#john tracy

“How much did we pay for this place!?” the voice pierced Scott’s skull. He scrabbled to pull the bluetooth earpiece away from one poor abused eardrum, whilst simultaneously trying to jab at the volume control.

“Gordon?”

“Who else!” the vowels still bashed around Scott's cranium, he jabbed at the controls some more.

“What’s wrong? I mean, is everything alright?” Scott stuttered. 

“Yeah, why wouldn't it be?” Gordon was staying away for some meetings connected to one of his personal passion projects, Scott had been told the details, in much detail, but didn’t trust himself to reiterate them with 100% accuracy. 

“No reason. What was your question?”

“Oh yeah. How much did we pay for this place?”

“What place?” He really hoped Gordon started making more sense soon, it had been a long day. 

“This apartment, the one I’m staying in, we own it right?”

Scott wracked his brains, “yeah, it’s part of the property portfolio, we just asked for a base in the main head office locations.”

“Well have you seen this one?” Gordon sounded like he was walking around an echoing gallery.

Scott shook his head, and then remembered he was on a voice only call, “nope, is it nice?”

“I mean, yeah, but it’s a bit soulless, ya know?”

Scott stood up from the desk and stretched. “So you mean Virgil hasn’t covered all available wall space yet?”

Gordon snorted, “maybe that's it! But, Scott, like everything is polished white, everything. I’m afraid to sit down,” Scott could hear him pacing as he spoke. 

“Well try not to wreck the joint and mess up the resale value.” Scott tried to sound serious, but the laugh crept in at the edges. 

“That’s my point though, this must have cost a bomb! And I just think for whatever kinda money it was, then it ought to have a better kitchen.” Scott could hear Gordon opening and closing cupboard doors, presumably in the disappointing kitchen.

“Sorry squid, they don’t come with a fully stocked pantry when you buy them.” Scott laughed.

“Har har! Very funny. But I’m serious, it’s like a little galley kitchen, enough for an espresso machine and nothing else, how is a guy mean to make a grilled sandwich?”

“I don’t think the demographic they're aiming for are making their own grilled cheese.”

“They must be so sad, it must be true, money can’t buy you happiness.” another cupboard closed.

“It can buy you a lotta sandwiches though.” Scott pointed out. “Is it at least convenient to the office?”

“Yeah, but like, so are loads of other places, thats the whole point of a city - right?”

“True. If you really don’t like it there, book into a hotel.”

“Nah, it’s ok.” but he didn’t sound so sure. 

“Or you could decorate…” Scott offered. 

“What? And risk the resell value.”

“I think the family coffers can take the hit. If you’re going to be there more often for your project, then you might as well make yourself more comfortable.”

“Are you trying to get me to move out Scott?”

“N-no! Of course not!” Scott tumbled over his words in his haste to get he words out.

“Ha!” Gordon cut over him laughing, “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! You wouldn’t catch me giving up my beach side living for city centre life. It’s ok to visit and all, but home is home.”

Scott nodded, “Yeah, home is home.”

“I might take you up on the home renovation though, that could be fun.”

“Hey, hang on, don’t start doing anything structural, remember that other apartments are depending on some of those internal walls for structural stuff like holding the ceiling up!”

“I know, I know. Jeeze, you sound just like Virgil. Although he would say something more professional that ‘structural stuff’ something like load bearing or ….. I dunno, lintels are things I think?”

“Yeah lintels and stuff. Maybe stick to the aesthetic for now. I look forward to seeing what you do with the place.” the grin on his face was fond, just as well Gordon couldn’t see it. How bad could it really be, even if Gordon did lean into the hawaiian prints. 

Property portfolio part two

John managed to juggle a tablet, an overnight bag, a cardboard container of takeaway, the tie he had already taken off, a refillable water bottle and his phone. Eventually managing to get his phone up to the scanner and thereby gain entrance to the apartment building. It shouldn’t be this difficult. 

Next came three flights of stairs, because the prospect of being trapped in an elevator with anyone and the resultant small talk, was more of a deterrent than adding the extra steps to his day. 

A further fumble with a digital pad, finally had John across the threshold of the apartment that would be his home for the night. 

He stopped dead. Stepped back, checked the number on the door. Having confirmed this was in fact the right apartment, John stepped forward once more. What greeted him was a six foot faux taxidermy flamingo. He raised the phone to his ear, whilst keeping his eye locked on the feathery bouncer, edging past it and into the living area beyond. 

