Good-time slim, uncle doobie and the great frisco freakout

It was the night before friday and not a creature was stirring, Or so they said anyway. Being a telepath Bob knew better, alot better. He could feel the mind of every rat, cockroach and velvetworm that were moving within quite some distance. He stretched out a little and leaned back in the lawnchair he had brought onto the rooftops with him for this very purpose. Normally he would have parked his bottom in a comfortable armchair back in his cozy livingroom and enjoyed some TV rather than sit around on top of a movie-studio doing hero-things, but an old friend had asked him for a favor and refusing to do favors for old friends was hardly heroic, now was it?

The Friend in question was called McArthur Parker, and used to be (technically he still was) Bob's old agent back in the hey-day of his very famous TV-show back in the nineties. He actually hadn't heard from him in almost a decade until tonight, and it had definately not been about his comeback, it had been about an unknown group of people vandalizing studio properties. For some reason security had been unable to catch the mischeivous mites, even though they knew that the person in question had been comming in and leaving through the roof-access but McArthur figured that Bob's Telepathy might just be the ticket to shut down those nefarious ne'er-do-wells once and for all! Bob wasn't to keen on acting like a glorified security-guard (for no pay mind you) during his free time, but if he was going to be taken seriously as a hero, he had to be serious about heroing

However, he didn't feel very heroic, sitting in a lawn-chair on a roof, eating spring-rolls from a quick pit-stop at "Uncle Tse's house of pork". However, at this point he caught something interesting on his brain-dar. A Nervous individual filled with what felt like a mixture of nervousness, excitement and indignant rage, definately someone that had a risky purpose, and the determination to see it through. and it seemed that the person in question was making his way up the ladder, and Bob turned around to meet the would-be hooligan as he finally made his way onto the top of the building. He wasn't surprised to see a sullen adolescent dressed in all black

"Hey. I hate to like, side with 'the man' here, but you can't just go around wrecking things." Bob said conversationally as the kid looked at him in surprise. He had probably not expected to see an old Hippie lounging around on the rooftop. However, the surprise and hostility that radiated from the kid like stink from a dungheap soon gave way to apprehension. This was in small part Bob's doing, but just enough to keep the kid from panicking. He already knew that he wasn't dangerous.

"So, why are you messing around trying to wreck the studio?" Bob continued as he tossed a spring-roll to the kid. His telepathy had told him that he was hungry, as well as that he felt the need to explain himself to someone, almost anyone was good enough, even strange old men hanging out on rooftops, however, his telepathy could not read his reasons for doing whatever it was he was going to do.

"The movie they are shooting is called 'Goodtime Slim, Uncle doobie and the great frisco freakout'. It's a remake of a movie from the 80s. . ." Here the kid dramatically paused and gave Bob what he probably thought was a piercing glare, but the effect was spoiled somewhat by the fact that the poor youngster was wearing sunglasses at night, not to mention the fact that he had to push said sunglasses up as they almost slid down from his nose.

"The artist that created the original movie. . . Is my father. He made sure the movie had soul! Him and his friends did not have much money, but they did have heart! The remake won't have neither heart nor soul." Here he turned away from Bob in a dramatic fashion.
"I am a stalwart shield against soulless movies! I am the protector of the independent film-makers! I am Cinemaster!" he exclaimed dramatically enough, causing two departing stagehands to look up before continuing on their way.
Bob smiled at the kid. Bob had seen the original 'Goodtime Slim, Uncle doobie and the great frisco freakout', he had met the original cast and crew a few years back, and whilst they had been great company , he wouldn't call them "Artists".

"Look, I totally, like, understand how you feel, dude. But try to think of it this way, the attention of this remake will let people know about the original. They will experience your father's vision the way it was meant to be experienced. It might seem like they stomp on his legacy, but like, in a way they just make a whole new generation aware of it!" Bob exclaimed happily. Whilst his speech was somewhat lackluster, he sent out telepathic waves of satisfaction and pride to the young man, who nodded and started to make his way back toward the ladder. Bob could suddenly feel a pang of anxiety appear in the young fellows mind
"And don't worry about me. I never saw anyone up here." Bob said with a wink and a smile, causing the poor young man to visibly relax before started to go his merry way.

Bob however, felt pretty good about himself. Another threat to society averted thanks to Doctor Feelgood! He started to quietly hum the themesong he had written for himself yesterday. It did not even bother him that he couldn't remember even half the words for it

Los Angeles, home sweet home.

Bitter memories.

Quinn hadn't been back since the Syndicate fell and Albert passed away. She had fled the city and moved completely across the country. She had hoped to never come back to this place. Still, money was money and this job paid particularly good. She had even gotten to fly first class a luxury she wasn't use to.

She had arrived a few hours before dusk. Taking a taxi from the airport to the hotel. She no more than made it to her room and her phone began to ring. “What?” She answered like she always did.

“Hey Queen, how was your flight? Everything going okay?” Patrick was ever optimistic like he always was. How the man found the energy to be so upbeat was beyond Quinn.

Quinn put the phone on speakerphone and tossed it on the bed unpacking the rest of the bag. “Yeah, your end?” She asked slipping on the black pants and boots.

“Money hit the account an hour ago. I'm surprised you took this job. You know the client from your Syndicate days?” She had told Patrick most of the story when Victor had called her. He had been one of Albert's associated and heard she was running her own security company. As if it could really be called that. A few business cards and printed shirts didn't exactly make a company. Victor had insisted on her taking him on as a client. “Just like the good old days.” He had said. Was he calling her old?

She pulled on the undercover vest and t-shirt over that. “Yeah, I got everything. Just make sure my plane ticket home is ready.” If everything went as planned she would be on her way back to New York by early morning. “Should be quick and easy.”

“Everything's already taken care of. Your ride is out front. You'll meet up with the client on site. Transaction will be made and you escort it and the client back. Seems simple enough to me.” Quinn rolled her eyes, easy for him to say. “Call me when you're done. Good luck.” Quinn hung up the phone and finished dressing. The simple black suit and slicked back hair was going to have to be good enough. She picked up her pack and headed for the lobby. A black SUV already ready and waiting for her in the parking lot.

A GPS guided her through the city. The job was pretty straight forward. Show up, keep an eye out, get the client out if something happened. Not that she expected anything to happen. Victor had been running deals in Los Angeles since before her time. Who would be stupid enough to even try?

Quinn raised an eyebrow as she arrived at a studio Why a studio? It was a step above a shady warehouse but still. Victor arrived shortly after along with a few other vehicles. Victor made introductions all the way around. Twenty men in total, fifteen would remain outside and five would head in with Victor. Quinn was part of the group heading inside.

Victor lead them through the studio and to some kind of loading dock. A cargo truck backing up to the dock and several men getting out. Quinn recognized one of the men, a fence she had dealt with in the past. Whatever he was selling to Victor was none of Quinn's business. She knew better than to stick her nose where it didn't belong. Instead focusing on the area around them. She had taken up post near one the door they had come through. So far everything was going smoothly.

What could possibly go wrong?