The Rule Number 7 Job: Chapter 4
Title: The Rule Number 7 Job
Author: Trapper Creek Kaniac
Category: Leverage
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humor/Drama/Crime
Summary: A woman asks for the team's help in rescuing her sister from a Russian proposition ring.
Pairings: Implied Nate/Sophie, Parker/Hardison, and Eliot...
"…I told you I don't want this happening again…" Ian Brushnikov was saying angrily into the cell phone pressed against his ear as he strode out of one of the club's back rooms. He trailed off when he spotted Sophie gliding towards him across the floor of his strip club, the Naked Lady. "Listen, we'll discuss this later." He hung up and shoved the cell phone into his pocket. "I'm sorry about that," Brushnikov smiled at the beautiful woman in front of him. "My business partner is… how do you say? A bit incompetent."
Sophie gave him a knowing smile. "Well, maybe I can do something about that, Mr. Bruno." Sophie said, a light South Carolina twang coloring some of her words.
Sophie looked the part of the beautiful, well off madam she was playing. Dressed in a black halter top with a ruched bodice; a tight, black mini skirt; black Jason Wu t-strap heels, and large gold hoop earrings, she was guaranteed to turn heads.
If Brushnikov was surprised that Sophie knew his name, he didn't show it. "And you are?"
"Hardison, you got that? Find his business partner." Sophie could hear Nate over the comms back at their headquarters instructing the hacker.
"On it," came Hardison's reply.
"I'm Justine Blake; I believe we are in the same business."
"Ah, a fellow entertainer," Brushnikov responded with a small smile, extending his hand. Looking around the club during the day, nothing hinted at the hot, jam-packed place it transformed into in the evenings. The interior was very dimly lit, the only light coming from a few sparsely scattered overhead lights. The strip club was completely empty, save for a mousy woman silently wiping up the bar.
Sophie pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and shook his hand. "This there somewhere more private that we can talk?" Sophie leaned closer to Brushnikov, almost seductively. "Perhaps your office?"
"Yes, of course," Brushnikov laughed easily. "Right this way." He moved to lead the way to his office when the sound of glass hitting the floor and shattering brought him to sudden stop. He stopped so suddenly that Sophie almost ran into him.
"Oh!"
Brushnikov turned and crossed the room to the bar in angry strides. "You dumb bitch!" he raged at the cowering woman.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bruno," the woman behind the bar apologized. "I'll clean it up right away."
Sophie stood, watching the scene unfold, horrified.
"Sorry? If you break another one of my expensive glasses, you'll be sorry. You can donate your wages to replace a whole damn case! And the next time I ask you to bring me a coffee, don't give me that tasteless brown water you call coffee! Got that?"
"Yes, sir." The poor woman mumbled.
With one last disgusted look at the woman, Brushnikov turned back to Sophie. "Shall we?" He indicated the direction of his office.
"Yes, of course." Sophie agreed and followed him towards the rear of the establishment, resisting the urge to strangle this sorry excuse for a man right then and there.
"Here we are." Brushnikov said after Sophie had followed him down two dimly lit hallways. They paused briefly while Brushnikov pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Sophie made a note of the lock - a very simple lock that Parker could pick in less than two seconds.
Sophie stepped into a relatively nice office. Wooden blinds, which were open at the moment, covered the windows; a dark wood desk with a keyboard and flat screen computer monitor sat at the back of the room near a potted plant of some kind (what is it about offices and potted plants, anyway?); a small bookcase sat just out of reach of the desk - Sophie guessed that there was probably a safe hidden there. "This is a nice place you have here, Mr. Bruno," Sophie complimented and circled the room under the pretense of admiring it. She ran her fingers across the desk's smooth wood while discreetly slipping a bug under its surface.
Sophie perched herself on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs, allowing her short skirt to ride up ever so slightly. This created the distraction she needed to plug a flash drive into Brushnikov's computer and copy all his files for Hardison to look through once she'd set the hook.
"Thank you. No, please sit, I insist." Brushnikov indicated to a plush navy blue couch to his left.
Damn it! Sophie cursed silently, for she'd almost had the drive plugged in. She pushed herself off the desk and moved to the couch while Brushnikov took the place that she had just vacated. Brushnikov crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly in an attentive manner.
"So, tell me, what would you like to talk about?"
Sophie smiled a small smile. "I've come to make you an offer that you can't refuse."
