Daria in 'True Cynicism'

Daria (and associated characters and locations) is copyright © 1997-2001 MTV Networks

This story is copyright © 2001 Mystik Slacker (mystik_slacker@hotmail.com) and has been written for personal enjoyment. No infringement of the above rights is intended.

Written: April 2001


CHAPTER 7 - The Honourable Schoolgirl

Daria entered her house, followed by Tom. Surprisingly, her parents were both home, and seated on the couch, wearing guilty looks. Daria wondered what she'd just interrupted. She dashed up the stairs before her mother could speak, yelling over her shoulder to Tom: "Amuse my parents, I'll be down as soon as I change."

Below, she could hear her mother begin to question him, asking about his tuxedo and what she had meant about changing. Daria grinned; her mother was about to have the surprise of her life. Helen didn't even know Daria owned a dress.

In her room, she quickly removed her jacket and boots, and flung her clothes on the bed. Then she went to the closet and pulled out the long, green, silk dress she'd worn Saturday night. Good, it had apparently come through the night's events without serious wrinkles or stains. She donned it, and grabbed her purse off the closet shelf, feeling the weight of her gun inside, and transferred the cell phone and radio from her jacket to the purse, checking to make sure her false ID was in there as well, in the process discovering that Glasscutter had included a few other items she might need later. Finally, she slipped on the dress shoes and fake pearls (with concealed microphone) that went with the dress.

She reached into the purse and switched the radio there to voice-activation; she'd need her hands free tonight. "Radio test. Cynic to Fingers, do you copy?" she asked.

"Reading you loud and clear Cynic. We're en route to the club."

"Okay, we should be out of here shortly. Speak up if there's anything I need to know. Out."

"Roger, out."

Exiting her room, she walked into the bathroom to check her hair in the mirror. Reasonably straight, but she ran a brush through it briefly to make sure. The she grinned at her reflection. Looking good, Morgendorffer, pity Quinn isn't home to see this. Oh, well, maybe later. Time to go confuse the parents.

She ran downstairs, and grabbed Tom, still standing just inside the door, by the arm. "C'mon, we're going to be late!" she said, cutting Tom's conversation with her mother off in mid-word.

Looking over at her mother, she saw her expression change from surprise to confusion, as her mother took in her appearance. Daria shoved Tom towards the door, hoping to escape before her mother regained the power of speech. No such luck.

"Daria, what... where did you get that dress?" Helen asked.

Her father had turned to look. She could see an approving smile on his face. He sometimes seemed to be out of touch with his family, but he always assumed that she knew what she was doing. It was a degree of trust her mother seemed incapable of, and one of the reasons she loved him dearly.

"This is what I bought for the reception last weekend. Sorry, got to run, the Sloanes are expecting us," she lied. The Sloanes had invited her, true, but had no reason to believe she'd actually put in an appearance this time, after all of the other times she had not.

Daria followed Tom out the door, and as it closed she could just catch her mothers plaintive words to her father. "Jake, she's wearing a gown. What's going on? Do you think they're eloping? Don't just sit there grinning, do something!"

*

Tom pulled his battered car into the country club parking lot. It looked particularly shabby contrasted with all the late-model luxury cars present, not to mention the fleet of immaculate limousines parked in the satellite lot they'd passed on the way in. Daria hadn't realized that there was this much of an upper class in Lawndale, or perhaps they'd been imported from surrounding towns for the occasion.

Turning off the ignition, he faced her with an anxious look. "Daria, are you really sure you want to go through with this? I don't want you to think I'm pressuring you to fit in with my parents. I don't fit in all that well myself."

"Relax, Tom," she said, with a faint smile to reassure him. "I wouldn't do this if I didn't want to. Give me some credit for willpower, huh? So, what's happening this evening?"

He relaxed. After a brief pause for consideration, he replied: "Well, there was a formal dinner that we should have missed by now. There's cocktails and dancing, until around 10 or 10:30 when they'll have the dinning room reconfigured for the presentations, and the whole thing should wrap by 11:30. We can sneak out before the presentation ceremony if you like, lots of people do."

