"So, what?s going on, son?"

They're sitting in the office of the president of operations for the Olympus Grand Resort and Casino in Las Vegas, just outside of the main strip, looking directly down it from a distance enough to make it a glittering jewel without being so distant that their guests would feel isolated from the other pleasures Sin city had to offer.

Being out here, in the middle of this desert, is enough to make one forget that there's anything else out there at all.

Mostly.

The old man sitting across the desk from him is grayed and bearded, his features betraying strong Greek roots that Leo sees in himself from time to time, when he looks the right way. His father has said there's more of his mother there to see, but he's pretty sure that's something his dad says to try and get a rise out of him.

"Well...not much. Just another day out there, really...caught a guy trying that wet glass trick to steal chips, some moron trying to use a monkey paw in the south slots. The usual retarded crap."

His dad gives him an exasperated look, which makes him even more confused. "Come on, boy. You can stop playing coy with your old man. I didn't just get off one of those geriatric cross-country tour buses, ya know." He's always admired his dad's voice, tough and growling and gritty. Just about anyone hearing it tends to have a moment of pause.

Leo's voice, by contrast, is low, rishly musical, much like his mother's father, from what his dad says. Not that he ever said it was a bad thing - more than once he's used it to his advantage in talking a young lady or two out of her clothes, whihc usually got a disapporving look from his old man...when he was caught. But he hasn't done that in at least a month...

Nope, he cant think of anything, unless he somehow screwed up at work and missed it. "Uh...sorry, Pop, but you're going to have to tell me what you're talking about."

The old man gives him an odd look before tossing an envelope at him. Turning it in his hands, he notices it's been opened, and that it's addressed to him. His dark eyes burn with anger as he looks up at his father, glaring. "You're checking my mail again...?"

His dad has at least the grace to look a bit chagrined, if not wholly ashamed. "Sorry...I thought...well, just read it." He growls that out, as if it's bitter in his mouth.

The office overlooks New Orleans from atop one of the highest buildings in the downtown area. He's admiring this view, dressed in a custom-tailored three-piece by Armante, when he hears the door open softly behind him.

The person stepping in is big, VERY big - heavy and broad, aware of his bulk and without a doubt confident in its use. And light on his feet, too. Probably in custom clothes, sounds like silk, leather shoes, soft sole, good fit.

Smiling, he turns around, to find he;s right...and that Kyle Pontius is black. Black, and big indeed.

Still, he doesn't hesitate, despite being maybe three quarters of the other man's size. Walking over, he extends a hand that is taken and disappears into the bigger man's grip, squeezed like a vice, and let go. "Mr. Pontius, I'm guessing?"

The man smiles and bows his head. His voice is so deep that Leo thinks for a second he can feel it vibrating in his bones. "You guess right. And your full name is Leonidas Heracleides, if I remember from your file, right?"

Leo grimaces visibly at that, holding up a hand. "Just Leo. Only my dad gets away with calling me by my full name without losing teeth."

the man looks at him for a moment, as if gauging whether or not he's serious, then busts out laughing. Leo just grins, chuckling, as the man reaches out and slaps him on the shoulder hard enough to jar his teeth a bit. "Leo it is, and you're hired."

He's taken aback enough to stop chuckling, surprised. "Just like that?"

The big man walks off towards a desk, waving him over to a chair opposite it that looks very comfortable. "Yeah, just like that. Ed Batten likes people that don't have a problem speaking their mind, and you're just his breed of a$$hole, if you don't mind me saying." Dropping into the chair behind the desk, he flashes a dazzlingly white grin at Leo as he settles into his own seat. "I oughta know, it takes one to know one. You went through Parris Island too, right?"

That's about all it takes to relax Leo. A brother Marine across the desk. "Yessir, that's right. Did two three-year stretches, one in Iraq with Recon and another in Afghanistan as a sniper."

Pontius nods, sitting up and thumbing through a thick folder on his desk. "Yeah, I read that. And it shows you earned the Navy Cross twice - once in Iraq for the rescue of three senior intelligence personnel, and then again in Afghanistan where, as a sniper, you not only called in air strikes against key installations, you got in close enough to provide precise targeting data for Hornets delivering laser-guided smart payloads at 'great risk to your person without regard for your own life.' According to your file here, it shows that you were behind enemy lines with another sniper and your respective spotters for damn near your entire tour, two and a half years. During that time, between the pair of you you managed to wrack up enough destruction and chaos for the enemy that they organized a team to hunt you down, and they damn near succeeded." He flips the folder closed, eyeballing the smaller man sitting in the chair across from him.

