Of course, and I would love to see your setup here.” You start to twist your hair into a knot. “I’m self taught and new to the skill so I would love any advice or help you can give.”

“Hacking the BPD is impressive, there’s no way you are a noob.”

“It’s just a piggy back.”

JK seems much more relaxed discussing a topic that he knows well. But it doesn’t last long when he accidentally glances back down. “I’ll come find you once I’m back.” You say essentially offering him a chance to bail. He takes it nodding his eyes wide as he hurries around the corner.

You spot Jin leaning against the the doorway of the infirmary. “Is he always so shy?”

“Just with new people, soon you won’t be able to shut him up.” He looks down at your towel, “Your state of dress probably didn’t help either.”

Jin gestures to the table so he could get a good look at your injury under the light.

You inhale sharply as he takes the bandage off.

“It’s healing well, still no sign of infection.” His eyes are on the wound but his mind seems to be elsewhere. “RM and I are planning the memorial for tomorrow.  I hope that we did not overstep. Is there anything that you might like to include?”

“No, you clearly knew him better than I did. Thank you for setting it up.”

“It’ll just be us there, is that okay?”

You nod smiling through the pain. You understand, that it’s time to put your mask back on, and face reality in your new role, heir to the billionaire philanthropist. “Keeping everything out of the spotlight would probably be for the best.”

Hope had laid out a black pencil skirt and green blouse with a trench coat. Coat in hand you make your way downstairs. V is at the door along with Namjoon, Jhope and Jimin.

“You can tell that Hope dressed you, that boy loves green. I’ll have to take you shopping sometime.” V comments.

“He does does he?” You eye him carefully as he stands next to you. While the rest are receiving orders you lean over to Hope. “Sales clerk picked them out huh?”

“She asked for my favourite colour what was I supposed to say?”

“That it wasn’t for your girlfriend you dork, you could have just invented a friend in the hospital or something.”       

He gives you a nervous smile, as he helps you put on your coat.

Once Namjoon has finished talking to the rest of the group, he turns to you. “Henry will meet you at the bank, he’s your father’s lawyer and has handled your father’s accounts for several years. V is the best at handling the legal aspects. If you have any questions, he can help.”

He looks down at you grabbing your shaking hands, “This is the easy part I promise, just a few dotted lines to sign.”

He could tell you are getting nervous. This isn’t your first choice. You could say no, however that would be a disadvantage, not only to the team, but also your father’s foundation.

J-Hope and Jimin sit in the front, you are seated in the back with V, who has matched your formal attire with a suite. The drive there is quiet.  V would look over at you every now and then with a side glance.

When you pull up to the bank V opens the door and holds out his hand to take yours. As he guides you up the marble steps he whispers, “No need to be worried, if anything they should be nervous. You could shut this whole bank down by simply demanding your money. Actually, let’s try it, give them a bit of a scare.”

You chuckle, “Thanks V, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” When you reach the top a younger gentleman bows to you. “Miss (L/N)?” You are taken aback. In Busan you went by your mother’s maiden name (L/N), while everyone in Seoul called you Park. Hearing it again makes you feel like your life is split in two. Sensing your apprehension he corrects himself, “Forgive me would you prefer Miss Park?”

V introduced him before you can answer, “(Y/N) this is Lau Henry, he will be assisting you now, he has agreed to continue to conduct your father's business under your name.”

You greet him with a nod, “Park is more suitable going forward.”  

“He was in charge of drafting the will and has known about you for some time.” V says darkly.

“The information was all there you just had to know where to look V.”

“How was I to expect that he would keep a daughter hidden?!”

“Of course a man of his wealth and status would have a child, what did you think would happen when he passed?”

“I don’t know I thought that he might adopt RM, take him on as an heir.”

Your anxiety immediately goes into overdrive. Oh god is that what they thought? Are they bitter because Namjoon wasn’t the heir? Are they just pandering until they could take the money from you? Do they just see you as an obstacle  to overcome? The possibilities keep popping into you mind, each one worse than the last.

As you are being lead into the bank you are introduced to several people but you can’t hear a word that anyone was saying. You are drowning in your own head.

You wish V wasn’t so perceptive.  Apologizing for your inattentiveness and trying to shield you from the barrage of legal information. Your heart continues to beat at a racing pace, your breathing shallow. The lawyers leave the room for a moment to grab the documents needed. V reached for you hand, “Just a couple of signatures and we are out of here. Think of something that brings focus to your mind it’ll help you relax. I personally like think of ways I could rob these crooks,” He smiles.

