The Playground [Monroe & Bathos]

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Thu Feb 19, 2009 11:10 pm

Long white car, fully tinted windows. It stops at the front door and a sign welcomes the throng of people itching to get in. Pink neon, "The Playground." Silhouette of a woman on hands and knees, head thrown back and hair wild, rests upon the glowing letter P.

The valet pulls the back door open and out spill a heap of rail thin limbs. Those legs, they go on for miles and disappear into the barely-there black shorts. They straighten up, balancing precariously on steep heels. Next come equally insubstantial hips, tummy, tits and arms. Last is a big-eyed face, painted lips and powdered cheeks, gleaming dark hair, professionally pinned and posed.

All the pieces fit together, flow up to their full height, and suddenly there's a woman there, straightening her immodest top and tossing a haughty glance over her shoulder, impatience and boredom written like poetry across her doll-like features. She isn't kept waiting for long.

Here comes Felix Dressler. White suit, white tie, contrasted against a black shirt. White loafers, Italian made. Jet black hair, tastefully askew. Blue eyes, cold and amused. Full lips bare the gleaming white smile of a shark in something that's almost a smile. So many angles on that face, you could blow it up and ski across the pale planes of his cheeks. A little too tall, like he was stretched at birth.

An arm is offered and taken. Nameless little trollop can't hold her drugs, pants a little as she struts at his side. Her world is spinning, but he'll anchor her until he can pass her off into the sea of dancers, stalkers, gamblers, beggars, bastards, whores, glitterati. Then she's gone and he's alone, deftly picking his way between the bodies to the back, to the stairs, up and into the office that overlooks the Playground. Private balcony, private bar, private drugs, and secret dealings.

"Mr. Dressler." A cocktail finds its way to his hand and then his mouth. Trendy synth pop dance bullshit pouring out the speakers, bass pulsing so hard he can feel it in his feet, in his chest, playing counter beat to his heart. Satisfaction slithers across his thoughts. It's a good night to own the most successful club in Edgerton.

A long night passes. Meetings, greetings, good-byes and fuck-offs. One gram. Then a half. Blood singing, head spinning. Sends out for entertainment. Another pair of nameless faces. Never could make up his mind. Jude Law wanna be and Audrey Hepburn look alike. Takes them by their elbows, leads them somewhere else, somewhere further back. Modern black decor gives way to plush carpet and luxurious cushions. Music's quieter in this place. Lights are brighter. Intentions worn on his sleeve, he turns them around.

"Undress." A flat command. The door shuts behind him. The Playground swallows the sound that makes it past. Hours pass. Felix appears again, straightening his tie. Dangerous smirk. The car awaits downstairs. The sun is halfway up and he's got to sleep so he'll be ready to do it again tonight.

Felix sat rigidly straight in his chair, but his head was thrown back, flush against the headrest. He held the phone up to his ear with one hand while the other pinched the bridge of his nose. He was otherwise still, eyes closed and mouth set into a thin, hard line of displeasure.

"I understand," he said softly. His voice was deceivingly young over the phone. He sounded more like an early twenties college student than a nearly thirty business owner. He liked that, but hated when it was pointed out. "Right. I'll deal with it. Thank you for bringing this to my attention. Good bye."

He clicked the phone off and opened his eyes. Several moments passed in silence and then, without warning, he drew back and threw the phone with all his might across the room. It smashed against the wall and rained to the floor in many tiny plastic pieces.

"Give it up, already," he snapped and pulled the waitress out from under his desk by her hair. Red mouthed and a little breathless, she wobbled to her feet. She smoothed her hands over her black cocktail dress, straightened her hair, and dragged the back of her hand across her mouth.

"What gives?" she asked as she studied her reflection in the large window that comprised the back wall of his office.

"Bad day," Felix answered as he straightened his own clothes. "Beat it."

"Would it kill you to use some manners?" she retorted, but was already on her way to the door.

"A thousand apologies," Felix said to her back. "Beat it, please!"

"I put it right where you told me, honest," Miles insisted. "I took the case, I gave the guy the envelope, and I set it under the bar."

Felix sighed. "I'm not trying to debate that with you, Miles. I believe you. But someone had to have taken it. Did you see anyone?"

Miles thought. It was obviously a struggle. "Don't you have security cameras?"

"It's going to take some time to get the footage from the company," Felix explained evenly. "In the meantime, I'd like to find out where the case went."

"I didn't take it."

"I know that, Miles. I just. Y'know what? Just fucking forget it. Get back to work."

Miles looked profoundly relieved. He stood, flashed a lopsided grin at Felix, and left the office to return to his bartending duties. Felix made a fist, crunching the scrap paper he'd held in case Miles had remembered something useful. He hadn't.

Daisy sat across from Felix, legs crossed and arms folded, looking smart in a pale pink skirt and jacket. Her blonde hair was pulled back into neat bun. Sometimes Felix felt that bun was a little too tight, especially when she raised her eyebrows at him, the way she was doing just then. She looked beyond surprised.

"So," Felix concluded. "I'm looking for anyone who may be moving that quantity of product, probably cheap considering they didn't pay a dime for it."

"I'm not a private investigator, Lee," she reminded him. "I'm your assistant."

He quirked a brow. "Perhaps I should start paying you an assistant's wages?"

"Fine, I'll see what I can find out. But you promised me when you hired me three years ago that you wouldn't be using my connections. It's not in my job description."

Felix shrugged. "I lied and your job description has changed. I want names on my desk by tomorrow morning."

Daisy sighed, uncrossed her legs, and stood. "You know, you used to be a lot more fun."

"And you used to let me do things to you that would make Pamela Anderson blush. If I remember correctly, I overpaid you then, too."

Daisy glared. "Fuck you, Lee."

