"There it is!" #Lenna skips for a step or two, tugging impatiently at her friend's hand.# "C'mon, Finny!"

*The man tugs the left side of his watch cap a little further down on his ear, laughing softly.* I see it, 'Lenna... What's your hurry?

"Mama said I have to be in bed 'fore ten..." #She sounds vaguely worried, but she was with Finn! What could go wrong?# "They have good muffins here, too." #The little girl trots up the steps to stand before the door, scowling in thought.# "Are you sure that you won't scare nobody?"

*Finn opens the door, holding it for his charge, and quietly closes it behind him.* Yes, I'm sure. If they get scared, well... That's -their- fault. I don't know about you, but I'm just here for something warm to drink. *He shakes his head at this, leading 'Lenna to the counter.*

"Me, too." #She puts her hands on the counter and stands on tiptoe, straining to see over it... Not much to see. A few sugarbowls, a stack of napkins and a small tin holding a bunch of coffee stirrers.#

*Finn smiles politely as Chickadee walks over.* Two hot chocolates, please. Erm, to go... *He's a bit flustered by the woman's frank gaze... He really wished they wouldn't do that.* *He looks down at the tugging of a sleeve, only to be met by a pleading green gaze.* And a large blueberry muffin. *Carefully extracting his wallet from one of his hip pockets, he gives 'Lenna a wry smile.* If your mama finds out...

"She'll kill you. I know, Finny!" #She giggles# "You only said that about a million-jillion times on the way here..."

*The girl's matter-of-fact words don't seem to reassure him... He pays the woman, only half-listening to her as he gives the portions of the room that he can see a thorough once-over.* I'm sorry, did I bore you? *He grins down at her, smiles again at Chickadee, and hands the muffin to 'Lenna.* What time is it?

"Uhm... Ten o'clock...?" #She blinks at her watch, frowning a little.# "Yep. Ten on the dot."

*Finn sighs and resists the desire to bang his head against the nearest sturdy object. Drawing minor comfort from the fact that Cadda never called to check up on him and the fact that she wouldn't be home 'til at least three A.M., he looks around.* Well, we may as well stay here, then.

"'Kay." #Completely unconcerned with this turn of events, she looks around the room as well... There was somebody standing in the doorway to the outside, in the back, but otherwise...(That is, provided that Nick's still standing there.)#

Let's sit over here. *Finn nodded to a table that afforded him a veiw of most of the building, especially the back door... He moves two of the chairs closer together with a foot, setting the cocoa on the table.*

I don't know. Why -did- the hippopotamus cross the road?

"'Cause he was glued to the chicken!" #The chirruping of a cell 'phone interrupts her laughter and almost causes Finn to spill his drink.#

I wonder who that could be? *Frowning slightly, he wipes his hand on his knee and retrieves his 'phone from what had been a knife pocket.* Hello...? Yes... Yes... No. We're- *Nodding silently, a substantially paler Finn listens to whatever is being said. He takes his hat off and runs his free hand through his rather unruly red hair, expression darkening.*

#For her part, 'Lenna was looking at a collage hanging nearby, trying to decide if it was -supposed- to be a grey blob or if it was intended to be an elephant.#

Really? Really. I see. No... I -can't-. *He glances at his charge, trying to dredge up a reassuring smile... He's looking around the empty shop more frequently, as if expecting villians to come out of the woodwork...* No, because- You don't understand. Everything's- *He sighs, letting the words spill into his ear.*

"Whatsamatter, Finny?" #'Lenna was whispering for some reason.#

*He shakes his head, mouthing his next words at her.* Just a minute... *Paying more attention to his caller, he sighs as softly as he can manage.* Yes. You know- Look, I -really- have to go, okay? I have to tell... I must speak with Mrs. Bloomenthel. *It didn't -matter- that the two out on the back porch probably couldn't hear him, it -still- pained him to have to use Cadda's surname. The young man turns the phone off and exhales slowly, staring into space for a minute.*

"Finny...? How come you gotta call mama?" #Her voice is small... Whatever the phonecall had been about, it hadn't been -good-. Taelenna frowned a little, picking up on Finn's mood.# "Finny?" #She's frowning deeply, now, and pokes his arm.#

What!? *Damn! That was -really- bright, Finnlaus. Pay -attention-, you idiot. Gathering his wits, he blinks down at the girl.* Well... We can't go back to your house tonight. There's been... A lockdown has gone into effect... No one goes in or out 'til this time tomorrow morning.

