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"It's a very good offer, Mr. Garrison; I doubt you'll find any better."
Craig Garrison had to agree, it was an excellent offer, but that didn't mean he was interested. It was an offer of a job, a full-time job with a long-term contract and a follow-up non-compete clause, enough to tie him up for the next thirty years, not a one time 'consultation', and for HIM, not for the team, just for him.
In one way, it offered him an excellent and lucrative career for the rest of his working life; in another, it meant an end to what he WANTED for both his working life and his personal life. Mr. Smith, as he'd introduced himself, had been quite clear on that point, though he hadn't been quite so blunt about it, of course. Well, not yet anyway. That was yet to come.
Garrison smiled politely at the gentleman seated across from him. "Yes, I agree, a very good offer, for the right man; however, as I said, I'm not interested. I'm quite content with the operation I'm part of right now."
And it really was a remarkably generous offer, there was no doubt about it. There was just one little problem, well, maybe two, even if you discounted the fact that Craig didn't trust the man as far as he could throw him, and Mr. Smith was a very large man. As Mr. Smith had explained, a cool little smile on his face, "it's not that we have a dress code, well, not a strict one, simply decent business attire. But that leather-work collar, it is hardly what we would like to see one of our people wearing, rather too bohemian and far too noticeable. For the amount of money we are paying, I doubt it will be much of a sacrifice to discard it, replace it with a proper necktie."
Craig lifted one hand to lightly touch the half-inch leather strip at his throat, a symbol of everything he had no intention of discarding, not now, not ever, the symbol or the reality; he'd noticed Smith's eyes had kept darting to that symbol throughout the conversation, even though he kept it turned so the more outre aspects were obscured by his collar. His polite smile was becoming a little strained, his voice a little crisp.
"It's a symbol, Mr. Smith, a trademark, you might say of Garrison Consulting Associates. Our clients and prospective clients recognize it as that and have no objections to it."
"And, as I mentioned, it is you we are interested in, Mr. Garrison, you alone. We are sure your associates will find their own way; they seem quite, um, resourceful." Then the big man got down to the crux of the matter, finally laying it on the line.
"Oh, and just one other small matter; any association you have with your 'associates' as you call them, all of them, but in particular the rather awkward association with a Mr. Grainger, Goniff, I believe he's called; that must cease, of course, on the personal level as well as the professional one. We can hardly have that sort connected to us in any way. The woman, well, if you insist on maintaining that connection we could understand that as I believe you have a child with her; we could perhaps accept that, provided you and she formalize the relationship immediately, though she also will need to comply with our dress code, our code of conduct for spouses, attend the orientation we provide for spouses so they are aware of our requirements, but the other one, no, no, certainly not."
Craig was a little surprised that he wasn't angry at all that, but he wasn't. He felt rather detached, almost like he had during one of the impersonations he'd done during the war. That wasn't a particularly good sign, of course; that detachment had allowed him to take some rather drastic measures, all with a mild smile on his face.
The only amusing thought in what Mr. Smith was saying was that of trying to explain to the Dragon that she now had a dress code and a code of conduct imposed by someone other than her own self; he could almost imagine her response to the idea of an 'orientation'. Yes, that was somewhat amusing, but not enough to outbalance his annoyance at the impertinence, the sheer arrogance of the suggestions.
He smiled again, now the politeness becoming even more crisp, actually brittle would be a better word.
"Mr. Smith, my associates are part of my organization, and my 'associations' are my own business. Now, as I said, I'm not interested. Thank you for the offer, but the answer is no." He rose from his chair, quite deliberately not extending his hand for a parting handshake.
Mr Smith didn't seem any too pleased at that, by the way his mouth turned down or by the change in the tone of his voice.
"I believe you would find us most profitable to work for, Mr. Garrison. I believe you would find us most unprofitable otherwise. We can arrange for your associates to be, well, unavailable to you, you know. Perhaps when you no longer have an organizational team, you will be more agreeable to seeing things our way."
Craig was no longer trying to be even remotely polite; his voice was icy and harsh, no give in it whatsoever.
"Stay away from my people, stay away from me."
