Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Title: Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Mafiaverse & AU In which Rahm Emanuel discusses the specifics of Jon Favreau's next assignment.
Author's Note: ( x-posted to rahmbamarama) I don't even know...
"Oy, you! Stop fucking around and start driving!"
Rahm's voice cuts through the silence in the SUV. His driver can be seen extinguishing his cigarette in haste before putting on his chauffeur's cap and clambering into the driver's seat. Jon Favreau watches from the corners of his eyes, all the while feigning disinterest so Rahm doesn't call him out for being nosy. The chauffeur isn't the only guy who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.
"Incompetent son of a bitch."
Jon uses this opportunity to dispel Rahm's anger by greeting him calmly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Emanuel."
Rahm's head jerks up at Jon's voice. After a couple of seconds, he recollects himself and mutters a greeting in return.
"Favs."
His tone speaks volumes. Rahm's degrees of emotions and his mood swings are much too complicated for an outsider to understand. Outward appearances aren't everything.
"You have an assignment for me, boss?" Jon asks quietly.
"Yeah. It's a big one, sorta. But don't worry, it's quite simple."
As soon as he says this, Rahm catches a flicker of a frown on the young man's face. It's gone now, but it was there nonetheless. These subtle details never escape his notice.
"You're disappointed, aren't you? You probably think this is a job for a recruit, am I right?"
He doesn't mean to push Jon's buttons; no, not at all. That's just his personality showing. Jon has grown accustomed to his boss's threats and inquisitive questions but it still unnerves him from time to time.
After thinking over his response, Jon opts for a neutral statement.
"I won't question your judgement."
"You're one of my best men. You don't have to stroke my fucking ego."
Jon shrugs.
"Anyway," Rahm continues, "for this particular assignment, I want you to... coerce Blagojevich."
Now this kind of thing really sparks Jon's interest.
"Blagojevich? As in the Rod Blagojevich?" Jon wonders aloud. For a second there, he's a little skeptical.
"You know any other fucker named Rod Blagojevich?"
"Well, no."
"Because that motherfucker still owes me some money."
"How much?" Jon dares to ask.
"Five hundred grand."
There's an uncomfortable silence.
"So... do you want me to threaten him? Wave a gun around? Harm him? Or maybe some waterboarding will do?"
"I don't care, pick one. Just keep it discreet."
"All right, then."
"Wait," Rahm interjects, "If the fucker doesn't have my money, I want you to shave that fucking chinchilla on his head. It's a fucking pathetic excuse for hair."
"'Shave the fucking chinchilla.' Got it, boss."
"And do not- do not forget my number one rule."
Jon risks a glance at him and recites the rule from memory.
"Make the fucker squeal."
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Fiction
Summary: Mafiaverse & AU In which Rahm Emanuel discusses the specifics of Jon Favreau's next assignment.
Author's Note: ( x-posted to rahmbamarama) I don't even know...
"Oy, you! Stop fucking around and start driving!"
Rahm's voice cuts through the silence in the SUV. His driver can be seen extinguishing his cigarette in haste before putting on his chauffeur's cap and clambering into the driver's seat. Jon Favreau watches from the corners of his eyes, all the while feigning disinterest so Rahm doesn't call him out for being nosy. The chauffeur isn't the only guy who's afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.
"Incompetent son of a bitch."
Jon uses this opportunity to dispel Rahm's anger by greeting him calmly.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Emanuel."
Rahm's head jerks up at Jon's voice. After a couple of seconds, he recollects himself and mutters a greeting in return.
"Favs."
His tone speaks volumes. Rahm's degrees of emotions and his mood swings are much too complicated for an outsider to understand. Outward appearances aren't everything.
"You have an assignment for me, boss?" Jon asks quietly.
"Yeah. It's a big one, sorta. But don't worry, it's quite simple."
As soon as he says this, Rahm catches a flicker of a frown on the young man's face. It's gone now, but it was there nonetheless. These subtle details never escape his notice.
"You're disappointed, aren't you? You probably think this is a job for a recruit, am I right?"
He doesn't mean to push Jon's buttons; no, not at all. That's just his personality showing. Jon has grown accustomed to his boss's threats and inquisitive questions but it still unnerves him from time to time.
After thinking over his response, Jon opts for a neutral statement.
"I won't question your judgement."
"You're one of my best men. You don't have to stroke my fucking ego."
Jon shrugs.
"Anyway," Rahm continues, "for this particular assignment, I want you to... coerce Blagojevich."
Now this kind of thing really sparks Jon's interest.
"Blagojevich? As in the Rod Blagojevich?" Jon wonders aloud. For a second there, he's a little skeptical.
"You know any other fucker named Rod Blagojevich?"
"Well, no."
"Because that motherfucker still owes me some money."
"How much?" Jon dares to ask.
"Five hundred grand."
There's an uncomfortable silence.
"So... do you want me to threaten him? Wave a gun around? Harm him? Or maybe some waterboarding will do?"
"I don't care, pick one. Just keep it discreet."
"All right, then."
"Wait," Rahm interjects, "If the fucker doesn't have my money, I want you to shave that fucking chinchilla on his head. It's a fucking pathetic excuse for hair."
"'Shave the fucking chinchilla.' Got it, boss."
"And do not- do not forget my number one rule."
Jon risks a glance at him and recites the rule from memory.
"Make the fucker squeal."