Block breakers are short stories, random ditties for which the only real purpose is to write something, anything when Writer’s Block strikes. Quality, verbosity, fidelity, consistency – none of these words apply. Just write or die.
So I’m procrastinating from prepping for writing, by writing… here we go again!
P.s. (before the actual script… go figure), this one went a little weird – and it goes in a very different direction for what it initially looks like. I enjoyed writing it anyway, but it’s not my normal thing.
Sasha threw her cup across the room, she threw off her jacket, placed her gun in it’s holster in the top draw of her desk and locked it.
“Damn it!” she shouted, when she was done, “How the hell did he get past us?”
Her assistant stood, mortified like a dear in the headlights.
“Don’t just stand there you dosey git,” Sasha said, “I want answers, and I want answers now. You were meant to put people on the doors.”
“They were…” her assistant, a normally confident twenty-five year old, named Susan Claire, short with scarlet hair and a trim figure, dressed practically but with touches of flair. In the face of her boss’s anger, her confidence was melting.
“They weren’t covering the main entrance, the main bloody entrance. That areshole just walked out,” her boss said, calming down. “Tell me what happened? How was it we were made to look like amateurs by a two bit conman.”
“One of the silent alarms went off,” Susan said, “A couple of the guys on the front went to reinforce the internal team.”
“Damn it,” Sasha said, “How did he slip past the remaining two?”
“I don’t know,” Susan said.
“Get me the names of the two on the front entrance,” Sasha said.
“It was Julian Bellamy, and Robert Arnold,” Susan said, the information already to hand.
“I’m going to go get answers,” Sasha said, “Stay here, make sure I’ve got transcripts of all comms. Write me up a draft report of the operation, all the facts known in a timeline.”
“Yes Ms Rahimi,” Susan said, leaving back to her desk.
Sasha headed through the office with intent, avoiding everyone, though equally they were avoiding her, everyone knew to keep out of her way when things didn’t go right.
By passing the lift, she headed down the stairs concrete lined stairs of the private detective agency. Two floors down, she headed into another office, and through a door marked Accounting and Finance.
“Charlie,” she said, searching the room filled with empty desks with monitors all over.
“Yes?” Charlie Monroe said his head popping up from a desk at the back of the room.
“Where is everyone?” Sasha asked,
“Out, drinks,” Charlie said, “What do you want?”
“Don’t talk to me that way Charlie,” Sasha said, “You still upset about that French thing?”
“It wasn’t a French thing, it was a lost Matisse,” Charlie said, “And I didn’t even get to see it. You just shipped it off back to Amsterdam.”
“It’s not my fault the first time you take a holiday, we recover something of interest to you,” Sasha said, “Tell you what, I’ll pay for your tickets to Amsterdam and you can go see it in person.”
“Yeah, as if,” Charlie said dejectedly, “What is it you’re after?”
“I think someone on my team was compromised,” Sasha said, “Can you do my quick financial checks? Any unusual activities, payments, loans, you know the drill.”
“Names,” Charlie said, “We’ll have their disclaimers and waivers for checks.”
“Julian Bellamy, and Robert Arnold,” Sasha said, “I’ve sent it on an email too. How quickly can I have it?”
“If I pot the Schuman account to one side, can have a quick look now, but it’ll need to be more in-depth, you’re talking tomorrow for real results.”
“Tomorrow is fine,” Sasha said, “I’m going to go for drinks. Care to join me? Feel like I owe you for the Matisse.”
“Nope,” Charlie said, “Too much to do.”
“Fair enough,” Sasha said, “Oh, and keep it discrete. If they’ve done nothing wrong, I don’t want them suffering for it.”
“I’m always discrete,” Charlie said, “Now go. And next time you find a Matisse, you better let me see it.”
“Will do Charlie, will do,” Sasha said with a sigh heading out.
The next morning Sasha entered the offices of Faulkner and Rahimi Investigative Services, in a posh North London office park.
She headed up to her office on the top floor of the squat office building, where the firm rented the top three floors.
“Good morning Ms Rahimi,” Susan said from her desk.
