csyphrett

Thanks Pariah CES

Post up what you want to do, Pariah. I can run one if no one else will step up. CES

I've lost my touch. CES

Save the cat writes a novel by Brody is a how to writing book that shows the beginning writer how to break things down into pieces for whatever story they are writing CES

I think last year I ran the cowboy versus monsters draft in April. Does anyone have notes on what was ran when? CES

The Crawford Watson went back to when Watson shot people and threw punches as well as practicing medicine CES

Before the ACA, we didn't have a doctor. Cathy would just go to the emergency room and stiff the hospital. CES

I knew a lady who had disability and had to work. The agency said she couldn't work pass twenty hours or they would cut her. The problem was she was a cashier and that's all she could do. I did the clean up for her when we worked together because she couldn't move anything. And you couldn't tell how she was disabled either. CES

Watched Hellboy: Sword of the Storms and Blood and Iron. These were the animated films that came out with the Del Toro movies with the same cast. The first has Hellboy deal with two demons, lost love, and spectral revenge. The second is a retelling of the Gireau storyline with some things added in and others taken away CES

Not to mention they made their money back just off Paul Manafort who had to turn over an additional 600k on top of the 24 mil he got fined. CES

Probably less than the eleven benghazi investigations into HIllary, the investigation into Socks the Cat, and the call for Obama's birth certificate. CES

The fifth heroine is Jocelyn Featherstone. She is an admired writer by day, and the user of the Fairy Mask of power at night where she is known as the Fetch CES

Carbon is as soft as coal, or as hard as diamond. He likes to come apart in a cloud and then reassemble as a deadly weight dropping on his enemies CES

My wife tried to get help from SSA and never did. The office kept losing her paperwork and demanding paperwork from the hospital that they should have already had but couldn't find. And at the end, Cathy didn't get any help at all until the ACA came along. So my opinion of SSA and DoH is pretty low at the best of times, and an initiative like this just seems like an excuse not to do their real job which they don't do anyway because that's how much they suck CES