He was still laughing when the door slammed behind her.

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Fri Feb 20, 2009 2:39 am

The door to the bathroom opened, shedding a wavering ray of light into the dark bedroom, along with the steam from his shower. He was buttoning his slacks when he looked up, and his expression was anything but pleased.

A handsome man was still in his bed, the sheets pushed down to his waist, revealing an artfully sculpted chest and abdomen that had more to do with frequenting the gym than any hard work on the man’s behalf. Ian’s mouth hardened into a thin line as the handsome, blonde haired man patted the space behind him. Ian faintly shook his head.

“What are you still doing here?” he asked, turning away to start digging through his dresser. He pulled out a white wife-beater and was pulling it on as the man answered.

“Why do you always do that? I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me.”

Ian turned sharply, expelling a ragged breath as he ran a very long-fingered hand through his slightly damp, dark hair. “Michael, I am. I have to go to work.”

His tone wasn’t exactly sharp, but it was certainly exasperated. He was tired of always having the same conversation over and over. Same conversation, different face. He put his work life ahead of his love life, if it could even be called that. He felt absolutely nothing for the greek-god-like Michael laying in his bed other than a faint sense of attraction. He had made it painfully clear that he wasn’t seeking a relationship then or any other time, but the blonde persisted.

“Anthony’s having a get-together at his house tomorrow, maybe we could-”

Ian cut him off. “I’m busy.”

“Wednesday?”

“Booked solid. Sorry.”

Michael scowled, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, and stood, letting the dark sheet fall away. Ian let his eyes travel down, but only for a second. He watched emotionlessly as his on-and-off bed partner sullenly dressed and then wordlessly left, moving at a slow pace as if waiting for Ian to stop him and apologize. He didn’t.

When the door shut behind Michael, the slim, long legged man crossed his apartment and locked the door, sighing. He returned to his bedroom and pulled out a dark shirt, dark tie, and black jacket. He got dressed and hurriedly ran his hands through his shaggy, longish hair before darting out and getting into the car that waited for him.

As his driver pulled out, the cell phone in his pocket started vibrating. He pulled it out and flipped it open, checking to see who it was before reluctantly answering it.

“What?” he asked, cutting to the chase. People didn’t get to where he was by being idle and wasting time. The voice on the other end of the phone was masculine and anxious. Ian could practically hear him grating his teeth together and his free hand tensed, gripping his knee as he waited for the bad news.

“Banner, this is it. The shit’s hit the fan.”

Ian groaned. “What happened?” he asked, anticipating the worst. Mass fire, a sudden drop in stocks, some dire catastrophe that required his partner to call his personal phone line.

“They’re gonna find out, man. They’re gonna figure out that it’s us! I can feel it- it’s all about to come crashing down.”

Dark, bedroom eyes narrowed, face contorting in anger. “I can’t believe you’re calling me for this shit, you paranoid son of a bitch. How many times have I told you I don’t wanna get involved with your side of the business. It’s your problem, leave me the fuck out of it.”

He slammed the phone shut, leaning back against the seat of the car, covering his eyes with his hand. He felt the car slowing and then stop and his hand was already on the handle, ready to get out when it pulled into a spot on the street. Ian hurriedly got out, shoving his silver cell phone into his pocket with irritation, and strode purposefully into the expensive glass high rise that housed the Banner Toy Company headquarters.

The elevator rose to floor fifty four and dinged before the doors slid open. The other people in the elevator stayed carefully away from him, their eyes fixed on the floor, and Ian was the first to step out. The others paused, as if waiting for him to get a safe distance away, and then hurried to their respective positions.

Ian passed his secretary, a pretty Asian girl who was far too young to have secured the position. She smiled at him cheerfully and handed him a thick folder with the day’s agenda.

“Mr. Banner, Mr. Lopez and Miss Kiosco called earlier this morning. They’d like to arrange a conference call with you.”

Ian waved his hand dismissively. “Not today, Nhi. Cancel my meetings and tell anyone who calls that I am out of office. I have pressing matters to attend to.”

Her smile faltered and she nodded, unsure. He ignored her confusion and walked past her into his office, collapsing into the leather chair behind his desk, head tilted back so that he was staring at the ceiling. The last thing in the world he needed was someone breathing down his back about the goings-on of his company.

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Fri Feb 20, 2009 11:01 am

The door to the Playground pushed open and a shaft of brilliant mid-morning light momentarily penetrated the hazy gloom, forcing the cleaning staff to pause and shield their eyes against it. It shut just as quickly, and Felix stood just inside, looking unhappy as he pulled his sunglasses from his face and slipped them inside his jacket. He was dressed in an understated charcoal suit today, with an athletic cut that hugged his contours. Gone was the flamboyant playboy of the previous evening, replaced by this pillar of cold fury. Even his hair was less playful today, laying down across his forehead in a neat, dark line.

"Has Daisy been in?" He called and the large, empty club echoed his voice back to him.

"Sorry, boss, no," someone said from a distance and when Felix looked, he noticed a man who looked a lot like Miles but was not, in fact Miles. It was an early evening bartender, leaning behind the bar with his arms folded over his broad chest, not quite smiling but not frowning, either. He went closer, pulled a stool off the bar and sat.

"Figures," Felix said. "Give me a Bloody Mary without olives."

"Hungover?"

"Close enough."

When the Miles look-alike lit up a cigarette, Felix stared intently for a moment and said, "May I have one of those?"

"Thought you quit," the other man said, but shook one loose from the pack and handed it over. Felix picked up a matchbook from the bowl on the bar and lit up. He slipped the matches into his jacket pocket.

Smoke rolled out his mouth when he said, "I did, but in the interest of keeping my sanity, I'm willing to trade in a few years of my life right now." A pause, narrowed eyes. "Were you here Wednesday night?"