"Understand me, Mr. Garrison, I am quite accustomed to getting what I want. Perhaps you simply need greater incentive to be reasonable; I'm sure we can provide that. Perhaps when you find your clients reluctant to do business with someone with such untidy habits, with associates with such untidy histories. Perhaps when your bank decides to audit your accounts to look for irregularities, freezing your access to them in the process. Perhaps the proper authorities might have some legal objections to that little establishment of yours. Surely you can see that would hardly benefit any of your associates; cash flow and a secure place to live, well, those can be such comforting things, you know, in such an uncertain world."
Craig didn't worry about trying to get in the last word, he just turned and walked away.
He'd known it wasn't going to go down well; he'd been prepared for that. Lynn was off meeting with a prospective client about a vanished Rublev icon, Lizzie going along to act as secretary, but the rest of the team was gathered in the kitchen, along with visiting siblings Douglas and Coura. They were pissed, each and every one of them, of course, pissed and defiant.
Actor was determinedly trying to be quite matter-of-fact about the whole thing, perhaps concerned about any subversive action Mr. Smith might take, but not about the future viability of the consulting business they'd built together; it had worked out even better than they could have imagined when they'd planned it that last year of the war, and they were kept as busy as they wished to be.
Meghada reassured them of the financial side. "The accounts? They are spread out enough even if he succeeded in getting one or two frozen temporarily, which I rather doubt he will be able to, it would do us no harm. And there are some quite impervious to his tampering, those in Switzerland and Panama, and of course, the two accounts funneled through the Clan. We have no lack of operating cash here and in a couple of little hidey-holes even, for the Cottages or for the business."
Casino scowled at Garrison, "whatta ya think he meant about making US unavailable to you?"
Craig admitted, "that has me more than a little worried. You all have your pardons," looking around as a thought came to him. "Are there any old outstanding warrants hanging over your heads?"
They stopped, considered, then Chief admitted with a shrug, "could be, back in the States, no real way of knowing; but nothing here in England, at least for me."
Casino agreed with that, "maybe something back home, but not here."
Actor was still thinking, and Goniff flushed, "wouldn't be surprised, Craig; don't know of any offhand, but I did keep fairly busy, before I 'eaded for the States and after, and I'm fairly recognizable."
Douglas offered, "I have a source, I can do some checking without setting off any red flags."
Meghada shook her head. "Thank you, Douglas, but there is no need, well, for any older charges. You might check for anything new that pops up, and yes, I think that is a very good idea. For the other, I asked Shjean to do that a long time ago. There were three total here, two in the States total for the lot of you, some elsewhere; all have been taken care of. You're clean now, Goniff, at least under your own name as well as under 'Goniff' Grainger, and all the various other names you've taken on occasionally; same with you, Casino and you, Chief, both here AND in the States, you're clean now, under your own names anyway. Shjean was most thorough in his work on our behalf. Actor, you are clear as far as I could tell, but with the number of different names you've used, I could have missed something. Of course, we only checked here and in the States, and of course, the various places Goniff managed to land, and you are widely traveled," she admitted.
They were relieved when the tall Italian smiled and said, "no, I believe you're right; I do not recall any such little items to trouble us locally, and while there could perhaps be something somewhere else, that would hardly affect the rest of you, and I doubt this Mr. Smith would be more conversant with my history than you are."
Garrison wondered if they'd ever get Actor's full story, and snorted to himself, {"probably when he sits down to pen his memoirs!"}
Casino provided the glum note, "don't mean new charges can't be drummed up. Won't be the first time, might even try framing us for something."
That brought a fast glance, one to the other, and Goniff tried to provide a weak moment of humor with, "you mean, I could say 'I was framed' for real??" Yes, well, he wasn't in the mood for anything too inventive; he had a lot on his mind.
He tapped his spoon against the table nervously, "seems 'e was awfully interested in the collar, and me and Meghada too, but particularly me. 'e starts talking around, that could be trouble."
He sent a worried look at the taller blond man, a quick glance at the redhead. The last thing he wanted was to be the source of trouble for either of them, the rest of the team either.
Actor moved to reassure him, "Goniff, I believe we will find most of those who have need of our services are far more interested in our obtaining the desired information for them, or retrieving their stolen possessions than in our personal relationships. Those who find themselves overly offended can seek out someone else to do the job. We will hardly go hungry, you know."
He was reminding them of what they sometimes lost sight of in the thrill of the hunt, the hustle and bustle of running the operation; they, The Cottages, had enough tucked away they didn't really have to keep taking the new jobs; they could coast for a good long time. Not that they would; they all got bored easily, and Garrison tried to keep that from happening, figuring that was just trouble waiting around the corner; he'd had more than enough experience of what could happen when his men got bored!
