Passionfruit 27: Underestimate
Title: Underestimate
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Passionfruit 27 (We must insist that the world is what we have always taken it to be - TS Eliot), hot fudge (George Colin Clark IV), cookie crumbs ( of Jake of All Trades), malt (malt challenge: inspirational speech).
Word Count: 567
Rating: PG.
Summary: George Colin Clark IV makes an offer that can't be refused.
Notes:
The boy was sitting in the lobby, eating an apple and reading something in his lap. All alone, nobody in earshot, no microphones anywhere near. A couple of cameras, because it was the lobby of a federal building, but George could deal with cameras. He checked the packet of papers under his arm, made certain they were all still there, then went up to the kid and sat beside him.
The boy looked up, but kept on chewing his apple, a vacant look in his eyes. He looked like a cow, George thought. Stupid. That was good, stupid kids were easy.
"So," he said. "You know who I am?"
The kid chewed, swallowed, and said, "No."
Yeah. Definitely stupid.
Maybe for the better though, much as he resented it. George forced a smile. "Well, I know who you are."
The kid stared at him. "You do?" he asked, sounding dumbfounded.
"Yeah," George said. "You work for--" he could barely keep himself from spitting the name-- "Gail Hirschfeld."
"Yeah," the kid said, after a minute. Did he really have to think about it that much? Idiot. Still, he had to be careful. Idiot kids could remember the most inconvenient things sometimes.
"Right," George said. He managed another smile. "Can I tell you something then, in confidence?"
The kid nodded, slowly. "Sure," he said. "I'm listening."
George leaned in. "I've found some things that make me very uneasy," he said, quietly. "I think she might be embezzling from the state. From the kids," he added, remembering how gung-ho she was about education.
The kid stared at him. "Really," he said, after another minute.
God, could he have picked a slower-thinking kid? George gritted his teeth. "Yes, really," he said, in his best earnest tones. "But the thing is, I have a problem. Do you know what my problem is?"
No answer, but George hadn't expected one. He went on. "My problem is that I have proof of this, but I don't have any way to get it to the investors. You know how it is. Even the most ironclad proof doesn't mean anything unless they find it in somebody's possession."
"Okay," the kid said, dubiously. Obviously he still didn't understand, but that was okay, George didn't really need him to understand. In fact, George didn't really want him to understand, just so long as he did what he was told.
Still, it would be nice if the kid wouldn't make him say it outright.
"So," George prompted, hoping for just one spark of swift thinking, "I need to get it into her possession somehow. " He took the packet of papers and offered it. "Do you follow me?"
The kid took the papers, seemingly on autopilot, then looked down at them, and after a contemplative moment back up. "I'm sorry?"
George inhaled, and kept his temper with difficulty. "Look, it isn't difficult. You put those in that woman's desk, you make sure the investigators--" the word tasted bad-- "find them, and then I pay you a thousand dollars."
A thousand dollars was probably more money than this kid saw in a month. And sure enough, the idiot jumped at the chance. "Sure thing, Mr. Clark."
He smiled at the kid, and patted his shoulder. "Good man," he said, and got up, leaving Jacob Foster with his papers and his instructions.
Oh, yeah.
Everything was going his way.
Main Story: In the Heart
Flavors, Toppings, Extras: Passionfruit 27 (We must insist that the world is what we have always taken it to be - TS Eliot), hot fudge (George Colin Clark IV), cookie crumbs ( of Jake of All Trades), malt (malt challenge: inspirational speech).
Word Count: 567
Rating: PG.
Summary: George Colin Clark IV makes an offer that can't be refused.
Notes:
The boy was sitting in the lobby, eating an apple and reading something in his lap. All alone, nobody in earshot, no microphones anywhere near. A couple of cameras, because it was the lobby of a federal building, but George could deal with cameras. He checked the packet of papers under his arm, made certain they were all still there, then went up to the kid and sat beside him.
The boy looked up, but kept on chewing his apple, a vacant look in his eyes. He looked like a cow, George thought. Stupid. That was good, stupid kids were easy.
"So," he said. "You know who I am?"
The kid chewed, swallowed, and said, "No."
Yeah. Definitely stupid.
Maybe for the better though, much as he resented it. George forced a smile. "Well, I know who you are."
The kid stared at him. "You do?" he asked, sounding dumbfounded.
"Yeah," George said. "You work for--" he could barely keep himself from spitting the name-- "Gail Hirschfeld."
"Yeah," the kid said, after a minute. Did he really have to think about it that much? Idiot. Still, he had to be careful. Idiot kids could remember the most inconvenient things sometimes.
"Right," George said. He managed another smile. "Can I tell you something then, in confidence?"
The kid nodded, slowly. "Sure," he said. "I'm listening."
George leaned in. "I've found some things that make me very uneasy," he said, quietly. "I think she might be embezzling from the state. From the kids," he added, remembering how gung-ho she was about education.
The kid stared at him. "Really," he said, after another minute.
God, could he have picked a slower-thinking kid? George gritted his teeth. "Yes, really," he said, in his best earnest tones. "But the thing is, I have a problem. Do you know what my problem is?"
No answer, but George hadn't expected one. He went on. "My problem is that I have proof of this, but I don't have any way to get it to the investors. You know how it is. Even the most ironclad proof doesn't mean anything unless they find it in somebody's possession."
"Okay," the kid said, dubiously. Obviously he still didn't understand, but that was okay, George didn't really need him to understand. In fact, George didn't really want him to understand, just so long as he did what he was told.
Still, it would be nice if the kid wouldn't make him say it outright.
"So," George prompted, hoping for just one spark of swift thinking, "I need to get it into her possession somehow. " He took the packet of papers and offered it. "Do you follow me?"
The kid took the papers, seemingly on autopilot, then looked down at them, and after a contemplative moment back up. "I'm sorry?"
George inhaled, and kept his temper with difficulty. "Look, it isn't difficult. You put those in that woman's desk, you make sure the investigators--" the word tasted bad-- "find them, and then I pay you a thousand dollars."
A thousand dollars was probably more money than this kid saw in a month. And sure enough, the idiot jumped at the chance. "Sure thing, Mr. Clark."
He smiled at the kid, and patted his shoulder. "Good man," he said, and got up, leaving Jacob Foster with his papers and his instructions.
Oh, yeah.
Everything was going his way.