Fantasy Whatever Gets You through the Night by TMaskedWriter

[Ramesh_Rocky]

They entered the mail room. The manager was already leaving his office to greet them. He stepped up and shook both men's hands.

"Sir, Officer." He nodded to each, leaning in to speak discreetly. "I'd normally ask if there's a problem; but the two of you are here, so I should probably ask, 'What's the problem?'"

Luc smiled at that.

"Merci. There may well be, however, it is not right here. May we discuss this in your office?"

He led the way. The two took seats as he closed the door and blinds, then sat at his desk. Luc took a breath and began.

"I am here looking into a matter whose details must presently remain classified. The Generalissimo can verify this, correct?"

He turned to Ramirez. Ramirez saw his look, then turned to the manager with a serious one of his own.

"Si. Classified... to the highest levels. A National Security matter. So, you understand that nothing that is said must leave this room."

Ramirez turned back to Luc and nodded. Luc continued.

"So, I will need to borrow your computer for a moment, and I have a few questions I need to ask. Would you mind? I should not need to look at anything personal."

Luc made a gesture of offering to trade seats with the man. He nodded and agreed. They switched chairs and Luc brought up the screen.

"Now, my first question... I am sorry, I haven't even asked your name yet, sir."

"Uh, Ted, sir. Sorry."

"Merci, Ted. You oversee the people who deliver the mail to various parts of the studio, Oui?"

"Yes." Ted replied. "Mostly within the offices here, but also throughout the lot."

"I see." Luc started typing. "So, when your people come back from their rounds, I'm certain they have things to say about the people whom they deliver to."

When Luc got as far as Ted's access could go, he produced a flash drive and stuck it into a USB slot.

"Excuse me, what are you..." Ted started to say before Ramirez raised a calming hand toward him.

"National security." The Generalissimo told him. "He knows what he's doing."

Luc nodded to him as well.

"Nothing that will leave a trace. Those flyers you put out to notify people of filming in the area; is there a printing press that those are made with?"

"No." Ted replied. "They print them up on the second floor."

"Merci." Luc said with a nod as he resumed typing, looking for the second-floor printer queues. "Now, back to my earlier question. Is there someone who makes a lot of complaints about their mail? Oh, I'm certain there's always someone complaining, but this person would be special. Someone who's often rude or hostile to your delivery people?"

Ted thought a moment on it before answering.

"It happens sometimes. Movie people tend to be... emotional. Someone complains that we bring them too many bills and junk mail. The package they wanted didn't arrive and it's our fault. Occasionally, one of our female employees has an issue and per La Contessa's orders, those matters are taken seriously and dealt with quickly."

"The person we're looking for may or may not harass women. He almost certainly, though, has a problem with non-whites. He might not be violent or make outright racial slurs, but he's likely harder on them than the rest of your team. Possibly someone who frequently complains to you about trivial matters."

Ted didn't have to think long to answer.

"Yes, there's someone like that. Jerry Scott, one of the pencil-pushers upstairs. He's never gone far enough to be put on report, but... forcing me to think about it now, yes, his complaints tend to vary by skin tone."

Luc found a printer that had done a lot of copying and started searching for the history, particularly, the number of copies made at any one time.

"I see. Is he near Printer #4? The one closest to the supply room."

"I don't know their numbers, but yes, he's near the office supplies."

Luc smiled as he found what he'd been looking for: A much smaller print job than the usual amount. He tracked it back through the queue to see which computer had sent the order. He read the name G. Scott. He then removed his flash drive.

"Ted, you have my gratitude." Luc said, looking to Ramirez. He recognized the cue and followed suit.

"Si. And you have the gratitude of the Government of San Finzione. Again, nothing that has been said or done must leave this room."

Ted nodded. The two men took their leave and headed toward the elevator.

"What did you find?" The Generalissimo asked Luc while they waited.

"I imagined that when they send people out with those flyers, they print out several hundred at once; possibly thousands, depending on where they're filming. Five days ago, after the time I imagine most of the office leaves for the day, A G; his real name is probably Gerald, Scott sent a job to that printer for a hundred copies."

"Enough to canvas a couple of streets or a block." Ramirez replied with a nod. "But he got the paper color wrong."

They stepped into the elevator and hit the button for 2.

"Oui." Luc replied. "He did this after hours and he has access to the supply cabinets. Not a difficult scenario to picture: You're staying late to print something when everyone else is gone. But the printer for the flyers has been printing them all day. The thing must go through a ton of ink and paper. So, you hit a snag. Whoever used the last of the paper didn't refill it before they left for the day. You need some colored paper, so you go to the supply room. Where they're probably out of pink and more won't be delivered until morning, so you grab a ream of the next-best thing; red.

"And when you take something from supplies; say, you can't find your scissors, so you go to the supply room and you get a new pair of scissors. Shortly after, your old scissors turn up. Do you return the second pair back to the supply room? No. You now either have two pairs of scissors in your desk or one of them finds its way into your briefcase at the end of the day and now you have a pair at home. 'A little thing everyone does from time to time.' You think nothing of it; your employer is exploiting you, it's only fair. So, you help yourself to a few pens and notepads and such; the fatcats can afford it. But what use could he have for that much red paper at home?"

Ramirez followed his logic.

"So, if you've just taken a ream of red paper from the supply room and you don't think anyone will notice it amiss, but you can't just leave it and let someone find it in the printer in the morning. And you're so used to taking what you want from the supply room that it simply doesn't occur to you to return the rest..."

"There is a good chance that you still have a ream of red paper with a hundred or so sheets missing in your desk, Oui."

They stepped out of the elevator. Luc took note of the Fire Exit map on the wall, noting where the Supply Room was. Ramirez asked where he might find Jerry Scott. The woman pointed to his cubicle.

Halfway to his cubicle, Jerry Scott stepped out of it, headed for the break room, which was behind them. He looked at the two men, recognized the Generalissimo instantly, and darted in the opposite direction, toward the fire exit.

They sprinted after, ordering him to stop, while he ran through the door into the stairwell. Ramirez had spent less time behind a desk lately and ran through the door first, seeing his head disappear down the stairs. As Luc ran behind, Hernando hopped one of the railings and saw the man fishing for something in his pocket. He ran down and leaped another, now close enough to Scott to tackle. Scott found whatever he was searching for in his pocket and stuck it in his mouth before Ramirez pounced off the stairs and dove for him. He caught Scott around the waist and forced him to the ground. As they hit, a crackling noise came from Scott's mouth.

Luc caught up while Ramirez turned Scott over, seeing the rage burning in his eyes and blood trailing from his mouth. He started going limp as Ramirez grabbed hold of Scott by the collar and kept him pinned. Luc drew his gun and pointed it at the man's head. He noticed a foam starting to appear on his lips, smelled something that Ramirez couldn't, and grabbed Scott by the throat.

"Cyanide!" He explained to Ramirez as he squeezed as hard as he could to prevent the man from swallowing, but he was too late.

"Hei..." Scott tried to stammer out through the foam and blood. "Heil Hit..."

And then he lapsed into unconsciousness. And was gone.

Ramirez rose to his feet and took out his phone to call the Prefect.

* * *