Leo, having grown up in Las Vegas, is a master of the poker face. You have to be, when your dad is not only a former Marine but the head of security at the most secure casino in Las Vegas. Which is saying something, in spades.

Underneath that, he's remembering the two years of therapy it had taken afterwards.

Both physical and mental.

Instead, he just sits there, a slight smile on his lips, his fingers interlaced, still and quiet. Waiting patiently.

Finally, the bigger man grins. "As you can see, we have a wealth of resources at our disposal. All of which will be at your disposal, should you accept the position."

Leo allows the smile to grow. Just a touch. Those kind of resources, indeed, would be fun to use - in Las Vegas they have a lot of access, but even in Sin City he couldn't have laid his hands on the kind of information that this Pontius had in that folder - in fact, the second Navy Cross, and the Purple Heart with it, was classified material. He wasn't allowed to talk about those operations, ever.

Which is why it was a Navy Cross and not a Medal of Honor. His first therapist - a yuppie whose experience with the military probably amounted to watching and laughing at Full Metal Jacket for the first half of the movie (before getting bored with the remainder and turning it off), perhaps combined with some news reports and a few other movies and television programs - had asked him why it wasn't a Medal of Honor.

Because there wasn't much honor in some of the things we did, he said before leaving the office to find himself a different therapist.

"So...what kind of pay are we talking" And where will I be going?"

The big man grins in a way that makes him excited and a tad uneasy. That deep voice is cheerful as it names a figure that's easily twice what he would have made taking his old man's job over.

"But that's not the best part, Leo, my man. Wait until you find out where you're going."

He's leaning against a wall at the corner of Canal and St. Charles when his latest employee comes walking by.

Call him odd, if you'd like. He finds often that interviewing his employees face to face only tells you part of the story, and he's well aware that someone trying for a job is going to put their best foot forward to get it.

He's more interested in what they're like when they're not face-to-face with their boss.

He gives the kid a second, giving him a disinterested glance as he goes by, a hint of contempt that locals generally show tourists. He doesn't even get that much back from the man, which means he's playing his part well - just another guy on the street.

He remains against the wall, casually watching passersby, for a ten count. Pushing away from the wall, he starts north along the avenue, casually and aimlessly walking along, following the new hire.

He's impressed thus far, if only by one thing: the kid had come out of his room. He keeps the most expensive suite in the place available for those hirings he takes a personal interest in, and so far, damn near everyone he's put in it has stayed there, not bothering to explore.

And he's out during daylight, which is smart - New Orleans after dark, to someone that's unfamiliar with where not to go, can be unforgiving at best.

Whistling softly to himself with a little smile, slipping his hands into his coat pockets, he trails along after Leo.

He almost doesn't see it.

Still affecting that casual stroll, he ambles along, looking up and around casually, as if he's seen it all before and is just looking by habit. When his gaze comes back down to the street level again, the kid is gone.

Sh*t.

Sharp eyes scan the area even as he's slowing, looking for even a hint of his quarry, only to find there's none.

It would appear he's been made.

"Congrats, Leo...you got the job."

Speaking softly to himself, he moves in closer to the buildings, watching the street even as he is murmuring softly. "Di, d'ya got him?"

The feminine voice comes back softly, audible to his ears alone from hidden speakers built into his coat. "Yes, sir. Thermal imaging shows that he is in an alleyway just ahead. It would seem you've been spotted, sir."

"Yeah, t'anks, Di. Ne'er woulda figgered dat out." Quickly, he wracks his brain, thinking, seeing the layout of the territory in his head. That alley dead-ends, but there's another way into it...

With a grin, he makes his way quickly up to the shop just before the alleyway, a tobacco store, slipping inside. A quick nod and a gesture to the shop owner is all it takes - being both rich and well-known in your own city has its perks, and the shop owner just grins and waves him on through.

They've played this game before, a few times. Which is why there's no chime on the back door and the hinges are well-oiled.

Slipping out the door, he turns towards the entrance of the alleyway, just in time to see the kid turning his body to look around the corner.

Being very careful to be quiet, he moves towards Leo, making sure to stay out of arm's reach as he stops. "Yeah...Ah'm not out dere an'more, mon ami."

He really hadn't known what to expect, but it sure didn't include being tossed into a wall hard enough to drive the breath out of him.