"Wednesday? Nah, that's my day off. I had a ... date."

The way not-Miles hesitated to say the word made Felix smile. He understood all too well. He was about to inquire further when the room was once again flooded with morning light and then the front door slammed. Felix didn't need to look over, because he could hear Daisy's heels clicking against the stone floor. He sipped his beverage until she was beside him. "What do you have?"

Daisy tossed a small folder down in front of him. "Not much. A very short list of names and an even smaller list who have seen any action come through recently. The town is dry, Lee."

He nodded. "All the more motivation to get that case. And with so few culprits, it will be easy to pinpoint one."

"If I were you, I'd start here." She stabbed a finger at a name on the list. "They're small time. Real small time. They do mostly above board business, but occasionally a shipment comes through and they'll distribute for someone under the gun for an elevated fee. With the town so dry, there's no way they should be putting anything out, yet they did."

"When?"

"Yesterday."

Felix nodded. "Thank you, Daisy."

Daisy's eyes widened in shock. Felix never thanked her and he never used that tone with her, either. It was a flat, polite tone. She realized the extent of his rage for the first time and took a step backwards. "Well, if you don't need anything else, I'll get to work."

Felix glanced over at her, eyes flickering up and down the woman as if she weren't there at all. Lips pulled back, a half-smile, and he nodded. "Go on."

"Thought your name was Felix," the bartender said when she was gone.

"It is."

"She called you Lee."

"That's what my friends call me," Felix told the bartender and stabbed out his cigarette. His tone said explicitly that the two of them were not friends. "Thanks for the smoke," he called over his shoulder as he left the bar and ventured back into the light.

The elevator dinged and slid open to reveal the fifty-fourth floor. Felix glanced around cautiously before stepping out of the car and strolling up to the pretty young Asian girl who served as sentry to the office. An appraising look followed the lines of her face down until her body disappeared behind the desk, then back up. Felix smiled.

"I'm here to see Mr. Banner," he told her simply.

"He's out," she said, smiling apologetically.

"No, he's not."

Her smile died on her lips. "Yes, he is."

Felix wasn't smiling anymore, either. "No, he's not. He's in his office. Call him and see if he picks up."

"Sir, I ..."

"Just check for me," Felix said. "If he doesn't answer I will accept that I was wrong and apologize and even send you flowers. If he does answer, tell him Felix Dressler would like to see him. He won't know who I am, so tell him it's urgent."

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Fri Feb 20, 2009 6:51 pm

A thick pile of papers was on the gleaming surface of the expensive mahogany desk. The office was a luxurious, modern number that was suiting to Ian’s success. After making his first million, Ian had gone out and proudly bought that mahogany desk. He still remembered the incredulous look of the sales clerk at the pricy store as he, too young to be shopping there, asked to purchase the most expensive desk they had.

His fingers drummed along the surface of the wood as he leafed through the papers, eyes skimming the contents. Proposals to be looked over, documents to be approved and signed, a mock-up of the next season’s catalogue, featuring the newest number, “Kiss Me Kate”, a baby doll in a cowgirl outfit with cherry red lips. It was sort of disgusting in it’s own way, but it seemed sex sold even among children. Who knew. It was a different world these days.

He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he rubbed his temples. He was only half-heartedly focusing on his work. His thoughts were still focused on the phone call he had gotten that morning from his business partner, Clarke. He wanted to un-hear the call, un-know what he knew. He had no doubts about what his partner was up to. He brought a lot of money into the company, so Ian didn’t complain, but all of Clarke’s transactions were under-handed and under the table. His latest venture was smuggling drugs, gold, and diamonds into the US. The dolls and teddy bears were manufactured over seas, stuffed with whatever needed to be smuggled, and then slid like a hot knife in butter through security.

Ian stayed as far as humanly possible from that side of business. He didn’t know the details and he didn’t want to. He figured the less he knew, the less trouble he would be in ultimately. He didn’t even like Clarke bringing his side of business up. Ian handled the legitimate transactions and ran the business. Clarke brought in the real money. It was a perfect alliance.

The phone rang, snapping him out of his reverie. His eyes, which looked brown from a distance but up close were revealed to actually be olive, flew open, landing on the phone. He stared at it, jaw tightening. Hadn’t he told Nhi to not let calls through? He looked at the number flashing. It was her, from up at the front desk outside his office doors. He groaned and reluctantly picked the receiver up, bringing it up to his ear.

“This better be important, Nhi.” he said sharply. He wasn’t usually so short with his secretary, but he was on edge after Clarke’s cryptic phone call. He heard Nhi splutter on the other end.

“Sorry, Mr. Banner. There’s a Mr.-” she paused. “Felix Dressler to see you.”

She sounded unsure, as if it were a question. Ian scrubbed a hand across his face, lowering his gaze to the Newton’s Cradle sitting on his desk, watching the silver, metal balance balls bounce back and forth. “I don’t know anyone named Dressler.” he told her flatly.

She sounded anxious. “Yes sir, but he said it’s urgent.”

Ian was silent on the other side of the line, considering. Normally he would have told the insistent man who had suddenly dropped in to go away and set up an appointment, but today was an odd day and he was curious. He sighed into the telephone.

“Send him in.” he told her.

Nhi set down the phone, a tight look on her pretty face. It clicked back onto the receiver as it slid into place. She wrung her hands anxiously in her lap.

“Mr. Banner will see you now.” she said, frowning in confusion. She pointed to his door down the short hall that was to the right of her desk. “He’s right down there, sir.”

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Fri Feb 20, 2009 7:36 pm

“How about that,” Felix said, his triumphant smile oozing smug satisfaction. “Looks like you’ll have to wait on those flowers,” he told the secretary as he headed down the hallway. She’d be waiting a long time. The only person to ever receive flowers from Felix Dressler was his mother and he wasn’t remotely inclined to break the pattern.

