Previous Post > > > > > > > > >     Doorman looked around at the apartment he had been living in for the past couple of weeks. The previous tenant had certainly kept the place tidier, but Doorman felt the changes he had made were for the best. > > > > > >     As he flipped channels on the television, he stopped on a local news program. Information was power and considering he was in a relatively new reality he needed to maintain a steep learning curve. He chuckled to himself as the anchor updated the viewers at home about the mysterious disappearance of Tyler Smythe, a pizza delivery boy who vanished during a delivery to a nursing home. > > > > > >     Tyler Smythe had indeed parked in front of a nursing home, but when he opened the door he had actually stepped into Doorman’s apartment. And why would anyone be looking for a pizza delivery boy from Parodiopolis off the eastern coast of Australia? > > > > > >     Doorman checked his watch, and noted that he had an appointment to keep. Whistling a jaunty tune he threw on a brown leather coat and stepped out the door. He wondered how long it would take before Jessica’s friends and family discovered she was gone. While the e-mail he had sent to Jessica’s workplace about a family emergency had put off suspicion temporarily, the phone messages from her friends were increasing in frequency. He supposed it was time to find some new digs to call home. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You’re late,” rumbled Harvester. Doorman had exited into an alley across the road from the old Turpin Brewery in Gothametropolis. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Traffic was murder,” he said as way of explanation. “Let’s not keep the big man waiting.” > > > > > >     The Turpin Brewery had undergone a massive transformation of late. While it had become a derelict building that junkies tended to congregate in, it was now an attractive looking office building. Doorman had to admit, Boss Deadeyes had style. > > > > > >     The platinum blonde working reception eyed Doorman and his partner as they entered the entrance atrium. “You back to pay for the winda?” she asked, not bothering to stop filing her nails. > > > > > >     Doorman could only assume his do-gooder counterpart had also visited Ventredi, with predictable superheroic posturing. “Same face, wrong guy sweetheart. I’m here to see the Boss.” > > > > > >     Myra Mason rolled her eyes and pulled out an appointment book. The Boss didn’t trust those newfangled computers. Ink in a book couldn’t be erased without leaving some kind of evidence, whereas there was any number of ways to erase files on a computer without leaving a trace. “You got an appointment?” > > >      > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“As a matter of fact I do,” replied Doorman. “I couldn’t use my real name, since it matches the face of the guy who busted your window, but you’ll find it under ‘Jory Boar’.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Jory Boar?” muttered Harvester. “That’s the best fake name you could come up with?” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Long story,” Doorman muttered back. > > > > > >     Myra located the name in the appointment book, and it was true, ‘Jory Boar and Associate’ were marked in the book. “Have a seat boys, he’ll be right with you,” she instructed. The moll left her desk and quietly entered Vendreti’s office. He hated intercoms, as they were too impersonal. > > > > > >     Doorman tipped his hat to the departing blonde and took a seat. Harvester decided that it would probably be best to stand; he didn’t think any of the chairs would support his weight. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Why are we playing so…nice?” Harvester asked Doorman. His initial impression of Doorman didn’t leave him to believe the man was capable of being this civil. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Boss Deadeyes is old school. Really old school,” Doorman added for emphasis. “You show him respect, he’ll shoot straight with you. He isn’t a man I want to be at odds with.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So if he’s going to play you straight, why am I here?” grumbled the agricultural automaton. Harvester hadn’t gotten any action in 2 or 3 days and he was getting cranky. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Showing off the goods,” Doorman explained. “We’re going to offer your services to Vendreti.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So now I’m workin’ for you and him?” That didn’t seem to sit well with the large robot. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Trust me, you can learn a lot from this guy. I’m going to need you to assist with some more…entertaining aspects of my plan later, but we need some operating capital. It’s too risky pulling the jobs in Parodiopolis, and you don’t work in GMY without goin’ through the Boss if you’re smart.” Doorman thought he heard the receptionist coming back to the atrium. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Any why am I splitting the profits with you?” Harvester checked. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Think of it as a finder’s fee,” Doorman said with a smile. “And I promise to give you first crack at CrazySugarFreakBoy! after we take down Hatman. “ > > > > > >     Doorman had explained parts of his plan to Harvester earlier, and he had to admit that while it was elaborate, it had a good chance at succeeding. He had the brute force necessary to take on the Lair Legion but he had to admit he didn’t have the gift of strategy to tip the odds in his favour. Doorman did. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Deal,” Harvester agreed. > > > > > >     Myra opened Vendreti’s door and motioned for Doorman and Harvester to enter. “He’ll see you now boys,” she said with a wink. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thank you ,” Doorman said with a smile on his face. As he stepped into Vendreti’s office he removed his cap. When Harvester failed to remove his hat he elbowed him in the stomach, and the automaton followed suit. