FBI. Night shift.

[im_just_the]

The Italian restaurant is liberally surrounded with "Police Scene. Do Not Cross" tape. The tall man in the Eisenhower jacket walks right past it and opens the door. Apparently the police have accounted for this possibility as there is an overweight man in a patrolman's uniform with a donut in one hand and an almost empty donut box in the other. He looks up, hand frozen halfway to his mouth.

"Can I help you?"

The Middleman flashes an easy grin. "FBI," he explains, flashing a badge. "Night shift."

The cop nods in acceptance, then holds out the donut box. "Donut?"

The Middleman shakes his head in disapproval. "That would ruin my appetite, officer."

This draws a blink, a shrug, and a thoughtful donut munch or two. The Middleman has already dismissed the officer and is walking slowly around the restaurant examining things through an odd black device of some sort.

Comments

[im-just-the.livejournal.com]

The look he levels at her is slightly disappointed. "Someone is eliminating mobsters in an algorithmic way. This pattern suggests an advanced intelligence; something far more sinister than simple wise guys."

[define_hinky]

"Define 'sinister'."

[im-just-the.livejournal.com]

He smiles like a kid in a candy store.

"You wanna know? You gotta sign up."

[define_hinky]

Wendy takes a moment to envision the possibilities.

She'd get her own Eisenhower jacket, of course, and her own weapons and gadgets and things. They'd team up, fight crime; she'd be the Riggs to his Murtaugh, or possibly the Lowrey to his Burnett. He'd be a little bit country, she'd be a little bit rock and roll. He could teach her all that action hero stuff and she could teach him how to dress. It wouldn't be an even match, that's for sure, but if a lifetime of being saturated in the pop culture ephemera of modern civilization has taught Wendy anything, it's that those are the best kind.

Eventually she shrugs.

"Yeah, why not."