Author: Lara
Rating: PG through NC17
Disclaimer: This is a fictional story based upon the Oceans 11 movie. It's made up, and AU.
Note: I started this a while back, and lost my muse. I hope by posting it on this list, I'll get the muse back.
Sean Bean checked himself in the mirror one more time, smoothing back his hair behind his ears. He straightened the suit, made sure no lint lingered on the shoulders, and took a deep breath. Ready to go to work.
He slipped out of his office, making sure to lock the door behind him. He nodded to dishwashers and busboys, making sure that their uniforms were spotless as well…as spotless as a uniform could get in a busy Las Vegas restaurant. He answered a cook’s question, quickly folded up some boxes for recycling, and signed off on the inventory without even checking it. He didn’t need to check it. He had spent a lot of time interviewing to find the perfect and totally honest manager.
He did a visual inventory of the bottles behind the bar without making it look like he was. His photographic memory knew everything that should be behind the bar, and everything that shouldn’t. He moved a jar of maraschino cherries, tossed out a few limes that were past their prime, and turned to the bartender. “How’s everything going, Brad?”
“Fine, Mr. Sharpe. Just fine.” The handsome bartender smiled at his boss before turning to wait on an attractive middle-aged woman.
“Mrs. Aniston, how are you?” Sean reached over to shake the woman’s hand.
“Just fine, Richard. Brad’s giving me everything I need.” The woman smiled up at the bartender, who subtly rolled his eyes. Sean gave her a polite smile and winked imperceptibly at Brad before moving on.
“Excuse me, Mr. Sharpe?” The hostess appeared at his side, keeping stride with him easily.
“Yes, Julia?”
“There’s someone that wants to talk to you over in booth seven.”
Sean stopped walking, smiling at regular customers to his left. “Now, Julia, I thought I told you that all customer issues were to be brought to Mr. George’s attention.”
“It’s not an issue. I mean, not an issue for Mr. George. He asked for you personally…but he told me to get the owner, a Mr. Bean?”
Sean froze, but tried not to make it obvious. No one knew that Richard Sharpe was really Sean Bean. He was intrigued, but wary. “Booth seven, you said?” He ignored her obvious interest in the name Bean.
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, Julia. Please make sure I am not disturbed unless it’s an emergency.”
“Yes, sir.” She knew better than to ask questions.
Sean approached the booth, spying a light-haired head just barely peeping over the top of the tall booth. “Can I help you?” He said, as he approached.
“I think you can.” The voice was husky and familiar, and he recognized it instantly.
“Good God, Viggo.” Sean slid into the booth across from the man. “You scared me to death.”
The sun worn face smiled at him. “How did I know what alias you were using this week?”
“Richard Sharpe, if you must know,” Sean said. He reached over and shook Viggo’s hand. “God, it’s good to see you. How long have you been around?”
“About two weeks. I needed some time to get some things together.”
Sean snapped his fingers and a waiter came running. “Whiskey on the rocks for my friend. Best we have. And…have Charlie throw together some of that pasta primavera he makes. A huge bowl.” Sean smiled at Viggo. “I’m sure he’s hungry for some good food.”
Two hours later, Viggo pushed his plate away with a sigh of contentment. “Damn, that was good.”
“I know what you like.” Sean put his wine glass down and stared at him. “I know this visit wasn’t just a friendly hello. What’s going on?”
“I need some help.” Viggo finished his own wine and smiled at him. “Something right up your alley, I think.”
“Am I to believe this is probably less than legal?” Sean tried not to seem too interested.
“Probably.” Viggo’s expression was blank.
“Tell me more.”
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Date: 2005-04-15 03:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-15 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-22 05:28 pm (UTC)