Taxes 4 - Die Hard with Pirates

A few hours later, across the street from a chromed high-rise that bore the legend "Royal Inc.," a man blinked in the light of California's Indian summer. He worked his jaw to clear his ears as he was fairly certain one hadn't yet popped. Yawned...there. Much better. He yawned again, and there before him was the mermaid that had ever been his savior. Ah, Starbucks.

A woman smiled at him as she let him in the door, and he returned the grin. His hair might be graying a bit at the temples, but he'd still got it. And there wasn't anything about a midlife crisis in that thought, oh, no. Smile turned somewhat sheepish, he ordered a large mocha and let them layer on the whipped cream. Leaning against the counter where the finished drinks arrived, he craned his neck around, looking for a seat. To his surprise, the place was full, but then an arm raised, waving him over.

Had his son come by on a coffee run? Grabbing his mocha, he wandered over, finding instead that the raised arm belonged to a tall, brown-haired stranger. He sat at the table with an even taller man, who looked related.

"Do I know you?" he asked.

"Nah," the tall man replied. That one word, plus the striped shirt and the hat resting on the one empty chair... speculations were confirmed when the man continued, "Just thought it'd be neighborly - we had the extra seat and all. Plus, we're from outta town, and we needed to fill a couple of hours 'fore we meet up with someone." That was Texas in the man's voice, or he'd eat that hat and the one sitting beneath it.

"Wish I could help, but I'm in almost exactly the same spot. Just got in from Boston this morning."

"Dallas / Fort Worth. Bet you never woulda guessed." The taller man this time, with an easy smile. The newcomer extended his hand to each of them in turn.

"William Smith, Sr. Call me Bill, everyone does."

"You got it, Bill." Hand grasped in a grip that was firm but not overbearing. "I'm James Montgomery Norton, Monty to most folk." Indicating the other, he said, "My little brother, James Brandon."

"J.B.," the slightly taller Texan advised. "So, what brings you t' the left coast, Bill?"

Bill took a long sip of coffee, and then a deep breath. "Well, I think my son's in love."

"Well, damn. 'S love that's hauled us out here too," said Monty. "Little Jimmy - he's the baby in the family - went and got himself engaged last month. Dad couldn't come and Mom couldn't come, so they put us both on a plane to come see if the girl's suitable." He leaned forward. "Think they're afraid she's some kind of blueblood snob."

J.B. snorted. "Little Jimmy's got more sense."

"Well, I know that, and you know that, but we gotta tell 'em we made the effort. Plus, hell, it's a damn sight less humid here and the mosquito ain't the state bird this time of year, so why not?"

"That's our story," J.B. continued. "So, you met the lady yet?"

Bill tensed. These cowboys seemed decent, but you never knew when you'd have to hit someone after you confessed, "Not a lady. Will's found himself a man."

Monty whistled, and J. B. smirked. "Got it. I remember when Cousin Alex told us the same thing. Dad said that explained why he'd never joined the service, and then said those of us that had would be happy to kick the asses of anyone who gave him any crap about it."

"We did, too." Monty considered. "Wonder if that jackass stopped runnin' yet?"

"'Nother words," J.B. confided, "Ain't all cowboys backwards. Some of us even think Toby Keith's a flag-wavin' self-righteous..."

"Hey, you watch it..."

"All right, I'll shut up about Toby. Sheesh."

Bill blinked. "Toby who?"

"...Never mind. Hey," J.B. advised, "I'm off t' get me another one of those venti caramel macchiatos. Y'all good?"

His brother shook his head. "Y'all are gonna be bouncin' off the walls."

"I'm good," Bill said. Idly, his eyes tracked J.B. as he navigated to the counter, only to have two new arrivals step through the door and into his line of sight. One was bulky, all circles, his head either bald or shaven. The other was lean, attenuated, with blonde hair gelled into spikes. As he entered the room, one side of his wraparound shades cleared, but the other stayed dark. The visible eye met Bill's.

Bill felt it as a squeezing feeling in his chest, and was aware of ting.ing...//Oh, no...Oh, not again...I thought I was *over* these...//

Panic attack. It was going to be a bad one. For some reason, he kept his hold on the stranger's eye, or vice versa, as he grabbed hold of the table. This was bad, but it was going to get worse...next came the feeling he loathed beyond all else...the feeling that he was drowning...Just hold on. Hold on to the table and try not to fall over when you pass...out....

