11 -- BEING THERE

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^ ^ ^ LEON  ^ ^ ^

Warning  --  Violence, Hate Speech                                                           


Leon stood quietly, his arms crossed over his barrel of a chest, watching his boss intently, the multiple T.V. screens reflecting in his eyes in the darkness.  No matter how many times he did this, stood in the same position, watching the same scenario play out, more or less, he could never get used to it, nor should he.  He never would, that was the point, that was what drove him.  The depravity and heartbreak that could engulf the human spirit never failed to shock or sadden him.  It shouldn't, but it still did.  Some ended well, as well as could be expected considering the circumstances, others, not so much.  Some ended with buildings, bodies and lives torn apart, with blood spattered walls and floors, grief spattered lives and souls. 

Leon was the Crisis Negotiator's assistant, his right hand man.  He was responsible for running errands, collecting together what the hostage taker demanded, be it electronics, food and drink, women sometimes.  He made the calls and put things in place.  He talked to the hostage taker, and to the hostages on occasion, his eventual aim being a negotiator himself.  He also watched, and listened, and absorbed information, body language, and speech patterns like a sponge.  He was good at what he did.  He was calm and collected, empathetic, but was not easily fooled or corrupted by charm, position or wealth.  

He was 26 years old, and had the body of a well chiseled, but muscular God.  His skin was a dark golden brown, the result of a black father and a white mother.  Fortunately, he considered, he had inherited the better genes from both.  He was well educated, street smart, funny, and astonishingly handsome.  The complete package.  He loved his job with a passion, as awful as it could be sometimes.  But he could make a difference, he had seen what was possible.  His boss was responsible for hundreds of lives saved, lives that go home at night, that could love and be loved by their friends and families.  Lives that would otherwise not have been here to live.  Leon wanted to do that, and he would.  Soon.  But he had no significant other in his life because of it.  He couldn't let anyone get close, just in case.  He would not lose anyone he loved, as he had so often seen many that did.  For now, his job took precedence over his love life, and the rest of his life, for that matter.  He was young, there was time.  

"What do we do here, Leon ?"  his boss asked him, squinting at the dozen or so screens in the back of the small van that was the Mobile Crisis Response HQ for the time being.  

"You know what to do, boss.  Cole is small fry compared to some.  Few hostages, few munitions, but driven by emotion though.  That's the most dangerous thing here.  He's not even asking for anything, is he ?  Not money, not a life, not an exchange.  What does he want ?"  

"He want's "justice", or at least his perception of it.  He want's this man, what's his name ?  Bourgeois, to suffer.  Who knows, this could turn nasty.  He doesn't want "things", he wants souls.  He literally wants his "pound of flesh".  This one's different, Leon."   Leon realised his boss was right.  This one was different, so he needed to handle the situation with kid gloves.  Be more empathetic, more responsive, more focused.  Just then, the side door slid open, revealing a chubby white man, and a tall, lean dark one with a huge fro.  Leon noticed this of course, as it entered the space before the man did.  He chuckled to himself that the puffball of this amazing hair seemed to occupy the whole ceiling space of the small van.

"Leon, good to see you, though, not in these circumstances." Jack introduced himself.  " This is Larry Read-Bourgeois, Laurent's husband, Michaela's father."

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