The Shield 1940- 14 Frank Flanagan eased back from his desk. The last couple of weeks had retaught him why he hated paperwork. He closed the last file and put it in his out basket. Miss Rich could file it in the morning. He stood and stretched. Cracking in his back answered him. He shook his head slowly, listening to the bones in his necks snapping. It would be a month before Rydell got his first real court appearance. He had paid his bail and was free. He called Flanagan to let him know the bad news. Flanagan had informed him that if anything happened while Rydell was waiting for his trial, he would put a bullet in the man himself. And he wouldn’t go to jail over an obvious case of self-defense. The call had sparked another call to Westwood to hire security to keep an eye on things until the court case was settled. Blowing up the factory might be the next move to get even. That would hurt the company now that they were putting things together for the government. Production couldn’t be halted if they wanted to make their deadline. He made sure that Miss Rich had a bodyguard. He couldn’t keep anything organized without her. And she knew about the armor, and hadn’t said anything. That was worth its weight in gold. Flanagan decided he would eat at a diner on the way to the factory. He didn’t want to go home, and he had some notes he had to go over for another concoction that wasn’t quite coming together. He felt he was three, or four, arrangements from a solution to the problem. He would probably get some sleep in the lab when he finished. “Are you done for the night, Mr. Flanagan?,” asked Miss Rich. “I think so,” said Flanagan. He paused and squinted at his secretary. She had changed clothes. He wondered why. “Good,” said Miss Rich. “Come along. Norbert is driving us to dinner and a movie.” “Norbert?,” said Flanagan. He searched his brain, but he didn’t know any Norbert. “Norbert who?” “Norbert who is stuck taking me back and forth to my apartment,” said Miss Rich. “The gossips think he’s my boyfriend.” “Oh, Westwood’s guy,” said Flanagan. “His name is Norbert?” “Yes,” said Miss Rich. “Get your jacket. He’s driving us on our date.” “Date?,” said Flanagan. “I’m lost.” “You promised a dinner and a movie,” said Miss Rich. “I’m collecting. Come on. Norbert is downstairs waiting on us.” “I don’t remember that,” said Flanagan. “And anyway I have to do some work at my lab.” “Not tonight,” said Miss Rich. She waved her hand. “It’s on me.” “You’re paying?,” said Flanagan. “You’re taking me out on a date? Can you afford that?” “I have money put aside,” said Miss Rich. “Chop, chop, mister. I don’t have all night.” “Are you sure?,” said Flanagan. He plucked his suit jacket from the hook on the wall. “I’m not really a dating kind of guy.” “I know,” said Miss Rich. “One date won’t kill you. Live a little.” “I have done that already,” said Flanagan. “It didn’t strike me as better than working in my lab where people weren’t trying to kill me.” “It wasn’t a lot of fun for me either,” said Miss Rich. “Busting into Rydell’s house like you did saved me from being hurt more than what had already happened. If you hadn’t called, the majority of the company would have been seized by the state.” “That was a pleasure,” said Flanagan. “I would do it all over again if I had to.” “How many bosses would do that?,” said Miss Rich. “You can always get a new secretary from the pool downstairs.” “Don’t believe that,” said Flanagan. “Before I hired you, I went through dozens of secretaries.” “Dozens?,” said Miss Rich. She picked up her bag as they walked to the office door. “At least,” said Flanagan. “They came in, worked a month, then went somewhere else. I just signed the transfer requests when they came across my desk.” “And you had no idea why they left?,” said Miss Rich. “No,” said Flanagan. He cut off the lights after opening the hall door so they could step outside. He locked the door