Real Friends Help You To


christian_icon.gif teo_icon.gif

Scene Title Real Friends Help You To
Synopsis Don't tell me you've never heard this one before!
Date December 3, 2008

The World Of Instant Messaging

The following text rings into Teo's inbox in the afternoon, from Christian. 'My colleague is in danger, Sylar and friends want him dead. Need help to fake his death. Can provide safe haven for Abby, where nobody can get to her. plz help. Need help moving body. May need Median's help to alter digital records to ensure his safety.'

Three minutes' pause, longer than it takes for Teo to only type. When the message comes, it's with neither promises nor further pretense. 'You would owe us. Time/place/grocery list?'

'Will send list, all I need is a car and another person to help movie the body. Have acquired a line of credit you will fawn over. Thank you Teo, info incoming.' And follows is a address somewhere in the Bronx.

'Colleague's name? The body need a makeover?' They're related questions, to a point, and both of them deeply practical.

'Lead make over, I will handle that. You remember my good friend Felix. getting on the bike, see you there!'

Following, a message from Teo to Hana — who inevitably overhead the whole thing: 'Felix Ivanov is an Evolved FBI Agent. He has Abby on legal retainer. I'm going to meet Christian. Thoughts?'

Wireless: 'He'll owe us twice over. But give him whatever he needs, within reason. Try not to give up too much info, though they don't seem to pose us much hazard. Let me know if you need anything additional.'

After Hana finishes dumping the forwards, Teo texts Helena herself: 'Fuck, eh?'

The Bronx — A Derelict Eatery

It's a quiet little place, it had been a thriving little Deli until a shooting shut things down at what you could call a financially sensitive moment. While the new owners were in the process of renovating the place, it was shut up tight with butcher paper and plywood. Inside, Christian was hard at work. He'd done similar things overseas before, but to a US citizen? Not that Chris had any qualms, a junkie or Felix.

Inside Chris stood silently. He zipped up the poor fellow's third hand coat and smoothed his hand over the man's face to close his eyes. He'd pulled out a big section of plastic used to cover the display cases and set the man atop it, so whatever blood he had left wouldn't leak. He'd done the actual job out back, having beat the poor fuck senseless before dragging him to a drain before popping him with a silenced Colt defender he kept around in his bag for just these sort of things. This being the green bad of unkindness and ill-repute after all. "Teo, where the fuck.."

Behind the building the fuck, actually. The Volkswagen Rabbit is not a small vehicle, but fortunately the deli's commercial success required enough room to handle a reasonable traffic of goods and machinery. Teo kind of wonders what kind of person used to own the thing, before Wozniak ripped them off. There are no wobble-headed dolls on the dash, no colorful pillows in the back, no revolver in the trunk, only a few ordinary shoe-prints left in dust on the back, and nothing in the deep trunk neatly concealed under the angle of the back passenger seats. He's out of the car in a moment, the engine left to run off its generous tank.

Stepping through the back entrance, after getting the door open with the brute force of his shoulder. "It's me," he calls out.

"Come on in," comes the simple response. Chris was in his usual stitch, but seated in an old chair he'd produced. .45 in his lap and body just in front of him."He's bled dry as a sieve. We need to get to the hospital, so we can put him on a toe tag and tell the morgue to come pick him up. Earlier you said I'd owe you right, well boy howdy do I have a way to make this worth your while."He stands slowly, taking a moment to safety the .45 and slip it back into his satchel. He'd already collected the shell casing. "I've also secured a safe house for Abby, and false documents for you and her both."

Teo's eyes thin, bemused with a mixture of appreciation and something else. "More fake documents never hurt, grazie. But we've been doing this for a little while, and if we didn't have names to go by and places to stay at, we'd already be dead. I think we can discuss the terms later. Not to be difficult, but we don't know everything you want yet, and you don't know what you have to offer, so it makes sense to me." His tone invites speculation rather than argument. The half-light chases shadows through Teo's ragged hair as he cranes his head over, looking at the corpse, its recognizable shape fill out the bag. His face changes. To show less, rather than to show something untrue. "Is the morgue supposed to believe that's Ivanov?" he inquires as he steps toward it. Keys swizz in his fingers, disappear into the hollow of his palm as he fidgets with them, idly.