From the frown on the slender Englishman's face, that hadn't relieved his mind. Meghada knew they'd have to keep a close watch on him; Goniff tended to take his Mother Hen role a little too serious at times, and she remembered the last time someone had convinced him SHE would be better off without him. She didn't want a repeat of that nonsense.
When he opened his mouth to reluctantly tell them, "maybe it's best if I make myself scarce. It ain't just us, it's Randy now too. And Craig, if the collar is making you a target, then . . ." Craig shot a fast look at Meghada, now realizing what she'd seen just a few minutes ago, that Goniff was headed down that same well-intentioned but misguided road of 'nobility and self-sacrifice' he'd gone down before.
He had no one but them, not anymore, not since his mum and his aunt Moll had passed on; his family was here, vital to him, but he was just mother hen enough to vanish, thinking it would be better for everyone. But as important as they were to him, well, he was just as important to them. They all loved him, though in different ways; they couldn't lose him; their Randy, his son, couldn't lose his Da because he was trying to protect them!
Goniff found himself brought up sharply by the loving but firm words, "you already wrote that letter, that song's already been written and sung. And if I remember correctly, the reply as well. We don't want her to have to start repeating herself, do we? You know how she hates that, and I just don't have the voice to take those high notes!" and he was pulled into strong arms, and smiling green eyes looked down at him.
"Listen, my 'slightly dopey gent', we'll weather this storm, this and any others, the three of us, the rest of us, together. You're stuck with us; you're not allowed to 'make yourself scarce'," and the slender Englishman shook his head, a worried look on his face.
"They'll try and make trouble for you, Craig, for you and the others, bout me, you know that."
And the smile on that beloved face turned a little icy, "yeah, well they can try. Doesn't mean we'll let them get away with it, now does it? After all, it's Valentine's Day."
"Craig, it's October," only got a low, husky laugh as Craig Garrison pulled the first of his two loves into a tight embrace.
"Did you forget? 'Each day is Valentine's Day'."
A gold-blond head rested against a flaxen blond one, and a hand from the redheaded woman stroked the softness of those heads, both of them. And for them, for all three of them, it truly was Valentine's Day, and each day would continue to be so, bedamned to any who thought elsewise!
Casino gave a loud groan, more because it was expected than anything else, and his usual "Sheesh! You guys!" was accompanied by a wide grin and mock reproving shake of his dark head.
Chief gave a little snort of laughter, "they'll never change, Casino, you know that," but really, none of them would have wanted that anyway. They'd all fight to the last breath to protect what existed here, what had been so painstakingly built.
Coura looked over to see if the coffee had finished, and rose to get the fresh pot. As she poured the potent brew into their cups she asked, "do we know why? I mean, yes, Craig is quite talented, he's quite presentable, he's built a good business, but what brought him to this Smith's attention? Why so determined to cut and corner him?"
That brought puzzled frowns to which she explained a trifle impatiently, "well, that's what it looks like to me. Cut him away from all of us, or vice versa, get him alone and in a corner for them to claim. Not that I don't love you, Craig, not that you aren't highly valuable to all of us, but what makes you so valuable to him? Why is he so determined?"
And that was a question that, no matter how much they pondered it, they just couldn't figure out.
They talked about, made a list, of the various possible ways Mr. Smith might try to interfere, put certain plans into effect to deal with some of them. Meghada organized the files so that she could be sure and handle anything regarding the village and The Cottages, alerted Shjean of possible trouble, talked to Ben Miller as well. They decided they'd keep close to home for awhile, not take on new jobs without thorough vetting, keeping a lookout for any scams or schemes intended to do harm, put them in a vulnerable position. Randy was going to find his wandering curtailed somewhat, to his and Max's disappointment; no threats had been made, but mention had been made of him in that meeting, and while it was hard to think he could be targeted, no one was going to take any chances on that, especially without knowing what was behind this whole mess. Besides, Craig thought that keeping close tabs on the small boy and even smaller dog would keep Goniff busy enough to keep him from getting morose about the whole situation; Meghada agreed with the concept, but reminded him, with a laugh, that they needed to be prepared to deal with whatever mischief the trio might get into, since Randy was very much his fathers' son.
Later Douglas and Coura talked it over and came up with one little thing that might help, just maybe, in one small aspect of this mess, and put their plan in action.