behind him. The cleaning staff could only enter his sanctum when one of them was in residence. Otherwise, he didn’t want anyone poking around. “Being the secretary of the boss is prestigious, but none of them stayed,” said Miss Rich. She shook her head. “You worked them too hard.” “I did not,” said Flanagan. “They didn’t have to work unless I was working.” “And when was the last time you took time off to go golfing, or sailing, or whatever rich people do?,” said Miss Rich. “Never,” said Flanagan. “That’s for people who don’t have to work.” “It’s no wonder you couldn’t keep a secretary with that attitude,” said Miss Rich. “Let me guess, you were here on the weekends and they had to come in too.” “I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” said Flanagan. He scratched an eyebrow before pushing the call button on the elevator. “Some people like to have time off to do personal things,” said Miss Rich. “You worked your secretaries too hard and they quit on you.” “That can’t be true,” said Flanagan. “You haven’t quit, and you have been here longer than anyone else.” “I don’t have a life outside my job either,” said Miss Rich. “I just go home, read some, listen to the radio, and go to bed.” “No boyfriends?,” asked Flanagan. “How would I meet a boyfriend when I am almost never at home,” said Miss Rich. “If a thief were to break into my place right now, all I have is my radio.” “Sounds lonely,” said Flanagan. “Maybe,” said Miss Rich. “What about you? You just go to your lab and work on things until you hit a wall. Then you come to work in the office with smoke rolling off your hair half the time.” “Sometimes there are small problems to deal with while trying to figure things out,” said Flanagan. “Really?,” said Miss Rich. “Is that what happened with the purple clothes?” “I was looking for a formula to build bulletproof cloth and it works,” said Flanagan. “The jacket I was wearing stopped a bullet without any additional protection. The armor did better than that. Now if I could figure out how to strap rockets to it so the wearer could fly, that would be worth some money.” “Are you going to keep wearing it?,” asked Miss Rich. The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside. Flanagan pushed the button to take them to the lobby. “Why would I do that?,” said Flanagan. “Being a hero is dangerous work, and I’m not a hero.” “So you wouldn’t wear it again?,” said Miss Rich. “Maybe if there was something I could do to help out and the suit was needed,” said Flanagan. “But there are already so many masked men out there doing things. They can do that sort of work better than I can.” “I don’t think so,” said Miss Rich. “I think the world could always use one more protector.” “You’re giving me way too much credit,” said Flanagan. “I am a yellow belly all the way through.” “I don’t think so,” said Miss Rich. “I think you put it down to saving the company, but you really acted like a hero, and you really did some good.” “We’ll see how much good I did if Rydell beats his charges,” said Flanagan. “Then we’ll be dealing with him again, and he won’t be so friendly.” “We can take him,” said Miss Rich. “We’ve already beaten him once.” “That sounds okay,” said Flanagan. “Since you’re buying, where are we eating?” “I think Joe’s,” said Miss Rich. “Joe’s?,” said Flanagan. “Why Joe’s?” “Because I can afford it,” said Miss Rich. “We can do better than Joe’s,” said Flanagan. “Where would you like to eat?,” asked Miss Rich. She crossed her arms as she waited for his suggestion. “There’s Marge’s on the way to the factory,” said Flanagan. “I eat there all the time.” “Really?,” said Miss Rich. “And it’s cheap,” said Flanagan. “That’s why I eat there.” “All right,” said Miss Rich. “That sounds like the main criteria is satisfied. We’ll go to the show afterwards if we can get back to the city early enough.” “That’s fine,” said Flanagan. “What show would you like to