He went to the door indicated, paused a moment as he schooled his features into something pleasantly neutral, and opened the door to Ian Banner’s office. He knew very little about this Mr. Banner, except that he was a business associate of Clarke, who, according to Daisy’s figures, was the most likely connection to the missing drugs in all of Edgerton. He knew that the toy company usually did legitimate business and that it was very successful.

He also knew, upon entering the office, that Ian Banner was much younger than Felix had suspected, possibly even younger than he was. His calm gaze fastened onto the other man as pushed the door shut with a soft click. He looked first at his face, took in the stark eyebrows, warm eyes, and prominent nose. Small mouth, halfway puckered at rest. Felix couldn’t be sure, but Ian looked tall. His legs were obscured by a massive mahogany desk, but he was willing to bet they were long and thin. Ian wore all black, which Felix found interesting for the owner of a toy company. It was uncharacteristically dark.

All of these observations took several moments, which Felix was comfortable allowing to pass in complete silence. Then, as if coming to some great decision, Felix strolled forward into the office, stoic features softening, if not permitting a full smile.

“Mr. Banner, thank you for seeing me,” Felix said, as if he hadn’t just harassed the secretary into making the call. “My name is Felix Dressler.” He came to a halt in front of the desk and leaned over to offer a handshake. Felix did enjoy the empty gestures of social protocol.

“We have some urgent business to discuss. Where is Clarke?”

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Fri Feb 20, 2009 11:21 pm

Ian looked up as the door clicked open, emitting a dark haired, blue eyed man. The man seemed to regard him carefully, not moving from his position in the doorway. Ian returned his gaze with slightly curious, heavy lidded eyes, a smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.

As the man, presumably Mr. Dressler, surveyed him, Ian returned the treatment. He took in soft, full lips, the top one a little narrower than the lower. The man’s face was angular and defined with a slightly clefted chin. Though his features were sharp, in composition they seemed softer. He had a modelesque sense of male beauty, but Ian had seen his share of beautiful men. He knew that generally they weren’t to be trusted.

Standing, he shook Felix’s hand, settling his mouth into a businesslike smile. “Please, call me Ian.” he insisted, remaining standing. He crossed around the desk, leaning against it’s front, arms crossed over his chest. His lean hips pressed against the mahogany, long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His stance juxtaposed a sense of ease and also complexity. He was curious about the person who had the nerve to bully his secretary and demand a meeting, and he wasn’t about to drop his guard.

Ian heard Felix’s question, but he ignored it, a curious frown taking over his features, his dark eyebrows knitting together a little. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dressler. How is it that you know my partner?” he asked, meeting the man’s question with one of his own. He knew better than to spill Clarke’s location to just anyone. Though he tried as best he could to stay out of the world of drug cartels and crime, he had been around the block before.

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 12:03 am

A smirk stretched Felix's lips, dimpling the corners of his mouth. It was a complex expression that hinted that he was amused and impressed with Mr. Banner--or Ian, now that they were on a first name basis--but there was no warmth in it. His eyes were flat, not a single twinkle of good humor to be found in them. Without waiting for the offer, Felix sank into a chair in front of Ian, crossing his ankle over his knee and leaning back so he could look directly up at him. It was a calculated move. It said, to those astute enough to notice, 'I'm too comfortable to be threatened.'

"And you may call me Felix," he replied. "I don't like games and I rarely have the time for them, Ian." He used the other man's name with particular emphasis. In his experience, it set others on edge when perfect strangers used their given names with the ease of the familiar. "I will get right to the point. I don't know Clarke, but he most certainly knows who I am. I need to speak with him, but he doesn't seem to be answering his phone. He's also not at his home and I very seriously doubt he's in his office right now."

Felix looked down at at Ian's crossed ankles, then up the length of his legs. And he thought he'd always been somewhat lanky. This man gave a new meaning to the word. He wasn't awkward, though. No, too cocky for anything to keep him from flowing through a room like water. Felix could like this guy, if he weren't standing between him and his profit margins.

His eyes flickered up from where they had settled on Ian's waist to his face. "Do you know how I might get in touch with him?"

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 12:54 am

“Felix,” said Ian, straightening up and dropping his arms. He leisurely made his way around to the other side of his desk, leafing through a thick stack of papers, though he remained standing and kept the other man in his peripheral vision. He had the soothing tone as if he were about to say ‘come now, let’s be reasonable.’ He did not, however.

“It’s not my business whose calls my associate returns.” he said with mock sympathy. He regarded Felix shrewdly, taking in the expensive cut of his suit. This was a man of money, he noted, and judging by the manner in which he had gotten into Ian’s office, he was also in a position of at least some power. The pieces began to fall into place and Ian’s stomach sank. This had something to do with Clarke’s side of the business transactions. Something must’ve happened. Now, he was either talking to someone involved with drugs or worse, or he was speaking to a cop. These days, it could be impossible to tell which.

He set the papers down in a neat pile, pressing his hands flat against the desk, leaning over slightly. “Why don’t you leave a message with my secretary, if she hasn’t quit already, and I’m sure he’ll get back to you. There’s not really anything I can do.”

This man, this Felix Dressler, was dead wrong if he thought he was going to get information out of Ian Banner so easily. Clarke’s problems were his business, but when they started actually affecting the cooperated business, Ian had no choice but to intervene. In truth, he had no idea what the deal with Clarke was, and for that he was glad. It meant he wouldn’t have to lie through his teeth. His ignorance would only be slightly feigned. He wasn’t going to snitch his partner out, much less to a man he had never heard of.

