Pillsbury + 1 year:

[Dave]

And it's a scary thought.

Isn't it though?

To be perfectly honest, I'm not nearly as good as my character. I'm still the go-to guy when it comes to tech in my family. Basically, I know just enough to make it seem like Glytch-the-character knows what he's doing.

For which, the rest of us can only be grateful!

[DinkyInky]

And it's a scary thought.

Isn't it though?

To be perfectly honest, I'm not nearly as good as my character. I'm still the go-to guy when it comes to tech in my family. Basically, I know just enough to make it seem like Glytch-the-character knows what he's doing.

He also knows to ask what he needs when it just needs that little something...

[ShneekeyTheLost]

Well, cellular signals are literally broadcast where anyone with the proper equipment can pick them up. With the right software to decode the carrier signal...

Ahem... I mean... sure, it's just a work of fiction. Completely impossible with modern technology. Clearly.

[FreeFlier]

Never forget that a cellphone is just a glorified walkie-talkie . . . and isn't much more secure.

--FreeFlier

[DinkyInky]

AN: Another fun collab with Al...

********************************

After chatting with John and Smokey about how much she loved the work done on the car, she went off to the range.

Whistling, she drank it all in. "This is rather good. This part will do nicely."

Looking over the indoor facilities, she was pleased...and disgusted that it would be large enough to do the martial arts and hand to hand practicals. "I really wanted to showcase those in the snow..." she pouted.

Flipping open her bluetooth again, Sterling called the office, and requested clearance for live fire, and soon met up with the charming security officer...she was such an angel...who served as the rangemistress. She flipped the light from green to red, informing everyone the range was live, and in use.

Permission acquired, Sterling discreetly summoned her pistol, ammo, and cleaning kit, and walked over to the range to find that sweet spot.

She made sure of her surroundings, and then sat down. Taking deep breaths, she felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, knowing the optimal time to fire would be at the bottom of her breath, between heartbeats, because that is when the body has the least amount of movement...everyone was taught this in the Corps, but not everyone excelled at it.
Calm and serene, she felt where everything just came together right, she stood up, removing her sunglasses, then donned the goggles and earplugs.
Requesting a target, she took a deep cleansing breath, letting it out slowly, then released the safety, sighted, then fired again and again...three...four...five...six...

"Pretty tight grouping you got there."

Whirling around in stance with weapon braced, Sterling aimed for the voice...

...and came face to face with the nosey newsie, notebook and pen in hand.

"Get. Out. Now," she boomed, her voice barely containing her fury, though her face was a cold mask of indifference.

Clearing the chamber, she set the safety and surrendered her pistol to Ari, who had whooshed in front of the idiot when she had spoken saying to her, "Miss Ari, could you lock this and the range up? I'm going to return this(indicating the Darwin award hopeful) to 'lost and found'."

With that, she "chicken winged" the reporter in her off-hand, and marched her back to Al, who just noticed her missing.

"Lost something, mate?" then scanning the area, noticed where the acoustics could be most effectively used, dragging her along painfully.

Taking a deep breath, she began speaking, channeling her cantankerous old drill instructor from Boot Camp.

"Miss Dustin, all you had to do was ask for an interview, and I would have gladly given the Star Tribune the first look at my 'Twin Cities retrospective' which is mostly in research phases at this point(not true, she'd already sent a raw first draft to the publisher, but she didn't need to know that). Badgering my friends in order to "bump" into me is rather gauche, wouldn't you say? Not to mention scaring your assistants/associates into gibbering messes by trying to get them to run my plates, and actually running the plates of my friends. You are damned lucky Al's information is not still classified by our government, not to mention the British government, or you and that poor kid you dragged into this would be sitting in detention awaiting a very long talk from the nice folks in crisp, dark suits.

While here anyway, you take notes on the strange things you see in here, notes that absolutely would result in your incarceration."

Sterling grabs the notebook out of her hands, growling. Flipping through the pages, she grunted, confirming her suspicions.

"Al is under multiple NDA's here, including four of my own, and anything odd you see here is to be assumed such, and there are many high-profile clients getting custom work to vehicles who would not like pictures showing up everywhere, like who has bulletproof glass, what brand of remote security system, armour plating, or perhaps an experimental stereo sound system for beta-testing..."

Angrily tearing the pen camera from the reporter’s hands, Sterling continued on, eyes turning from stormcloud grey to icy blue, volume increasing to deafening levels in her fury.

