LARP-ing the Day Away
Title: LARP-ing the Day Away
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters/Pairings: none
Summary: A day from Hell for a certain Number named Tony Keung.
Disclaimer: The Machine has filed this under the fiction category.
Sergeant McKinnon spotted the boy the moment he stepped through the doors, and his thirty-one years of experience as a cop told the old timer that the civilian wasn’t even close to being a threat. The kid couldn’t be twenty, and was reed-thin because of metabolism, not malnutrition. He also had a death grip on his messenger bag strap worthy of a Shaolin master. Of course, this being NYC, that was SOP.
Unfortunately, the rest of the bag was missing. The kid only had the strap across his chest, one edge frayed and the other actually singed and might still be smoking from the acrid smell. But the kid didn’t seem to notice that salient fact.
He swayed his way to Sergeant and began coughing like a two-packs-a-day whoremaster when he finally reached the front desk.
McKinnon could almost see white smoke make its way out of the kid’s mouth.
“You got something to report?” McKinnon asked, then mentally kicked himself because what the hell? Who actually enters a police station for shits and giggles?
“Yeah,” the kid responded, surprising the sergeant with his deep voice. “There was a guy … in a suit…”
McKinnon raised a hand. “Stop right there.” He turned to the back where the bullpen was located and hollered, “Fusco! Carter! I got one!”
When he turned around he found the kid resting his head on the desk, his shoulders shuddering. McKinnon couldn’t figure out if the kid was crying or laughing. But knowing what was usually involved in ‘Man in a Suit’ cases, probably both.
Ninety Minutes Prior
It was Match Day, and Tony Keung was psyched. He knew, he just knew he was going to stay in New York. Mainly because there was no way in hell he was going back to California. Growing up in L.A., all Tony could dream about was getting the fuck away from La La Land and its particular brand of the crazy.
Sorry Mom and Dad, but I hate L.A. and I am never, ever going back.
He stared down at the famous Columbia Quad from the top of the steps and had the insane urge to do a Rocky right there. But practical people with practical goals brought up Tony, and lunacy was not encouraged in any form, even if it made lots and lots of money.
So, when the tile not one foot away from his Pumas suddenly makes a pinging noise, Tony didn’t make a big deal about it. Even though it looked like a bullet just hit it. A large bullet. Which actually made a visible streak and holy fuck was that shrapnel?
Tony opened his mouth but nothing came out, and not because he had nothing to say. No, Tony was all for screaming and hollering when bullets were involved. What stopped him from yelling was the fact he was side tackled by a runaway train dressed in a dark suit.
Tony automatically grabbed his messenger bag. He was no fool; he’d seen all the Law and Order episodes, not to mention CSI. And, by God, he’d worked damn fucking hard to get his laptop, so no thug was going to take it off him.
The guy half-dragged, half-hauled him behind the library. Tony wasn’t above ogling as the man was doing this without attracting any sort of attention. Then he realized why. Everyone was either texting on their phone, talking to their phone, or listening to their music on their fucking phone. Tony surreptitiously tried to stick out his foot to trip a fellow student when his rescuer from the nether regions of hell kicked out his foot, making him trip.
“Dude, what the everloving fuck?” Tony asked the moment he was let go.
“You need to come with me right now. There are some bad people who want to see you dead.”
Tony narrowed his eyes before breaking into a huge grin of relief. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”
The guy stared at him. It was amazing how threatening he looked by just arching his eyebrows.
“You’re supposed to say ‘Come with me if you want to live.’ Everyone knows that line.”
“Mr. Keung, this isn’t a game. Someone wants you dead.”
“Right,” Tony said, folding his arms across his chest. “Did Jackson put you up to this?”
The man paused, tipped his head, and for a moment Tony thought he’d heard another voice.
Obviously his excitement for Match Day had affected his brain.
“Jackson? Your roommate?”