And before he's even had a chance to do so much as bounce from the wall he feels his head forced back and against the hard brick behind him, a steely forearm against the side forcing him to look up and away from the slightly shorter man holding him there by his head with one hard hand against his chest.

Damn, Kyle, you sure can pick 'em.

He can hear the deadly tone beneath the calm veneer of Leo's words, a no-nonsense demand for information that wouldn't be wise to resist. Lifting his hands up to either side of his head - slowly, keeping them away from his coat - he chuckles softly.

"Yer pretty good, Leo. Ah didn' t'ink ya saw me at first, and den jus' when Ah thought Ah had de drop on ya, ya turn de tables." He grins as he feels the man relaxing, faltering slightly in his grip. Turning his head slightly so he can meet his new security chief's gaze, he says, "Sorr' 'bout all de games, son. Ah like t'get a feel fer mah employees b'fore dey start workin' for me, an' Ah gen'rally find dat watchin' 'em in a non-interview envir'nment give me a better idea dan draggin' em up to m'office."

Bit by bit, as he's speaking, he feels the younger man backing away, bit by bit, until he's not holding Ed up to the wall anymore. Carefully, the older man straightens out his hair, smooths his jacket, and holds out a hand. "Ah'm Ed Batten, Leo. What say you an' me, we go ourselves a coupla drinks?"

Two hours later

It's been an informative two hours.

They'd been sitting at Fat Tuesday's on Bourbon Street, talking. By now there's more than a few shot-glasses and beer bottles waiting for the hostess to clean up, and two plates that are mostly empty. Leo, it turned out, had a taste for alligator tenderloin, much to the man's surprise, having never tried it before.

Ed had managed to pick out quite a bit in things that were said, and not said. He had Leo's file memorized, for the most part, and had carefully avoided the parts that he had gotten from his DoD contacts. Pont had already gotten to those questions anyway, and like any man bound my an oath, Leo had refused to elaborate.

A very high point in his favor, as it turns out. If the man is to be trusted with certain secrets, he has to be sure Leo knows how to keep his mouth shut. He's run into all too many that lack that one talent - some people like to brag, and it's that kind of loose-lipped casualness he wishes to avoid, among others.

Instead he'd asked about Leo's life, things that were more the human being side of things. In his opinion that can be as important as the man's trustworthiness - if not moreso.

Leo had been happy to tell him about life in Sin City, a place Ed had been to more than a few times himself but never stayed in for long. They had shared more than a few life going over some of the more foolish attempts at piercing Las Vegas hotel security - which is among the best in the world - as well as other, more seedy topics.

But when he'd asked about the man's mother, the conversation seemed to become a bit more awkward. When he'd pointed out that Leo himself was half Lakota Sioux and Cherokee, the man had seemed nearly embarrassed of the fact, saying that it was on his mother's side of the family and that he hadn't really known her all that well, that she'd killed herself when he was very young.

When Ed had pointed out that Leo's mother had died when he was ten, things had dropped into an awkward silence...which is where they are now.

Fortunately he has one more question - really, the question, the thing he's most interested in.

"So, Ah got one more fer ya, an' den Ah'm headin' fer home. Outta cur'osity, Leo, what got ya int'rested in workin' security fer a career?"

It's not often he's impressed by an answer to any question.

Really, he thinks, he expected a much simpler answer - and it had started out just the way he predicted. It's a logical enough supposition, that one would want to follow in their father's footsteps - Ed had, after all, despite the fact his father was long dead...such was the strength of a good father figure.

What impresses him is that - unlike so many men that wish simply to earn a father's approval - Leo has a concrete reason, something that gives him purpose beyond the ordinary.

And he had made another fine point - in a world where the corrupt rule, truly honorable men are few and far between, a rarity amongst rarities.

It gives him the answer to the last question, the one he's asking himself rather than his new security chief.

With a grin, he stands from the table, stretching. The buzz of four beers, two shots of whiskey and one of Pat O'Brien's famous Hurricanes makes him a little unsteady, and he reflects that it's a good thing there'll be a car outside waiting for him.

"Alright, Leo. So...de evenin's yers t'do wit' as y'please, and dere'll be a car outside t'take ya wherev'r. Be in de lobby o' de InterContinental at 8 t'morrow, and we'll get ya t'Rhy'din."

Chuckling, he turns and heads for the door, out into the street. As he climbs into the sleek black limo waiting for him, he laughs to himself. "Dis's gon' be int'restin'."