"While I have made it no great secret, my service in the Marine Corps. is still partially classified; but what I can discuss, I do, as my service to my country is a thing I'm rather proud of.
I even have another book in the works that will directly benefit all the charities for families of fallen or injured soldiers that I could have given you an exclusive on.

I even gave you a chance at the gates to come clean.

You did not budge. If it was not for that poor girl’s momentary error in judgement, you would not have been allowed to bully your way in here with some equine shite about a ruddy Union Jack logo! She is head of security for this establishment, and as such, she is used to trying to catch leaden projectiles while protecting the people here, not answering phones like a receptionist, but since nobody interviewed had anything near her insight, she is now learning how to do this job as well.

To put the icing on this colossal fouled up cake, you have the audacity to wander into an active range...that red light means live ammo is in use! I could have shot you! One of my friend’s workers, security personnel or he himself would have protected your worthless hide from it, resulting in loss of life or limb, as the pistol I was firing would have done quite a fair amount of damage.

Give me one reason I should talk to you! You owe everyone in this facility a ruddy enormous apology!"

Flushed, trembling with fear and suppressed rage, the reporter could do nothing but goggle for a long moment. Finally finding her voice, she squeaked “You pointed a GUN at me! I should…”

“You should be damned careful to read the signs on doors you walk into! That range was LIVE – and the fact that you are still alive is a testament to Miss Damhnait’s control!” Al was livid, but tightly controlling it. He’d not only let her get away, but he’d completely missed the camera pen…slowing down in his old age. Dudley was never going to let him hear the end of it.

Suddenly realizing the depth of the mistake she made, “Miss Damhnait? The author? I had no idea…”

“Yes, you indeed had no idea. However, that being said, I think we are going to let this poor woman get back to her work and step back up to my office, are we not?” Al was cooling down now, and he wanted this nosy newsie out of his facility – NOW – before anything else happened.

“Please come with me. Sterling, hang onto that pen – we’ll go over it later and I will forward it back to her at the paper.”

With that, Al, hand firmly on the upper arm of the reporter, headed back to the office.

[Just Old Al]

AN: Thanks, Dinky - as always a pleasure...
AN2: Joe...love your ideas...many thanks for letting me play!

Again in Al’s office, he showed the reporter to a chair in front of his desk, and giving her a moment to compose herself began to prepare tea. With the kettle on and pot prepared, he sat down behind his desk, fingers steepled, and said, “Any questions?”

“WHAT the HELL do you do here?” Obviously Al had misjudged the young woman’s ability to compose herself, and waited several seconds before replying.

“What we do here, Ms. Dustin, is nothing more and nothing less than I said at the beginning of this morning – we are an engineering works. To wit, we make things for people, or fix things, or rebuild things from scratch.

The antique car work, the machinery rebuilds, the manufacturing of components and parts – all of that is quite legitimate, and what we do here every day.”

“Then why the hell do you have a weapons range – and why is Sterling Damhnait here?”

“The latter is none of your business – she is my customer, and as a matter of fact I just did some customization work on her car and she wanted to get some time on my range for practice. The former – is a longer tale.”

“What we do here as a part of our business is to keep people alive.”

“For many years I was a serving member of Her Majesty’s forces. When I retired I opened an engineering works here in the Minneapolis area – restoring antique cars and trucks because I simply loved the work – a way for an old man to keep busy and enjoy his declining years.

One friend – then another – then another came to me looking for custom solutions to security issues – and I found this becoming a bigger and bigger part of my business. I found that while the antiques were my first love and a passion, an even greater passion became helping people stay alive.”

“When I realized this, my business model changed. As Sterling said, I keep a low profile because my customers really don’t want the changes to their cars bandied about in the press – or in front of casual observation. It’s not all I do here – it’s not a very large part of my business – but it is soul-fulfilling.

I do not and never will make weapons for attack – I…have made promises to people on that. Everything we do here in that line is to help people survive. My associates and I - and them I will not discuss - are here to let people survive situations that they should not - and that is fulfilling.

And THAT, Ms. Dustin, is what we do here – and you cannot publish it.”

“Mr. Richer – Al – Can I call you Al? This is a fantastic story. People would flock to your gates for your services.”

“No you may not and THAT, Ms. Dustin, is exactly what I do NOT WANT. The people flocking to my door would be the people I do not want to deal with – rock stars who fear their fans, unpopular politicians, drug lords and other such idiots. I am very picky who I will offer my services to – and this is why I keep a low profile.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Richer, but this is a story that needs to be told. Now, if you’ll let me…”

“No, I will NOT let you.”

Al turned to his computer, typed for a moment, and a sheet of paper extruded itself from the laser printer behind his desk. He folded it, and inserted it into an envelope. On the front he wrote a name, then handed it to the reporter in front.

