SevenSlave
04-05-2003, 12:50 PM
Chapter Five
Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon
February 16th
Dinah passed on an intriguing bit of information to me the other day. She told me that there was a rumor going around Blackwater Creek that the Pitts brothers were running a meth lab out in the woods somewhere. Considering that Darryl has a prior for possession of methamphetamine with intent to distribute, there might be more than a grain of truth to that story.
I've been researching Greenlefe House's finances and corporate structure (This is in addition to its umbrella organization, the Greenlefe Foundation).
Where do I begin? The Greenlefe Foundation's Board of Directors is comprised of people who are not among the living (Mr. Tucker included). Mr. Tucker's namesake -- Roy Alan Tucker -- died at the age of 2 1/2 months. It seems that Mr. Tucker has gone to great lengths to hide his past, even going so far to assume the identity of an infant who died of a defective heart valve.
As for the rest of the Board, they all lived to ripe old ages (60's, 70's, 80's … with one gentleman dying at the age of 103). I must give Mr. Tucker points for ingenuity. A Board of Directors stacked with corpses -- is there any better way to give the public the illusion of legitimacy while at the same time maintaining absolute control? (And make no mistake about it, as the only living person on the Board, the Rev. Pitts IS in a position of absolute control.)
The Foundation has two bank accounts attached to it: a regular commercial account … and a Swiss bank account. What need would a charitable foundation have for a Swiss bank account? Why all the secrecy?
In addition, the Swiss bank account is tied to a SECOND company called Atavus. The Swiss bank account looks VERY interesting; all cash deposits -- most of them north of twenty thousand dollars each. No checks or credit card charges … most curious.
Both Atavus and the Foundation share the same Board of Directors. Roy Tucker/Rev. Pitts created both organizations. More and more, the Reverend appears to be a key player in this operation, if not the driving force behind it.
*************************************
"So this Foundation has some funny finances, huh?" said Helena.
"They both appear to be shell corporations," replied Barbara. "My guess is that they're being used to launder drug money."
"Why a children's home, of all things?" asked Dinah.
"My guess is that it's intended as a distraction," Barbara replied. "Get the public's attention focused on Greenlefe House … and they won't bother looking into the funny business going on at Atavus." She then paused. "Furthermore, it's the last place anyone would expect to find a drug operation."
"Surely the media would've picked up on this by now…"
"I think I can answer that," said Helena. "Reese told me that Tucker's got the publisher of the New Gotham Gazette in his pocket. I think it's safe to assume that goes for the rest of the media in this town too."
"I've been doing a little research on Switch," said Barbara. "Its emergence on the streets seems to coincide with the Pitts brothers' arrival in New Gotham. I'm wondering if there might be a connection."
"Think the brothers pulled up stakes and set up shop here?
"Could be. I can't see the leopard changing its spots," said Barbara. "Found something else." She paused. "I've been running a probe on Atavus. Lately, they've been ordering large amounts of acetone … by the fifty-five-gallon drum."
"What could they want with that much acetone?"
"Normally, it's an industrial solvent. It's also a key component in the making of meth."
"Think they're dealing Switch?"
"Could be. Wish I had a sample of the stuff for comparison."
"Consider it done," said Helena with a grin. "I'll get you a sample."
"No," said Barbara firmly. "The police do drug sweeps all the time. I don't want you getting caught up."
"I'm not gonna get caught up," Helena replied. "First, I gotta talk to The Jamaican."
******************************************
Stewart "Stuey" Randall Atkins a.k.a. "The Jamaican" was 43, a reformed petty thief and burglar, and one of The Huntress's street informants. He now ran a jerk shop called "Jamaican Me Crazy" in the Little Kingston district on New Gotham's Lower East Side (And if The Huntress is to be believed, the place was "one of the best in town").
The Huntress strode into the place -- in all her black-leather-clad glory -- and marched up to the cash register that was located in front of the kitchen service window, causing all the other customers in the shop to stop and stare.
"Hey, Stuey!" she called out. "Stuey, my man!"
Stuey peeked out from behind the service window. Tonight, a plastic hairnet covered his trademark dreadlocks. His frame was wiry, his face thin -- years of hard living having had taken their toll. The Huntress smiled and gave a friendly wave in greeting.