"What, exactly, is this ceremony, and how is your sister involved?"

"Well, it's a sort of junior achievers thing. There are students from all over the county being recognized for 'contributions to society'. Elsie was nominated for her volunteer work as a candy-striper."

"I didn't know she worked at a hospital," Daria said. "That's great."

Tom scowled. "It's a big thing in my parent's circle; she gets a scholarship she doesn't need for helping the hospital cut its budget by not hiring more nurses."

"Still, she did the work. I hadn't thought your sister had that kind of depth, or did your parents make her do it?"

"No, it was her idea, I'll give her credit for that. Anyway, shall we go in?"

"I suppose." Daria opened her door. "Cocktails and dancing. I can do this."

"I hope so," said Tom. "Now that I know you can dance, I'm looking forward to getting you out on the floor. I'm not up to the tango like your friend Alex, but I can manage a fairly mean waltz."

Ah, this is making more sense, Daria thought as she climbed out of the car. Tom's jealous. How sweet.

*

Inside, they entered a large ballroom off the lobby. At the far end, a few people were dancing to relatively sedate music, but the majority seemed to be wandering around or talking in small clusters. People of her parent's generation, or older, were in the majority, with a scattering of others of her age. There didn't seem to be many in between.

Tom spotted his parents off to one side, and headed for them, pausing a few times to introduce Daria to people he knew. She smiled politely, and tried to remember names and faces, but knew she'd have forgotten most of them later in the evening. Along the way she reached into her purse and extracted one of Brittany's presents: a microphone/tracker bug similar to the one they'd planted on the President. Bugging Angier Sloane was her first objective for the evening.

As they walked up to his parents, Kay caught sight of them and smiled broadly, tugging her husband away from the elderly gentleman he'd been talking to. Angier turned, with a grin for them. Daria felt suddenly guilty. Here she was, a trusted guest, about to betray that trust in the abstract name of National Security. Even knowing the serious and immediate threat, it still felt wrong; a means not justified by the end. She drew a deep breath. Wrong or not, lives were on the line, and she wasn't going to get cold feet now. She carefully schooled her features into the usual expressionless mask she used in public, and followed Tom up to his parents.

"Daria!" Kay said. "We're so glad you could make it, and you look absolutely lovely in that dress."

"Thanks, Mrs. Sloane."

"Well, son, how did you convince Daria to join us?" asked Angier.

"I didn't 'convince' her to do anything. She suggested it after the movie was over," Tom replied, with a hint of reproach in his voice.

"Well, whatever the cause, we're glad you've come, Daria." Angier stepped up on her left, slapping her briefly on the shoulder. Daria used the opportunity to stumble against him, slipping the bug into the pocket of his jacket. "Ho, careful there. People don't start falling down drunk until later," he boomed. Daria thought he might have had a few drinks already, himself.

"Dear, you'll scare Daria off," Kay said, turning to Daria. "Really, he exaggerates, everyone's very well behaved. I'm sure you'll have fun. Elsie's around somewhere, she can introduce you to people your own age."

"Mother, I know these people too," Tom objected. "I don't need Elsie's assistance. Come on, Daria, let's go get something to drink and we can circulate." Tom grabbed her wrist, and towed her away from his parents.

Daria followed, until they were out of earshot, then planted her feel and dragged him to a stop. "If I needed a tow, I'd have called triple-A. What was all that about?" she asked, in a mildly annoyed tone.

Tom looked abashed. "Sorry. I just can't deal with my parents. They're not giving you credit for coming, and Dad's drunk. I can't believe it. These things are usually disasters, but I've never seen him drunk before."

"Well, he did seem more jovial than usual, but that's hardly disorderly conduct, and your mother seemed very polite to me. Are you sure you aren't overreacting?"

"Well, maybe. These ceremonies get under my skin. Everybody's here to be seen being here, and not because they think the ceremony matters. I'm sorry I dragged you off like that, but I really had to get away from them. Do you mind?"

"No, not really, but aren't we here to be seen being here too? Even if your parents aren't doing this for your sister, you can hardly blame them for doing the same thing we are."