#She nods, having experienced the phenomenon several times before... Usually when someone had died, or something else awful had happened...# "What happened this time?"

*He hadn't wanted her to ask that question, but it was inevitable...* Well... Your house was... *There really ought to be an easier way to do this. He bought himself a bit of time by dialing the number of the hall that had been rented for the party Cadda was attending.* I'm afraid someone attempted to burn your house down. *...By using a few pounds of C-4...*

"Burned down?" #Taelenna looks as if she might cry for a few seconds before she squares her shoulders.# "Why?"

*Finn shrugs.* I have no idea. *He blinks.* That's not strictly true, I have a few ideas. I really need to speak with your mother. *He presses the send button, reaching over and patting 'Lenna's shoulder.* It'll be all right.

*Finn and 'Lenna didn't spend the night at the shop, but the were the last ones to leave and were the first ones there this morning. He and Cadda had exchanged a few phonecalls; 'Lenna had cried over Waffles and Mr. Winkle; and Finn had reported himself to his superior, who had merely muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'You and Coventry! what -is- it with you two?'. Now, though, Finn is stretched out on one of the couches, Taelenna Bloomenthel sleeping, curled up tight, alongside him.*

*The ceiling was just as interesting as the walls of this place... Walls. What had once been four rather -spendy- walls in Hightower had been reduced to rubble... And all because of a few bits of paper. Absently toying with the black knit cap he wears, possible suspects flitter through his mind... Whasisname Zemus...? Stoker. Stoker Zemus? Probably not... He was part of HR/Personnel, wasn't he? Finn mutters something and turns over a few more names, trying to recall as much as he could...*

*...There was always the board members... But- Dang. He couldn't remember all of the details regarding them. They were pretty much all bankers, a few scientists... Stocks and the like were their forté, not explosives. That did not, of course, preclude any of them from hiring people that -did- list that sort of thing on their resumé. In that case- The chirring of his 'phone interrupted his thoughts.* Hello?

*the voice on the other end relays its findings and asks a few questions...* Okay... Great, thanks. Locals? Sure... *He laughs* Because I somehow ended up with the mystical quality of being good with children. *Careful not to dislodge the little girl, he sits up, looking around the room. The young man's hair is touseled, and he looks like he could use a good night's sleep, but he's quite alert.* Yes, he knows. I told him myself... I -know-. I know! Look, if I wanted mothering I'd've- Sorry. Right. Okay... Thanks. yeah, you too... *And he hangs up. Well, well... That was informative. Maybe it was time to check his mail...*

*He puts his phone on the coffee table and sits up a little further, rearranging a sleepily-protesting 'Lenna. Once he's attained a mostly upright attitude, he stretches, yawning. Thank goodness for caffiene... His mouth twists a bit, face wry. And he'd been worried about his charge getting to bed at a decent hour... Finn assembles the various components needed to go about the next stage of operations... Namely, the checking of his e-mail.*

*This end into that socket and this cable connected just so... Grateful that the lessons and practice had paid off, he touches the power button on the 'phone and the 'on' button on the tiny computer sitting on his knee. A tiny melody is lost in the ambient music, but that doesn't bother the big man. Several soft taps and clicks later, he's rewarded by the various gurgles, screeches and squawks of a sattelite uplink.*

*It is a tall, large-framed man that walks in next. He's got the build of a football player; tall, brawny, lumbering-type fellow, dressed in a blue work shirt, faded jeans, and dusty boots. The man looks to be somewhere in his late thirties, early forties, with a nice, honest face and sharply intelligent blue eyes. Framing this nice, honest face is a halo of clumpy dishwater blond curls. He looks like your normal, everyday joe, really. Except that there's just something not . . .good about him. He strides further into the coffee shop, the rubber soles of his boots squeaking lightly on the floor*

*The sound of the door opening raises Finn's eyes from his computer's screen. Edwin was going to take watching... He glances to Taelenna, who's still asleep, then looks around the room again.*

*He casts his eyes toward Finn, and watches the man for a brief moment while walking to the counter*