Tony huffed an aggravated sigh. Jackson Coeur was not his roommate: the guy was the bane of his existence. Tony spent one month in a dorm before hightailing out of there. At first he was grateful that his quest for a roommate to share a one-bedroom hole-in-the-wall was brief. And since Jackson had bucketload of money he had no problem paying up his share of the rent and deposit. He also happened to be a student at Columbia, so initially Tony was happy to have him as his roommate.
It had taken only a week before Tony realized how badly he’d fucked it up. Jackson was insane. There was no other way to put it. The guy wanted to become a medical examiner because he adored the Medical Examiner series on HBO.
When Tony heard that all he could think was the State of New York didn’t have enough insurance money to cover the inevitable lawsuits that would follow. This impression didn’t lessen when Jackson’s uncle came visiting.
The man was cordial in the old world kind of way, and was planning to stay only for one night. And since Jackson had the bedroom Tony didn’t think much of it. The next morning he couldn’t think anything but.
Tony woke up, sat on his bed, and tried to find his glasses. After putting them on, he took one step when a hand shot out from under his bed and clamped onto Tony’s right ankle.
Tony screamed, took a single strangled hop, and then promptly fell and managed to gravity-check his face on the coffee table before landing on the carpet. While bleeding like a gunshot victim, Tony wildly kicked at the hand, which was completely fruitless since he was blinded by pain and blood.
Jackson came out of the bedroom and peeled the claw off of Tony who was still screaming. After helping Tony get some ice for the gigantic hematoma that was his nose, Jackson explained his uncle liked to sleep under beds. Unfortunately for Tony, Jackson’s bed frame was too low, so Tony’s had to do.
Tony bolted out of the apartment, ice pressed firmly into his face, swearing in Mandarin, Cantonese, and Spanish. He’d found out hours later he was wearing sneaker on one foot and a loafer on the other. Not that he cared. Nobody noticed that fashion faux pas since his swollen face and two black eyes attracted all the attention Tony never wanted.
“You’re his uncle aren’t you?” Tony cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, he told me about you. He said you were an alumni, which made complete sense ‘cause the fuck I know how he got in otherwise.”
“Listen to…”
The rhododendron bush next to them turned into slivers of green and fuchsia. And like confetti they rained down on Tony and Jackson’s even-crazier uncle.
“What the…”
The man swerved right, grabbing Tony mid-swing and shoving him to the ground. But somehow he made sure Tony didn’t smear the grass with his face by holding onto his collar. What was even more amazing was that in the middle of this Hong Kong Action Film Routine #34, he fired off two shots, both which landed on the shooter’s kneecaps.
Tony blinked as he watched the man writhe on the ground, being dutifully ignored by any student who walked by.
“Dude, isn’t this a bit intense for LARP-ing?” Tony managed to haggle out through his shock.
“What is he talking about?” the uncle said, now looking annoyed and confused.
Tony decided right now was a good time to lose it. “Who the fuck are you talking to?” He took a closer look and saw the earpiece imbedded deeply enough that Tony wondered if the guy ever took it out. “Jackson? Is that you, you fucker?! I swear, when I get my hands on you I’m gonna lay you out like Hannibal Lecter did with the security guard!!!”
Tony’s tirade was abruptly cut off when the man swung him up to a standing position. “Now, look,” the guy managed to growl out while shoving his gun into his jacket pocket, and pulling out a holy-shit-bigger gun from the back of his suit.
“Dude, what are you, Highlander? And if yeah, where’s your sword?”
Tony’s question was met with a resounding look of confusion and contempt. Then, the guy tipped his head again.
“Yeah, okay, I don’t know who is on the other end…”
“You had a body dissection two days ago?” the man tersely asked.
Tony’s stomach suddenly lurched and it wasn’t because of the vivisection. It was because that night someone stole the body he was working on.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“The corpse, do you remember what he looked like?”
“What she looked like,” Tony corrected automatically. “She was tiny, late twenties, had her hair dyed red. She was pretty in that natural way. Why are you asking?”
“She was a witness to a murder case out in Long Island,” the man explained hurriedly. “And also the illegitimate daughter of a mob boss there. The guy’s on a warpath.”
Tony came to the realization then that either this uncle was an Oscar contender, or he was telling the absolute truth.