An argumentative expression crossed Tom's face, but it receded before he spoke. "No, I can't, and they really are proud of her. Maybe I'm just feeling guilty because this time I'm playing the game, and they're being honest."

"Aren't I supposed to be the one who's always second-guessing herself? Lighten up; it's just a social function. Let's get those drinks. I could use some caffeine and sugar right now, and then we can go meet some of your friends," she said.

"If I can find any. Most of them have enough sense to duck this thing too. Why did I ever drag you here?" he lamented.

"You didn't. And don't forget that I owe you a dance. Come on." She headed for the bar, and Tom followed.

*

A couple of hours later they were finishing their third dance. They had proved to themselves in the first one that neither of them knew enough about dancing to avoid mishaps, and Daria's toes were sore from being stepped on. She supposed Tom's were the same. But they'd carried on, undaunted, and hadn't done too badly. As the piece concluded, they headed for the bar. It was definitely time for more sugar, and the presentation ceremony should be starting soon. She still needed to decide how she could give Tom the slip at 11, but she'd probably just use the 'powder my nose' excuse.

Approaching the bar, she came face to face with her sister, just turning away from it with a drink in her hand. Daria stopped, while Tom continued on to the bar.

Quinn looked past her at first, and it seemed as if she were going to walk away, before she finally saw who was in front of her, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Daria? What are you doing here?"

"Hey, I could ask you the same thing. This isn't exactly your kind of social function."

Quinn sniffed. "Well, that shows how much you know. The fashionable never miss an opportunity to look good in public."

There was something about Quinn's response that made Daria think she was hiding something. "So, does that mean the rest of your club is here too? And your usual escorts?"

"Uh, no. Jason brought me. His family are club members. Do Mom and Dad know you're here?"

Quinn was definitely being evasive, and she hadn't even commented on Daria's dress. Something else held her attention. Time for the direct approach. "Not in so many words. We're here to see Tom's sister get an award, why are you here?"

Quinn looked stricken, glancing around as if for an exit. "Um, look, Daria, can you promise to keep a secret?" she finally asked.

Daria shrugged, noncommittal.

Quinn sighed. "I didn't tell Mom and Dad, or my friends, I'd be here; they think I'm at Chez Pierre tonight. I'm here because I'm getting an award, and I didn't want them making a big deal out of it."

Daria looked at Quinn, not sure how to take this. "You? An award? What for?"

Quinn looked down at her feet. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Really, Quinn," Daria said, exasperated, "I'm going to find out when they present it, you may as well tell me now."

Quinn gave in to the inevitable. "Remember when the Fashion Club collected clothes for the homeless?"

"Yeah, I recall you refused any unfashionable clothing, and ended up with very little to show for your effort."

"That was Sandi, she thought collecting unfashionable stuff would hurt our image somehow. Well, I was talking to Theresa at Junior Five afterwards, and it turned out that stuff they couldn't sell was just being sent back to a warehouse at the end of the season. I convinced the store manager to donate it to the clothing drive for a tax write-off, and they even managed to get some stuff from the warehouse that had been just sitting there. We've done it every year since, and this year several other stores joined in. I didn't really do that much, just helped coordinate things, but the store manager nominated me for this award thingy. Please, promise me you won't tell Mom and Dad?"

"Heh. The blackmail possibilities are endless, but no, your secret's safe with me." Quinn visibly relaxed. "Actually, I'm rather proud of you, but I'll deny I ever said that. So, are you getting a scholarship too, and how were you planning to explain that away?"

"Um, well, I was going to tell them if was for something the Fashion Club did. They never check if you give them a simple and believable story."

Daria chuckled inwardly. Ms. Li had been right; Quinn was a natural agent.

"Daria, that's a nice dress," Quinn said, clearly over her preoccupation now, "but those pearls are so obviously fakes. You should have borrowed Mom's, they'd look much better."

"Getting out of the house was difficult enough, without staying to negotiate jewelry." Not to mention that without the fake pearls she'd have no place to keep her microphone.

"I've got to get back to Jason. See you later, huh?" Quinn said, almost shyly.