*Let's see... Only twelve messages today... Three of those Finn discarded without reading, two were forwarded to the appropriate recipients, and the last seven were carefully decoded and scrutinized. Hmm. So it had been a local job. Good... That made him feel a little better. He disliked the feeling that someone he knew was a suspect in an attempt to effect his demise. Mulling the rest of the information, he called up a highly classified search engine.*

*If this worked the way Jilly's team -said- it would, he'd have what he was looking for... Provided the employer had done something as silly as keeping records... Records! Slightly exasperated with himself, he runs a hand through his fly-away hair and snorts. Bank records... The cash for a job like that would have to be substantial... He alters his approach, looking for the simple things first.*

*Mia enters, much the way she did the previous day, with a loud bang of the door and a few steps inside. It's almost as if she's waiting. For what, is unclear, or maybe she's not waiting for anything, maybe she just stops a few feet in front of the door for no reason, or just to make you wonder as you are possibly doing now, just -why- she doesn't move in and take a seat like a normal person. The leather jacket is still in attendance, though the jeans are replaced by some baggy, dust-colored cords. Dark eyes circle the room once as she pauses.*

*As the little processor labors under its task, Finn looks around again. If one didn't know better, one might think him extraordinarily suspicious of -everyone-. As well he should be... It's part of his job description. Beside the tall red-head, a little girl squirms in her sleep.*

*He looks at Mia, his gaze coolly assessing. No nod, no smile, just a glance to figure out how much of a danger she might represent... And then he's back to looking at the hand-held computer balanced on one knee, nodding over whatever results he'd turned up.*

*An indifferent look sweeps across her face, swiftly as if born of long practice. No greeting is returned since none is offered and she finally continues into the room, moving toward a table and flopping ungracefully into a chair.*

*He needed sleep, and soon... Cadda insisted she pick up the tab for the room, which wasn't -really- against regulations... But it still made him feel odd. Well, he'd just reimburse her, that was that.*

*Okay. Once he'd gotten a little more privacy, he'd gotten quite a bit of work done. A landline and the AC adapter leading to his handheld were hidden under a pile of papers, most of which had arrived hours earlier by courier. Having the name and address of a credit-history rep was -sooo- handy.*

*Eyeing the screen again, Finn tries to determine how much more he could possibly dig up. There wasn't that much to go on in the first place, since most of the suspects regularly made transactions running to six, seven, and eight figures. It was hard to pick out suspicious numbers... He'd eventually decided to focus on transactions between four and six digits that hadn't been deposited elsewhere.*

*Hmmph... He begins sorting through the various documents, stacking them by financial institution. He could always alphebetize and cross-index them later... The young man blinks and makes a note to himself regarding the acquisition of a three-ring binder, call FLC, J, and TG...* And pick up a quart of milk and a loaf of bread. *He snickers at himself and sings softly* Milk, milk, like the Cowsills drink... It is past time for you to be in bed, Finnlaus. *It was. When you started using your full name -aloud-, it was time to crash. But there was one last thing....*

*He conscientiously clears out all caches, closing every single window and program one by one, reencrypting several files and setting passwords and locks on others. He trusted Jills and her crew. If they said what he'd been doing wouldn't be noticed by anyone, then... No one knew. But it never hurt to be careful. There... Finn presses the 'off' button and folds the screen down, smiling at the secure -click- of the latch.*

*The documents are stacked at right angles to one another; various leads and cables disconnected and coiled neatly, the telephone line returned to its proper jack. Good. He'd definately taken 'Neatness counts!' to heart as a child... Child. Finn glances to the door between himself and his charge... Things were going to be fine. He'd done a sweep, they weren't going to order anything from roomservice (how cliché.), and... well, they -were- on the 25th floor. Finn stands and stretches, flicking the lamp off before crossing to the couch.*

*He leaves the lamp at what he'd previously designated the foot of the couch on its lowest setting, turning off the one at the head. He'd slept on more couches in the past few months than he had in his entire life... Or at least, that what it -seemed- like. Drawing his gun from its hiding spot at the base of his spine, he reminds himself to go to his apartment and get some clean clothes... Reassuring himself that all fifteen rounds of copper-jacketed subsonic 9 millimeter ammunition were -still- in the magazine, he settles his big frame on the couch. It was sort of odd that something that looked rather small in comaprison to himself could make such a -big- impression on the person looking into the barrel... Enough morbidity. If he was lucky, he'd never have to actually use it on anyone. He places the gun next to the dark lamp, stands, sketches a prayer, and pads across the room to open the door into the bedroom, Just In Case. Feeling only a bit mollified, he returns to his post on the couch.*