“Fuck me sideways,” Tony whispered.
“Just about,” the man quipped. “Name’s John by the way.”
“Why is he gunning after me?”
“Because you sliced her body open and played Olly Olly Oxen Free with her intestines? That would upset any dad, don’t you think?”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t he claim her body when she was found?”
“He had no idea she was missing, much less dead.” Then there was that now-familiar head tip again.
“What’s Professor Xavier saying now?”
John’s face did a reasonable facsimile of a smile. “He says we need to keep you safe for one more hour. By then some cops we know will have arrested the girl’s killers and the don’s interest will slide right over to them.”
Tony took a deep breath. “So, where do we go?”
The answer was obvious as the miniature Japanese Maple on Tony’s right elbow was suddenly Hobbit sized.
John grabbed him, and now familiar with the routine, Tony let the guy drag him to wherever he thought it’d be safe.
One hour can’t be too bad, Tony thought as they broke out into a flat run.
It was actually that bad. And worse. It was like there was a fucking casting call for all Wise Guys throughout NYC, and everyone who even remotely resembled one armed himself for the tryout.
Even John was starting to look frayed around the edges, and actually singed on the right sleeve of his jacket as some joker tried to firebomb them out of their defensive position behind a FedEx truck.
The smoke debris that was the said truck didn’t offer much protection so they hustled out of there the moment John managed to shoot the asshole responsible for the mayhem. And Tony knew John was pissed because the man wasn’t kneecapping anymore. In fact, his aim was starting to climb up towards center mass: the last one springing an impressive leak somewhere on the guy's right hip.
And from the screaming, Tony guessed John's shot did more than just graze: the bozo was definitely going to need hip replacement and probably a year of physical therapy.
Tony tried to take a glance at his watch, but then remembered it was still back at the apartment. The apartment where Jackson was currently doing only God-knows-what to God-knows-who. Or screwing with Tony’s shit because that never got old for his roommate.
But then Tony felt a pang and realized he’d actually miss the bastard if John couldn’t succeed in keeping him safe for whatever minutes he’d left.
Suddenly a Cadillac whirled out of nowhere, plowed through the traffic light, and came to a screeching halt in front of them.
John’s grimace turned into a smile that was all teeth and no kindness. Tony actually wanted back the ‘fuck-you-I’m-better-than-Bourne’ look of anger to this impressive display of canines.
Without ceremony or explanation he shoved Tony into the backseat and thumped the roof twice.
Tony stayed in a fetal position until the car was well away from the flaming chaos.
“You’re safe now, Dr. Keung,” a dry voice informed him.
Tony slowly unfurled and sat up. “Hey, where’s John?”
“He’s the distraction,” the driver answered.
Tony frowned and studied his rescuer. “What are you? His Alfred?”
“Hardly,” was the snippy answer.
The rest of the drive was encased in frigid silence, which Tony had no desire to breach. After dodging Eighth Avenue traffic and some nasty congestion on 49th, the Cadillac finally parked in front of an apartment building.
“There’s a police station a block down to the right of you. They will be able to help you sort out what happened today.”
“Okay,” Tony said dumbly. He was about to make a run but good manners stopped him.
“Could you tell John thanks for me? He might be one seriously messed up dude, but he saved my life.”
“You’d be surprised how many people tell us that,” the driver confessed. “But I will tell him.”
“And the … guy who tried to kill me … if you get a chance to talk to him, please tell him I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it was his little girl. And if he’s not frothing at the mouth at that point - tell him I think she was beautiful.”
The man’s face softened for a moment and there was a glimmer of kindness: the first Tony had seen since his life turned into a Tarantino film.
“I will,” the driver said.
“Thank you.”
Tony managed to make his way to the police station, where exhaustion, smoke inhalation, and shock finally caught up with him.
So, when the detectives asked him to identify his so-called rescuers, Tony was able to lie smoothly and answer he couldn’t remember what happened exactly where or why.
Only that the man who had saved his life was tall and wearing a suit.