see?” “I don’t know,” said Miss Rich. “I haven’t been to a play in a long time.” “We’ll think of something,” said Flanagan. He nodded when the elevator door opened. “I admit I haven’t been on a date in ever. This is a totally new side of you. When did this come up as an idea? There are so many other men who are better qualified for something like this.” “I don’t know any of those men,” said Miss Rich. “There’s Norbert.” A man the size of a redwood stood at the door of the lobby. His suit must have been sewed from sailcloth and tents to fit him. He nodded a solemn face at the pronunciation of his name. "This is Mr. Flanagan, Norbert,” said Miss Rich. “We’re going to have dinner and a show. Would you be so kind as to drive us?” “It would be a pleasure, ma’am,” said Norbert. His voice rumbled like a grizzly looking for dinner. “The car is outside. I’ll go first, and then you two.” He stepped outside, looked both ways, then went to the car. He opened the back door. He waved for his passengers to come down. He made sure Miss Rich got in first. “Treat her right, buddy, or I’ll rip your arms off,” Norbert whispered in Flanagan’s ear as he helped him in the car. He closed the back door before Flanagan could protest. The bodyguard climbed in the front seat and drove away from the curb. “Mr. Flanagan would like to eat at a place called Marge’s,” said Miss Rich. “Would you mind taking us there, Norbert?” “It will be my pleasure,” said Norbert. He drove cautiously south. He seemed to check for problems as they cleared the city and reached the state line. Marge’s neon sign glowed red against a clean window with a curtain to block out the sun. There were three cars in the parking lot. Norbert pulled into a space where he could watch all three while he waited for the couple to eat. He got out and looked around before opening the door for Miss Rich. He helped her out of the car. He escorted her to the door of the diner. He checked the inside through the window in the door before opening the door for her. He walked in and watched the room while Miss Rich talked to the lady running the register. Flanagan followed, keeping an eye on things as he stepped inside. He nodded at some of the wait staff he knew as Miss Rich took his arm and led him to an empty booth in a corner of the room. “Norbert doesn’t want me to sit by windows until things are settled down,” said Miss Rich. “He’s like a giant mother hen.” “That’s why I hired him,” said Flanagan. He smiled. He noted that he could watch the room with a mirror set up on the back wall and relaxed. If anything happened, he would have some warning to move. “Hello, hon,” said a waitress in a pink dress. She put down two menus and two glasses of water with practiced ease. “What can I do for you folks?” “My wife would like one of your famous steaks and a baked potato,” said Flanagan. “I would like the grilled turkey slices and the mac and cheese.” “What would you like to drink?,” said the waitress. This was the first she had heard of a wife and it showed on her thin face. “I would like coffee,” said Flanagan. “I would like tea if you have it,” said Miss Rich. “Sure do, hon,” said the waitress. She wrote their order down on a pad as she walked away. “So I’m your wife now?,” said Miss Rich. She smiled. “I accept your proposal,” said Flanagan. He drew out a little box from his suit pocket. He handed it to her. “I had to guess at the size.” She opened the lid of the box. A diamond glowed up at her. She closed the lid with wide eyes. “Are you serious?,” asked Miss Rich. “I am,” said Flanagan. “I won’t be a perfect husband, but I will do the best that I can.” “All right,” said Miss Rich. She took the ring out of the box and put it on her hand. “Let’s have dinner and a movie and see where this goes because I know I’m not wife material either.” Flanagan looked at the mirror and saw Norbert nodding his head by the front door. the end //231361

