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General Art Slater

Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
So, here I am, back into the often dangerous field of writing. I've had a long period of absence on ZD, mainly due to conflicts with school. I've been very, very busy, with multiple projects going on at once, both for school, and story ideas in my own mind. This is one of them. It will be part of a trilogy, and I daresay it's the best piece of writing I've ever created. I will post an update once every other day due to the fact that I actually have the whole story done, and therefore, there is no writer's block. So, for now, enjoy....




The plain truth is that the world of businessmen and politicians is far more dangerous than the world of the military or of terrorism. A deal or an investment can do just as much, if not more, damage than a soldier. And although good intentions are in politicians’ minds some of the time, it does not always turn out the best for the people. There are some businessmen or politicians who don’t even try to help the people around them, and are only concerned for their own interest. Our despicable villain, christened Joseph Michael Slater, was one of these arrogant and heartless manipulators.
Mr. Slater, of course, wore his mask of public decency and gray eyes wherever he went, shaking hands with fellow entrepreneurs and the like, always listening, nodding, laughing. He was remarked as looking sharp, with combed back light-brown hair, angular features, and a tuxedo. He had many friends, and his enemies had all been driven to bankruptcy or were mysteriously missing. The sum of money he had acquired was substantial, enough even as to retire and live happily, but still he pressed on with his work, with only the people’s interests in mind. Well, one person in particular.
Celebrating the day’s investments, he on a rare occasion headed into the local casino. He had managed to successfully bribe a corporate tycoon into giving him access to a mining deposit-a deal that would prove far more profitable for Slater than the other man in the long run. “Wine, please. The best,” he told the bartender, prepared to indulge himself in his successes. He began to drink a couple of rounds, and started to gamble with others. He was successful for a time, however he began to grow arrogant and intoxicated. His next gamble sent his profits down the drain. Realizing that he had lost too much money, he snapped out of drunkenness and fled the casino.
For the first time since he was a child, he was afraid. Debts were owed, and he had little money to pay. The time would come when he would have to pay for his deeds, but Slater knew that he would continue to divert destiny to the best of his ability. A plan was already revolving in his head, gears were already turning. A plan to get his money back and more. A plan that involved a businessman he had met earlier during the day, a diplomat-turned-businessman named Randall Brown...

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The man’s brown eyes slowly opened. The rest of his body was groggy with sleep, and although it was a work day, he was tempted to call in sick just because he didn’t want to get up. The man had laugh lines around his mouth, although he was not smiling at the time, wide-set brown eyes, and slightly gelled dark hair. He got up, looking at his prosthetic right leg. The reason he had resigned from being a diplomat, the traumatic experience that had happened five years ago to this day. He managed to put on his suit and tie, and proceeded to go to work, his wife and daughter already having left to their respective jobs as lawyer and toddler.
Randall Brown stopped in the parking lot, getting out and looking around the area, dotted with cars but no people. He proceeded to go inside to his work, smiling at his co workers, helping them out with projects before his own, passing a fellow employee his stapler, and proceeded to head to the meeting room. Something happened, and he stopped in his tracks before entering the room, and turned to his side.
He could have sworn that he had seen someone there whom he had seen the previous day, the slippery, untrustworthy man his boss had introduced to him as Joseph Slater. An entrepreneur, who looked about as genuine as a snake. Talked that way too. Randall was surprised that people hadn’t seen right through him. Perhaps that would remain a mystery until the end of time.
Randall walked into the room, preparing himself to be bored out of his wits with nonsense. Going off topic for a paragraph or two, I hope that the same cannot be said out of this story. I don’t want you to be bored out of your wits with all talk and no action. I know that technically I’m not supposed to get involved, but even so, if you’re bored, I can only tell you this: keep reading. My apologies for interrupting.
After the meeting was finally over, he prepared to leave. Another boring but ultimately rewarding day had flown by and he went back to his office. A pile of papers, which appeared to be mail, had been dropped on his desk. Smiling, he began to sort through them, mostly ads and other trashworthy material. A folded envelope slipped out of the pile, landing on his desk. Curious, he held it up and opened it. Come to the Starbucks next to the office on the corner 47th Street and Oakwood Avenue at 11:39 A.M. precisely. Not a minute earlier, not a minute later. There are matters we might need to discuss regarding the safety of you and your family.