Rating: R for language and violence
Characters/Pairings: none
Summary: A day from Hell for a certain Number named Tony Keung.
Disclaimer: The Machine has filed this under the fiction category.
Sergeant McKinnon spotted the boy the moment he stepped through the doors, and his thirty-one years of experience as a cop told the old timer that the civilian wasn’t even close to being a threat. The kid couldn’t be twenty, and was reed-thin because of metabolism, not malnutrition. He also had a death grip on his messenger bag strap worthy of a Shaolin master. Of course, this being NYC, that was SOP.
Unfortunately, the rest of the bag was missing. The kid only had the strap across his chest, one edge frayed and the other actually singed and might still be smoking from the acrid smell. But the kid didn’t seem to notice that salient fact.
He swayed his way to Sergeant and began coughing like a two-packs-a-day whoremaster when he finally reached the front desk.
McKinnon could almost see white smoke make its way out of the kid’s mouth.
“You got something to report?” McKinnon asked, then mentally kicked himself because what the hell? Who actually enters a police station for shits and giggles?
“Yeah,” the kid responded, surprising the sergeant with his deep voice. “There was a guy … in a suit…”
McKinnon raised a hand. “Stop right there.” He turned to the back where the bullpen was located and hollered, “Fusco! Carter! I got one!”
When he turned around he found the kid resting his head on the desk, his shoulders shuddering. McKinnon couldn’t figure out if the kid was crying or laughing. But knowing what was usually involved in ‘Man in a Suit’ cases, probably both.
Ninety Minutes Prior
It was Match Day, and Tony Keung was psyched. He knew, he just knew he was going to stay in New York. Mainly because there was no way in hell he was going back to California. Growing up in L.A., all Tony could dream about was getting the fuck away from La La Land and its particular brand of the crazy.
Sorry Mom and Dad, but I hate L.A. and I am never, ever going back.
He stared down at the famous Columbia Quad from the top of the steps and had the insane urge to do a Rocky right there. But practical people with practical goals brought up Tony, and lunacy was not encouraged in any form, even if it made lots and lots of money.
So, when the tile not one foot away from his Pumas suddenly makes a pinging noise, Tony didn’t make a big deal about it. Even though it looked like a bullet just hit it. A large bullet. Which actually made a visible streak and holy fuck was that shrapnel?
Tony opened his mouth but nothing came out, and not because he had nothing to say. No, Tony was all for screaming and hollering when bullets were involved. What stopped him from yelling was the fact he was side tackled by a runaway train dressed in a dark suit.
Tony automatically grabbed his messenger bag. He was no fool; he’d seen all the Law and Order episodes, not to mention CSI. And, by God, he’d worked damn fucking hard to get his laptop, so no thug was going to take it off him.
The guy half-dragged, half-hauled him behind the library. Tony wasn’t above ogling as the man was doing this without attracting any sort of attention. Then he realized why. Everyone was either texting on their phone, talking to their phone, or listening to their music on their fucking phone. Tony surreptitiously tried to stick out his foot to trip a fellow student when his rescuer from the nether regions of hell kicked out his foot, making him trip.
“Dude, what the everloving fuck?” Tony asked the moment he was let go.
“You need to come with me right now. There are some bad people who want to see you dead.”
Tony narrowed his eyes before breaking into a huge grin of relief. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say.”
The guy stared at him. It was amazing how threatening he looked by just arching his eyebrows.
“You’re supposed to say ‘Come with me if you want to live.’ Everyone knows that line.”
“Mr. Keung, this isn’t a game. Someone wants you dead.”
“Right,” Tony said, folding his arms across his chest. “Did Jackson put you up to this?”
The man paused, tipped his head, and for a moment Tony thought he’d heard another voice.
Obviously his excitement for Match Day had affected his brain.
“Jackson? Your roommate?”
Tony huffed an aggravated sigh. Jackson Coeur was not his roommate: the guy was the bane of his existence. Tony spent one month in a dorm before hightailing out of there. At first he was grateful that his quest for a roommate to share a one-bedroom hole-in-the-wall was brief. And since Jackson had bucketload of money he had no problem paying up his share of the rent and deposit. He also happened to be a student at Columbia, so initially Tony was happy to have him as his roommate.