“An interesting method,” You laugh at his joke,  thankful for the distraction, that interrupts your thoughts.

“Real money can be messy, acquiring the zeros digitally would be safer and less trackable, but also less fun,” he adds.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

“Of course, you need...” V suddenly zones out mid sentence. “Yep I see them JK.”

V is obviously listening to a conversation in his earpiece. You are flustered having been once again left in the dark.

“How the hell am I supposed to know who they are with, I’m not the one with the database in front of me.” He continues to bicker with the voices in his ear.

Your temper rises, “Who do you have to fuck to get an earpiece?” You mutter darkly hoping he would catch on to your annoyance.

V instantly shut down. “Ah sorry, that would be me... not that you need to exchange sexual favours for a radio, I’m just in charge of tech.” He pulled a new ear piece out of his breast pocket. “JK put ear piece 2 - 1 - Charlie - Golf on the channel, listed as Fire.”

He placed a hand under my chin as he put the bud in my ear. “Fit okay?” You nod. “My mic is in here,” He taps his collar, “Sorry I don’t have an extra one of those, but mine should be able to pick you up.”

“Okay guys let's keep the crassness to a minimum, Fire is online. First person to swear has to answer to Jin.”

“Welcome Fire.” I could hear the smile in J Hope's voice. Hearing your old nickname comforts you.

“No existing records that I can see.” JK must have still been trying to work out who they were.

“Can I take a closer look?”

“No stay at your post Jimin. I don’t want them catching on that we know. They must be new blood.”

“They are probably just following you to get a location when you return to the base.” V turns to you unexpectedly, “What do you think we should do in this case Fire?”

You are confused but his interest in your opinion but decide to play along. “Ignore them, let them follow until we can get to a busy place with lots of turns and escape routes.”

“Looks like we are going to the art museum,” V smiles.

“Are you even allowed in there V?” asks Jimin.

“I am as long as they don’t recognize me.”

Henry and the bankers chose this time to return to the office preventing you from asking V why he wouldn’t be allowed in.

You began to sign the papers in a daze as the conversation in your head continues.

“Nope definitely not allowed in they have a mug shot on the banned list, I doubt they would be able to identify him now I mean look at that hair!”

“Send me a pic JK,” Jimin whines.

“Check your phone it’s already there.”

“Ha hair, more like lack of, nice buzz cut.”

V’s face is blank. He takes out his phone types a quick message and then returns it to his pocket.”

“You could try beating me to a fucking pulp, but I don’t think you would last one round.”

Once again V take out his phone.

“I didn’t swear in front of her I was just reading your text, aishhh Jin  is going to kill me.”

You see a slight smile slide onto V’s face.   

“Miss Park that should be it, I will have a financer contact you later on to go over your plans for the foundation, and your own funds. I am sure that you would like some time to process before you dive into it.”

“Yes thank you. That would be the best course of action.”

“The transfers will take tonight so you should have access to your funds by tomorrow.”

One of the bankers stood up. “Congratulations Miss Park, you are now one of the richest people in Korea.” He boasts.

You snap at his smug grin, “Congratulations? Tell me do you think I am proud I watched my father die in front of me? Do you think I enjoyed it? That is the only reason I am hear after all, am I to be congratulated for his demise? Believe me when I say, I would gladly give away every dime of that inheritance to bring him back.” You can hear shouts of agreement over the earpiece.

“My apologies mamame I did not intend to insult you.”

“No, no of course not... I’m sure it would not be an insult coming from someone who values wealth over human life.” You turn to Henry, “We should consider changing financial establishments I am not sure that I trust the way that they conduct business here. If you could contact other banking institutions on my behalf I would like to meet with them.”

Henry nods taking down notes with a small smile.  The bank manager is in shock. “Madame I am truly sorry for the offense. How can we insure that we keep your patronage?” The formality coming from a man of his age towards you is almost enough to make me laugh. You have him scared shitless.

“Perhaps we could continue this meeting with Lunch at La Yeon?” He suggests

“So you can wine and dine me? You continue to dig yourself a deeper hole. Show me that you and your bank can actually work for a community for once instead of bleeding it dry. Then maybe I will allow you to continue holding my father’s fortune.”

You turn your back on their ninety degree bows, V at your side beaming. You say goodbye to Henry at the lobby exit. V pulls you into an alcove over at the side. “Your father would have been proud of how you handled yourself in there.”

You smile back at him. You knew going in they would try to take advantage you and your situation, keeping them on their toes would be the easiest way to show you would not be controlled.  