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 1:47 am

One eyebrow hiked a little higher on Felix's forehead and and the smile died from his lips. He had been prepared for this reaction. After all, put in the same position, Felix wouldn't throw any of his own colleagues under the bus. The difference was that Felix had his own secrets to protect and keeping his coworkers' confidences was a vital part of keeping himself alive. Ian, as far as he knew, was clean as a whistle. He had nothing to lose by cooperating with Felix. Then again, he had nothing to gain. He'd have to find a way to remedy that.

"I don't believe I'll be leaving any messages with that woman," he said, tone still light despite his grim expression. "And I'm not that easy to brush off, Ian. I have no quarrel with your partner, but I do need to speak with him and the longer he delays getting in touch with me, the more unfortunate for him."

Felix uncrossed his legs and stood. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small black matchbook, the one he'd slipped into his pocket at the bar. He flipped it with his thumb. It took a short flight and landed with a soft sound on top of Ian's paperwork. 'Playground' was written across the front in fluorescent pink lettering. Underneath, in smaller print, was the phone number and address of the club. He had cards printed, but he figured there was no reason to waste a perfectly good matchbook.

"I'll be visiting again, Ian. In the meantime, if you think of anything you want to share, you can reach me there. Or." Eyes flickered down the length of the other man's arms to his long hands and back up again. Lips pursed momentarily, considering. Head canted to one side. It was apparent that Felix was inspecting Ian as if he were a show horse. "Or if you just need to unwind. We do an excellent martini."

"It's been a pleasure." Then Felix turned and left the office, casting a taunting grin at the secretary as he made his way to the elevator.

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 2:54 am

‘Unfortunate for him?’, thought Ian, repeating the other man’s words in his head. He made it sound almost like a threat and the businessman wondered what sort of shit his friend had gotten himself into. Perhaps friend was too strong a term. Ian liked Clarke, he was a good business partner, but they weren’t the sort of partners who went out for drinks. He did have a strong sense of loyalty to his partner though, and he wasn’t some sorry rat who’d sell a bloke out. It was a rare thing in the business world, but Ian considered himself a man of standards. He had principles that were unwavering.

A matchbook was flipped onto his pile of papers and the handsome Felix departed. Ian found himself amused, wondering if he would harass Nhi any more. He had a bad feeling that with any more visitors like that he’d have to find a new secretary, and good help was hard to come by. Actually, Ian had few standards when it came to receptionists. He basically just wanted someone who’s voice didn’t grate on his nerves and who was good to look at as he came in in the mornings. He hired women more for his client’s sakes than his own.

He pushed the door shut and then walked back to his desk, sitting down, peering at the matchbook curiously, though he didn’t pick it up for a very long moment. When he finally did, he held it between his forefinger and thumb, turning it to and fro, looking at each side. The Playground? And he’d thought he’d been to every club in the city. Apparently not. He laughed at how presumptuous the man was and tossed the matches into the waste paper basket, chuckling quietly.

Outside the floor to ceiling windows of his office, the sun rose high into the sky and then began to descend. It was dark outside when Nhi knocked on his door.

“Mr. Banner?” she asked, opening the door slowly. She poked her head in. “Are you going to be here much longer? Should I order something up?”

Ian shook his head, sighing tiredly. “No, but thank you. I won’t be much longer. You can go home now, Nhi.”

She seemed relieved and nodded her head gratefully, casting a thank-you over her shoulder as she left his office. Ian closed his eyes tiredly, rubbing the palms of his hands over them, feeling the beginnings of a headache. He straightened the papers on his desk meticulously and dropped off his signed documents in Nhi’s folder. When he went back to his office to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, his eyes landed on the waste paper basket, zeroing in on the hot pink lettering of the matchbook. Ian sighed, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and bent down to retrieve the article he had thrown away.

“What am I doing?” he asked, slipping the matches into the pocket of his suit jacket. He shook his head in disbelief and left.

“There’s been a change in plans.” he told the driver. The man turned his head slightly, listening. “Take me to The Playground.”

The sleek black car pulled up to the front of the trendy nightclub and Ian got out, tossing his tie into the backseat. He looked up at the building’s logo, unsure. Was this the right place? It didn’t feel right to him. He did need a drink though…

Ian parted the bodies like Moses parting the waters, his tall, lithe form sliding between couples, the soft swell of a woman’s breast caressing his arm, a masculine hand on his shoulder. He ignored them, heading for the bar. He sat down and looked around, half expecting to see Felix everywhere he looked, but didn’t spot him. The bartended made his way over and Ian ordered a beer. While he waited, he unbuttoned the top few buttons of his black shirt, eyeing the crowd, feeling flagrantly out of place.

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 3:43 am

Daisy came up behind Felix and leaned on his shoulder, nearly as tall as him in her stiletto heels. She laid her head on her arm, her blonde hair brushing up against his cheek. He was staring out his office window again, down at the throng of people who were swirling around the floor. She knew this meant he was in a foul mood and concluded that he hadn't met with much success at the toy company.

They'd both changed for the night. Daisy wore a shiny scrap of fabric masquerading as a dress. Felix wore his typical white suit and tie. Tonight he wore black shoes, simply because he'd been in the mood. He was in a very black mood.

"See anything you like down there?"

"No."

"Then you must not be looking. I see plenty of little girls and boys that are just your type."

"I'm not in the mood," Felix said, voice full of disgust.

"You're not what?" Daisy drew back from him.

"You heard me."

"You're not in the mood."

"Daisy, please don't force me to repeat myself. It's annoying."

She shrugged. "Sorry, I just. I don't think this has ever happened before. Has it?"

Tight, clipped, "No."

"You think it's maybe because you're getting close to thirty? You're not the young, tireless stallion you once were, you know." Daisy laughed, but Felix wasn't listening. And if he had been listening, he wouldn't have found her comment at all amusing. Abruptly, Felix turned around and headed out of his office.

