Post by David Atkins on Mar 28, 2006 3:10:45 GMT -5
ADA Jon Roth was furious. He was actually angrier than he had been but a couple of weeks before when that wrestler, that Travis King, made a mockery of both him and the entire justice system. At the time, he wouldn't have thought that possible. But it was. Oh, it was. He stormed into his neat little apartment, slamming the door shut in his wake and tossing his coat aside without a care as to where it might land. He was in a hurry. He marched straight over to his orderly little desk, snatched up the phone, and began jabbing numbers. He had a phone call to make.
They had some nerve, he fumed! Jon Roth was no inexperienced at his job; he had expected, anticipated even, that the LOC would try something to get him off of their backs. He had expected retraining orders and lawsuits and maybe even a little implied intimidation. What he hadn't expected was to be accosted as he arrived home by a pair of men wearing cheap shades and cheaper suits, men whom were so polite and casual in the delivery of their veiled threats that he would have laughed in their faces if the whole thing hadn't been so outrageously infuriating. This wasn't some cheap mafia flick! It was real life, and he was about to remind them of that fact.
He waited impatiently as the line rang, and rang, and rang, and rang again. He tapped his foot, drummed his fingers, smoothed down his short white hair and checked his watch; all signs of the nervous energy that was threatening to overwhelm him. Jon Roth was angry, furious even, but he clung to those emotions because they protected him, shielded him from any admission of the dreadful fear that the encounter had instilled in him.
At long last, somebody picked up.
"This is ADA Jon Roth. Who am I speaking to?" he demanded.
"Rose, eh? Well, Rose, I want you to deliver a message to your boss from me." He had begun to pace, his anger causing him to unconsciously raise his voice as he talked. "You tell her that she can hire all of the two-bit thugs she wants, but nothing-- nothing-- is going to take me off of this case short of death, you understand me? And another thing; not only am I calling the police as soon as I hang up this phone, I'm calling the press. This story will break in national news tonight!"
Jon paused for the briefest of moments, listening to a response on the other end of the line. A grim smile touched his face and a measure of sarcasm entered his voice. "Of course you don't know what I'm talking about."
He hung up.
Pausing for a moment, leaning forward against his desk, Jon allowed himself a moment to catch up with his emotions and reign in his temper. This Rose person, whoever she was, probably didn't know what he was talking about. It didn't matter, though; the message was sent and would be received. It was probably already being relayed to the ears for which it had been intended. What were they thinking, he wondered? Up until this point the case had been purely a personal vendetta on his part. He would have dragged them into court, mad inquiries that would make any major corporation sweat, and then be done with it. In the end, it would have been little more than a publicity stunt on his part, and an embarrassment on theirs. Now, though, things were different. Very different, and very serious. How could they be so stupid?
For just a moment, a single instant before picking up the phone again to call the police, Jon Roth entertained the notion that the LOC's management hadn't been involved. Perhaps Travis King, or possibly even some wrestling-obsessed fans whom were unhappy with his intentions toward the promotion, had set him up. Could it be....? He shook his head. No, he decided, it couldn't be that.
He picked up the phone.
They had some nerve, he fumed! Jon Roth was no inexperienced at his job; he had expected, anticipated even, that the LOC would try something to get him off of their backs. He had expected retraining orders and lawsuits and maybe even a little implied intimidation. What he hadn't expected was to be accosted as he arrived home by a pair of men wearing cheap shades and cheaper suits, men whom were so polite and casual in the delivery of their veiled threats that he would have laughed in their faces if the whole thing hadn't been so outrageously infuriating. This wasn't some cheap mafia flick! It was real life, and he was about to remind them of that fact.
He waited impatiently as the line rang, and rang, and rang, and rang again. He tapped his foot, drummed his fingers, smoothed down his short white hair and checked his watch; all signs of the nervous energy that was threatening to overwhelm him. Jon Roth was angry, furious even, but he clung to those emotions because they protected him, shielded him from any admission of the dreadful fear that the encounter had instilled in him.
At long last, somebody picked up.
"This is ADA Jon Roth. Who am I speaking to?" he demanded.
"Rose, eh? Well, Rose, I want you to deliver a message to your boss from me." He had begun to pace, his anger causing him to unconsciously raise his voice as he talked. "You tell her that she can hire all of the two-bit thugs she wants, but nothing-- nothing-- is going to take me off of this case short of death, you understand me? And another thing; not only am I calling the police as soon as I hang up this phone, I'm calling the press. This story will break in national news tonight!"
Jon paused for the briefest of moments, listening to a response on the other end of the line. A grim smile touched his face and a measure of sarcasm entered his voice. "Of course you don't know what I'm talking about."
He hung up.
Pausing for a moment, leaning forward against his desk, Jon allowed himself a moment to catch up with his emotions and reign in his temper. This Rose person, whoever she was, probably didn't know what he was talking about. It didn't matter, though; the message was sent and would be received. It was probably already being relayed to the ears for which it had been intended. What were they thinking, he wondered? Up until this point the case had been purely a personal vendetta on his part. He would have dragged them into court, mad inquiries that would make any major corporation sweat, and then be done with it. In the end, it would have been little more than a publicity stunt on his part, and an embarrassment on theirs. Now, though, things were different. Very different, and very serious. How could they be so stupid?
For just a moment, a single instant before picking up the phone again to call the police, Jon Roth entertained the notion that the LOC's management hadn't been involved. Perhaps Travis King, or possibly even some wrestling-obsessed fans whom were unhappy with his intentions toward the promotion, had set him up. Could it be....? He shook his head. No, he decided, it couldn't be that.
He picked up the phone.