//drowning...drowning forever and not ever drowned oh my jealous mistress for you I left my wife and babe let me see them again just once more and I'll feed you the blood of those men as my vengeance or live as my vengeance or die in your arms as he kills them he will oh my love let me go let me go let me GO//

"...BILL! Bill!"

Someone was shaking him...someone...Monty. That was his name. "Oof. Sorry about that." He rubbed the side of his face. At least he hadn't fallen over, just had his head land heavily on his arm. No big deal.

"You all right? Looked like y' stopped breathin' for a second there - scared the hell outta me."

"Just a panic attack. I used to get them all the time, but I thought I was over it." A shaky smile. "Maybe some kind of delayed reaction from the flight. I don't know."

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. I've just got to sit here a second."

"Look," J.B., from behind him, "you just let us know if there's anything you need, okay?"

"Thanks. I mean it," Bill replied, distracted, looking for the blonde man, but not finding him, and then forgetting by and by why he'd thought him of any importance.

* * *

Joey Pintoli, late of Staten Island, lifted his triple-shot espresso off the bar, then grabbed Robbie's huge frozen whipped whatsit with a sigh. Years of running together, and he never had been able to get the limey to drink coffee like a man. Oh well, least he had good taste in beer.

Bringing the drinks to their outside table, he said, "Hey. Robbie. Got your girlie drink."

"Girlie drink? Y'can shove it, mate."

"Not in public, sweetie."

"Sweetie? Fuck you very much, too."

"Would you stop that?"

"Stop that? Stop what?"

"See? It's like there's a freakin' echo in here."

"In here? In whe-" Robbie must have seen his eyes narrowing. "Awright. That one was on purpose."

"You're an asshole."

"I'm an asshole what's making you rich, mate."

"Maybe." Joey tipped back his espresso, finishing half of it in one gulp. Then he looked across the street to the silver high-rise. "So we gonna do this thing? We on?"

"Oh, yeah, mate. We're on."

* * *

*Ripple*
*Snap!*

Liz shook herself out of the daydream, a flashback to the morning's waking. It had been the rippling Jolly Roger again, another warning. Quick calls to Jack and Will had found them on their respective ways to the office, and perfectly fine. But then, she, and especially Elizabeth, would know if they caused the disturbance in the force.

A murmur from Elizabeth, //...want to see that movie again...has certain parallels, don't yoink?ink?...//

A pirate, a princess, the heir to a dubious legacy...Liz smiled and felt the answering warmth within, chasing away the chill. Still, dreaming Elizabeth's old dreams meant something that should not be ignored. The problem being that it was difficult not to ignore something until you'd figured out at least a hint of what it bloody well was.

Elizabeth was the echo of her frustration, though she continued, //...still, can't quite figure out...would Barbossa be Darth Vader or Jabba the Hutt?...//

Liz snorted in laughter, coming within an inch of spraying coffee onto a stack of new letterhead. The mailroom girl looked up from her cart with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry. Just thought of something funny. I ever tell you the one about the pirate that..."

"Steering wheel? Yeah. Twice." She snickered. "Arr. It's funnier when you tell it with the English accent, for some reason. I think jokes are just funnier with an accent in general." She grabbed a FedEx envelope, and the cart moved on.

Liz frowned thoughtfully. She hadn't recalled Elizabeth telling the joke, and Elizabeth mirrored her surprise with a murmured apology and just a ripple of worry.

//...okay, it's okay...we're not gonna have a meltdown like the boys...//

Light tickling relief. //...I know, I suppose...we shall reach an accommodation in our own way and in our own time, as ever...//

//...as ever,...// Liz echoed, and smiled slightly. Leafing through marketing collateral, she felt that warmth again, an internal hug. As she put down the brochures, two reminders popped up on her screen. One was for the upcoming safety drill, which she was going to skip, since she had it on good authority that the head of security wouldn't be there, and the other...Damn, that was today, wasn't it? Dinner with Greg and his brothers, whom she'd never met.