“I wonder if I could impose on you to deliver this for me.”

Camilla looked at in in puzzlement. The name on the front – “Mike” written in a cursive Palmer script, meant nothing to her…then it did.

“Mike…Klingensmith?” The publisher of the Star-Tribune?

“Yes. The car down on the floor in Bay 4 – a very nice Singer Gazelle he insists on calling “The Badger” - is in my care. He was one of my first customers here when I opened my shop, and has been one since. That’s a summation of the work done on it, and it’s waiting for him to pick it up in Spring. Until then it’ll be tucked away and covered – he’s rather fond of that thing.

I appreciate you saving me a stamp, considering you two work in the Capella Tower – though I think his office is considerably nearer the top floor?

Thank you…and good day, Ms Dustin.”

[AmriloJim]

And now Ms. Dustin has to explain, first to Mike's majordomo and then possibly to Mike himself, how she came to be in possession of this document.

[Sgt. Howard]

I still hold that there's PLENTY of places where we can bury the body, but "NOOOOOOO, we can't DO THAT! THAT would make us BAD GUYS....." grumble grumble grumble...

[DinkyInky]

I still hold that there's PLENTY of places where we can bury the body, but "NOOOOOOO, we can't DO THAT! THAT would make us BAD GUYS....." grumble grumble grumble...

I seem to remember a certain elf and her sister preventing a certain Sarge from needing poison control and a visit to the paranormal clinic. Hint: there were no bodies...

[Sgt. Howard]

I still hold that there's PLENTY of places where we can bury the body, but "NOOOOOOO, we can't DO THAT! THAT would make us BAD GUYS....." grumble grumble grumble...

I seem to remember a certain elf and her sister preventing a certain Sarge from needing poison control and a visit to the paranormal clinic. Hint: there were no bodies...

... hey, how was I supposed to know that thing was a walking hazmat?!? Nobody told me about it... besides, I got it to spill the beans...

[DinkyInky]

AN: Thanks Al for the dialogue, and tweaks.

"Hey Al, could I get the bigwig from the Star Tribune's office number? Promise I'll be polite and nice. I'm going to play good cop, better cop. I will be exquisitely polite. You can listen in and kick my shins if I'm not."

“I wouldn’t dare kick your shins – given how well you shoot and the fact that a word from you would have my dam trying to shoot me as well – not a good thought. However, if you promise to behave I will give you his number.” With that, Al went to his Rolodex, extracted a card and jotted the number on a piece of paper.

Dialing the number, she let it ring an appropriate number of times, then received an answer.

"Hello, Mike Klingensmith’s office.”

"Hi, Sterling Damhnait here. I was wondering if Mister Klingersmith could spare me a moment of his time?”

“Certainly, ma’am. Let me put you through.”

*twitch*

In a moment, the call had gone through.

"How may I help you, Miss Damhnait?"

"Could you do me a small favour?"

"Perhaps. Depends on what you need."

"One of the StarTribune’s reporters was fishing for an interview. Could you get them to:

A) Please not run license plates of my friends, and my own? I can't fault them using resources to their advantage, but we really don't need the US military, or the suits dragging reporters out for accidentally triggering a red flag...which I got them to cancel, by the way...

B) If and when they are anywhere that has a live fire range, could you PLEASE inform them of proper protocol and etiquette involved? That one nearly got her intelligence splattered all over the door. If it weren't for the top notch security preparing to take a shot for her, it could have gone very differently.” Sterling smiled to herself – this ought to get his attention.

“Oh, my. I take it that this is in reference to a visit to Richer Engineering that took place earlier today? I got the bill that Al forwarded – haven’t spoken to him on it yet, though. I think this was a rather pointed invitation for me to call him.”

Sterling smiled again – she certainly had his attention now.

"She was also taking covert surveillance pictures of several things inside, including several projects with NDA's, like one of my own."

This time the silence went on for several seconds, and the voice that responded was more than a trifle irritated – not at Sterling, but at the breach of etiquette implied by the actions..

“Okay, that’s just flat-out wrong. No small wonder that Al passed her that bill – that was a less-than-subtle hint she’d screwed up in a big way. This was also a less-than subtle hint that I needed to deal with this – and you’re both right – this is wrong.

For my part, I sincerely apologize – and this data will not see the light of day. I will make very sure of that.”

“Well, to be honest not like it can – we confiscated the recording device in question and will return it once we scrub it.” Sterling continued, not angry but definitely with a tale to tell.