Mueller says he has no more indictments rolling out other than the 30+ he has already filed. He has also asked for Rick Gates's sentencing to be delayed for a bit more. And Roger Stone is heading into the court under the judge that gave Manfort his second sentence. Muller's report might be done, but there are still 20-25 court cases that have to be gone over. CES

Would you believe some genius at the SSA wants to make sure handicapped people are handicapped by reading their Facebook posts? Somebody posted the story up and essentially people think that's going to reduce the fraud by old people. Remember when the landlady would just put people in the ground and keep their SSA checks? That's going away forever. CES

When the bough breaks is the title of my draft. I don't have a song. CES

My apocalypse is simple. Validus has been shifted back through time from the 30th century in his human form as the child of heroes of the future (One of those being Saturn Girl but she was pulled so I am going with Nameless Parents). He is placed in the care of the Super Family. The Fatal Five want Validus back but don't have the resources to get him back. The LSV do have those resources, but they don't want Validus back in the 30th Century. Instead they trigger Validus's transformation into his monstrous self to wreck Superman's hometown. As the Super Family try to keep Validus from wrecking everything, Rick Dicker and some help from Division 6, and a guy claiming to be from the future, try to find a cure and revert Validus back to being a baby again. CES

I am going to option the Fatal Five, and Rond Vidar, from the Legion. CES

I am going to pick the Legion of Super Villains as my organization. CES

The Shield 1940- 13 Flanagan waved his crew out of the door so he could get inside. The order to leave their posts had produced an orderly abandonment. He waited until an opening showed itself so he could slip inside and start into the main floor while everyone was leaving. Where would he go to sabotage the factory? Would Rydell know that? Where would Rydell go to sabotage the factory? He waved stragglers out of his way as he walked the aisles. More than one stick of dynamite would be involved in this. Rydell wouldn’t have set things up to let the building go about its business if he wasn’t in charge. Flanagan paused when he reached the far end of the open space. He didn’t see anyone moving around on the floor. Someone smart could hide behind the machines. Should he check the offices, or the hall leading to his lab downstairs? He decided to take one more walk around the floor. Any bomb would have to be on the floor if it was supposed to wreck the machinery enough to cause a shutdown. Shanks might have already planted it and left. If he was waiting on the explosion outside, what would he think with all the employees leaving? Would he guess someone was looking for his bomb? Would he come back and try to prevent his bomb from being found? Would he stay out and hope the thing exploded and took the meddler with it? Flanagan put that aside. He couldn’t stop Shanks from coming back inside the building. His armor should protect him from gunfire. He had to worry about the bomb. He didn’t know how big it was, or if his suit would protect him from that. None of his employees had a suit, and didn’t stand a chance if the thing went off while they helped look for it. He found a box under a press during his second inspection. It was the only thing that looked out of place. He would feel guilty if he was dealing with someone’s lunch. He gently pulled the box from under the press so he could take a closer look at it. Flanagan used the edge of his shield to gently pry apart the tape holding the flaps of the box down. He didn’t want to make a wrong move if it was a bomb. He pulled the flaps apart while holding it in place on the concrete floor with his knee. He shook his head at the mass of wiring and what looked like dynamite in the container. So he had been right about Shanks leaving a bomb. He didn’t worry about how Shanks had got into the place to plant the bomb. He felt that Rydell had called to give Shanks a cover story to get him inside the factory. Then he just needed to leave the box accidentally on purpose next to a machine they used to flatten metal into sheets to be shipped out for use in construction jobs. If the press was blown up, it might survive the blast. Its operator would lose legs. He considered the angles and felt shrapnel from the blast would reach four other machines, and three of them were set up so that some other operator would get nailed by the blast. He didn’t have to worry about that now that he had it in front of him. All he had to do was take it apart so it didn’t explode in his face. Flanagan started by checking the wiring. He knew a little about electricity and how clocks worked. He didn’t see any switches to stop tampering. He noted the thing sat on a plate of some kind. It took up the bottom of the box. Maybe that was the backup system if the clock didn’t work. He didn’t like that. That plate might be some kind of explosive itself to trigger the bigger bomb if it was moved. Could his suit take two blasts if he messed up? He didn’t want to find out. Testing is where they used dummies instead of the inventor of the process. Too bad the mixture in his lab was solid by now. He could dip the bomb in that if he could scoot it along the ground without blowing himself up. What was his next best option? He could push it outside so only the outside of the building would be hurt. He would have to ask his employees to move out of the parking lot and find some place to use for cover so he could blow the thing up in an empty lot. The other consideration was somewhere walled in like the restrooms. If the bomb went off in there, he could repair the bathrooms faster than he could repair the machinery for his contracts. The plumbing would be a fixable disaster. The bathroom seemed the best for defusing everything. Then letting the bomber know that Rydell wasn’t going to pay him might get him to stop attacking. Or he might decide he didn’t have anything to lose and try to wreck the factory out of spite. Flanagan picked up the box. He scanned the walls until he saw the sign for the the bathrooms. He started over slowly. Once he had things defused, he could retreat and let the Jersey State Police handle the rest. If the blame could be dumped on Rydell, that would be more charges of attempted murder on the docket. He reached the bathroom and was surprised by the sweat on his face. He paused before he took another step. He blinked