When Lynn and Lizzie returned home, they were highly indignant, of course. They were told of Goniff's apprehension, his suggestion that he leave, make himself scarce, and that threw them both into a hissy fit. Meghada and Craig were greatly relieved when Lynn was able to get through to Goniff, finally, irrevocably making him understand what he'd never perhaps understood or at least totally accepted before. Well, they both knew you could sometimes be so close to a situation you couldn't see it properly. Lynn didn't pull any punches as she proceeded to lay it out for their Englishman.
"Goniff, I love you, but you're such an idiot sometimes! Together we are a strong unit, a family built around a core. That core, my dear friend, is YOU! You, making yourself scarce, leaving in order to protect all of us! Haven't you figured it out?? This place was built for you, around you. First for you, her love. Then expanding to include Craig, because you loved him. Then even more for the guys, because they were your brothers. Me, thru Craig and then Actor. Lizzie when Randy adopted her. But it all started with you, and it all revolves around you! You're the linchpin, what holds us all together!"
"If you go, Meghada and Craig will follow after you, absolutely, and of course Randy along with them, though making them all miserable at leaving the rest of us. Actor and I will stay together, yes, but possibly not here, not without you four. What about Casino and Chief? Will they stay with us, will they stay with each other or will they end up alone somewhere? You know where that will lead! What about Lizzie? She adores Randy, loves both Casino and Chief; she's found a home, a purpose here; what is she supposed to do? No, what we have here is special, too special to let this Mr. Smith or anyone else ruin it. So stop thinking such things, and let's concentrate on protecting what we have!"
In bed that night, that slight frown of worry that had ridden his face so often since that meeting had disappeared. "You would come after me, wouldn't you."
It wasn't a question, it was a calm, if slightly incredulous statement of fact, and one that drew them to move closer to him. "I've always said I would, haven't I?" Meghada whispered, dropping a light kiss on his lips, and Craig brushed his head against that flaxen-blond one beside him, "never doubt that; you'll not get away from us. I don't know that I could have drawn it out so clearly as my sister did, but she's right. You're our core; we wouldn't have made it without you, none of us. Wouldn't have then, couldn't now."
Deep in the night Craig let his mind drift back to that early mission, when he'd momentarily regretted making the slight Englishman part of the team, thinking the drawbacks outweighed the advantages, and shook his head at all that would have never come into being if that were the case. He lay awake just a few minutes, listening to those soft mutterings, that low crooning in response, and smiled with deep and full contentment.
The first move came when two men arrived, very business-like, to have a very stern word about the occupancy limits on the cottage, dire predictions about the drains and sewage and water usage and run-off, number of vehicles on the car park to the side; explaining most firmly that the occupancy, the number of people had to be reduced to no more than four maximum, and even those must prove an acceptable familial relationship.
Meghada got out the codes for the village, carefully explained that as how The Cottages had been originally three separate cottages, and the additions equalled another three, perhaps four, now the occupancy was approximately 1.3 persons per cottage-sized space, far less per square foot than any other cottage in the village except for those where the owner lived alone. Pulled out the inspections for the drains and water run-off and all else, all well within village codes. As for the relationship nonsense, she just laughed in their faces.
"So if I were married to one of them and the others were our children, we would be required to throw all but two out in the streets? Oh, but that's right; village codes show we are just fine on the occupancy and all else. So it's just your 'familial relationship' that's the issue. Perhaps I should adopt them? I could get my lawyer right on that. Oh do stop talking such utter nonsense and get out!! I've supper to get started and you're cluttering up my kitchen!"
The two men left, seemingly puzzled at having been countered so easily, and with such amused disdain. The first shoe had dropped, and everyone was a little on edge.
When the tall pursed-lipped bald man and his two assistants showed up, with a sheaf of citations for 'unacceptable agricultural use of land in a domestic setting without permits', Meghada just rolled her eyes. These also were fairly easily set to rout with a fast phone call to Constable Ben Miller who arrived immediately and sternly explained, in deliberately small words as if speaking to a three-year old, just what a 'home garden' was, that with a large number of mouths to feed in her home, she required a large home garden.
"She starts raising pigs, then she might need a permit, but even that I'm not so sure of, since there's no close neighbors who'd be bothered and there's all that extra acreage off to the back and side; I could look it up, I suppose. Miss, that your intention? To start raising pigs?"