“Ready for the next test?”

“Two hawks still hovering,” JK comments.

“Right, let’s move.” He offered his arm to me, “Best to look as natural as possible, as if we are on our way to the museum for a date.”

“Don’t push it V,” Scolds Hope.

“As friends of course,” V adds trying to cover his intentions.

You take his arm as you exit the bank.

“We will meet you guys there, the second you lose them head to the car it’ll be at the back entrance.”

“Jimin stay on as driver, JHope will be extraction backup for emergencies only. The less attention we can draw the better. Fire is still the center of the news cycle, we don’t need another scene just yet.” JK informs them of their roles.

You couldn’t help but speed up your pace as you walk down the street.

“Whoa slow it down, we need to give the others time to set up the route, and you don’t want to let on that we know. I am going to point at this very uninteresting bakery on the right, you are going to look at it, laugh and see if you can spot the hawks out of the corner of your eye.”

You do just that, noticing two people that didn’t fit with the surrounding crowd.

“Two sore thumbs in suites?”

V confirms, “Bingo! JK do you have the museum’s cameras online yet?”

“Yeah busy day there it’ll be easy to loose them in the crowd. It looks like they shut down the back west portion for renovations. It’s completely empty, might be a good place to break away and make a run for it I can turn off the alarms on the doors so you will go unnoticed, but V will need to grab a key..”

“Any idea on who they are with yet?” V asks

“Still nothing turning up in the database.” JK sighs in disappointment.

“Damn, I would really like to know who we are about to piss off.”

“Based on proximity it might be EXO.” Guesses Jimin.

“Let’s hope it’s not.” Responds Hope.

A light drizzle begins to descent as you continue to walk. V pulls out an umbrella and you both huddle beneath it , several other pedestrians around you popping open their own.

“They are going to get closer as to not lose us, just remain calm and follow my lead.” His slender hand grabs yours as you continue down the street.

The museum is in constant flux with exhibits. The Van Gogh exhibition doesn’t open for three more days. This leaves the west wing, our destination closed to the public. V buys the tickets as you grab a map, but instead of focusing on the exhibits you memorize the exits.

“Looks like that closed exhibit is still going to be your best bet every other corner of this place is full of people and someone will notice an abrupt exit.” JK instructs.

You are able to stop by a few of the other displays before making our way to the final destination. If V is nervous he didn’t show it, instead he seems to be enjoying himself. You clench the map and umbrella, repeating V’s tips in your head, slow your pace, don’t make sudden movements, smile, and focus on the art. After a sufficient amount of time you notice your convoy starts to lag back again. You see a sign stating that the exhibit you’re approaching is closed.

“Still empty JK?’

“Yeah the only people inside are the ballet dancers in the paintings.”

V had taken a key card from a security guard but the door is already unlocked.

“Wait,” you grabbed V’s arm realizing that something is wrong, “Van Goh didn’t paint ballet...”

You don’t get to finish your thought before being pulled into the room by V. You had run into the gallery blindly trusting JK’s assessment. The frames on the walls are empty, the room is not.

The door shut behind you. You have a strange sense of Deja Vu come over you. V shoves me into a corner and places himself between me and the 4 men now approaching.  Your shoulder hits the wall causing you to wince but the pain was nothing compared to the fear you now feel. I remember  these faces from the police database in Busan. All of the major cities in Korea had files on the suspected members of EXO.

  “Wasn’t sure that you would come, but now I can see that you are as predictable as ever V.” The leader spoke, you recognize him as Suho from his mug shot. How could they have know to set this up? Someone had to have told them you were on your way here.

You look at the bare walls, “Must have been a screenshot they had on file, the Dega exhibit hasn’t been here for a while.”  You mutter to V hoping they can hear you through his mic.

You heard JK cursing loudly on the headset. “Can’t believe I fell for a fucking screenshot.”  

Jimin becomes the voice of reason, “Calm down, find them a way out of there.”

“I can’t it’s gone dark now, all of it has. Their hacker must have a more direct connection.”  

Two of the members came up on either side of V, he take a swing but receives a punch to the gut instead, giving them a chance to take hold of his arms.

 You mind is racing, thinking back to the map. Only two exits from this room the door we came in, the other the other at the end of the series of adjoining rooms. Definitely not ideal.

Suho approaches V, pulls out his earpiece and crushes in on the floor with his foot.

“V’s radio is damaged, Hope you’re up.”