"While I can't fault her for being on the ball with tech and using these sorts of resources, she really could ruin him by publishing things like this, not to mention the whole moral thing of recording without permission.
My business partner would have been extremely pissed to see a year’s worth of planning and a lot of money on the front page. I'm not a total bitch, despite what she probably thinks after the verbal beat-down I just gave her, but I'm actually rather agreeable."

"If she can muster up enough courage to swallow her pride and politely apologise--to Al Richer, he let me use his range where this incident has occurred...that poor man is beside himself by the way, and to me.”

There was no doubt that he was the boss – the statements came without a hint of waffling or attempt to deflect blame.

“Rest assured – an apology is the least that is going to happen there. There will be punitive action – of what nature I have not decided. This is not the type of journalism that my newspaper practices – we are open and above board. Sub rosa investigations against innocent people are not allowed – that type of yellow nonsense is just not permitted.”

The smile on Sterling’s face got bigger – she had applied the stick – it was now time for the carrot.

“Well, if she can do that, I'll give you guys the first interview, and the first four pages from the new artbook. I've only just submitted my first draft to the publishers, so it's still very raw. I'll even link her article on my blog."

“I think that is remarkably generous given the transgressions involved. It’s not something I would turn down, certainly, but I do wonder why you are being nice given what happened today.”

“To be honest, we have no reason to be anything else. She made a mistake, whether due to overzealous aggressiveness or a lax interpretation of the rules – and that needs to be corrected. Other than that, what’s the point of doing anything else? I see the makings of a damned fine journalist in her...just fix the supermarket funny paper tendencies she's got, no doubt acquired from some other less scrupulous rag.”

“Well, thank you for that – and I for one look forward to seeing your work on the Twin Cities. Let me deal with the cleaning I need to do in my house here, and I will get back to you. Is there anything else I can do for you, Miss Damhanait?”

“Nothing at all, sir. Have a nice day.”

Sterling ended the call, with the pleased air of a cat that has found an unattended truckload of canary burgers.

[Dave]

I still hold that there's PLENTY of places where we can bury the body, but "NOOOOOOO, we can't DO THAT! THAT would make us BAD GUYS....." grumble grumble grumble...

One problem with that approach, Sarge, is that you can never be entirely sure whether the inconvenient person told someone where he/she was going. Having your organization be the last place that the person in question was known to be going (or the last place his/her cell phone was used, or pinged by a nearby tower) would make it the focus of some very intense and unwanted attention if he/she were to go missing. That kinda wipes out the benefits of having a convenient swamp nearby.

If the person is fated to be eaten by a grue, sat upon by a rabid moose, suffer from spontaneous human combustion while drumming, etc. it's much better if this happens well after said person is seen (by at least six reliable and disinterested witnesses) to have left your location in good health. Better yet it you can arrange for them to buy a latte at Starbucks, take a plane to a nearby city, and publicly insult the dictator of a foreign nation.

Misdirection is your friend.

[Sgt. Howard]

I still hold that there's PLENTY of places where we can bury the body, but "NOOOOOOO, we can't DO THAT! THAT would make us BAD GUYS....." grumble grumble grumble...

One problem with that approach, Sarge, is that you can never be entirely sure whether the inconvenient person told someone where he/she was going. Having your organization be the last place that the person in question was known to be going (or the last place his/her cell phone was used, or pinged by a nearby tower) would make it the focus of some very intense and unwanted attention if he/she were to go missing. That kinda wipes out the benefits of having a convenient swamp nearby.

If the person is fated to be eaten by a grue, sat upon by a rabid moose, suffer from spontaneous human combustion while drumming, etc. it's much better if this happens well after said person is seen (by at least six reliable and disinterested witnesses) to have left your location in good health. Better yet it you can arrange for them to buy a latte at Starbucks, take a plane to a nearby city, and publicly insult the dictator of a foreign nation.

Misdirection is your friend.

...details, details...

[FreeFlier]

It's even better if you can get a mutual enemy to take the blame . . .

--FreeFlier

[Just Old Al]

I still hold that there's PLENTY of places where we can bury the body, but "NOOOOOOO, we can't DO THAT! THAT would make us BAD GUYS....." grumble grumble grumble...

Yanno, the object of the game here was NOT to attract attention. Helloooo, Back Shop? Weird, wonderful stuff that can't see the light of day?

Now, admittedly, had that happened a phone call would have gone out and the boys with the flashy thingies would have been on it - but better not to get them involved. Do we really want a newspaper level rerun of Pillsbury?