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Slater checked his watch. 11:37 A.M. The foolish man would be here soon, and if not...Slater chuckled. He felt the inside of his coat, reassuringly tapping an inside pocket concealing a gun. He would just have to find another way to gain cash. Perhaps blackmail was a bit old-fashioned, he told himself, but it would obtain good results. 11:38 P.M. Joseph frowned slightly. Perhaps Brown had not understood the implications of the letter, or perhaps he hadn’t cared. Fortunately, it didn’t matter either way, but Brown wouldn't go to the authorities on grounds of blackmail because he would not know who had blackmailed him.
Finally, Mr. Slater spotted the man he was looking for. An unenlightened do-gooder like he’d never seen before amongst the corrupt crowd. Giving several quarters to a blind beggar. Wasteful and unintelligent. Even that could prove costly, what, with all of the trouble Mr. Brown would soon be in. Finally, Brown’s kindly brown eyes found Slater’s, and narrowed. Slater walked up to him, shaking his hand.
“Mr. Brown. It’s a pleasure. I see you received my letter from yesterday.”
“You were the one who sent it? All right now, what is it that you want-”
“Shall we discuss this indoors, with a latte, maybe?”
Brown glared at Slater. “Very well.” The two men walked into the cafe, and Slater proceeded to get himself a drink, offering the same for Brown, but he declined. Slater took a swig of the still-hot coffee, seemingly unperturbed. He smiled thinly. “Shall we get down to business then?” Brown nodded. Slater began to speak.
“Here is the deal. You will provide a total of $10,000 within two days. Obviously that’s asking a lot, but you of all people should be able to pay. We will meet again at this cafe 48 hours from now, and-”
Brown interrupted angrily, “Is this blackmail, Slater? I knew you were untrustworthy from the start, you little snake! And how are you going to force me to pay? What do you have against me that can make me pay?”
Slater’s eyes drifted towards a mother and child playing outside. Brown grasped his wrist, snarling, “No. You will not take my family from me. You won’t. You-”
“Can, Mr. Brown, and will. Calm down, my friend, you’re making a ruckus.” It was true, several people were staring at the duo oddly, and Slater gulped down the rest of his latte. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Remember, 11:39 A.M, on Thursday, same place.” Brown began to protest, curling his fingers into fists, but realized that there was nothing he could do without endangering his family’s safety. Slater knew this, and it was with great satisfaction that Joseph Slater walked away from the coffee place. His debts would be paid after all. People were so easy to manipulate.

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Myriadviper42

Fulcrum Agent
Joined
Feb 14, 2010
Location
Control
Randall arrived home late. His wife and daughter were gone, out and about, perhaps taking a drive around town like they sometimes did, just to see the sights. Randall had used to do so with them, but that was before he had been promoted, and was forced to spend less and less time with his family. Remembering the snake man, Slater’s, threats only made the feeling even worse. He knew he could not tell anyone about the events that had transpired at the Starbucks. He had known of Joseph Slater and his reach, but had heard nothing about his obviously corrupt nature. How couldn’t other people see it?
Randall sat down and began sorting through the mail. Several ads. Bills. The mundane and normal things. Finally he saw something of worth mentioning. Opening the letter apprehensively, he began to read it. After he had finished reading it, he folded it up, a tear on his cheek. He placed it at the bottom of one of his drawers, and struggled to restrain himself. He sat down on his bed, sighing heavily.
The next day he really did phone in sick, and used the day to spend time with his wife who worked at home and working up the funds to pay Slater off. His daughter was at daycare, and would be very happy to know that her daddy would be home that night at an early hour for once, and they would go out to eat and play games. All the while, Randall had at the back of his mind Slater’s deal. The sensation of having a blast while feeling nauseous and guilty is curious, but not likeable. Thursday arrived all too soon.