“On my way (Y/N), keep them distracted and whatever you do don’t let them move you, Jimin be ready with the car.”

“I heard that you had quite the security breach the other night. GOT7 getting in the manor grounds. My patron was sad to hear of the death of Mr. Park, he will be paying his respects soon. But for another gang to take out your founder, I don’t think your reputation will ever recover  from that devastation.”

V grits his teeth. “You speak of it as though EXO had nothing to do with it, we all know who holds the leash of GOT7.”

“GOT7 acted on their own, although we might have let it slip that BTS were the ones interfering with their cargo deliveries.”

V pulls against those holding him.

“But we are not here to gloat, play nice pooch I need to talk to your new master for a moment.”

V wasn’t having it as they pulled him away from his position in front of me. He lashes out only to receive a beating in return.

Suho looks to you, “Forgive my rudeness Miss Park. I will have to introduce myself as V seems determined to keep you from me.”

“No need Suho, let’s cut the formalities. What do you want?”

His eyes flare, you are sure he did not expect you to respond in such an aggressive manner. “My patron wished for me to pass along a message. He would like for BTS to disband, and call off any projects. There is no point in continuing your father’s foolish goals. He wouldn’t want you to encounter the same fate as your mother.”

You can’t hide the shock on your face. Suho holds a smirk and steps closer to you, “They haven’t told you yet have they?”

You could barely hear Jimin over the ear piece. “I’m so sorry Fire, we were going to tell you.”

You are petrified but at the same time furious. Completely distracted you are unsure of what to do. JHope calls your attention back, “Fire I’m outside the door, I need a distraction, I’m going in blind.”

You realize that you are still clutching the umbrella in your hand. Suho doesn’t seem to notice your earpiece thanks to your hair.  You doubt that he can expect what’s coming next. “Now!” you shout as you swing your umbrella at Suho’s face making contact with his nose.

Hearing your voice J-Hope comes bursting in the door guns in hand. V uses this moment of surprise to take down his captors. You both made a break for Hope but you are not so lucky. Suho catches your arm and hold you against his chest as a shield.

Hope is livid, “Suho you’re sporting a little blood on your face, it’s a good look. If you want we could add to it.”

“As if you would have the guts to shoot me with her right here.”  

“I might not, but Suga does.” J-Hope smiles.

The colour drains from Suho face as he looks to the windows, and the tall buildings outside. You are suddenly thrust forward. V catches hold of you.

“No need, call him off we were just here to deliver a message.”

JHope mutters, “stand down” while holding his ear as if he was talking to someone. You can only hear Jimin on the line chuckling darkly.

“I’m guessing you heard it, tell RM to back off his plan or next time we’ll take her.” His glare at you does not go unnoticed, as V grips you even tighter. Suho continues with a lighter tone, “I was hoping that Jin would be here too, if you could pass on the well wishes of his father and the invitation to return.”

Once again you are stunned by his words, but your desire to flee is far greater than your curiosity.

J-Hope steps slowly back to the door, you and V follow suit. “If you think Jin is going back to his father, you must be on your own product.”

“No, I just understand how detrimental it can be to lose one's founder. You have a new link in the chain. Sure it’s pretty but it’s also weak, she won’t be able to support you before you come crashing down. It would be wiser for Jin to come back while he still can.” Suho turned his eyes back to you, “ It was lovely to meet you Miss Park. I’m sure we will see you again soon.”

You continue to retreat until your backs made it to the door. J-Hope still has his guns aimed, while you and V slip out the door, he quickly follows once your clear. You run down the hall to the exit V flipping the fire alarm on the way. All at once, there is a rush of the people to the doors hope grabs both you and V to prevent separation. Anyone watching would have had difficulty picking you out of the crowd. The tinted SUV is off to the side of the exit, you all scramble in. Jimin keeping his eyes on the rear-view mirror as he pulls out onto the road.

[avanneman]

Carriage House Days

Just off the corner of Connecticut and N Streets in Washington, DC is a reasonably imposing red-brick urban mini-mansion, which, a small plaque informs you, once belonged to General Henry Robert, who, you probably don’t know, wrote Robert’s Rules of Order. But back in 1975 when I worked there as a file clerk, we called it “the Carriage House,” because of the large room in the basement which indeed had once been a carriage house.