It had taken only a week before Tony realized how badly he’d fucked it up. Jackson was insane. There was no other way to put it. The guy wanted to become a medical examiner because he adored the Medical Examiner series on HBO.
When Tony heard that all he could think was the State of New York didn’t have enough insurance money to cover the inevitable lawsuits that would follow. This impression didn’t lessen when Jackson’s uncle came visiting.
The man was cordial in the old world kind of way, and was planning to stay only for one night. And since Jackson had the bedroom Tony didn’t think much of it. The next morning he couldn’t think anything but.
Tony woke up, sat on his bed, and tried to find his glasses. After putting them on, he took one step when a hand shot out from under his bed and clamped onto Tony’s right ankle.
Tony screamed, took a single strangled hop, and then promptly fell and managed to gravity-check his face on the coffee table before landing on the carpet. While bleeding like a gunshot victim, Tony wildly kicked at the hand, which was completely fruitless since he was blinded by pain and blood.
Jackson came out of the bedroom and peeled the claw off of Tony who was still screaming. After helping Tony get some ice for the gigantic hematoma that was his nose, Jackson explained his uncle liked to sleep under beds. Unfortunately for Tony, Jackson’s bed frame was too low, so Tony’s had to do.
Tony bolted out of the apartment, ice pressed firmly into his face, swearing in Mandarin, Cantonese, and Spanish. He’d found out hours later he was wearing sneaker on one foot and a loafer on the other. Not that he cared. Nobody noticed that fashion faux pas since his swollen face and two black eyes attracted all the attention Tony never wanted.
“You’re his uncle aren’t you?” Tony cocked his head to the side. “Yeah, he told me about you. He said you were an alumni, which made complete sense ‘cause the fuck I know how he got in otherwise.”
“Listen to…”
The rhododendron bush next to them turned into slivers of green and fuchsia. And like confetti they rained down on Tony and Jackson’s even-crazier uncle.
“What the…”
The man swerved right, grabbing Tony mid-swing and shoving him to the ground. But somehow he made sure Tony didn’t smear the grass with his face by holding onto his collar. What was even more amazing was that in the middle of this Hong Kong Action Film Routine #34, he fired off two shots, both which landed on the shooter’s kneecaps.
Tony blinked as he watched the man writhe on the ground, being dutifully ignored by any student who walked by.
“Dude, isn’t this a bit intense for LARP-ing?” Tony managed to haggle out through his shock.
“What is he talking about?” the uncle said, now looking annoyed and confused.
Tony decided right now was a good time to lose it. “Who the fuck are you talking to?” He took a closer look and saw the earpiece imbedded deeply enough that Tony wondered if the guy ever took it out. “Jackson? Is that you, you fucker?! I swear, when I get my hands on you I’m gonna lay you out like Hannibal Lecter did with the security guard!!!”
Tony’s tirade was abruptly cut off when the man swung him up to a standing position. “Now, look,” the guy managed to growl out while shoving his gun into his jacket pocket, and pulling out a holy-shit-bigger gun from the back of his suit.
“Dude, what are you, Highlander? And if yeah, where’s your sword?”
Tony’s question was met with a resounding look of confusion and contempt. Then, the guy tipped his head again.
“Yeah, okay, I don’t know who is on the other end…”
“You had a body dissection two days ago?” the man tersely asked.
Tony’s stomach suddenly lurched and it wasn’t because of the vivisection. It was because that night someone stole the body he was working on.
“Yeah, what about it?”
“The corpse, do you remember what he looked like?”
“What she looked like,” Tony corrected automatically. “She was tiny, late twenties, had her hair dyed red. She was pretty in that natural way. Why are you asking?”
“She was a witness to a murder case out in Long Island,” the man explained hurriedly. “And also the illegitimate daughter of a mob boss there. The guy’s on a warpath.”
Tony came to the realization then that either this uncle was an Oscar contender, or he was telling the absolute truth.