He was clearly on speaker phone when the call connected because he could hear feet pounding on a treadmill. He didn’t bother waiting on pleasantries. 

“What the hell kind of place have you sent me?”

“Hello to you too John, how was your day?” Scott laughed, only slightly out of breath as he continued running. 

“Six foot bright pink flamingo, Scott.”  that caused a stutter in the rhythm of Scott's feet.

“Is this one of those cryptic clue things, because if you can’t get it, what hope do I have?”

“No. It's this apartment, or rather it’s in this apartment. A six foot flamingo, right in the lobby. Who is managing our property portfolio, should we be asking questions about the type of properties they are investing in? What if this was something sketchy?” John edged further into the apartment edging around a knitted zebra floor rug. 

 Scott just laughed.

“I’m serious, we can’t risk reputational damage by getting embroiled with anything……dodgy”

“Dodgy? Had a long day bro? Not your finest verbage” Scott had got back to speed and the treadmill beeped in approval. 

“You know what I mean! We have to be careful, it’s literally our name on the door.” John ploughed on, trying to hammer home his point. Sometimes you had to use a big hammer with Scott. 

“Don’t worry John -” Scott tried. 

That set off the firework “I HAve to WOrry! It’s literally my job! Scott”

“No, no I mean you don’t have to worry!” There was a growled ‘I’ll be the judge of that’ but Scott doggedly continued “There's nothing …. Dodgy about the place.”

“Scott there's a chair shaped like a banana…”

“Ok, apart from that maybe, theres no actual criminal connection. I just let Gordon decorate it.”

“Oh is that all,” the sarcasm was so dry it was parched. “Are you mad? What were you thinking?!”

“Oh come on, the kid was spending more time out there, and I think the sterile environment was getting to him. You know he doesn't cope well in …..clinical spaces.”

John took a moment to let that sink in, “ok, fair point.” John was always willing to concede to well applied logic. Or alternatively well applied tugs on the sentimental big brother heartstrings. 

Scott thought he had won in the following silence, but it turned out that John had been taking a photo. It pinged up on his phone and Scott jumped up onto the side rails to see the image. Which turned out to be a wise decision because he would have been bound to loose his footing from shock.

“What am I looking at here, John?” Scott spluttered. 

“My thoughts exactly! If I have to see it, so do you, dear brother.” 

“Thanks, I hate it.” John was not the only brother who could stick a deadpan delivery.

There was a click audible down the phoneline. “Oh, I think it's actually a drinks cabinet.” John reported “A drinks cabinet that just happens to be shaped like a rubber duck disco ball, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Scott gave up on his run and turned the machine off. “Look, If you really don’t like it there, book into a hotel.” The offer was genuine. 

“No, it's alright. It does weirdly remind me of home. Just, Scott, do me a favour? Give me a heads up next time I’m going to be staying in one of Gordons….’projects’. I feel thoroughly underdressed.”

The punchline had Scott snorting in a manner unbecoming for the commander of an international rescue organisation. Which John considered a win.

“Ok, bro, catch you later!” Scott signed off, before he made more of a fool of himself. 

Virgil and Gordon had gone there with Thunderbird 2. He had sent Kayo there on her way back from another mission to reset the facility's cooling system with the Thunderbird S.

Four people were standing directly behind where Virgil and Gordon were removing the crumbling concrete. A woman had sprained her wrist, and while Virgil continued removing the concretes for fifth person, Gordon had left to make sure the woman got out safely.

The excessive temperature was interfering with the sensors and the data John was receiving. Had Kayo's voice not interrupted their normal conversation with Gordon and Virgil, none of them would have known that the tunnel next to them was also about to explode.

They had only a few minutes; Virgil was determined to save the last person behind the closing tunnel.

The explosion occurred just as Virgil had created enough space for the man to escape. The flames hadn't reached them, but the explosion had caused the already unstable tunnel to collapse even further.

Virgil wasn't running with the man who had managed to escape. Because until the man emerged from the tunnel, he was using all his strength to keep one of the supporting columns in place.

Data from Virgil's exo-suit was triggering alarms. The hydraulic lifts were about to break due to the extreme heat and weight. But Virgil refused to leave, insisting that the fifth person could get out safely.

John had asked him to back down.

Gordon too.

Kayo too.

When another explosion occurred, Virgil was trapped under tons of concrete, along with his broken exo-suit.

Now they were all at the hospital for hours, waiting for news from the operating room.

It was 23:59. One minute later, it would be his brother's birthday, who was fighting for his life inside.