"Ontress!" he called back with a smile. Huntress loved to hear his lilting island accent. Stuey was one of those people who could recite the telephone directory and make it sound good.
"Can we talk?"
"But of course," Stuey replied, gesturing for Huntress to come into the kitchen. "Come on back."
Huntress walked through the swinging kitchen doors that were located just to the right of the service window. The scents of the islands -- jerk spices, roasting fish, chicken, pork, and beef -- wafted through the air. The air in the kitchen was sticky, humid, and steamy. She found Stuey standing at a counter, slicing a piece of grilled chicken breast into strips.
"How's business?" asked Huntress with a grin.
"Oh, business is good … very good."
"Speaking of business, I was wondering if I could talk some with you?"
"But of course," said Stuey with a nod. "Bernard!" he called out with a snap of his fingers to a chubby assistant cook with a shaved head in the back. "Take over!"
***************************************
Huntress and Stuey stood in the alley that was located behind the shop. The night was clear but chilly -- the air a marked change from the steaming kitchen from whence the two had just emerged.
"What can I do for you?" asked Stuey.
"Know anything about a drug called Switch?"
"Oh, nasty stuff, Ontress. Nasty stuff. Nasty people dealing it too."
"Know anything about `em?"
"No one knows," replied Stuey regretfully. "I do know this … they step over LOT of bodies to get where they are today."
Great, thought Huntress wryly to herself. "Know where I can get some?"
"I never knew you were into drugs, Ontress."
"It's not for me … it's for a friend of mine," Huntress replied. "It's not what you think. She wants a sample to analyze."
"Ah, I see," said Stuey. He then said in a low whisper, "Go to 9-1-1 Club in West 80's. Ask for Little Ricky. He set you up."
Huntress took a fifty-dollar bill out of her coat pocket, took one of Stuey's hands in her own, and placed the bill in the palm of his hand. "Thanks, man."
"Can I get you anything?" Stuey asked. "Coffee? A sandwich?"
"Not tonight," Huntress replied. "I'm on duty." With that, she ran down the alley and disappeared into the night.
Next Chapter (http://www.birdsofpreyonline.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=2759&highlight=switch)
Encrypted Journal Entry -- Barbara Gordon
February 16th
Dinah passed on an intriguing bit of information to me the other day. She told me that there was a rumor going around Blackwater Creek that the Pitts brothers were running a meth lab out in the woods somewhere. Considering that Darryl has a prior for possession of methamphetamine with intent to distribute, there might be more than a grain of truth to that story.
I've been researching Greenlefe House's finances and corporate structure (This is in addition to its umbrella organization, the Greenlefe Foundation).
Where do I begin? The Greenlefe Foundation's Board of Directors is comprised of people who are not among the living (Mr. Tucker included). Mr. Tucker's namesake -- Roy Alan Tucker -- died at the age of 2 1/2 months. It seems that Mr. Tucker has gone to great lengths to hide his past, even going so far to assume the identity of an infant who died of a defective heart valve.
As for the rest of the Board, they all lived to ripe old ages (60's, 70's, 80's … with one gentleman dying at the age of 103). I must give Mr. Tucker points for ingenuity. A Board of Directors stacked with corpses -- is there any better way to give the public the illusion of legitimacy while at the same time maintaining absolute control? (And make no mistake about it, as the only living person on the Board, the Rev. Pitts IS in a position of absolute control.)
The Foundation has two bank accounts attached to it: a regular commercial account … and a Swiss bank account. What need would a charitable foundation have for a Swiss bank account? Why all the secrecy?
In addition, the Swiss bank account is tied to a SECOND company called Atavus. The Swiss bank account looks VERY interesting; all cash deposits -- most of them north of twenty thousand dollars each. No checks or credit card charges … most curious.
Both Atavus and the Foundation share the same Board of Directors. Roy Tucker/Rev. Pitts created both organizations. More and more, the Reverend appears to be a key player in this operation, if not the driving force behind it.
*************************************
"So this Foundation has some funny finances, huh?" said Helena.
"They both appear to be shell corporations," replied Barbara. "My guess is that they're being used to launder drug money."
"Why a children's home, of all things?" asked Dinah.