“Fuck me sideways,” Tony whispered.
“Just about,” the man quipped. “Name’s John by the way.”
“Why is he gunning after me?”
“Because you sliced her body open and played Olly Olly Oxen Free with her intestines? That would upset any dad, don’t you think?”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t he claim her body when she was found?”
“He had no idea she was missing, much less dead.” Then there was that now-familiar head tip again.
“What’s Professor Xavier saying now?”
John’s face did a reasonable facsimile of a smile. “He says we need to keep you safe for one more hour. By then some cops we know will have arrested the girl’s killers and the don’s interest will slide right over to them.”
Tony took a deep breath. “So, where do we go?”
The answer was obvious as the miniature Japanese Maple on Tony’s right elbow was suddenly Hobbit sized.
John grabbed him, and now familiar with the routine, Tony let the guy drag him to wherever he thought it’d be safe.
One hour can’t be too bad, Tony thought as they broke out into a flat run.
It was actually that bad. And worse. It was like there was a fucking casting call for all Wise Guys throughout NYC, and everyone who even remotely resembled one armed himself for the tryout.
Even John was starting to look frayed around the edges, and actually singed on the right sleeve of his jacket as some joker tried to firebomb them out of their defensive position behind a FedEx truck.
The smoke debris that was the said truck didn’t offer much protection so they hustled out of there the moment John managed to shoot the asshole responsible for the mayhem. And Tony knew John was pissed because the man wasn’t kneecapping anymore. In fact, his aim was starting to climb up towards center mass: the last one springing an impressive leak somewhere on the guy's right hip.
And from the screaming, Tony guessed John's shot did more than just graze: the bozo was definitely going to need hip replacement and probably a year of physical therapy.
Tony tried to take a glance at his watch, but then remembered it was still back at the apartment. The apartment where Jackson was currently doing only God-knows-what to God-knows-who. Or screwing with Tony’s shit because that never got old for his roommate.
But then Tony felt a pang and realized he’d actually miss the bastard if John couldn’t succeed in keeping him safe for whatever minutes he’d left.
Suddenly a Cadillac whirled out of nowhere, plowed through the traffic light, and came to a screeching halt in front of them.
John’s grimace turned into a smile that was all teeth and no kindness. Tony actually wanted back the ‘fuck-you-I’m-better-than-Bourne’ look of anger to this impressive display of canines.
Without ceremony or explanation he shoved Tony into the backseat and thumped the roof twice.
Tony stayed in a fetal position until the car was well away from the flaming chaos.
“You’re safe now, Dr. Keung,” a dry voice informed him.
Tony slowly unfurled and sat up. “Hey, where’s John?”
“He’s the distraction,” the driver answered.
Tony frowned and studied his rescuer. “What are you? His Alfred?”
“Hardly,” was the snippy answer.
The rest of the drive was encased in frigid silence, which Tony had no desire to breach. After dodging Eighth Avenue traffic and some nasty congestion on 49th, the Cadillac finally parked in front of an apartment building.
“There’s a police station a block down to the right of you. They will be able to help you sort out what happened today.”
“Okay,” Tony said dumbly. He was about to make a run but good manners stopped him.
“Could you tell John thanks for me? He might be one seriously messed up dude, but he saved my life.”
“You’d be surprised how many people tell us that,” the driver confessed. “But I will tell him.”
“And the … guy who tried to kill me … if you get a chance to talk to him, please tell him I’m really sorry. I didn’t know it was his little girl. And if he’s not frothing at the mouth at that point - tell him I think she was beautiful.”
The man’s face softened for a moment and there was a glimmer of kindness: the first Tony had seen since his life turned into a Tarantino film.
“I will,” the driver said.
“Thank you.”
Tony managed to make his way to the police station, where exhaustion, smoke inhalation, and shock finally caught up with him.
So, when the detectives asked him to identify his so-called rescuers, Tony was able to lie smoothly and answer he couldn’t remember what happened exactly where or why.
Only that the man who had saved his life was tall and wearing a suit.