"Where you going?" Daisy called after him.

"Downstairs," Felix said and let the door shut behind him. Daisy stood there, trying to blink the shock away for several long seconds before she could move again. Tonight was a night for firsts.

Felix hated the floor. The people were sweaty and drunk, which was nice in moderation--say, one to five people, upstairs in the back room. However, hundreds of sweating, boozing, smoking, shouting strangers was not his idea of a good time. Also, there was the occasional piece of ass who had trouble coping, running up to him and demanding to know why he didn't call. He had trouble sympathizing with these people, since he never promised he would call, anyway. He very rarely ventured outside of his office once he got to the Playground, except to leave. This evening was one of those rare occasions. From the window of his office, he'd spotted Ian Banner, the self assured businessman he'd met earlier that day.

He'd taken a seat at the bar and stayed there, for which Felix was grateful. If he'd been moving around, even with Ian's unusual height, it would have been a nightmare trying to find him again. They could have been passing by one another all night long. As it was, Felix was able to pick through the crowd and find him right away. He sidled up next to him, a smile springing to his face. "Hello," he called over the volume of the music, as if he wasn't remotely surprised that Ian had decided to come. "Do you have something you want to share for me or are you just a sucker for an overpriced beer?"

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 1:58 pm

It took the bartender far too long to return with something so simple as a beer. When he got it, he realized what he actually needed was something a lot stronger, but didn’t want to relive the fiasco of flagging down the bartender, hidden between the scantily clad women and men who could have been their pimps. So he sipped his beer, the music doing nothing for his slowly forming headache.

Ian turned around, his back leaning against the bar, and watched the throng of dancing people, gyrating on each other as the music pulsed. The beautiful people, he thought, taking in the dark, shiny fabrics and the expensive suits. Ian was not the sort of man who would normally have gotten into these sorts of clubs. His look was unusual; his nose too prominent, his eyes too deep, his body too long and thin to be ideal. However, he carried a strong sense of calm, unshakable confidence that made people look twice and reconsider.

A greeting was called over the music and Ian looked up and around, searching for the voice. It wasn’t one he recognized, and he didn’t immediately see Felix. When the man got closer, Ian’s eyebrows raised and then lowered in recognition. He nodded his head.

“Oh, is this your club?” he asked, badly feigning ignorance. He took a sip of his beer. “I threw your little matchbook away- sorry. Never looked at it. No, actually, I’m meeting someone here.” he said. He wasn’t. Honestly, he didn’t know why he was there. Sure, he’d wanted a drink after work, but he had the best that money could buy all back at his house, and even if he hadn’t, there were many bars in the city, and he‘d never been to this one. Besides, he was sipping a weak beer. Ian wasn’t the sort of man to care if his explanations didn’t add up though. Felix could believe him or not; either way, he wasn’t going to learn anything else about Clarke.

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 2:41 pm

Despite himself, Felix was dimly aware that his mood was improving. Ian was a bad liar. Or, if he wasn't, then he didn't care one way or another if Felix believed his fib. In either case, there was no doubt in his mind that Ian had come because of the matchbook he'd left in his office earlier that day. If he hadn't come to share, then it had been the other half of the invitation that had appealed to him. 'If you just need to unwind,' he had said, fully expecting his words to fall on deaf ears. Ian didn't look the type. He also didn't look the type who enjoyed being called out and Felix didn't want to put the man on the defensive. He needed to find Clarke, needed to know what Clarke knew, and Ian was very probably the only one who could make that happen.

"Strange coincidence," he said, not really bothering to make his voice carry. If Ian heard him, fine. If not, it made no difference. His next words, however, were meant to be heard and he raised his voice to get Ian's attention. "Well, when they get here, they can join us in my office." He snatched the beer out of Ian's hand, took a swig, and took a few steps backwards into the crowd. Shouting now, so his voice would carry across the few feet separating them, he said, "If it's more of this swill you want, I've got a fully stocked bar upstairs. And it's quieter."

Felix pivoted, certain that Ian would follow him up to his office. Not because he had the man hooked--he didn't have him figured out in the least--but because there was challenge in those deeply set eyes. Felix recognized a kindred spirit when he saw one. Ian was the kind of man who walked into a room and owned it. Even dressed out of place, as he was now, his calm sense of belonging had gotten him past the bouncers without any trouble when many better dressed, more classically good looking men and women were undoubtedly left waiting. Knowing this, Felix naturally assumed Ian would accept his offer to adjourn to his office, if for no other reason, then to follow the "I show you mine, you show me yours" code. A businessman's base of operations spoke volumes about him. In fact, Felix would think less of the man if he turned him down.

He shifted through the crowd with practiced ease, not bothering to look over his shoulder. Up the black, winding staircase he went until he reached a door. There was a bouncer next to this door, a large bald man with a brilliant red beard, dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting black t-shirt. Of course, over muscles like his, there weren't a lot of clothes that wouldn't be stretched to capacity. He nodded to Felix, but there was no further exchange.

Felix's office was a palette of grays and blacks. The desk was black, the chairs were black. The computer, the walls, rubber tiled floor, various shelves, and long velvet couch off to one side, the coffee table that sat in front of it; all were dark gray. The brightest point in his office was the man, himself, in his white linen blazer.

Well, there was also the considerable amount of pale, exposed flesh and the sparkling dress seated on the velvet sofa. Daisy was perched there, sniffing delicately and dabbing at her nose when they entered. She looked up, raised her eyebrows, and raised them even higher when Ian entered the room after Felix.

"Well, this is new," she said with a short laugh. "Doing your own hunting now, Lee?"