“No, it was a good night,” Sasha said nursing her coffee, “It’s not going to be a good morning. Is the report ready for me?”
“Yes, it’s already in your inbox,” Susan said, disengaging from the conversation as fast as she could.
Sasha took her seat at the desk and picked up the phone, dialling her client’s number.
Robert Arnold knocked on Sasha Rahimi’s door promptly at 11am the following day, as instructed by his boss and commanding officer Mark Millan, he knew already that his mate Julian had already been in to see Sasha, and since gone home, without talking to anyone else. Robert wasn’t worried though, he knew he could fix the situation, that Sasha was over reacting.
“Come in,” a stern woman’s voice said from behind the door.
Robert opened the door and stepped in, his six foot four bulky frame filled most of the door way.
“Take a seat,” Sasha said nodding towards black office chair, one of those with just two legs forming a s shape. He sat down as instructed.
“Ms Rahimi…” he began, but she held up her hand to cut him off.
“So,” she said, “Yesterday was a shit show. Tell me how the target got out of our perimeter.”
“Listen Ms Rahimi,” Robert started.
“No, you listen, Robert,” she said, “I expected a lot of things to come out of yesterday’s shit show. The last thing I expected to find out we had imbecile’s working for us.”
“Really!” Robert said offended, “How dare you take your ego problems out on me. You lost it yesterday, and now you’re looking to take it out on others. You think you’re so smart, and so tough, but you lost a training exercise. Deal with it, and stop getting your knickers in a…”
“Really do not finish that sentence,” Sasha said, ” You truly are an idiot. You sold out the company for one hundred pounds. That was no training exercise, you let a known con man con you.”
Richard opened his mouth, and the immediately shut up.
“What? Nothing to say for yourself?” Sasha asked, “No smart alec comment about me being an over sensitive woman? Let’s try again shall we, tell me what happened.”
“Well we were watching the doors, the alert for the silent alarms on exit seven went off, and two of the team went round the outside of the building to provide further support at that exit.”
“Go on,” Sasha said, deliberately quiet.
“Then a car alarm went off, nearby” Robert said, “Julian went to check it out, leaving me to watch the door.”
“And?” Sasha said.
“Well Mr Carlson approached…” Richard said.
“The target we were there to catch in the act, the target you were briefed on?” Sasha asked.
“Well yes,” Richard said with some chagrin, “But he had a company ID, he said this whole thing was officially a training exercise.”
“Officially?” Sasha queried.
“Well he said that’s what it officially was being called, but really it was a bet, a competition,” Richard said.
“Oh really? What kind of competition?” Sasha asked.
“It doesn’t really matter,” Richard said, “I got conned.”
“Tell me,” Sasha commanded.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Richard said stubbornly, well aware of the trap before him.
“Well, I can’t force you to,” Sasha said, “I think I know, and it doesn’t matter. You’re fired with immediate effect.”
“You can’t Steve…” Richard said.
“You do get my name is up on the wall alongside Steve’s, right?” Sasha said.
“Yes, but…” Richard tried to say, but Sasha cut him off again.
“No, but,” she said, “Steve wouldn’t fire you, you’re right. He’d move you to janitorial, with sole responsibility for the toilets, and he’d hold the threat of suing you over your head until you hit retirement age, at which point he would explain you no longer qualify for the company plan. You needn’t worry about interviewing elsewhere, he’d do everything within his power, legally mind, to make sure you no one would ever give you a chance.” Sasha sipped her coffee calmly, “Me, I’m just going to fire your sexist arse, but I’ll let you have a reference. Don’t expect severance.”
Richard’s mouth worked but no sound came out, expressions of disgust, offence, fear all flashed across his face. After what seemed like an eternity he got up from the seat, then turned back towards Sasha ready to say something, but choosing not to. He just beat a hasty retreat out of the office.
“Richard,” a stern voice called to him as he exited the office, it belonged to Mark Millan, Richard’s CO in the company.
“She… she…” Richard said, still in a state of shock.
“This isn’t the army, navy or air force,” Mark said, “You’re lucky. Clear out your locker, and leave. These men will escort you out,” he gestured to two burly men in suits. “Don’t come back.”