Meghada assured him, "not this year, Constable. Perhaps a beehive, but not pigs."
And Ben had suppressed his smile, "then that's just fine. Bees are allowed. Gentlemen, I think the lady has other things to do than stand around talking such foolishness; I know I certainly do. Along with you!"
The cold-eyed men with the young female assistant had a tax-book in hand, and wanted to discuss the various shares programs they had in place, the accumulated unpaid taxes resulting from that rather unusual maze of operations, the incipent lien they intended to place on the property and all assets. That they knew as much as they did meant Doby had been flapping his jaws again, but that would be dealt with later.
Craig and Meghada had become weary of this little game and resolved after the 'home garden' incident the next approach would be dealt with more firmly. Accordingly, Craig pulled out the paperwork prepared by cousin Shjean, explaining exactly what the status of The Cottages was.
"And we've really tried to be polite and patient, but you need to understand, you and whoever is employing you all. While we generally try to abide by local law and custom as much as we reasonably can, it is out of politeness and wanting to be a good neighbor; we are not actually required to do any such thing, by special dispensation from the British government. I suggest you read this, and if you have any questions, I will be glad to direct you to our lawyers. I do NOT know where you are getting your information, but you might need to develop more reliable sources! Such mistakes could not be good for your reputation, or so I would think!"
The bewildered frustration on the part of the men was evident; the young woman had been occupied with a little gentle flirting with Chief in the next room, and her frustration became apparent only when her companions informed her quite briskly that they were leaving. She'd been enjoying herself and was reluctant to leave, and cast a quick look back over her shoulder at the rather intriguing man she'd found so likeable, if rather shy.
The three stopped at the pub to use the phone, and Jake found the one side of the conversation both informative and amusing, and related the whole to Garrison later.
"So what now? If they can't come at us from the legal side, what do we expect now? A frame-up, force, trying to drive our clients away?" Another brainstorming session was in full swing. Douglas spoke up, taking a sip of that powerful concoction Meghada called coffee, though the others sometimes had other words for it, them earning a teaspon snapped against their heads when they did so.
"Well, we've thought of something that might help, just a bit, at least with the clients, a little bit of misdirection. Remember how focused your Mr. Smith was on your collar, Craig? I know you told him it was a symbol, rather like a trademark. Coura and I think that's actually a very good idea, one you should consider implementing right away." They all looked at Douglas, puzzled.
Coura got up and brought back a box, opened it, spread out various pieces of carved leather-work. Collars, wristbands of various designs, all well done, some more ornamented, some quite plain, more than enough for them to choose all of one, just collars or just wristbands, or to mix them up.
"No outsider is likely to comprehend that your collar and Meghada's are special, linked to Goniff's wristbands, not if the entire team wears something similar. I mean, the villagers know, they don't think anything of it anymore; but your clients aren't going to come nosing around talking to Jake or Lou, are they? And not many would be willing to talk to them, other than Doby, of course. And although we brought collars and wristbands, in fact, it occurred to us that the rest of you might all consider just the leather wristbands; they would fit discreetly under the cuffs of a shirt, not visible unless you wanted them to be. That way you could explain Craig and Meghada wearing the collars as being because they are the 'leaders' of the organization, the official public representatives, and the wristbands being for the rest of the associates. Yes, I know that's contrary to the meaning, but darling," looking at Goniff, "I just don't think they would accept you as the leader, and besides I doubt Actor will accept wearing a collar."
Goniff laughed, "no, they wouldn't, and I don't want them thinking I am anyway. Coo, likely to set them off even more, whoever the ruddy 'ell they are. And I'm not, not in that way anyhow; that's Craig's part. And yer right, I just can't see Actor giving up 'is fancy neckcloths."
Actor sighed a long-suffering sigh, "ascots, you ignorant clod, they are called ascots."
Goniff grinned unrepentently, knowing quite well what they were called but liking to push a few buttons when it was so easy, and the others just laughed.
While they weren't confident it would help a great deal, the idea had merit, and was oddly tempting, and they sorted through the leather-work wrist-bands, selecting what most appealed to them. Lynn selected a rather dainty scalloped one while Actor pulled out a broader one with a carved Grecian Key pattern for himself. Chief took one with a complicated carved-out braid design, and when Coura had pointed out the broadest one with cut out crescents, the one with a small slit on the underside, just right for a piece of spring steel, Casino latched onto that one eagerly; nothing wrong with having a second ace in the hole. Lizzie picked up one with carved diamonds, remembering that diamond bracelet that financed her escape from her husband.