"Yep, I'll catch you after the presentation, unless I get dragged away by the Sloanes."

*

In the van, Jane turned to Fingers. "Huh. There's more to that kid than I thought. Have you picked up anything interesting from Sloane's bug?"

"No, but he's been getting pretty drunk, and he and his wife just had a hell of an argument in the cloakroom. It sounds to me like he's under considerable stress. If he knew anything, we could crack him easily, but I'm beginning to think he's just a pawn. No pro would get drunk at a meeting the day before a major operation was going down."

"Unless he's not really drunk, and it's an act in case anyone's watching him," Jane suggested.

Fingers looked up at her, skepticism plain on his face. "Jesus, Jane, you've got a twisty mind."

Jane smiled, and leaned back against the instrument panel, with her arms folded across her chest. "Flatterer. I'll bet you say that to all the girls."

Fingers chuckled, turning back to his communications equipment. "Nope, just the cute ones." A smile touched Jane's face. "God, this is dull. He's talking to that damn banker again. I swear they've had this same conversation three times already. If I hear about fluctuations in the prime rate one more time, I'm going to go in there and kill him myself! Go meet your damn contact already, moron!"

"Temper, temper. We've got another forty minutes to kill until the meeting. I thought your were a veteran of stakeouts, isn't boredom something you're used to yet?"

"Yeah, but it always gets to me like this. I need to be doing something. Usually I play video games while I wait, but I'm too keyed up. If we blow this, there's a whole city on the line."

"You need a distraction," Jane said, standing up. "Allow me to suggest one." She walked over, sat on his lap, and kissed him. "How's that for distracting?"

Fingers smiled at her. "I don't know, I'm still pissed at that banker. Maybe if you tried again?"

Jane chuckled, and did as she was asked.

*

Daria sat in the back of the room being used for presentations. Tom was next to her, and his parents a few rows ahead and to the right. There was a stage at the far end of the room, with the curtain lowered behind a speaker's podium. Elsie and Quinn were backstage with the other recipients, waiting to accept their awards. But first, several people apparently had to make long-winded speeches. She fidgeted, keeping her eye on Angier. He should be making his move soon, and she was going to have to get clear first, so it wouldn't be obvious that she was following him.

"Tom, I've got to go to the ladies', I'll be back in a bit."

"That's right, abandon me to a fate worse than death: after-dinner speeches," he said, with a grin to show he was kidding.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "I really do have to go."

She stood up, and walked slowly towards the back of the room. In the shadows by the door, she turned. Tom was facing the stage, and Angier was talking to his wife. Daria slipped into an unoccupied alcove, apparently a cloakroom, where she could watch without being observed.

"Cynic to Fingers, I think he's about to move. What can you hear?"

Silence. What the hell?

"Speak to me, Fingers, what's going on?"

Fingers responded this time, a little breathlessly. "Sorry chief, my headset came unplugged." She could hear Jane laughing in the background. What were those two doing?

"So, what did he just say to his wife?" she asked, impatiently.

"Uh, yeah, something about going to the men's room. His wife's a real pistol, she told him if he wasn't back for his daughter's award, he was walking home."

"Great, stay alert. Cynic out."

"Roger, out."

She watched as Angier made his way unsteadily towards her location. She slipped back into the shadows as he walked past. After he'd left, she waited until the door had almost closed before stepping out and stopping it with her hand. She scanned the room, but nobody was looking in her direction. She glanced out the door, and waited until he'd turned the corner at the end of the hall, then she moved to follow him, easing the door shut behind her.

"I'm mobile folks, where's he headed?"

"He's in the service corridor, moving in the direction of the stage."

Daria jogged to the corner, and looked into the empty hallway beyond it. She could see the entrance to the service corridor up ahead. She moved up to it quietly.

"Okay, he's turned out of the corridor, into a room the floor plan calls a bar, but it's a small room, maybe ten by twenty. He's talking to someone, I'll patch it through."

Daria moved down the service hallway. As she did, Angier's voice, and that of someone else, came from her earpiece.

"...did it go?" Angier said.