at a drop almost touching his eye. Once he was done with this, he would be glad to hang up the armor for good. He pushed open the men’s room door. Once he got the bomb over to the sink, he could use that to soak the dynamite down to leech the nitro out of it. That could still cause problems but dumping the nitro should dilute it enough so it wasn’t dangerous. If he was wrong, he was blowing up the pipes underneath the factory. That would cost more than replacing one of the machines to fix. The main problem with this solution was the plate in the bottom of the box. What would happen if he added weight to it under the water. He started running the sink full of water. The worse he predicted happening was the bomb going off in the restroom and killing him despite his armor. At least Rydell wouldn’t get the company where he was going. Miss Rich would keep things straight. He had faith in her. He put the box on the edge of the sink. He worked the tape off the bottom as he watched the water fill the bowl. He turned the water off when it was to the brim. Did it have room for the bomb? He couldn’t tell. The plate was an additional worry. How much explosive was in that? He peeled the tape away from the bottom of the box while holding the flaps closed. He positioned it over the sink of water and moved his hand. The plate tilted in the sink. The dynamite went into the water. He stepped back behind his shield. He breathed a sigh of relief that nothing happened. He checked the plate and saw that it was tied to the bundle of dynamite. If he had tried to pull the sticks out, that would have set everything off. Now all he had to do was pull the clock off the bundle, and separate the wires. He needed a tool for that. He had a wire cutter and some other things in his lab. He could get them and get back in a couple minutes. Once he was done, he could hand the whole thing over to the state police and let them do what they could to find the bomber. He stepped out of the restroom. He spotted men standing around the staff door. He didn’t recognize them from the shift. He spotted the Tommy guns as they spotted him. Flanagan raised his shield as he backed up into the restroom. He couldn’t let them have the bomb. It could still be used if they pulled it out of the water before the nitro was pulled out. Bullets dug into the walls as the machine guns rattled. Flanagan didn’t feel any impact, so they had missed him, or the armor was doing its job. He had to hold the restroom until the police arrived. He slammed the door closed with his foot. He could hold the door closed until help arrived. Should he? His armor should allow him to fight back without worrying about getting hurt. He was trapped in a room with a bomb that could still go off. A small army of thugs could do anything to his factory while he waited for help. He had to decide. Was he going to do something about this mess, or let someone else handle it? He had the equipment, he had the ability, he had the determination. He couldn’t let someone else save the factory when he was right there. He might as well let them burn the place down if he wanted to stay in the bathroom. He flexed his hands as he stared at the door. He needed to attack and keep them from wrecking the factory. He couldn’t let Rydell win. He stepped back as he heard steps coming to the door. He raised his shield to protect his head. The glass shield on the welder’s visor wouldn’t stop a bullet as well as the rest of the suit. The door swung open. He charged behind the shield. He heard the roaring of the Tommy as he ran right at the door. He didn’t feel anything. He didn’t know if that was because the shield and armor was working better than he thought, or he was riddled with holes and couldn’t feel anything. He let the shield push the machine gun out of the way as he kept going with his shoulder. His enemy crashed into the opposite door to the ladies’ restroom. Another man appeared as Flanagan straightened. He started to raise his chopper to take care of the purple menace in front of him. A fist to the face sent him sprawling. A foot applied with more force took him out of the fight. Flanagan turned to the first man and made sure to kick him hard in the face. He didn’t need that guy getting up while he was dealing with the gunner’s friends. Flanagan took a look at the factory floor. He knew there should be three more men. His brief glimpse before he had ducked into the bathroom had told him that. He spotted them moving among the machinery. One was close to where the bomb had been hidden. He knelt and searched the man he had taken outside the bathroom. He found a pistol to add to his collection. He dragged the man into the ladies’ and tied him to his friend after making sure to take their wallets and drop their Thompsons and other pistol in the men’s. Now he had to deal with the other three before they caused too much trouble. Flanagan crept into the maze of machinery and beltways. He looked around as he went from one piece of equipment to the next. He caught sight of one of the three men looking around for him and ducked down. He knelt and looked under the beltways between him and the third man. He took aim and fired once. The man went down with an outraged cry. Apparently he had never been shot. Flanagan looked around for his two friends. He saw number four on the steps heading to the offices above the factory floor. He took aim and fired. The bullet hit the railing and bounced away. That was enough to send the gunman scrambling into the offices. Flanagan shook his head. He would have to go up there and flush the trouble maker out now. He scanned the factory floor. Where was the last man? If he could deal with him, then he could go up and deal with the one in the offices. Gentle taps struck him in the arm and chest. He went down. Now he knew where number five was. He saw feet coming toward him. He aimed the pistol and fired. One shoe blew up and he heard a scream. He jumped up and ran over. He kicked the man in the face to shut him up. He went to the stairs. He climbed up to the offices’ door. He ducked behind his shield as bullets blasted through the glass. He checked the scene when the bullets stopped flying. He pushed through shattered door and went over a desk as the last man tried to put another drum in the Tommy gun. A gloved fist sent the man against a desk. The gunman went for his pistol. Flanagan already had his in hand. He fired once in the man’s hand. The gun fell to the floor. “Hello, Shanks,” said Flanagan. “I’ve been looking for you.” One punch sent Ian Shanks down for the count. //229185