"Okay, this business partner wasn't easy to find, but this guy's name popped up." Hardison put the search results up on the screen for the rest of the team to see.
"Henry Kiefer. Forty-six, a wife and two kids. Made his fortune in the shipping industry, but has since retired."
Nate paced in front of the panel of screens, thinking.
A few keystrokes and clicks later, Hardison had more information. "Apparently this guy used to own a whole fleet of cargo ships, looks like he sold them when he retired… no, wait, he kept one. It's not an American ship, though."
"Do you have any of the ship's documents?" Eliot asked.
"Yeah, just a second." Hardison punched a few keys. "Here you go; I'm running a program to translate the name into English," Hardison gestured at the panel of screens where a photo of the ship's stern was displayed, along with an official-looking document with the ship's name on it. "but I can tell you that it's in port right now down by City Point."
"Полночь Повысилась," Eliot read with perfect a Russian accent. "It means Midnight Rose."
"How many languages do you speak, anyway?" Hardison looked a annoyed at being one-upped by Eliot.
"Fluent in twenty three, though I know close to thirty."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah," Eliot nodded. "Ставка ваша собака не может сделать этого. I bet your dog can't do that." He smirked at the hacker.
Hardison shot a glare in the smirking hitter's direction. He couldn't understand the - Russian? - words that Eliot used, but he could guess that the hitter wasn't complimenting him.
"Anything on how they might know each other?" Nate interrupted.
Hardison shook his head. "Nah, nothing, man."
"Maybe he used contacts or found him through a friend of a friend of a friend," Parker supplied from her perch on the couch.
"Good point, Parker." Nate said. The thief beamed.
Nate turned to Hardison. "Hardison, do you still have those extra blank blue jackets from the Maltese Falcon job?"
"Of course, man, never know when you're going to need 'em for something." Hardison answered.
"Good, you're going to need them. Eliot, Hardison, I want you guys to go down to the wharf and look around, do some recon - but don't be too obvious. It's about time for the Midnight Rose to have a spot dock inspection."
"Damn it, Hardison, it's too small." Eliot complained and squirmed against the too-tight navy blue windbreaker that completed their somewhat-official look. No, Eliot Spencer didn't squirm, he flexed against the tight, restricting fabric.
"Stop complainin', man, it's not my fault that the store kind of messed up order. The one I made for you for the other job has "Crime Lab" stamped on it, and in case you haven't noticed, this ain't exactly a crime scene. Nate's gonna kill us if we don't find something useful because you can't wear a coat that's slightly too small."
Eliot glared.
The hacker rolled his eyes as Eliot combed his hair back with his fingers and used the elastic hair band from his right wrist to secure it in a low ponytail.
The waterfront was a busy, noisy place, to say the least. The water lapped against its confines while seagulls circled overhead, screeching over the sound of the machinery. As Eliot and Hardison made their way through the intricate maze made up of hundreds of stacks of shipping containers, the Midnight Rose finally came into view, tied up between two other vessels.
As they approached, Eliot spotted two men on the Midnight Rose's deck. When they were within earshot of the two men Eliot elbowed Hardison discreetly in the ribs. They commenced in arguing about how it wasn't fair that "Conner" took the week off and left Eliot to show the new guy the ropes. While he and Hardison "argued," Eliot kept an eye on the two men aboard the ship. The younger man was the typical, run-of-the-mill thug with a beefy build and a buzz cut. The taller and older of the two was coming down the gangplank.
He stood, feet apart and arms crossed, watching Hardison and Eliot approach. "Can I help you?" The man spoke with a heavy Russian accent. Eliot noticed as they drew closer that the man's left eye was a slightly darker shade of brown than its mate.
"Yeah," Eliot said, taking the lead and flashing a badge and I.D., "I'm Inspection Officer Blair and this is Sutcliffe," Eliot jerked a thumb at Hardison. "We're with the B.P.S.S and our records indicate that the Midnight Rose is due for an inspection. Wouldn't want to have an unsafe ship out there, now would we?" Eliot chuckled.
The Russian didn't look amused.
"B.P.S.S? Never heard of it." At those words Eliot's senses ratcheted up a notch, preparing for the worst. If their cover was blown…
"Bureau of Port Safety and Security." Hardison clarified.