//...they'll love me. us....//

//...of course they will...//

Maybe she'd show up early, at lunch? No, better to let Greg have that time with them first, and then they could-

The lights flickered and her monitor blinked twice.

Liz made a mental note to talk to her father - he really needed to kick some ass down in Facilities...

* * *

Down in Facilities...

A small black device, placed there sometime in the recent past, blinked with green and yellow lights. It looked like it belonged. It really didn't.

* * *

"Am I missin' anything, sir?"

Greg Norton, Royal Inc.'s head of security, shuffled papers and diagrams within a folder, while Warren Swan, C.E.O., sipped coffee.

"Don't think so," Swan said, thoughtfully, although he looked to Greg like he had something he wanted to add, but didn't. "How do we look for the safety drill?"

"Well, besides all the movement being a security nightmare, not bad. I'm sitting this one out - I want to see how well the staff does without me lookin' over their shoulder. Gave check sheets to fifteen random employees; they'll get an extra $50 for fillin' 'em out."

"So I guess the next official item is Brown in Manufacturing. You sure about him?"

te tte to say it, but yeah. Had the I.T. guys peek in on his machine. Guy's playing the Vegas slots from his desk. I think he's got a problem."

"Damn." Swan rubbed his forehead. "If I fired Brown, I could move Will up the ladder, and God knows he deserves it, but Brown's been with us for years. I don't want it to look like I'm getting rid of the folks that got us here in the first place. But that's my headache." He looked up and smiled. "Speaking of headaches, your family in town yet?"

"Shoulda got here this morning. Look, thanks again for not pushing about coming with tonight. I just - y'know, I want 'em to meet Liz without having to think about my boss bein' around. I know they're just gonna love her," and here he was very conscious of the fact that they were discussing this man's daughter, "but I want an honest read on what they're thinkin'."

"Look," Swan said, "I understand. We're going to be family, and there's no need to push. Sounds like the right choice, right reasons." From Swan, this was one of the highest complements, and Greg took it as such. "No need to do anything before we're ready."

* * *

"We ready?"

"Our man says he stuck the tech underneath a table in their Facilities department two weeks ago. It's been causing random interference, but it hardly needs to." Robbie stretched, gun now held loosely in his right hand. "'Parently, Facilities is understaffed. The building's been having issues fer months. Oh, and the elevator mikes and cameras have been out for two days. They're getting fixed tomorrow, though." He grinned. "Was gonna be yesterday. I called and rescheduled. People are way too trusting."

Joey watched as Robbie dropped the gun into a silver equipment case. The other man was dressed like any slightly upscale engineer. That fit Robbie to a tee, though - geek with a gun, handling the tech and intel. They both got in on the planning, and Joey was good with the extra help, if he did say so himself.

"Anyhow," Robbie continued, "I just have to press this button..." he held up a small, blinking black box, "and no cell phone in that building's gonna work. Place has horrible reception anyway; practically a dead zone."

"Land lines?"

A snort. "Please. And they're used to the safety drill alarms screwing the phones already. But the best thing about the little black box is that it's a ova override all the doors. Now, I can't get into the high security code locks, but the building's gonna be locked down to everybody without one of these." He held up a bunch of badges on cords, hanging one around his neck. "Can't lock off the top three floors from each other, either, but it doesn't matter, as that's where we need to be."

"Right. So, irregardless- "

"Irregardless?" Robbie frowned. "Isn't that kinda redundant?"

"Says you, mister repetitive?" Joey snorted. "You come over here, I'll give ya redundant. Right in the..."

"Not now, honey, we've got guests."

"Swear to God I'm gonna knock you inta next week...next week." Pintoli looked at the small team inside the van, all dressed to blend in maintenance uniforms or mediocre suits. His suit was better, but somebody had to have some style. "All right. Remember, Team 1 goes with Robbie to Manufacturing, Team 2's with me. We'll meet up at the exec suites. Got a nice Italian Job exit planned, but if for any reason we don't meet up, we don't know you, we never met you. Keep your mouth shut and you got a nice chunk of change when you get out. Don't, and ain't nowhere my family can't find you."

There were reasons he handled the help, after all.

* * *