A Wheel to Run In


eliot_icon.gif linderman_icon.gif

Scene Title A Wheel to Run In
Synopsis Linderman pays the owner of Rapture a visit and makes a request.
Date February 23, 2009


Daniel Linderman isn't a common sight at Rapture despite the close ties he maintains with the establishment's owner, but on the rare occasion he does show his face around Harlem, the staff has the sense to give him a wide berth and access to a private table on the highest tier. Up here, the music doesn't have an adverse effect on conversation, and that's just the way Linderman prefers things — very rarely does he raise his voice, and never does he enjoy it. He sits alone with a glass of bourbon, blue eyes lazily roving the dance floor below to pass the time while he waits for his business associate to arrive for their late night appointment.

Eliot doesn't like being late. It takes away from his mystique. He arrives on time; perfectly so, stepping up onto the top tier of the club in a pair of black slacks and a white button-up shirt. He walks confidently towards the table Linderman's at, stopping next to his mentor with a smile. "Daniel." He offers the older man his hand to shake before sitting.

"Eliot," Linderman returns, pausing to raise the glass of bourbon to his lips. He drinks what is for him a generous amount before setting it aside and seizing Eliot's hand in a gentle if firm shake. "I appreciate you meeting me on such short notice." He releases his grip and folds both his hands, fingers interlaced, on the top of the table as he reclines, leaning back in his seat to better survey the young man standing in front of him. "It's good to see that business here is doing well. Nobody's given you any recent trouble, I hope?"

Eliot's own handshake is solid. He takes his seat and motions to a near by staff to bring him a drink equal to his table mate's. "You know I've always got time for you, Daniel." He glances over the side of the table at the club below, and smiles, blue eyes sifting back to Linderman: "No trouble at all. Everything has been nice and dull." It's impossible to tell whether he likes dull, or not.

"Admittedly," Linderman says, "dull isn't the first word that springs to mind when I think of Rapture." His mouth tightens into a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "In any case, I'm afraid events on my end haven't been quite so fortunate. You may be aware that several paintings belonging to my personal collection were stolen earlier this month, and — at least thus far — none of my people have had any luck recovering them. I was wondering if you might be able to find the time to ask around for me."

Eliot raises his brow briefly. "I'd heard about it when it happened. But I honestly thought you'd wrapped that up by now." He frowns briefly, and it looks so wrong on his face. Like it's made for pleasant expressions, not this. "I'll do my best, certainly. Do you have any leads, or anyone who's made some progress I should check with first?"

"Kain Zarek." The name rolls off Linderman's tongue in a fashion suggesting it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "I've also asked Zoe Porter to lend us a hand, though I worry she may not be assertive enough to really push when needed. You, on the other hand, have experience when it comes to dealing with other people. She could probably benefit from your company and tutelage, if you follow my meaning."

"Aah, Kain. I'll snatch him later on, then, and see what he's got so far." Eliot pays attention to Linderman's words and then nods. "I'll get right on it; and I'll look into tutoring Ms. Porter." He smiles at the waitress that sets his bourbon down at the table, and once she's walked away, he takes a brief drink. "Which paintings did they take?"

There's a momentary pause in which Linderman actually has to stop and consider his answer to Eliot's question, presumably to ensure he doesn't give too much away. "All of them," is the response he eventually settles on. "I don't know if it was a crime of opportunity, or if the Brill set was targeted specifically, but reacquiring them is a matter of great importance."

Eliot doesn't hesitate to pretend he believes every single word coming out of his mentor's mouth: "… that's insane. It doesn't matter, anyway. Anyone who had the balls and was stupid enough to steal one painting probably has the balls and is stupid enough to steal them all." He takes another drink. "I'll get'em back, Daniel."

The smile on Linderman's face fades, but it's replaced by a genuine expression of gratitude this time. "I don't doubt it," he says, rising from his chair, leaving the half-finished glass of bourbon on its coaster. Hard liquor, it seems, isn't normally his drink of choice. "Be careful with Zoe, if you would. She's more of a mouse than she is a woman, spends her days holed up in the archives with little more than history to keep her company."

"No worries, Daniel. If nothing else, I'll provide her with a nice, entertaining wheel she can run." Eliot stands up to offer his hand to his mentor again, his own smile as genuine as they come.

Once more, Linderman clasps Eliot's hand in his own and gives it a squeeze. "If nothing else," he agrees. "Have a good night, Eliot." His arm falls back to his side and he pivots on a heel, moving to brave the stairs leading to the ground level despite his age and the apparent gingerness with which he moves. A bodyguard melts out of the shadows, falling into step beside him as he mounts the first step and begins making his way down — and, presumably, out.

Eliot brushes his palms together briefly, watching Linderman leave. He waits until he's disappeared down below before finishing his bourbon in one gulp and frowning. He heads towards the door to his office. He has some phone calls to make.

February 23rd: Coffee Break
Previously in this storyline…
Qui Es In Caelis

Next in this storyline…
A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood

February 23rd: Remington
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