"Listen, man," Eliot stepped closer to the Russian and made as if he was going to confide in the man. "My boss sent me out here to show this new guy the ropes and he hasn't exactly been making it easy - a bit slow on the uptake, if you know what I mean. My usual partner took the week off and left me to drag this guy around, so if you could just do me a favor and let us do our job, you can go back to whatever it was you were doing and I can call it a day."
The Russian sighed. "Alright, alright, I call my boss." He pulled out a cell phone and moved a few feet away.
"Nice goin', man, never even heard of us." Eliot growled out of the corner of his mouth at Hardison while they waited.
"Relax, man," Hardison answered, "I got this."
Eliot still felt unconvinced. "You better," he threatened. "Are we even real?"
"You and I aren't, but the Bureau is."
The Russian snapped the cell phone shut with an air of finality that made Eliot's pulse increase for a brief second in anticipation of the worst as he turned back toward Eliot and Hardison. "Mr. Kiefer says that it is okay for you to look around."
"An offer that I can't refuse?" The idea seemed amuse Brushnikov and he chuckled.
Sophie feigned a look of offense.
"Do you always find business proposals to be so amusing?"
"I'm sorry; it just struck me as funny," Brushnikov apologized. "You were saying…?" He prompted.
"You and I are both…." Sophie paused, pretending to search for the right word, "business people. I know about your operation and I want in. We provide entertainment to men who willingly hand over their hard earned nine-to-five and all we have to do is have hire some halfway decent looking girls, and the money just falls into our laps. Why should we compete when if we work together, we can be the best - and the biggest - in the business?"
Brushnikov pondered for a moment. "And what do I get for agreeing to do business with you?"
"I am willing to give you my best money-making girl as a sign of good faith. If you like her, then we'll talk business," Sophie answered.
His face betrayed nothing as he spoke. "It's a good offer, but I will have to think about it.."
"Of course," Sophie smiled and reached for her purse. "Here is my card. Thank you for your time, Mr. Bruno; I look forward to doing business with a man such as yourself." She stood up and shook his hand.
"But," Ian Brushnikov chuckled, "I haven't even said yes yet, Miss Blake."
Sophie allowed herself a small smile as Brushnikov showed her out of his office. Nobody could say no to Sophie Devereaux.
Author: Trapper Creek Kaniac
Category: Leverage
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Humor/Drama/Crime
Summary: A woman asks for the team's help in rescuing her sister from a Russian proposition ring.
Pairings: Implied Nate/Sophie, Parker/Hardison, and Eliot...
"…I told you I don't want this happening again…" Ian Brushnikov was saying angrily into the cell phone pressed against his ear as he strode out of one of the club's back rooms. He trailed off when he spotted Sophie gliding towards him across the floor of his strip club, the Naked Lady. "Listen, we'll discuss this later." He hung up and shoved the cell phone into his pocket. "I'm sorry about that," Brushnikov smiled at the beautiful woman in front of him. "My business partner is… how do you say? A bit incompetent."
Sophie gave him a knowing smile. "Well, maybe I can do something about that, Mr. Bruno." Sophie said, a light South Carolina twang coloring some of her words.
Sophie looked the part of the beautiful, well off madam she was playing. Dressed in a black halter top with a ruched bodice; a tight, black mini skirt; black Jason Wu t-strap heels, and large gold hoop earrings, she was guaranteed to turn heads.
If Brushnikov was surprised that Sophie knew his name, he didn't show it. "And you are?"
"Hardison, you got that? Find his business partner." Sophie could hear Nate over the comms back at their headquarters instructing the hacker.
"On it," came Hardison's reply.
"I'm Justine Blake; I believe we are in the same business."
"Ah, a fellow entertainer," Brushnikov responded with a small smile, extending his hand. Looking around the club during the day, nothing hinted at the hot, jam-packed place it transformed into in the evenings. The interior was very dimly lit, the only light coming from a few sparsely scattered overhead lights. The strip club was completely empty, save for a mousy woman silently wiping up the bar.
Sophie pushed her sunglasses up into her hair and shook his hand. "This there somewhere more private that we can talk?" Sophie leaned closer to Brushnikov, almost seductively. "Perhaps your office?"
"Yes, of course," Brushnikov laughed easily. "Right this way." He moved to lead the way to his office when the sound of glass hitting the floor and shattering brought him to sudden stop. He stopped so suddenly that Sophie almost ran into him.
"Oh!"