"Yes and no, they'll think this is Ivanov for sure. We put it to the FBI morgue, and tell them its evidence to be reviewed by an expert in an ongoing murder investigation. So they lock it down, and dont touch it. After a few months, sure they'll get pissy but that's plenty of time to figure that part off." He adjusts his sling bag some"just open the car's trunk, I will take care of carrying it to the car. I'll give you five seconds, then bring the body if I don't hear you telling me to wait."

The younger man's expression flattens further until there is almost nothing there at all. Teo saves his poker face for poker. This is close enough. Man, his job gets shittier every damn day. "Are you sure this will work? Pardon me for equivocating. I may watch too much television," or have too many friends between criminals, ex-military and moles in the police force, "but I was under the impression that falsifying a death usually takes something a little more involved. And I hear Ivanov's worth keeping alive." His head adjusts on its axis a fraction of a degree, angling the dead man into his peripheral without taking his eyes off Christian's head. "Decided on a perp?"

Chris lifts the body easily. "This is the sixth or seventh time I've done this Teo, you know what I do for a living. The body will either be locked up tight, or if we can swing it cremated before anyone has a chance to look. Aint nobody in the morgue ever met Ivanov, trust me."and then he's off towards te door, hauling the limp plastic wrapped form in his arms as if he was a babe. "Even if this fucks up, we have someplace nobody will ever find Ivanov and the best document forger in the united states. Paper, documents right?"

"Si," Teo answers with a little grin, though that had been news to him— the forger. He turns with the bigger man, his shoes shifting dust and debris, his head hanging slightly above his shoulders like a berated child following his elder. When they converge on the doorway, he angles his shoulders to step out. "Five seconds," he says, by way of belated confirmation. He gives Christian his back and starts out into the open air, angling a casual glance this way, then that. "Not answering the other question, amico?"

"My associate is taking care of that, she's putting out an APB on one of Sylar's friends and some bird girl. Felix found that much out before they tried their very hardest to kill my favorite G-man."he pauses inside, waiting. "That's her end of the operation, this is mine. You can meet her, and Felix if you ain't already when we get him to safety. He's a tough fuck, but they got him good. Me and my partner know basic combat first aid shit, but we may end up needing Abby to help. We'll do what we can to make this profitable for you, cuz your really no shit helping us out."

One. Two. Teo gets the trunk open, shoving the door up on its hinges until it angles up into the evening sky. Three. Leaving it agape, he crosses the scudded asphalt and slides back into the driver's seat, settling his shoulders against the faint tremor of engine through the driver's seat. Four, and he glances at the rearview, before starting to slouch over the wheel, lazy as a young man is wont to be, and doesn't glance up to see the big man unload the corpse in the back. Given the inconvenience that distance provides, he doesn't say a word until Christian finishes tucking in their gest and puts himself into the vehicle. Seatbelt expected, if not specifically preferred. "We'll see what Felix wants to do," he suggests, easing the car forward. The building's shadow slips over the windshield. "And your lady friend. Where are we going?"

Christian slips his satchel around front as he begins to get out of his gear. "The hospital, do you know how to get to St. Lukes?" In short order he strips out of his gloves, jacket and unzips his overpants to get into a long sleeve button up and some cargo pants in matching navy blue. He unzips his bag, exposing the machine gun thats broken down and hiding in there. "Just get me to the parking lot, and I'll figure out the rest. Thats all I need from you Teo, and afterwards I'm gonna make you a steak big enough to beat a man to death with."

"Done enough of that today already, I think," Teo answers, but he smiles with a reasonable facsimile of sincerity anyway. Beating a man to death with a steak. There is a corpse in the trunk. Jesus fucking Christ; he must be tired or something, there's barely a prickle in his nape when he considers that. "First thing you can do for us is pick a different perp. You ought to have your choice of names to choose from, by now. Any of the others. St. Luke's it is." The car shoves a can aside, crushes a bottle, and then they're out into the open street, sleeking under cover of darkness, inconspicuous — to most, with exceptions that may or may not include the cyberpath in the traffic system. Harlem greets them with cold, concrete arms arms.

Christian smirks softly, rubbing behind an ear. "By the way, that thing with the sick kid in the hospital was pro work. Tell your boss, sincerely Teo," he sniffles some, settling back to check out his cellphone. "Just park me around back, everything has been arranged it would appear."

BOSS = HELENA AND HANA for all intents and purposes.

December 3rd: Care and Feeding of a Fed
December 3rd: Bad Words
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