*Bending over to untie his boots, he considers the color of them... Black. In need of a shine... Have to keep the uniform looking spiffy... A smile drifts across his mouth. 'Lenna would be surprised to learn that he owned different clothing... The footwear is meticulously aligned with the farthest leg of the couch, Finn's left hand going to the small pin on the collar of his turtleneck. Approximately an inch in diameter, oval, and a matte black save for a gold, five-pointed star. His badge of office... His thoughts drifting along the path of long-gone studies, he stretches out as much as the couch will allow, and soon falls into the arms of Morpheus.*

*Finn frowned as the phone rang. A glance at his watch deepened his frown... At this hour, it could mean one of two things. Hoping for Cadda rather than Big Trouble, he took a deep breath and lifted the reciever.* Hello? Oh, hello. Yeah, she's asleep. Oh? Oh... *He stretches out one long leg and hooks the toes of his foot under a kitchen chair and drags it back to where he stands, turning it around and sinking into it.* I see. Well... I'm sorry to hear that. *He listens for a few more moments, nodding though he knew she couldn't see him.* No, there's been no new developments in the investigation. Or rather, the -official- investigation. Unfortunately, the not-so-official one isn't much further along. Hmm? Oh, well, there's nothing to prove that it wasn't just a huge cash withdrawl intended to be frittered away at the mall, or taken along as sightseeing and souvenir cash on some offworld trip.

*He shifts a bit in the chair, getting comfortable. the words of his caller cause a frown to spread across his fair features.* Yes, I understand that, however- Oh. Well, I- What? Certainly. Of course. He -did- leave a message, as a matter of fact, something about a deposition, which struck me as rather strange... Oh. I'm sorry to hear that... I don't have anything to hide, so there's no reason -not- to. Good point... He couldn't possibly consider attempting to pin 'child endangerment' on me. After all, while I realize that taking her downtown at that hour was something I wasn't -supposed- to do, I don't recall anything in our agreement that outlawed it specifically. Besides -that-, I ended up doing, though inadvertantly, what I was hired to do- protect her. *He falls silent, his dark look growing into a scowl, then supplanted by disbelief.* I -do- hope you said that in jest.

I hadn't even considered that.... There isn't any -evidence- to support that sort of a claim, though. *The man now looks somewhat ill, running a hand through his red hair.* You don't think he'd really try something as low as that, do you? Like I said, there's -no- evidence to back up a claim that I did something that.... Repulsive. I realize that, and I pray that it won't come to that. Look, I think that if anyone thought- I'm nothing more than a glorified -nanny-, you know. *Whatever his caller says next makes him wince and causes a lovely shade of pink to creep over his face from the vicinity of his collar.* Forgive me, Madam... I- What? No, ma'am. You see- I- Yes. Yes. I'm terribly sorry.

*He shakes his head emphatically, sitting up and drawing his feet back to tuck them under his chair.* No, I couldn't. My first responsibility is to keep her out of harm's way, my second is to keep my self out of it as well, so that I might continue to uphold the first. In that case, I'd find a defensible position and hold it for as long as I could or until help arrived, whichever came first. I have very reliable backup. *He stands and walks to the 'fridge, smiling again at the picture of a giraffe that was stuck to the freezer door. Pulling it open, he blinks at the strange assortment of food found therein...* Maybe so, but- I could, if you'd like me to. I'll start her on the most basic of self-defense techniques... Kicking the perp in the shin as hard as you can and then running away, screaming as loudly as you can. *He chuckles, moving a carton of milk aside, then reaching for a box of malted milk balls.* I certainly wasn't -born- this tall. Hmm? Oh, we've been doing the tourist thing... She loves the zoo, so we've been there a couple of times, and the museums... Well, she does hate to miss Avengers In Space. *He laughs again, nudging the door closed with his foot.* Oh, I don't know... The shows usually end with some sort of moral, or 'Life Lesson'. *Finn makes a face at the phrase* They're fairly entertaining, for all that it's a kid's show. So much of T.V. is twaddle these days... She -did- tell me how glad she was that I don't like Metropolitica. What? Yeah... She also mentioned missing her paper dolls, and Mr. Winkle... I've been thinking that a trip to the Eclectica is in order.