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 4:49 pm

It was apparent by his tone that Felix didn’t believe Ian’s lie, though neither seemed to be bothered to argue it. The man accepted it with nothing other than a light comment that Ian had to lean toward him to hear. The pulsing lights overhead backlit Felix’s face, casting it into shadow. Against the backdrop of carnal dancing, clad in white, Ian thought Felix looked like some kind of dark angel playing with the demons, an anchor in the tide of sex and motion.

He raised his voice to extend an invitation. Or at least, Ian thought it was an invitation, though it hedged close to being an order. The man even took his drink, to which Ian raised his eyebrows, a bemused smirk lighting his features. Confident, thought Ian, regarding Felix as he passed through the crowds. Too confident? Probably, if there was such a thing. Ian didn’t immediately get up, considering the proposition, wondering what awaited him if he followed the very handsome Felix up those stairs.

Only one way to find out, he thought, standing. His long legs took longer strides to catch up, and by the time Felix was at the bottom step, Ian had caught up, close on his heels. Past the over-stuffed body guard and they were in Felix’s office, which Ian calmly regarded, his dark olive eyes taking in the dark walls, dark furniture, dark everything. He had noticed the woman immediately, though he didn’t know what to make of her. Tight dress, short skirt. The kind of woman he should have been attracted to, but most definitely wasn’t. The fact that his tastes were slightly more… exotic, was a well-hidden secret in the business world. Ian didn’t let his personal life color his professional life. He’d even been known to flaunt a woman or two for appearance’ sake.

He didn’t like the woman’s tone, or her words, and they led him to believe that perhaps something was going on behind the scenes he wasn’t anticipating. He took a step forward, firmly placing his feet, holding his ground. He didn’t offer his hand to the woman when he introduced himself.

“I’m Ian Banner.” he said, voice a half-pitch lower, gravelly with distrust. He looked at Felix from the corner of his eye. “What’s going on here?”

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 5:27 pm

Felix paused a few feet into his office, glanced back at Ian, and smiled. That suddenly hostile edge in his voice was very becoming, if only because Felix imagined he often sounded that way, himself. If the man could physically make love to a mirror, he would have stopped coming out of his bedroom a long time ago.

"Nothing's going on," he said through smiling lips, his tone soothing. "Daisy was just leaving." A sharp look was directed at the woman. "Weren't you, Daisy?"

With a little pout and a sigh, she stood and stretched languidly. "I guess I was," she replied, voice flat. There was a predatory gleam in her eye when she looked Ian over, but she knew not to waste her time with any man who found himself ascending the winding stairs to Felix Dressler's office. "It was a pleasure ... encountering you, Ian Banner." It wasn't until the office door was shut behind her and she was halfway down the stairs that she realized, belatedly, that Ian Banner was loosely connected to the case of the missing drugs. Daisy cast a look over her shoulder, wondering momentarily whether she should go back and keep an eye on Felix's temper for him. In the end, she shrugged and headed down to the bar.

When the door had shut, Felix smiled easily at Ian and handed his beer back to him. "When you're ready for a real drink, the bar's on the balcony." He turned, crossed the short distance to the couch, and dropped down onto it. He propped his feet up on the coffee table and crossed one leg over the other. "Forgive Daisy," he said, the way parents talked about their rowdy children. "She's my assistant. Sharp girl, but lacking in tact." He tapped the side of his nose tellingly. "I also think she's got a bit of a problem."

Felix gestured to the opposite end of the sofa. "Since I'm sure your friend isn't due to arrive for at least a little while," he began with only a small hint of sarcasm, "would you care to have a seat?"

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 7:10 pm

The tall, dark haired man stepped aside to let the blonde pass, watching the hypnotic sway of her hips as she exited until his view was blocked by the door. He found it interesting how many women, women like that, were capable of using their wily charms even when they weren’t conscious of it. He turned his head back to Felix, wondering why he had a woman in his office that he would dismiss so quickly. Old girlfriend? Current lover?

No, assistant, he was told, which struck him as somewhat of a surprise. He imagined his secretary, sweet little Nhi Nguyen, dressed like that. He’d probably have to pay her more for it though. Perhaps in the nightclub business, one’s assistant dressing that way was not uncommon. He knew nothing of the business side of nightclubs, and didn’t really care. He was a master of business, but he only cared about his own.

Nodding at Felix’s invitation to take a seat, Ian crossed the room and sat on the opposite side of the sofa, angling his body toward Felix, back straight and stiff in a posture of guarded tension.

“How is it that you know my business partner, Felix?” he asked, raising one eyebrow slightly. He put his hands on his knees; it was a position of solid strength. Ian was not easily rocked or swayed. “Clarke has never mentioned you before, I’m afraid, and I wasn’t under the impression that nightclubs did much business with toy manufacturers.”

Direct and to the point, as usual. Not wanting to waste time, and too curious about Felix to bother with beat-around-the-bush pleasantries, only edging at questions. He wondered what sort of a man this Mr. Dressler was. Once he found Clarke, what were his intentions? Was this the sort of person who would send an overly muscled man like the body guard outside to break Clarke’s kneecaps? He wondered what in the world was so important that Felix had come to him, but at the same time didn’t want to know. He knew that the more he found out about the illegal side of his company, the worse off he would be. If he was taken to court now, he would truthfully be able to feign ignorance, at least for the most part. He and Clarke held a solid ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy between each other.

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 7:30 pm

Felix stared blankly at Ian for some time, silently debating with himself the best way to approach the issue at hand. He'd said earlier, in Ian's office, that he didn't like to play games, but he also didn't like to ruin his chances at getting what he wanted. If Ian's nose was as clean as he liked to pretend it was, then bringing up the shady aspects of his own business may startle him and put him on the defensive. On the other hand, Felix considered with a dark smile, he may just enjoy putting Ian on the defensive.