Brushnikov turned and crossed the room to the bar in angry strides. "You dumb bitch!" he raged at the cowering woman.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bruno," the woman behind the bar apologized. "I'll clean it up right away."
Sophie stood, watching the scene unfold, horrified.
"Sorry? If you break another one of my expensive glasses, you'll be sorry. You can donate your wages to replace a whole damn case! And the next time I ask you to bring me a coffee, don't give me that tasteless brown water you call coffee! Got that?"
"Yes, sir." The poor woman mumbled.
With one last disgusted look at the woman, Brushnikov turned back to Sophie. "Shall we?" He indicated the direction of his office.
"Yes, of course." Sophie agreed and followed him towards the rear of the establishment, resisting the urge to strangle this sorry excuse for a man right then and there.
"Here we are." Brushnikov said after Sophie had followed him down two dimly lit hallways. They paused briefly while Brushnikov pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Sophie made a note of the lock - a very simple lock that Parker could pick in less than two seconds.
Sophie stepped into a relatively nice office. Wooden blinds, which were open at the moment, covered the windows; a dark wood desk with a keyboard and flat screen computer monitor sat at the back of the room near a potted plant of some kind (what is it about offices and potted plants, anyway?); a small bookcase sat just out of reach of the desk - Sophie guessed that there was probably a safe hidden there. "This is a nice place you have here, Mr. Bruno," Sophie complimented and circled the room under the pretense of admiring it. She ran her fingers across the desk's smooth wood while discreetly slipping a bug under its surface.
Sophie perched herself on the edge of the desk and crossed her legs, allowing her short skirt to ride up ever so slightly. This created the distraction she needed to plug a flash drive into Brushnikov's computer and copy all his files for Hardison to look through once she'd set the hook.
"Thank you. No, please sit, I insist." Brushnikov indicated to a plush navy blue couch to his left.
Damn it! Sophie cursed silently, for she'd almost had the drive plugged in. She pushed herself off the desk and moved to the couch while Brushnikov took the place that she had just vacated. Brushnikov crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly in an attentive manner.
"So, tell me, what would you like to talk about?"
Sophie smiled a small smile. "I've come to make you an offer that you can't refuse."
"Okay, this business partner wasn't easy to find, but this guy's name popped up." Hardison put the search results up on the screen for the rest of the team to see.
"Henry Kiefer. Forty-six, a wife and two kids. Made his fortune in the shipping industry, but has since retired."
Nate paced in front of the panel of screens, thinking.
A few keystrokes and clicks later, Hardison had more information. "Apparently this guy used to own a whole fleet of cargo ships, looks like he sold them when he retired… no, wait, he kept one. It's not an American ship, though."
"Do you have any of the ship's documents?" Eliot asked.
"Yeah, just a second." Hardison punched a few keys. "Here you go; I'm running a program to translate the name into English," Hardison gestured at the panel of screens where a photo of the ship's stern was displayed, along with an official-looking document with the ship's name on it. "but I can tell you that it's in port right now down by City Point."
"Полночь Повысилась," Eliot read with perfect a Russian accent. "It means Midnight Rose."
"How many languages do you speak, anyway?" Hardison looked a annoyed at being one-upped by Eliot.
"Fluent in twenty three, though I know close to thirty."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah," Eliot nodded. "Ставка ваша собака не может сделать этого. I bet your dog can't do that." He smirked at the hacker.
Hardison shot a glare in the smirking hitter's direction. He couldn't understand the - Russian? - words that Eliot used, but he could guess that the hitter wasn't complimenting him.
"Anything on how they might know each other?" Nate interrupted.
Hardison shook his head. "Nah, nothing, man."
"Maybe he used contacts or found him through a friend of a friend of a friend," Parker supplied from her perch on the couch.
"Good point, Parker." Nate said. The thief beamed.
Nate turned to Hardison. "Hardison, do you still have those extra blank blue jackets from the Maltese Falcon job?"
"Of course, man, never know when you're going to need 'em for something." Hardison answered.
"Good, you're going to need them. Eliot, Hardison, I want you guys to go down to the wharf and look around, do some recon - but don't be too obvious. It's about time for the Midnight Rose to have a spot dock inspection."
"Damn it, Hardison, it's too small." Eliot complained and squirmed against the too-tight navy blue windbreaker that completed their somewhat-official look. No, Eliot Spencer didn't squirm, he flexed against the tight, restricting fabric.