Of -course- you're welcome to come along! I'm not -trying- to replace you or your husband, you know. *He blinks, opening the box and tipping a couple of candies into his hand.* In fact, I'd rather you -did- come along. I'm supposed to be peripherial, after all. Yes, I meant it, and no, it doesn't bother me. Just because I'm supposed to be in the background doesn't make me unimportant. *He grins and tosses a maltball into the air, trying to catch it in his mouth. Unfortunately, it bounces off his forehead and goes skittering under the stove. Blast.* I can only tell you that it's part of company philosophy, and I cannot tell you any more. *He tosses the second piece of candy into the air and neatly catches it in his open mouth, feeling somewhat silly and rather pleased at having been able to do so.* I know. So many of us -do- work in the background that it becomes second nature to us. What about going to the mall? Oh... I'd almost forgotten... *He glowers at the innocent box that sat on the counter beside an empty soda can that should have been put in the recycler.* Look, he's an adult. If he draws the wrong conclusions, that's -his- problem. And as for the -other- concern... Lenna and I have been past the doorman of this building so many times I've lost count, and he hasn't said a word, given us a funny look, or even raised an eyebrow. The librarians in the children's section and the checkout desks have yet to give us a second look- Well, okay, so maybe they look at -me-.... *He trails off, flushing again. They certainly -had- looked at him.... The younger women and one of the men especially. He hated that... Normally, he'd have kept his eyes firmly -away- from everyone and scurried off with his choices as fast and as quietly as humanly possible, but Lenna was friendly to a fault and charmed almost everyone they encountered. Oi.* My point -is-, though, that if and when people say things to me, it's usually along the lines of, 'oh, what a lovely little girl!', or 'my, what a wonderful daughter you have...'. I usually pass her off as a cousin or some other semi-distant relation.

*Tiring of the cola can cluttering the otherwise pristine surface of the counter, he picks it up and carries it to the wall that held the phone, as well as the recycler's panel. -fwip-, the can slid through the portal marked 'Alum.' and was gone, into the basement slagger that was emptied once a week, the molten aluminium taken back to the factories to be made into more cans. Returning to his malted milk balls and his chair, Finn plunks down and opens the box again.* 'Lenna. No need for anyone to know more, is there? Me? I'm Finn. Finny to 'Lenna, but she's a kid... Finnlaus. My maternal grandfather, I believe. Uh-huh. Mum had a chart going back seventeen generations before she died. It's all right.... It would've happened sooner or later. *He shakes his head, rolls his eyes, and has another maltball.* No, see? That's exactly what they were trying to prepare me for. Yes, I miss them, but no, I'm not particularly pained by thinking of them. Dying is inevitable.... For some, it just comes a little sooner. I'm not saying I'm not bothered by it, I'm just- Well, yes. Look at it this way... I was shocked to hear the news, I barely believed the person that told me. When their bodies were returned for interrment, I knew it was true, they weren't ever going to come home, tell me about their days, or jobs, or whatever ever again. It wasn't easy to deal with, but I did. They were gone, killed in a hold-up of the theater they'd just seen a play in. It's tempting to think that they died trying to protect innocent civillians, but I think it more likely that they became actively involved in the firefight that the robbery sparked. Of course they did... They both had at least two liscenses pertaining to the ownership of their weapons, and I -know- they had concealed carry permits. The company requires it. I have three myself... I can understand and appreciate that, but I also have a job to do, and it's one of the tools that I use. Only once. She was screaming. I merely reacted in the manner I felt appropriate to the situation. It was the water-heater incedent... Yep.