"Badly, very badly. His security forces were better than we were led to believe," the other voice said.

"But... I did my part, right? We're done now. Why did you want to meet?"

"We're not done you fool! If we can't control him, we'll have to remove him. And we need your help to bring him out of his hole. After tomorrow night, he'll know how serious we are, but he's going to have to meet with his financial people sometime, and when he does, you'll let us know when and where."

"Now wait just a minute, we had a deal!"

"Yes, and I'm renegotiating it. Or do you want your family on welfare? If I tell the SEC about your little price-fixing arrangement, you'll be chapter 11 and in jail by this time next month, and your family will be homeless. Do you want that?" He paused. "I didn't think so."

They continued talking about details for communications. She tuned it out, Fingers was recording the conversation, and they weren't saying anything she needed to hear just now.

"Fingers," Daria said, softly, "we need to bag this other guy. Are the FBI agents ready to move in?"

"They were supposed to be, but I haven't heard from them. I'll double check with the Colonel."

"Right, any other exits to this room?"

"Yeah, two. One to the main hall, and one to the backstage area."

"Lovely. Get Glasscutter to cover the hall. Have Artist watch the exit on the far side of the stage. I'll sit here until the feds arrive, unless he goes to leave."

"Roger that."

Daria waited, listening with half an ear to the conversation, while she watched the hallway. Eventually, Fingers called back.

"Cynic, everyone's in place. The feds were in the parking lot all along, but on the wrong frequency. They're briefed, and moving in. One is going to take the main entrance, and the other will take the service hallway. Can you move to the stage door, and block it from the inside?"

"Roger. Is there an entrance from the service hall to the backstage area?"

"Yes, double doors about twenty feet beyond your location."

"I see them. I'll call you when I'm in position."

Daria moved to the stage doors, and slipped inside. She was in a storage area, filled with what looked like scenery flats from a play, and not a recent one to judge from the quantity of dust on everything. Probably left over from last summer. She knew roughly where the door was, but couldn't see a direct route to it. She began to move around the flats, working her way back. Ahead, she could hear voices from the award recipients milling about backstage.

Back in the bar, judging from the conversation, they were nearly done. She hoped the FBI was in position. She came around a corner, and saw the door. Unfortunately, between her and it was a crowd of about fifteen high-school students. She drifted towards the door, trying to look like she belonged in the group.

Suddenly, from her earphone, she heard a shout of "FBI, freeze!" and then several shots rang out. The shots could be heard through the wall, and the crowd in front of her began to mill about. She tried to move faster, but nervous students kept getting in her way.

The door ahead of her burst open, and a youngish man wearing a waiter's uniform ran in, waving a gun. He slammed the door behind him, and threw a deadbolt.

"Fingers, target is backstage, and he's locked the feds out. Have them move around to join Artist. I'll follow target until we're away from all these people."

She opened her purse, and slipped her hand in, but didn't draw her gun. There was no chance of a clean shot in this crowd, and they needed him alive anyway.

The terrorist charged across the room, headed for the fire door on the far side, scattering screaming students as he ran. Daria followed in the path he'd cleared. As he approached the far door, he grabbed one of the students in a chokehold, and pulled her against him as a shield. Positioning her between him and the door, he moved up to it.

"Fingers, have the feds pull back, he's got a hostage."

"Roger, can you take him?"

"Negative, we need him alive, and any disabling shot I took would be likely to hit the hostage. I'd rather get him away from the other potential hostages, and try to negotiate. If we can contain him on the grounds, maybe he'll talk to us."

"Got it. We have police responding. I can direct them to cordon the perimeter of the golf course, and a state police helicopter will be overhead shortly. He's not going anywhere."

The terrorist had been listening at the door. Apparently satisfied that there was no one immediately outside, he turned to hit the door release with his hip, placing his gun against the hostage's head. As he turned, the face of the hostage came into view. Daria froze, as she looked into Quinn's terrified eyes.

THE END (of Chapter 7)


Next week: Chapter 8, Pale Pink for Peril: In which Daria has to weigh her sister's life against that of a city.