They broke for coffee, and Douglas ran his fingers over the remaining items on the table. He got a smile on his face amazingly similar to one of Goniff's more mischievious ones.
Chief saw, asked, "what are you thinking?"
Those dark brown eyes had a wicked glint now, "just thinking how well one, maybe two of these collars would suit Casino. What do you think? Just in private, I mean," and a slow smile crossed the Indian's face.
Douglas and Chief had found they shared very well, and if Casino was still a little surprised, a little shy every time they joined him, either singly or together, he was getting used to the idea, now even looked forward to the next time, though it was a matter of stubborn pride that he'd not admit that.
Ever since that Solstice party when the two had started, for lack of a better word, 'courting' him, he'd found his world shifting. No, he didn't think he'd be giving up the dames, still kept his little notebook with names and numbers and descriptions and such. Yeah, he still thought of Kinch every now and again, figured he would continue to enjoy their time together whenever their paths crossed once, maybe twice a year, but this was something different, something that had more of a feeling of permanence, and he was still a little off-balance. If he ever sat down to think it through, he might lose his mind, but Casino was a past expert at avoiding thinking about serious subjects and this was one of the most serious.
"Yeah, I think that's a good idea. Let's each take one to give him," and Douglas laughed at the thought even as he reached for the collar with the lightning flash design; Chief settled on the one with the carved out braid. That the pattern matched his own wristband, that wasn't by accident. Douglas thought for a moment, then reached back to pull out the wristband with the lightning flash as well.
In fact, the leather-work DID help. One of their repeat clients, Dean Morrison, was approached by a gentleman who appeared also to be in the 'consultation' business, suggesting Morrison might want to change who he used for retrievals, a gentleman who confided certain 'shocking' information about Garrison and his relationships, advising against using him and his so-called associates again, bringing up the collars and wristbands as proof. While Morrison didn't give a tinker's damn about who slept with whom, as long as he got his three Corots back, not to mention the portfolio of the artist's preliminary sketches for those works, he did mention it at the next group meeting when that collar caught his eye.
Garrison recognized the mysterious Mr. Smith by the description, but only laughed, "it's our trademark, Dean. She and I take the public role of leaders, make the contacts, do the negotiating, so we wear these," as he fingered that half inch of rich leather.
"Meghada, show him your collar," and the young woman agreeably pulled her shirt collar away slightly to reveal just a glimpse of the leather band.
"The others, they have a different role. Guys, want to show Mr. Morrison what the gentleman was talking about?" Morrison watched with some interest as four shirtsleeves were unbuttoned, pushed back; while he'd been expecting the short blond to be wearing a wrist band from what that gentleman had said, the others each had one on as well. Goniff had been careful to push his sleeve up only far enough for the bottom band to show.
"It's not to identify ourselves to anyone else, more a symbol of the organization, our committment to the job and each other. I admit it's an affectation, maybe seeming odd to outsiders, but it means something to us, not so obvious or commercial as the name of the organization embroidered across our shirts," he laughed.
"I think the man who talked to you is someone who approached me awhile back, called himself 'Smith', wanted me to disband the group, me come work for him; I don't think he liked the competition. I wasn't interested, of course, turned him down flat, and I think he was annoyed enough to make waves. Hell, Dean, we've all worked together as a team for several years now; we do alright and don't want to change anything. By the way, I think we've got a solid lead on those Corots of yours, and we found another the owner is wanting to sell, if you're interested," Dean Morrison's eyes lighting up at both bits of news, and the conversation shifted back to business.
Garrison's organization always made sure to deliver good value, and Morrison had a lot of contacts; the word spread, and Mr. Smith's words fell on deaf ears from then on.
Still, it all rankled, and they all kept their ears and eyes open for any sign of Mr. Smith; well, until Douglas dropped in for a friendly little visit.