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“See, now this, this I appreciate,” said Anthony Vendreti from behind his desk as he stood to greet his desk. “Call ahead, show some respect. Much more civilized than your counterpart.” He extended his hand to Doorman. > > > > > >     Doorman eyed the hand warily for a moment, then noticed the gloves on Boss Deadeyes hands. He shook the mob boss’ hand even as he questioned him. “How do you know who I am?” > > > > > >     Vendreti smiled. “See, no beating around the bush, no playing me like I’m stupid. I like you kid, have a seat.” He eyed the muscle Doorman had brought with him before turning his attention back to Doorman. “You’ve got a big boy there.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Quality over quantity,” Doorman said in way of explanation as he settled into the wingback chair before Boss Deadeye’s desk. > > > > > >     Vendreti reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small wooden box. “Cigar?” he offered. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Thank you,” Doorman accepted the proffered cigar. “Got a light?” he turned to ask Harvester. The automaton produced a lighter from his over-alls. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“No no no, you don’t light a cigar with one a’ those,” Vendreti scolded. “You have to use a wood match, preserves the flavour.” He produced a matchbook from his desk and tossed it across the table to Doorman. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“So how did you know who I really was,” Doorman asked again, puffing on the cigar. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You telling me you didn’t research me before comin’ here? I got connections kid, I use ‘em, same as you.” Vendreti lit his own cigar before putting the box away. “Now, what can I do for you?” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“We’re looking for, I guess ‘sponsorship’ might be the appropriate term,” Doorman began. “As you know, I’m Hatman’s alternate reality counterpart. The problem is, my reality has been destroyed, and only one of us can permanently occupy this one.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“And you wanna hold down the number one spot,” Vendreti surmised. “Where do I fit in?” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Well, before I kill him, I want to make him suffer.” Doorman indicated the recently repaired window to his right. “I’m sure you’ll agree he has it coming.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Punk kid in tights thinks he can tell me how to run my business,” Vendreti agreed. “That being said though, we do have a truce. I don’t move against him, he don’t move against me. Why should I rock the boat?” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You don’t actually have to do anything,” Doorman said as he puffed on his cigar. “To enact my plan, I need money.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t want no paper trail leading back to me,” Deadeyes warned him. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“I don’t want your money,” Doorman assured him. “But I would like to offer Harvester’s services to you, for a cut on the jobs he assists with.” > > > > > >     Vendreti eyed the large grey robot standing behind Doorman. “Like I said, he’s a big boy. Why not pull your own jobs and take all the profits?” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Because if he operates in Parodiopolis, the chances increase of the Lair Legion getting involved. Here, in Gothametroplis, you run things smart, he’s a lot less likely to get caught,” Doorman explained. “And I wouldn’t dream of operating here without your blessing.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Smart,” Vendreti approved. “I could use some muscle on a few jobs coming up,” conceded the mob boss. “But again, what if the Legion tracks this back to me?” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“The Lair Legion don’t even know I exist,” Doorman explained. “They think I died in my home reality. And all Harvester will be doing is assist you on operations you currently have underway, no attacks on the Legion.” Doorman turned to make sure Harvester got that point. > > > > > >     Harvester nodded his agreement. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Alright kid, you got a deal,” Vendreti agreed. “I get use of your associate, you get a kickback. And in the end you teach that punk Hatman a lesson. But if you double cross me, you won’t live to regret it, capeesh?” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“You play me straight, I play you straight,” Doorman agreed, shaking the mobster’s hand. He glanced down at his wristwatch. “I hate to deal and run, but I do have some pressing business up north that I must attend to.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Business is business,” Vendreti allowed. “Stop by and see me when you get back.” > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“Done.” He turned to Harvester. “Be good while I’m gone,” he told the automaton before exiting through the main doors. Vendreti couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw a rather large amount of mud on the other side of the door before it closed. > > > > > >     He pressed a buzzer on his desk and Myra poked her head in the door, no longer linked to elsewhere by Doorman. “Yeah Boss?” > > > > > >     Vendreti looked at the hulking robot standing in his office. “Call my tailor,” he instructed her before turning to Harvester. > > > > > >     Ã¢â‚¬Å“What’s your jacket size kid?” > > > > > > To be continued... > > > > > > NOTE: While I will work events in Saving The Future into the Doorman series, we're probably a chapter or two away from that. Rest assured though that current events are part of Doorman's master plan. > > >

I think I found it spelled throughout the Deadeyes series as Vendredi, Vendreti, Vendtredi, Ventreti...

~Hat~