Dreamworks is still in business they just did their third dragon movie CES

How many picks do we have left, Hermit CES

The Shield 1940- 12 Flanagan checked his tie one last time in his office bathroom. It looked as straight as it ever was going to be. He wished he didn’t have to make this play in front of his peers. Most of them would not be happy he was not dead. He stepped out into his office. Miss Rich, Westwood, Coutri, and Detective Dern were waiting on him. “The meeting is getting ready to start in the boardroom,” said Miss Rich. “Rydell and Courtland just arrived according to Larry.” Flanagan nodded. Larry was the front desk man. He knew most of the employees on sight, if not by name. If he had seen Rydell coming into the lobby, then Rydell was coming to the meeting. That meant everything was on. This might be their last chance to get him out of the company and strip his shares from him. “So he’ll be whipping them into a froth to sell in ten minutes,” said Flanagan. “Everybody thinks I’m dead, right?” “Yes,” said Dern. “No one knows about the attack on your townhouse except for the wise guys involved. We locked the papers out of it for the moment. All we have to do is get him to admit that he thought you were dead for whatever reason.” “All right,” said Flanagan. “I doubt that will happen. Let’s see what we can do when he calls the meeting to order.” They waited in Flanagan’s office until the temporary secretary from the pool came in and said Mr. Rydell had gone by. Flanagan nodded, picked up the paperwork he had stolen from Courtland and stepped out into the hall. He led his entourage down to the board room and waited at the door to listen. Rydell was in the middle of his spiel for selling the company now that Flanagan was dead. Courtland stood by his side. Bruises decorated the proxy agent’s face from the punches he had been given. Some of that might have been from the car ride in the trunk. Flanagan smiled. “He just admitted knowing I was dead,” said Flanagan. “I heard,” said Dern. “Let’s go in and see what else he can tell us before I arrest him.” Flanagan pushed the door open and stepped inside the room. Dern and Westwood remained by the door, while Coutri followed Flanagan to the table. Miss Rich took her spot by the door to record the meeting for later. A small writing desk had been set up for that for her. “How’s it going, fellas,” said Flanagan. “Looks like I didn’t get an invite.” “You’re supposed to be dead,” said Rydell. “Really,” said Flanagan. “What do you mean?” “I heard there was a gun battle at your townhouse,” said Rydell. “From who?,” asked Flanagan. “I did have some problems, but I don’t remember a gun battle. Are you sure I was home?” Rydell froze. He looked around the room. All eyes were on him. “Let’s talk about this paperwork my associate took from Mr. Courtland last night,” said Flanagan. There was no point in telling the board about his armor. He wanted to keep it secret, and he doubted he would be able to do that if he told everyone present about it. Hopefully using it to rescue Miss Rich would keep her quiet about it. “It looks like you want us to sell our stakes in the company and make you the sole owner under a new company name. No one here would be at the helm of the new company, but it would have all of our assets. How was that supposed to work?” “What are you saying, Frank?,” asked one of the board members, T.S. Wannamacher. He owned a small stake in the company, but he owned small stakes in a lot of companies. That made him the wealthiest man on the board as far as Flanagan could figure. “Once you signed over your stakes, you’re out,” said Flanagan. “The company has some government contracts coming in, and is about to double our profitability, maybe triple it. Once Rydell controlled it all, he would rake in the dough, and the rest of you would be out on the street with less than five percent of what we’re looking at making in the next few years.” “Let me see this paperwork,” said Wannamacher. He held out his hand. Flanagan walked around the table and handed the contract over. The elderly financier flipped through the pages, going over the boilerplate with a finger. “It looks like Frank is right. There’s no option for us in the new company.” “Rydell promised a stake in the new company,” said one of the other board members. “It’s not here,” said Wannamacher. “If we had gone ahead with this, we would have lost everything we had invested in the company, and got nothing to replace it. I think we should consider removing Rydell from the board.” “You can’t remove me,” said Rydell. “I own more of this company than anyone here.” “We can vote to remove you from the board, and take back your stock so you own nothing,” said Wannamacher. “As it is, it looks like you committed some crimes that the government might need to talk to you about with this deal.” “We’re going to want to talk to him before that,” said Dern. “I’m really interested in why you thought Mr. Flanagan would be dead and unable to attend this meeting.” “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” said Rydell. He glared at Dern. “I think that you do,” said Dern. He moved his lapel on his coat to show his badge. “The city of New York is going to want to know why you tried to blow up someone in New Jersey, and then tried to have them killed in their own home. And then the New Jersey State Police are going to want to know what you know about such bombing and a shooting in their territory. And then the FBI is going to want to know why you are crossing state lines. So you’re going to have to come downtown so we can talk about all of this.” “I