"Your Mr. Smith? Finally tracked him down; don't think he'll be causing any more trouble after someone dropped a word in his ear how unpleasant a result that could have; seems he has some secrets of his own, a rather interesting history before he set himself up as a 'recovery agent'. By the by, he doesn't have the resources to have fulfilled that supposed contract with you, Craig; I think he just intended to get you away from the group, figuring it'd fall apart without you, break the trust so you wouldn't be able to reform it when his job promise fell to pieces. Probably try to tie you up with that non-compete clause in any case; it was so oddly written, even if he had no job to offer, hadn't paid the compensation promised, you'd still have been prohibited from providing the services you now do! Could have drawn it out in the courts for years! One hell of a lawyer drew THAT one up! And you'll never guess who sicced him on you!"
He paused to take a sip of coffee, "I assume you all remember the Big Brown Eagle?? Seems he remembers all of you too, and in not a friendly manner. Goniff in particular is on his shit list. Seems being a two star General isn't enough to occupy his time OR his mind; Shjean tracked your other little annoyances back to him as well. The organization he'd hired for those has been apprized of a few facts as well, and they'll not be troubling you again; my understanding is that they returned his last check and asked him not to contact them again. They didn't seem to think it would do their professional reputation any good to be known to be so easily misled into harassing someone to carry out a petty personal grudge; weren't real happy with the possible litigation it could have caused, them being on the receiving side for once."
He frowned then, looked around at each of them, "I'd keep an eye out for him, though; something tells me he's not going to let bygones be bygones."
It was Douglas' first visit back since he and Coura had brought the leather-work, and he made sure to put that collar in his pocket when he went in to share a drink with Chief in his room. He pulled it out, wordlessly, showed it draped over his hand, his pushed back sleeves showing that he was already wearing the matching wristband, raised one brow in suggestive inquiry; Chief got a slow grin on his face, went to the side table and pulled out the braided one he'd selected, the one matching his own wristband. Together, drinks in hand, Chief with another glass and the bottle, made their way to the next room over, tapped on the door, and at the response, opened the door and lounged against the frame.
"Hey, Casino, you up for a drink and some company?" The handsome safecracker's rapidly blinking eyes showed his apprehension, no, if he were being honest with himself, it wasn't apprehension, but anticipation. A slow, perhaps slightly shy grin came to his lips, quite unlike his usual brash and challenging one, and he greeted them.
"Hey, guys. Been waitin. What kept ya?"
The liquor would be shared, the collars would be presented, and they would make good use of the warm, indeed heated night time hours. And if, in the morning, Casino 'forgot' to remove the two collars before going in to breakfast, 'forgot' to button his shirt those top few buttons so the collars were clearly visible, no one commented, other than Actor almost choking on his coffee at the sight of those two strips of leather worn one right above the other, and Goniff snickering so hard he almost forgot about that last strip of bacon on his plate. Garrison was confused for just a minute, but a fast incredulous look at Meghada, at her amused knowing grin, at Casino's slightly flushed, slightly sheepish face, and then at Chief and Douglas with their smug smiles, noted Douglas's wristband, and he spoke the words everyone was thinking, "Sheesh, you guys!!" and everyone roared.
Later, "it was hardly like Casino to forget to remove those collars before we saw them," Actor reflected.
Goniff started making that snickering sound again, getting a glare from the tall Italian and from Garrison, and the obvious explanation came in answer to that look, "come on, mates; that was no accident, just 'is way of letting us know without 'aving to actually say anything. You know Casino. Now, just a question w'ether 'e's gonna let Brenda and Margie and Trish know, and, oh lordy, w'at about Lizzie??!"
Meghada snorted slightly, "well, Brenda and Margie and Trish are Casino's lookout, but Lizzie is fine with it all; says she's been expecting something of the sort for some time. She IS petitioning for a larger bed!"
And the conversation shifted to the practical matters inherent in managing an Enclave, and things were back to normal. Well, as much as that word could apply to group comprised of a former American Army Lieutenant, a Clanswoman and an English pickpocket; the ex-lieutenant's sister and an Italian conman; and a young Clansman, a wheel-and-knife man, and a safecracker, oh, along with the young ex-wife of an American Army Major who had made it his hobby to harass all of them during the war; Lynn and Actor's small son Paolo, along with young Randy, of course, 'Randall Craig O'Donnell', the precocious son of Craig Garrison, Rodney 'Goniff' Grainger and Meghada O'Donnell, and of course, little M'Coury, Randy's sister, just as unique as Randy in her own way.
{"I might need to expand that family garden again; wouldn't be surprised if the family might not be expanding as well. It does seem to have a way of doing that!"}. She lay back against the pillows, smiling into the darkness, well contented with her life, her family, her treasure.