Like everyone else in the Carriage House, I worked on the “White & Case Case” for the law firm of Arnold & Porter, started in the late forties by two New Deal alumni, Thurman Arnold and Abe Fortas, who were then joined by another New Dealer, Paul Porter. Fortas was appointed to the Supreme Court by his very good friend Lyndon Johnson, who ultimately but inadvertently all but ruined Fortas’ life by seeking to elevate him to Chief Justice, leading to a number of scandals that both prevented Fortas from getting the job and, later, forced him to resign from the Court altogether, which might not have happened if Fortas hadn’t been Jewish, and would have been the nation’s first Jewish Chief Justice.

This was all ancient history by the time my association with the firm—mute, inglorious, and brief—began. Thurman and Abe’s original idea, it seems, was to found an early version of a “boutique” law firm, handling just a few “interesting” cases. Unsurprisingly, that strategy fell by the wayside as Washington boomed. The firm was originally housed in a number of the row houses on N Street, most spectacularly by an impressive mansion on the corner of N and 19th that had been owned by Teddy Roosevelt when he was Assistant Secretary of the Navy during the McKinley Administration. However, by the time I arrived at the Carriage House, most of the senior staff were housed in the I.A.M Building, a Washington, DC sized “skyscraper” on the corner of N and Connecticut, owned by the International Association of Machinists, whose president, William “Wimpy” Wimpisinger, was regarded by some as the most “dangerous” labor leader in America, though if Wimpy ever did anything dangerous, I never heard about it.

Most of the people in the Carriage House were young women, either paralegals or secretaries, which left me doubly the odd man out, or even trebly so, because I was quite possibly the oldest person there—of the regulars, at least—though a fortunately youthful appearance kept my presence and position there from looking as dubious as in fact it was.

I spent most of my time copying and collating documents. The enormous Xerox machines of the time could only copy a single page at a time—no automatic feeds and, of course, no automatic collating. I once spent three days assembling 50 copies of a 300-page document. Occasionally, I would read through transcripts of depositions and circle the names of "important" people whenever they appeared. One of the attorneys at many of these depositions would introduce himself at the start of each session in the following manner: "My name is Bobby Lawyer and I am an attorney."

I lived on Q Street, just a few blocks away from the Carriage House, in an efficiency I rented for $175 a month, furnished largely from what I scavenged from the street. I slept on a $50 mattress and listened to a $1200 stereo, both spread out on the floor. I sat in a worn wicker chair and ate from a worn card table, kept my books in a worn bookcase and my 100-odd jazz albums in a cardboard box.

The young women in the Carriage House who were single would often go to a bar they called “the Airplane”, located nearby on 19th St., but I was far too shy to do that. I would not have wanted to go to a “pick up” bar of any sort, and most certainly would not have wanted to go to a pick up bar frequented by women I knew at work.

However, there was a jazz club located in the basement of the town house right next to the Carriage House, “Harold’s Rogue and Jar”. I never found out what the name meant. I would go there occasionally and sit at the bar without talking to anyone. I would order a bacon cheeseburger with steak fries and a diet Coke. I can’t remember any of the names who appeared at the club, but it was serious jazz—nothing like the terrible “cool jazz” of today. The house drummer was a woman named Dottie Dodgione, who I think was the club manager as well. She was in her fifties, I would guess, with a stiff bouffant hairdo who wore pant suits, and ended each number with a furious solo. Sometimes, despite the jazz, the stress of being around so many people would get to me, and I would take my meal home, wrapped in heavy aluminum foil, and I would sit in my wicker chair and eat my rich bar food in peace and quiet and solitude.

After eight months at Arnold & Porter, I was fired, something anyone with the slightest percipience could have foreseen. Somewhere in Moby Dick Herman Melville warns sea captains not to hire “Platonists”—those with their eyes fixed only on invisible horizons—and he could have offered the same advice to law firms. But my time at the A&P was far from a complete loss. A month before I was fired, I was feeling so flush that I shopped for furniture, at Woodward & Lothrop, then DC’s largest department store. I chose a $400 sleeper sofa, blue and white plaid, a $150 butcher block table, and two Breuer chairs, which I had first seen in an optometrist’s shop and had thought were very classy. I didn’t have a credit card and didn’t know if Woodie’s would take a check, so I paid with $800 in cash, in the form of 16 fifties I had withdrawn from the bank the previous day. It was an investment that, though it might have seemed ill-timed, was in fact very much the reverse. Shortly after being fired, I started dating a young woman who would change my life significantly, a young woman who, I think, would not have dated a man who slept on a mattress on the floor and ate from a card table and a worn wicker chair.