And no, you are not allowed to kill the reporter. Al wants that to happen all he has to do is call Daisy and say she got forward...got a dozen witnesses that can say she never left the house...no problem. She's dam good at that.

[Sgt. Howard]

I still hold that there's PLENTY of places where we can bury the body, but "NOOOOOOO, we can't DO THAT! THAT would make us BAD GUYS....." grumble grumble grumble...

Yanno, the object of the game here was NOT to attract attention. Helloooo, Back Shop? Weird, wonderful stuff that can't see the light of day?

Now, admittedly, had that happened a phone call would have gone out and the boys with the flashy thingies would have been on it - but better not to get them involved. Do we really want a newspaper level rerun of Pillsbury?

And no, you are not allowed to kill the reporter. Al wants that to happen all he has to do is call Daisy and say she got forward...got a dozen witnesses that can say she never left the house...no problem. She's dam good at that.

... I never get to have any fun...

[Just Old Al]

An hour after Sterling’s application of the carrot and stick, Al’s phone rang. He looked at the Caller ID, chuckled slightly, and answered the call.

“Mike! How’s it going, mate? How’s ‘Er Indoors treating you?”

“Al, why the hell did one of my reporters show up with your bill?”

“Funny you should ask that. She came out to investigate my flag…”

“Yeah – heard about that. Could you make the damn thing any bigger? I can nearly see it from here.”

“Don’t worry – it’s coming down. I can’t have this happening again.”

“OK – I have to say I know what you’re going to say – about an hour ago I got a phone call from another of your clients – Sterling Damhnait the artist. What the hell kind of work are…just forget it. None of my business and I know much better than to ask.”

“What can I say here, Al? You know damn well this is just not my policy and when things happen I don’t hesitate the problem gets dealt with.”

Al knew what the words “Dealt With” meant in this instance – and stepped on it quickly.

“No. You will NOT do that. The kid was doing her job and doing it well – she needs correction not quashing. She needs to learn that sleazebag tabloid tactics like hidden cameras and not asking for permission to use information in a private locale is just not on. I know you – you have high standards – you just need to remind your staff that they have to uphold them as well.

She’s a good kid – she just needs to learn that some things don’t belong in the paper no matter how good a story they are.”

“Like your arms work?”

“You got it. My customers and my business are MY business – and you know why.”

“I know. And I quote an old guy I know: “Security is secure only when it is not plastered on the front page of a newspaper” or some drivel like that.”

“Hole in one. I think we understand each other here – this could have been disastrous if not fatal for the young woman. The fact that she caught me off-guard with that pen camera – you’ll get that back once we’ve scrubbed it – was bad enough, but some of the things she took pictures of could have had some very nasty repercussions for me and mine.

More the point – she walked into the middle of a live-fire exercise on the range where said Sterling Damhnait was doing some practice. She walked up behind Sterling – WHILE SHE WAS FIRING – and startled her. You know as well as I do that doing that to any combat veteran is a bad idea even unarmed. It is only due to Sterling’s impeccable control and the reaction time of my security officer – who interposed herself between Sterling and your reporter, I might add - that you didn’t get her back in a body bag.

She’s a great kid – remind her what her standards are supposed to be and she’ll be a helluva reporter one day. I smell a Pulitzer on this one.”

“Funny, that’s the same thing your associate said. She will be – corrected – and there is an apology due to you and Miss Damhnait – that will be along at a suitable time. And add to that my personal apology, which I will also convey in person at the soonest opportunity.”

"Very well then – let’s call this done. In any case, you owe me for working on that horrid Gazelle of yours. Why can’t you own a Rolls like every other CEO?”

“Because then I couldn’t listen to you complain about working on it. Later, Al.”

With that, Al hung up. Now, enough of the day had been wasted – time to get some real work done.

[jwhouk]

Could be worse. He could own one of those weird cars that were assembled in Dunmurry once upon a time. Then you'd be wondering about stainless steel body work and whether or not you could come up with your own Transflux Capacitor...

[AmriloJim]

You mean the model slated to soon come off a Humble TX production line (50 units/yr) with a $100k price tag?

[Just Old Al]

Could be worse. He could own one of those weird cars that were assembled in Dunmurry once upon a time. Then you'd be wondering about stainless steel body work and whether or not you could come up with your own Transflux Capacitor...

Not a problem - Al picked up a batch of the capacitors surplus and they were in off-site storage when the shop went up. Hey - industrial surplus is the name of the game....

That Renault engine, though...that's dark arts...{shudder}

TBH, though, Al would turn it away. Even he has standards, after all...

aj"Unless someone wated a rocket launcher..."r