"Well, Ian, as I said before, I don't know Clarke. But I do know what Clarke does for a living and it's sure as hell got nothing to do with baby dolls." A pause, then a calming breath. "He's in the business of moving things and he's not in the habit of asking questions. Typically, this would be a very attractive quality in a business associate. However." Felix dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward, resting his forearms upon his thighs as he leaned as close as humanly possible to Ian without actually getting up and scooting closer. His mouth was smiling, but it was less friendly than it was suggestive when paired with his suddenly heavy-lidded eyes and when he spoke, his voice dropped half an octave. "But in the interest of full disclosure, Ian, your buddy Clarke distributed five kilograms of stolen cocaine inside those little baby dolls you make. Cocaine stolen from me, right out from under my fucking nose. I need to know where he got it and what he was paid."

Felix straightened then and nodded once. "That's about the gist of it. I could use a drink. White Russian?"

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 7:59 pm

Ian was neither shocked by the knowledge that that was what Clarke was doing with so many orders of dolls and stuffed bears, nor was by the fact that Felix was involved. He was, however, surprised that the man was so forthright. Ian didn’t know how to respond, his face arranged into a set of serious lines and angles. His long, thin lips stretched into a frown, and his already heavy-lidded eyes became heavier.

“I see.” he stated, trying to figure out what to do in the situation he was in. Five kilos was nothing to scoff at, he thought, wondering how many teddy bears it took to transport over eleven pounds of flake into the US. He was thinking he might have to rename some of the dolls. Maybe ‘Baby Blow My Nose’ would just be ‘Baby Blow’ from now on.

How did he fit into all of it, though? What was going to happen if Clarke didn’t pay his debts? Would they come after him next? Ian cleared his throat uncomfortable and ran a long hand through his hair, a rare nervous gesture of his. He didn’t know what to say, and for one of the few times in his life, he wasn’t sure what to do. If it had been Clarke telling him all of this, he’d have reacted very differently. Now he couldn’t show how inwardly angry he was though.

Ian nodded his head. “A White Russian sounds great.” he agreed. Coffee drinks weren’t really his thing, but vodka was surely appreciated. He also wasn’t about to disagree with Felix; at least, not until things got settled.

“I’m not involved with what Clark Garrison does.” he said truthfully. “And I have no idea where he is. He hasn’t come in to work all week, but that’s not unusual.” He paused. “Sorry, but I don’t think I can help you.” he said. The only thing he was sorry about though, was that he had chosen to dig that matchbook out of the waste-basket that night.

bathos · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **bathos** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 8:24 pm

Felix got to his feet and headed toward the door just behind and to the left of his desk. This was the balcony door. He jerked his head to motion for Ian to follow. As he went, he slid out of his jacket and tossed it over his desk chair.

The music was loud out on the balcony, but it was above the speakers, which were pointed in various directions but not up. While it was louder on the balcony than in the office, it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been down in the thick of it. Felix stepped behind the small, sleek bar, gesturing for Ian to take a seat at one of the stools. There were two round tables, as well, but Felix felt like standing and playing bartender. He immediately set about making their cocktails. Felix maintained that he mixed the best White Russian in town. The secret was the maraschino cherry and just a drop of honey.

He'd been quiet as he made their drinks, but once each man had a cocktail in hand, Felix spoke. "Bullshit." They could play nice all night long, flirting with the idea of actually saying something substantial, but Felix was only willing to pretend he was a civil man for so long. He was not civil. He was rude, foul mouthed, and domineering and he only had so much patience for pretending to be otherwise. "Don't waste our time with lies, Ian. You know how to get a hold of him and I want to know what you know. I've been very reasonable, I think. I could have resorted to violence a long time ago, but I didn't. I could have threatened you with something major, like ... say ... an unexpected audit. Or an anonymous tip to the police about that shipment of baby dolls." Felix smiled a little too innocently. "But I didn't do those things. Out of respect."

Delicate sip and his face twisted into an angry scowl. "So don't treat me like a fucking idiot. Do me that one courtesy."

Monroe · **Tips:** 0.00 INK by **Monroe** on Sat Feb 21, 2009 9:34 pm

Ian accepted the drink, taking a long sip till he’d drained half the glass, then set the glass back down on the bar, crossing his long arms over it’s surface. As he listened to Felix, he ground his teeth together, dark eyes hard. So, this was the new game, was it? Complete honesty laced with open threats. Ian found it to be neither tactful nor classy, but chose not to comment on it. There was only one manner in which he could respond. He chose to throw everything back at Felix, hoping something would stick.

“Alright, so it’s gonna be like that, then?” he asked, licking his lips and then frowning, a diplomatic look on his almost-handsome face. He folded his hands together, looking down at the top of the bar as he ran his tongue over the front of his teeth inside his mouth.

“Let me level with you for a second, Mr. Dressler, because I like to make myself imminently clear.” He paused, taking a slow sip of the White Russian. He held the glass up. “This is good, by the way.” He set it back down, back to business. “I’m not a man who likes threats, and I don’t like being told what to do. If you choose to audit my company or start an investigation, I won’t stop you. Just know that I’ll send them right back to you and tell ‘em what to look for.”

His mouth hardened. “So, as much I appreciate the…courtesy, you’ve given me, I find it to be hollow. You can do whatever the fuck you want. I’m not going to help you find Clarke though.”

It sounded noble, though it wasn’t. He knew Clarke was a shallow son of a bitch who would drag Ian down too once his ship began to sink. And though Ian’s innocence may have been partial, he was still operating with a man he knew behaved criminally. He had no doubt that if he was investigated he would be convicted. If Clark went down, so would Ian.

The Playground [Monroe & Bathos]

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