"My guess is that it's intended as a distraction," Barbara replied. "Get the public's attention focused on Greenlefe House … and they won't bother looking into the funny business going on at Atavus." She then paused. "Furthermore, it's the last place anyone would expect to find a drug operation."
"Surely the media would've picked up on this by now…"
"I think I can answer that," said Helena. "Reese told me that Tucker's got the publisher of the New Gotham Gazette in his pocket. I think it's safe to assume that goes for the rest of the media in this town too."
"I've been doing a little research on Switch," said Barbara. "Its emergence on the streets seems to coincide with the Pitts brothers' arrival in New Gotham. I'm wondering if there might be a connection."
"Think the brothers pulled up stakes and set up shop here?
"Could be. I can't see the leopard changing its spots," said Barbara. "Found something else." She paused. "I've been running a probe on Atavus. Lately, they've been ordering large amounts of acetone … by the fifty-five-gallon drum."
"What could they want with that much acetone?"
"Normally, it's an industrial solvent. It's also a key component in the making of meth."
"Think they're dealing Switch?"
"Could be. Wish I had a sample of the stuff for comparison."
"Consider it done," said Helena with a grin. "I'll get you a sample."
"No," said Barbara firmly. "The police do drug sweeps all the time. I don't want you getting caught up."
"I'm not gonna get caught up," Helena replied. "First, I gotta talk to The Jamaican."
******************************************
Stewart "Stuey" Randall Atkins a.k.a. "The Jamaican" was 43, a reformed petty thief and burglar, and one of The Huntress's street informants. He now ran a jerk shop called "Jamaican Me Crazy" in the Little Kingston district on New Gotham's Lower East Side (And if The Huntress is to be believed, the place was "one of the best in town").
The Huntress strode into the place -- in all her black-leather-clad glory -- and marched up to the cash register that was located in front of the kitchen service window, causing all the other customers in the shop to stop and stare.
"Hey, Stuey!" she called out. "Stuey, my man!"
Stuey peeked out from behind the service window. Tonight, a plastic hairnet covered his trademark dreadlocks. His frame was wiry, his face thin -- years of hard living having had taken their toll. The Huntress smiled and gave a friendly wave in greeting.
"Ontress!" he called back with a smile. Huntress loved to hear his lilting island accent. Stuey was one of those people who could recite the telephone directory and make it sound good.
"Can we talk?"
"But of course," Stuey replied, gesturing for Huntress to come into the kitchen. "Come on back."
Huntress walked through the swinging kitchen doors that were located just to the right of the service window. The scents of the islands -- jerk spices, roasting fish, chicken, pork, and beef -- wafted through the air. The air in the kitchen was sticky, humid, and steamy. She found Stuey standing at a counter, slicing a piece of grilled chicken breast into strips.
"How's business?" asked Huntress with a grin.
"Oh, business is good … very good."
"Speaking of business, I was wondering if I could talk some with you?"
"But of course," said Stuey with a nod. "Bernard!" he called out with a snap of his fingers to a chubby assistant cook with a shaved head in the back. "Take over!"
***************************************
Huntress and Stuey stood in the alley that was located behind the shop. The night was clear but chilly -- the air a marked change from the steaming kitchen from whence the two had just emerged.
"What can I do for you?" asked Stuey.
"Know anything about a drug called Switch?"
"Oh, nasty stuff, Ontress. Nasty stuff. Nasty people dealing it too."
"Know anything about `em?"
"No one knows," replied Stuey regretfully. "I do know this … they step over LOT of bodies to get where they are today."
Great, thought Huntress wryly to herself. "Know where I can get some?"
"I never knew you were into drugs, Ontress."
"It's not for me … it's for a friend of mine," Huntress replied. "It's not what you think. She wants a sample to analyze."
"Ah, I see," said Stuey. He then said in a low whisper, "Go to 9-1-1 Club in West 80's. Ask for Little Ricky. He set you up."
Huntress took a fifty-dollar bill out of her coat pocket, took one of Stuey's hands in her own, and placed the bill in the palm of his hand. "Thanks, man."
"Can I get you anything?" Stuey asked. "Coffee? A sandwich?"
"Not tonight," Huntress replied. "I'm on duty." With that, she ran down the alley and disappeared into the night.
Next Chapter (http://www.birdsofpreyonline.com/forum/showthread.php?s=&threadid=2759&highlight=switch)