don’t think so,” said Rydell. He reached under his jacket. He had forgotten that Flanagan was on the other side of him. A grab to keep him from pulling a weapon turned into a struggle that pushed against the table the board used. Dern and Westwood stepped in. They grappled with Rydell, disarming him with a little effort. The detective pulled out cuffs and secured them around the wrists of the attempted murderer. “You still haven’t won,” said Rydell. “I’ll have the last laugh and ruin all of you at the same time.” “Do you have anything to say, Mr. Courtland?,” said Dern. He pushed his captive in a chair. “Not really,” said the agent. He looked at his feet. “Sit down, Mr. Courtland,” said Dern. “I’ll see if the District Attorney will cut a deal with you over this.” Flanagan rubbed the back of his neck. He hadn’t thought Rydell would try to pull a gun and shoot at them. He should have. The man had fallen silent. He kept looking at the clock. Why? What was he waiting on? “Can you take care of him?,” Flanagan asked. “I have to go somewhere for a little bit. I’ll come down and press charges on him when I get done with this other job.” “No problem,” said Dern. “As soon as some uniforms get here, I’ll take my catch down to the 27th Precinct for booking.” “I’ll meet you there to swear out a statement,” said Flanagan. “Could you drive me, Miss Rich?” “Yes,” said the secretary. She handed her notebook to Westwood to keep as she stood up. “I have to go somewhere,” said Flanagan. “Thanks for listening to things. I’ll call another meeting when we’ve settled with the government. I’ll have accounting estimate earnings on those contracts then.” He fled from the conference room and headed for his office. His armor was in his closet. He felt that he might need it before too much longer. He grabbed the bag, as Miss Rich paused in the door. “We have to head out to the factory,” said Flanagan. He threw the bag on his shoulder. “I’m going to have to change on the way. You drive.” “Does this have something to do with what Rydell said?,” asked Miss Rich. She headed for the elevator. She held it open for him to board. “I don’t want to take any chances now that we have him in the bag for knowing about my attempted murder, and thinking I was gone,” said Flanagan. “I think he had something else in mind if he didn’t get the sell signatures.” “I understand,” said Miss Rich. She pushed the button to go down to the basement so they could grab his car and drive out to Jersey. Flanagan handed her the keys as they went to his car. He climbed into the backseat with his bag as she got behind the wheel. She drove out of the parking garage as he started changing into his armor. Miss Rich got on the highway and headed south as fast as she could while trying to avoid the attention of any patrolman on the road. The last thing she wanted was to explain why her boss had dressed in a purple suit of armor. “Why purple?,” she asked. “What?,” said Flanagan. He pulled on his gloves after getting his visor and hood right on his head. “Why did you paint it purple?,” asked Miss Rich. She gestured with a hand at the ensemble. “I didn’t paint it at all,” said Flanagan. “It came out this way because of the chemicals in the compound. I don’t care what it looks like as long as it works.” “Are you going to wear it around after this?,” asked Miss Rich. “I doubt it,” said Flanagan. “I plan to sell everything to the Army if I can work out a way to mass produce everything.” “I think you should keep it,” said Miss Rich. “You can help people with it.” “We’re going to war,” said Flanagan. “It’s only a matter of time. If I can build a way to create these faster than what I can now, we can protect our soldiers while they are in the field. The problem is I don’t really know how tough the stuff is, or if there is some kind of hidden weakness in the compound. I don’t want to send someone else out in it if I don’t know how it will take heavy duty fighting. The stuff might stop three bullets and then let the fourth one go through because the material broke.” “Then why are you wearing it?,” asked Miss Rich. “I haven’t been shot three times,” said Flanagan. “Pull up to the gate and have Pop call the manager on duty. Tell him to send people out of the building. I’ll go in and look around. Hopefully, we won’t have anything to worry about when I get done.” “What if there’s trouble?,” asked Miss Rich. “I’m wearing bulletproof armor and carrying a bulletproof shield,” said Flanagan. “I should be able to handle things as long as there isn’t anything heavy duty involved like a tank.” “Pop might connect you to the armor,” said Miss Rich. “That’ll be okay as long as he keeps quiet,” said Flanagan. “As soon as he opens his mouth, he’s canned.” “That’s not what I want to hear,” said Miss Rich. “That’s all I can promise right now,” said Flanagan. Miss Rich pulled up to the box and parked out of the way of the entrance lane. She got out and went to talk to the guard. Flanagan pulled himself out of the backseat and headed for the factory. He didn’t want a panic, but he couldn’t let anyone get hurt in case he missed whatever was supposed to happen. Westwood’s people never found Ian Shanks. He could be inside getting ready to do whatever Rydell wanted to shut down the factory. Using explosives would make sure some of the crew would get killed, and blacken things for the rest. His company couldn’t run without its people. He wasn’t going to let Rydell win. He wasn’t going to let his people get killed if he could help it. It would be a pleasure to deal with Shanks for good. Then he could worry about what the future looked like. //226968