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Slater stood at the door of the Starbucks. The waitress had already been eying him suspiciously. Out of habit, this particular Starbucks was where Slater conducted all of his “business dealings,” and had made sure that for the most part that all employees and other customers were out of hearing range. Even so, it would be hard to overlook that whoever Slater was with in the restaurant had something unfortunate happen to them within the next few days. He knew he might have to change locations after this con. It probably would be a wise choice.
For now, Brown would just have to show up at the appointed time, and Slater’s losses at the casino would be null and void. He vowed to give himself more restrictions when approaching cons, and not to let his guard down at any time. After all, he still was wanted under the name of Nikolai Abelev for murder of three Russian officials. He was still contemplating his previous excursions when the blackmailee, Mr. Brown, showed up, right on schedule.
“Here’s your money,” Brown growled, and proceeded to use a few choice words that caused Slater to chuckle.
“There’s my good man, now. I am a man of my word. No harm will come to your family.” Slater took the check of the appointed amount, and smiled warmly at him. “With luck, you will never hear from Joseph Slater again.” You might not hear from Joseph Slater again, but you will definitely hear from Jasper Tholes, or Nikolai Abelev, or any of my other pseudonyms. A tragic accident in a world filled with them.
Brown grabbed the wiry man’s arm, eyes filled both with sadness and menace. “If you break your word...if I hear from you again...” Brown didn’t finish the sentence, and Slater smiled. “Don’t worry. You won’t.” Brown walked away, hands trembling.

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The main news story the next day was shocking to most readers. Randall Brown, esteemed businessman and entrepreneur, had been accepting bribes from government officials. He had also stolen and sold state secrets, and would be facing trials in court. The diligent civilian who reported him was Joseph Slater, who, after realizing what his close accomplice and friend was doing, turned him in, acting on his inborn nobility. Brown had protested the charges, but all the evidence pointed towards his involvement. Brown would spend several years in federal prison.
No harm had come to Randall Brown’s family, but great harm had come to Randall Brown.

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The man sat in the bar, shuffling a deck of cards. He was playing with several other men who looked worn-out and seedy, but the man himself looked in his early thirties and clean. He shared several similar features with Randall Brown, who, although the man didn’t know it yet, was convicted of multiple crimes. The difference was, Damien Brown’s hair was shaved into a buzz cut, whereas Randall’s was longer and slightly gelled.
The rest of their features were the same; the same wide-set eyes that showed multiple emotions at once, the same (almost) smile and wiry build. The emotions between the twins were generally opposite of one another, except when they were in the same room, in which case their emotions were identical. Anger. While Randall grew to be a respected figure of society, Damien had remained on the fringes of the law, skirting in and outside of it. Not that his appearance would give any of that away, of course.
It was just another day. Typically, Damien would win every bet, and would rarely bet anything he wasn’t prepared to lose. Which was his view on crime. If you can lose, you will. That was the philosophy that had carried him through life, and he had never been caught pickpocketing once, although he had definitely pickpocketed. Randall had looked down on his brother’s social status, but the only person who knew about his crimes had locked his mouth and thrown away the key.
The phone rang. Damien almost looked at it in shock. No one ever called him. He was just another lowlife, and the last time Randall had tried to call him resulted in a verbal argument their mother would have definitely put soap in their mouth for. So who would call him? Stopping his game, he checked the caller I.D. Elisa Brown, Randall’s wife. Cautious, he picked up the phone.
“What do you want, Elisa? Does Randall want to make up with me, but is too scared to call me himself?”
“Randall is in jail, just so you know, so I’m not really in the mood, Damien!”
“Wait, wait, what? Randall in jail? Impossible. What in the name of all goody-two-shoes did he do?”
“He...he was accused of accepting bribes and selling state secrets.”
“No...that’s not him...if anything, that would be me. So why are you calling?”
There was a pause, and a hiss of static ensued.
“I...I was hoping you’d know the man who turned him in. His name is Joseph Slater.”
“I’ve heard of him. Slick as they come, y’know. Whadd’ya want me to do with him, kill him?” Another hiss of static, and Damien began to realize the severity of what was going on. “All right, Elisa, I’ll see if I can get him to confess. I don’t believe Randall would do that. And even though we aren’t on the best of terms, it’s the least I can do for you to help.”
Elisa sighed in relief. “Thank you. We’ll be sure to make it up to you. Find Slater, and use your...ways...to get him to confess. Then all will be square. All right?” “Right.” Damien hung up, and proceeded with his game, acting almost like nothing had ever happened.
 

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