ArchivedLogs:Public Private Business

Public Private Business
Dramatis Personae Carys, Iolaus, Kearne, Reg
In Absentia	2013-05-19 A meeting at a coffee shop leads to evacuation.
Location <NYC> Busboys and Poets - East Harlem
A quiet, artsy spot nestled away on a side street in East Harlem, Busboys and Poets combines cafe and bookstore in a way a Starbucks tacked on to a Barnes & Noble could never achieve. The food is a solid, multi-national cuisine menu that caters to all kinds of dietary choices, and its fair-trade tea menu is extensive. Its weekend brunch tends to draw a large crowd, but there is ample enough seating both at tables and on its many comfortable armchairs and couches that at other times of the week there is never a wait. The walls are adorned with the work of local artists, and tucked in among and alongside the couches are rows upon rows of books, with a definite slant towards the political and the bohemian. Sunday evenings are not a busy hour for Busboys and Poets. A few patrons are scattered throughout the stacks of the bookstore section, and a handful sitting in the couches and chairs, but for the most part it is a quiet evening. The few people who are there are mostly divided into two rough categories: teenagers, mostly working behind the desks and counters, and hipsters. There is a large intersection between the two. Two of the patrons, at least, do not seem to fit into either category. Iolaus sits at a table with paperwork spread out in front of him, sorting through the piles of paper with a perplexed look on his face. His companion, a tall black man in jeans and a t-shirt, looks bored, despite the cell phone in his hand that occupies much of his attention. "Did I bring all the papers?" Iolaus asks, and his tablemate pauses before nodding, once. "Yeah." "Shit." Carys fishes out a few dollars to pay for her coffee, leaving the change in the tip jar. "You have any applications?" she asks the person behind the counter, and accepts the paperwork with only a faint nod. It's somewhat crumpled in her too-tight grasp by the time she crosses the coffeeshop to the tables. She glances sideways at Iolaus' table, apparently finding them more interesting than filling out her information. Still, being nosy doesn't pay the rent, and she tries to smooth out the application so that she can write on it. Head bent, she starts to scratch out her name, etc. She sighs dramatically. Oh, woe is Carys. Or something like that, anyway. Both Iolaus and his companion glance up at Carys as she sits down nearby. Iolaus turns back to his papers, and then runs his hands through his hair. "We must have missed a stack. Can you go back and get them?" he asks, looking up at Reg with a pleading expression. "Sorry, boss, no can do. Jane'd have my balls for hood ornaments if I left you alone in public, and I like 'em where they are." Kearne finds himself wandering into the coffee shop. As he walks to the counter he scans the room. Not exactly his kind of crowd but he needs caffeine. He orders in an irish accent. "Coffee black. Three sugars." "True, but she works for me, so you work for me." Iolaus points out. It does, in fact, not sound very threatening at all, and Reg responds appropriately with a shake of his head. "I work for you through her. You want me to break the rules, you got to get her to change them." The guard says, distractedly, as his eyes carefully follow the newcomer on his way to the counter, appraisingly, before they flick back to Iolaus. "Besides, you brought all the paperwork. It's in there, somewhere." Kearne takes his coffee and goes to sit down. He ends up at the table next to Iolaus and his companion. He continues scanning the crowd, paying attention to the people coming and going. He is checking for possible marks, knowing that the rich sometimes like to stop by the small time coffee shops and restaraunts. Despite raising millions of dollars, Iolaus gave up all pretense of a lucrative career when he went into the non-profit world. "It's not there," he stresses to Reg, who gives him a non-commital shrug. "It's there." The guard's eyes sweep over Kearne carefully, eyebrows tugging together slightly. Reg hesitates for a moment before he turns to the piles of paperwork. "What are you even looking for, Doc?" Kearne starts to catch snippets of the conversation coming from the next table over. Given the demeanor these guys could provide just what he needs. "I thought I brought the balance sheet paperwork that the finance people had sent over, but I can't find it." Iolaus whines. "I need some fucking tea. Do you want anything, Reg?" The guard shakes his head, and Iolaus stands to step over to the counter and order a pot of tea. In the mean time, Reg begins paging through the papers slowly, every once in a while glancing back around the room - and, again, at Kearne. And suddenly the eyes on the irishman change and the iris' become red. He focuses his attention in on the papers, zooming in to try and see some detail about what is going on. He wants to see if these papers reveal money and if they do, he is gonna need to follow these guys back to where they came from. By the time that Iolaus has retrieved the teapot of tea, Reg has placed a small sheaf of papers in front of where Iolaus is sitting. 'Mendel Clinic Balance Sheet', it says across the top, in large black lettering. Indeed, there is definitely money involved on the papers - a notation near the top says 'All numbers in thousands', and there are several million dollars worth of assets, cash - and, of course, liabilities - listed on just the first sheet of papers. "Ah. Thank you, Reg." Iolaus says, greatfully, as he slumps back down into his seat. The guard glances back at Kearne, and his eyes narrow slightly as they study the other man's expression. Taking the time to remember the name on the papers, Kearne returns his vision to normal. He thinks to himself that he may have found a great target if the clinic has that much going on. He isn't always after money after all. Anything that he can sell after a robbery becomes money too. He takes a drink of his coffee and begins pondering his options. The red eyes didn't go unnoticed. "Doc. You've got that meeting," Reg says, firm-voiced. "Pack up. You don't want to be late." His eyes are focused on Kearne, carefully. Iolaus opens his mouth and glances down at his watch with a puzzled look, but his eyes briefly flick to Kearne and then back to Reg. His mouth closes with a snap, and he nods. He grabs the sheafs of papers and stuffs them quickly into his briefcase, even as he - and Reg - stand up to leave. Kearne watches the men get up and finally speaks up, not really caring that they know he was glancing at the papers. "Here's a hint lads. Ye shouldn't go about showing off yer private business in public. Especially when the figures are that high." He sips his coffee. "Just sayin'." "It's a charity. You can get all of this paperwork just by asking for it, or from the IRS. Nothing private about it." Iolaus says, glancing at the other man. Reg steps between Iolaus and Kearne, one hand pressing against Iolaus' back. "Let's go, Doc." he says, voice still firm. Even though Iolaus seems inclined to stay and continue talking, Reg's hand and firm pressure guide him quickly towards the door. "Hey now. Didn't know it was a charity." Kearne may be a thief but he has principles too. "No worries from me." "Glad to hear it," Reg says, as he pushes Iolaus through the door onto the street. A moment after they're through, the two figures are gone, with a thumping sound of air collapsing in on nothingness. Cars? Who needs cars?