"Stop complainin', man, it's not my fault that the store kind of messed up order. The one I made for you for the other job has "Crime Lab" stamped on it, and in case you haven't noticed, this ain't exactly a crime scene. Nate's gonna kill us if we don't find something useful because you can't wear a coat that's slightly too small."
Eliot glared.
The hacker rolled his eyes as Eliot combed his hair back with his fingers and used the elastic hair band from his right wrist to secure it in a low ponytail.
The waterfront was a busy, noisy place, to say the least. The water lapped against its confines while seagulls circled overhead, screeching over the sound of the machinery. As Eliot and Hardison made their way through the intricate maze made up of hundreds of stacks of shipping containers, the Midnight Rose finally came into view, tied up between two other vessels.
As they approached, Eliot spotted two men on the Midnight Rose's deck. When they were within earshot of the two men Eliot elbowed Hardison discreetly in the ribs. They commenced in arguing about how it wasn't fair that "Conner" took the week off and left Eliot to show the new guy the ropes. While he and Hardison "argued," Eliot kept an eye on the two men aboard the ship. The younger man was the typical, run-of-the-mill thug with a beefy build and a buzz cut. The taller and older of the two was coming down the gangplank.
He stood, feet apart and arms crossed, watching Hardison and Eliot approach. "Can I help you?" The man spoke with a heavy Russian accent. Eliot noticed as they drew closer that the man's left eye was a slightly darker shade of brown than its mate.
"Yeah," Eliot said, taking the lead and flashing a badge and I.D., "I'm Inspection Officer Blair and this is Sutcliffe," Eliot jerked a thumb at Hardison. "We're with the B.P.S.S and our records indicate that the Midnight Rose is due for an inspection. Wouldn't want to have an unsafe ship out there, now would we?" Eliot chuckled.
The Russian didn't look amused.
"B.P.S.S? Never heard of it." At those words Eliot's senses ratcheted up a notch, preparing for the worst. If their cover was blown…
"Bureau of Port Safety and Security." Hardison clarified.
"Listen, man," Eliot stepped closer to the Russian and made as if he was going to confide in the man. "My boss sent me out here to show this new guy the ropes and he hasn't exactly been making it easy - a bit slow on the uptake, if you know what I mean. My usual partner took the week off and left me to drag this guy around, so if you could just do me a favor and let us do our job, you can go back to whatever it was you were doing and I can call it a day."
The Russian sighed. "Alright, alright, I call my boss." He pulled out a cell phone and moved a few feet away.
"Nice goin', man, never even heard of us." Eliot growled out of the corner of his mouth at Hardison while they waited.
"Relax, man," Hardison answered, "I got this."
Eliot still felt unconvinced. "You better," he threatened. "Are we even real?"
"You and I aren't, but the Bureau is."
The Russian snapped the cell phone shut with an air of finality that made Eliot's pulse increase for a brief second in anticipation of the worst as he turned back toward Eliot and Hardison. "Mr. Kiefer says that it is okay for you to look around."
"An offer that I can't refuse?" The idea seemed amuse Brushnikov and he chuckled.
Sophie feigned a look of offense.
"Do you always find business proposals to be so amusing?"
"I'm sorry; it just struck me as funny," Brushnikov apologized. "You were saying…?" He prompted.
"You and I are both…." Sophie paused, pretending to search for the right word, "business people. I know about your operation and I want in. We provide entertainment to men who willingly hand over their hard earned nine-to-five and all we have to do is have hire some halfway decent looking girls, and the money just falls into our laps. Why should we compete when if we work together, we can be the best - and the biggest - in the business?"
Brushnikov pondered for a moment. "And what do I get for agreeing to do business with you?"
"I am willing to give you my best money-making girl as a sign of good faith. If you like her, then we'll talk business," Sophie answered.
His face betrayed nothing as he spoke. "It's a good offer, but I will have to think about it.."
"Of course," Sophie smiled and reached for her purse. "Here is my card. Thank you for your time, Mr. Bruno; I look forward to doing business with a man such as yourself." She stood up and shook his hand.
"But," Ian Brushnikov chuckled, "I haven't even said yes yet, Miss Blake."
Sophie allowed herself a small smile as Brushnikov showed her out of his office. Nobody could say no to Sophie Devereaux.