Afterwords The rear windows of the Carriage House faced on the alley behind N Street. A “celebrity” hair dresser, whose name I never learned, parked one of three classic cars that he drove to work each day in that alley—a funereal-looking green and black pre-war Rolls Royce, a post-war Rolls that was cream with red pinstriping, and, surely the pièce de résistance, a midnight-blue coffin-nosed Cord convertible with a tan roof, its chrome supercharger exhaust pipes gleaming in the sun. I wonder how many people would drive such cars in rush-hour traffic today.

The top floor of the IAM building had both offices for Arnold & Porter and the Machinists’ Union. The A&P had lots of attractive, stylish young women who worked as secretaries and receptionists. One of them who sat at the front desk of the top floor told me how difficult it was to keep a straight face when the Machinists’ big shots came swanking in in their horrible 70s-era polyester leisure suits—mint green with white piping and matching white shoes, or what smirky journalists liked to call a “full Cleveland”, white suit, white shirt, and white shoes.

Shortly after I left the A&P, the Carriage House was commandeered by Carolyn Agger, a senior partner and Abe Fortas’ wife. Carolyn, who had been housed in the IAM building, was afraid of elevators, and wanted an office in a building with a nice staircase.

A year or so after I left, Arnold & Porter deserted N Street entirely, building the “Thurmond Arnold Building” at the corner of New Hampshire and M, but they didn’t stay there long. The firm has now merged with a New York law firm, Kaye Scholer, becoming Arnold & Porter Kaye Scholer LLP, with offices all around the world. The DC office is on Massachusetts Avenue, just southeast of Mt. Vernon Square, a stretch of road that constitutes one of several “lobbyist lanes” radiating from the Capitol.

During the McCarthy years, Arnold, Fortas, & Porter defended many people accused of communism. Fortas in particular was a frequent opponent of Joe McCarthy, but the opposition to his appointment as chief justice seemed to come mostly from southern Democrats, who often saw integration as a Jewish/communist plot. When Jesse Helms (R-NC) was elected to the Senate in 1972, one of his goals was to “get” the Jews. He was a furious opponent of Israel until the Reagan years, when it was finally explained to him that you couldn’t make it to the very top in DC unless you learned to play ball with AIPAC.

The White & Case Case involved another law firm, in New York. One of its senior partners, a Mr. Eply, was facing criminal charges brought by the Securities and Exchange Commission, accusing him of criminal behavior based on the advice he gave to a White & Case client, Cortez Randell, a sixties wheeler and dealer who ended up doing time, though, I’m pretty sure, Eply did not. The SEC’s case against Eply was one of first impression, and naturally White & Case was willing to move heaven and earth to protect both Eply and other attorneys who might find themselves in legal peril merely for trying to turn an honest buck or two.

The story of Cortez Randell and his company, National Student Marketing, had been spectacular enough to be the subject of a book, out in paperback while the White & Case Case was still gaining momentum, called The Funny Money Game, by Andrew Tobias, perhaps not the first and certainly not the last up and coming Harvard graduate to make a name for himself by writing a book about his experiences on Wall Street under the tutelage of Mammon.

The way National Student Marketing “worked”—the reason why Cortez Randell got so rich so quickly and then imploded—was that Randell had either discovered or invented “synergy”. This meant buying out firms that provided goods or services complementary to whatever it was NSM was already selling—“better together”, one might say. But the “real” secret was that NSM didn’t buy other companies with money; it used NSM stock instead, which was better than money, because it increased in value every year.

There are lots of things wrong with this model—NSM was going to run out of “complementary” firms to buy, NSM stock was going up because the economy was expanding and all stocks were going up, not because NSM was so fabulous—but the biggest and simplest reason of all is that any financial instrument that can be better than money can also be worse than money, setting a pattern that has repeated itself a number of times since, on a scale far more spectacular than NSM’s. Someone comes up with a brilliant idea, a better mousetrap, and makes a lot of money, and creates a financial instrument based on that idea—be it a simple share of stock, a mortgage-backed security, a collateralized debt obligation, or whatever—that is “better” than money, and a lot of people get rich on that financial instrument. Eventually, however, the better mousetrap, whatever it is, stops being better, and becomes the new normal. It’s lost its edge. But the people who have gotten rich off their “better than money” gimmick can’t believe that, or won’t believe that. The line that went around among the Wall Street geniuses who almost sank the world’s economy back in 2008 was that you don’t stop playing “Musical Chairs” until the music stops, even if you see the chairs disappearing. However, when the music had stopped, they started singing—and telling lies—until there were no chairs left, leaving the government to pay for all the furniture they’d destroyed.