I am NOT a cold-blooded killer, and you of all people should know that! *Erk.... There's the blush again. Talking back to employers was a good way to get put on permanent transcription duty. Calling himself seventy-eight sorts of foolish for having done so, he immediately attempts to apologize.* I'm terribly sorry, madam, I... That is, I'm- Eh? Oh... Right. Sorry. Really, I am... Er... well... Hm? She asked me about it, so I unloaded it and let her see it. Trust me, Mrs. Bloomenthel, there was -no- danger in doing so. It was unloaded, she already knew to keep it pointed in a safe direction, and the first question she had after 'can I see it' was 'what are the rules about using it?'. I don't know... I asked her. *He laughs again, shaking his head.* You'll never believe what she said. Go on, guess... No. Public Access! She said there was a show about 'skeetchootin' on one day, and the man that hosted the show was teaching a bunch of newbies about handling guns... Said they went over the rules of handling a rifle about fifty million gabillion jillion times, to use her words. Besides, who knows? She may grow up to medal in target shooting some day. Anyways, she also wanted to know why I carried it... if it was just to scare people with. That's exactly what I told her... She gave it back to me and we had an interesting little discussion about morality, guns, and the criminal element. She started it, I just threw in my two cents. Just what I told you before... It's a tool that helps me to do my job more efficiently. I could do my job while carrying a knife, an airgun and tranq darts, a stungun, a taser, a pair of Jags, a hatchet... A ball-point pen. A fork. They're simply not as efficient or as effective as my nine, which I'm quite familiar with, as well as being a darn good shot with. Yes, company requirement, three hours a week of rangetime and a yearly recertification course, on not only projectile weapons but Jags, Quarks, Kerwins, Quasars... Other forms of hand-to-hand aren't required, but they are strongly encouraged. Because you wanted to know. Because I -want- you to know. It's important that our employers be comfortable and confident with and in our abilities. For a customer to be able to relax and not worry about how the job is going is our goal... And all that other inspirational corporate stuff.

*He trailed behind mother and daughter, listening to their cheerful banter and ignoring the occasional sad look that Cadda gave him. He was doing just fine! What was she worried about? Finn shook his head and lingered in the entrance to the bookstore the pair had wandered into. There were those books that kept getting mentioned no matter where you went... Good Food for Your Inner Being. Curious, he picked up a copy and began thumbing through it.*

*Ick... All of the stories were horribly sweet, like synthsach, only worse. Frowning, he puts the book down, unconsciously wipes his hand on his jeans, and goes looking for Cadda and 'Lenna.... There they were. Cadda was looking rather un-Hightower today, in an outfit of faded dungarees with a hole in the left knee and long-sleeved shirt, the front of which was professing her to be uninformed and apathetic. The back said she didn't know and she didn't care... 'Lenna, who was holding tight to her left hand, was wearing a pair of overalls and a bright yellow t-shirt underneath, and they were perusing a display of paper dolls.*

So... How -is- Finn The Magnificent this evening...? *Mitre Bloomenthel's voice is coolly sarcastic as he speaks to his soon-to-be-ex-wife. His hands are occupied by a paperclip and the widest part of his tie, and he's staring out the windows, towards Hightower.* I'm just curious... After all, you're so fond of him... Oh, it's -Lenna- that likes him? How can we be so sure of that? And how healthy can it be for her to spend large amounts of time with him? That is -exactly- what I'm insinuating, Cadda my dear. Well, he's not exactly forthcoming about his past- What? *He scowls, throwing the paperclip at the expanse of glass.* And he chose to unburden himself to -you-? Where is he living, again...?

*He shrugs, rearranging the reciever pinned between his ear nad shoulder.* And you -trust- him!? For the love of all that's Holy- He let her WHAT!? Good God, woman! And you're the executor of your parent's' -estate-? You don't seem -competent- enough! Where is this paragon of virtue, that I might save my daughter from his dangerous hands?

Well, that's -not- what I agreed to when we first decided to enter in to this venture. I swear, all of this shady underground 'company' stuff... It's as if you don't trust me any more. And what makes you think we should trust this Finn character? What sort of a name is 'Finn' anyhow? And no, I will -not- calm down! She's my child, too, in case you forgot. Silly cow... Go right ahead, _be_ offended! I am going to- what? That wasn't part of the pre-nup. No. No. No! It -was-? I don't believe you. I can't- What?

*Whatever Cadda is saying keeps him quiet for a minute or two, before he picks up his ranting where he left off.* I could care -less- what his attitudes towards dying, being relegated to low man on the totem pole, or chocolate eclairs is. Are. Whatever, I think he's dangerous! Well, no, but- So? It'd never work. It- You think I'd try to- What? I cannot believe that I am hearing this! Maybe I should be taping this... I am making an appointment with my lawyer for the first thing in the morning tomorrow, and I expect to see you and -your- lawyer bright and early as well.

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