1964-05-03 - Protecting Properties
Summary: Wilson Fisk interviews a new candidate for his security department.
Related: The Meanest Town on Earth
Theme Song: None
clint natasha kingpin 

Fisk Industries is a large tower that looms across Manhattan. And inside the spice trader-turned-real-estate mogul's business, layers and layers of offices call attention to a level of formality that is maintained throughout each of the rooms. When Clint arrived, however, he was led into the conference room by an all-too-familiar red head. Her manner, however, had nothing familiar about it.

"Please, have a seat," Natalie Rushman, rather than Natasha Romanoff, ushers the archer to one of the many chairs. "Mister Fisk requested that this meeting be well documented, so I will be sitting in on this interview with my pad." She lifts her fingers and flashes him a brilliant smile, "Don't worry, I won't write down anything incriminating," she teeters warmly.

"But for my shorthand, it'd be helpful to get your name again." Pause. "And the spelling if you're able. I'm sure Mister Fisk will be along shortly — it's probably Missus Fisk keeping him again." Her smile warms further, if at all possible.


Freshly out of a job and with his mind on the future, Clint Barton actually cleans up pretty well. The seemingly eternal stubble is gone, those hollow cheeks are fresh and flush though still a touch weathered considering their owner. No tight jeans are being worn and that old bomber jacket he often wears is left back at his suddenly expensive (now that he has to pay for it) apartment. No, today he's in a suit. Black, of course. Nothing too expensive but sharply tailored and definitely the kind with a slightly larger jacket that's often seen as a holding place for a firearm or weapon. Though today, he's not packing. At least not that obviously.

So when he sits down in that proffered chair, he takes a moment to adjust the black tie with the sweep of one hand. He does seem a touch laid back, though if someone knew him passingly well they'd catch the way he seemingly just looks around in brief. But those two small glances are enough for him to get the lay of the land, the distances gauged, the probably angles. It's enough for him. His attention turns back to his interviewer.

"If there is one thing I am assured of with Mr. Fisk is the professionalism of his endeavors." The words are clean, crisp. No casual accent nor slang slips into them. It's clear he's putting his best foot forwards, or perhaps what he considers some might perceive as his best foot. He tilts his head to the side, "My name is Clinton Francis Barton." He leans forwards slightly, resting his hands light upon the edge of the table as he looks towards her, as if trying to peer over the edge of her pad of paper to read what she might transcribe.


"Spelled how it sounds?" Nat's nose wrinkles. She plays the secretary well, and it's a wonder it doesn't irritate her as so many roles do. Her fingers tap lightly against the desk in front of her as she glances towards the door as if looking for her boss. "Don't worry though, no reason to be nervous," she assures brightly, although she seems to exude a strangely neurotic energy despite herself. "Oh my, I should've offered you coffee — " the fretting is short-lived, however, as another figure enters the conference room.

Wilson Fisk, in a large navy suit, complete with tie, strides towards Clint and offers his hand, "I apologize for my tardiness," there's a strange warmth to his otherwise gruff demeanour, and his tone bears with it a hint of self-deprecation, or, perhaps a note of apology at his inability to have made it on time. "I trust Miss Rushman was able to see to your needs. Did you offer Mister Barton some coffee?"

Natalie's eyebrows lift, "I was about to." She looks towards Clint expectantly. Coffee? Y/n?


"Pretty much," Is his answer that's given off-handedly. As if he espied something that met his approval he gives a small smile and then settles back into his seat in the chair. One leg crosses over his knee as he removes his hands from the table's edge and sets them in his lap, fingers interlacing neatly. "Thank you muchly, Ms. Rushman, I'm not nervous." His smile is calm, then he adds self-deprecatingly, "Well, not that much."

He does, however, lift a hand to wave off the offer of coffee. "No thank you, ma'am." A slight hint of that accent, "Two cups is my limit usually and I reached that a little earlier."

But then, however, is when the Kingpin makes his entry. Rising back to his feet, Clint turns to face the self-made man and offers a firm smile/not-smile. Nat's seen that smile before, usually reserved for Clint to give to commanding officers in the field. "Mr. Fisk, sir." A nod at the greeting. "No need to apologize." He steps back and glances towards Natalie at her mention, then back towards the boss. "I'm good for the moment."

He does, however, remain standing until the other man chooses to take a seat or not.


"Good, good," Fisk replies as he draws a chair out for himself and has a seat near Clint. His throat clears and his fingers lace together as he sits back in the seat. "Now let's see. I have some need to up my security detail. And you came highly recommended by — " he glances towards a file he'd carried in. Quickly he scans the documents, " — well, by several based on what crossed my desk."

His eyebrows lift. "We've had some…" he lifts a hand, unlacing it from the other when he does so, to rock it in the air uncertainly "…ugliness with break-ins. As of late things have been troubling in the area. Natalie," he motions to the secretary who casts him a grateful smile, "has insisted it isn't the Spider-man, but!" he raises a finger "I am unconvinced. I've heard terrible things about that one. And about the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. These are shifty figures and we must aim to keep them away from our holdings. You see," his eyes darken, "we have major real estate holdings in the Kitchen. And I would hate the Devil himself to reduce my property values through damage."


"I've had some dealings with individuals of an extraordinary variety, sir." Clint shifts his chair slightly so he can more directly face Fisk, almost as if he had completely forgotten Miss Rushman's presence. I mean, she's just the secretary after all. So he directs the words squarely at the Kingpin. "Based a large part of my career on it, so I have some angles I can take when dealing with them as well as considering their methods."

Again he settles into the chair, becoming more relaxed as he warms to the topic. "The last six years has had me see a lot of things that just a year ago would have been considered unbelievable. Fought the good fight and all of that. Didn't really get me where I thought I should be."

Then his brow furrows and he glances to the side slightly, as if looking off to the distance where ground zero rests. He looks back to the other man, "But with what's happened recently. And me rather abruptly losing my job without so much as a thank you for your service… well it's left me with an eye towards reconsidering my outlook on these sorts of matters."

A small shake of his head is seen before he adds. "So if you need someone to handle the masks and capes, I can be your man."


Fisk's fingers steeple together and he hums. "I know what it is to be unappreciated." His eyes narrow and he emits a long-suffering sigh. But it warrants no explanation just a solid nod of Fisk's head. "We are agreed then. I will have you head the security detail in one of our Hell's Kitchen buildings. My consigliere suggested that such vandalism has already happened. Evidently some files were stolen a few months back. And the building has been something of a target since."

"Know that if you catch the Devil of Hell's Kitchen that you will be rewarded handsomely. He's lowering property values. Which is particularly problematic when I encouraged the police force to clean the Kitchen." He rubs one of his eyebrows as he clearly grants himself accolades.

Curiously, Natalie taps her pen to her lips, but offers no other signals of consideration.

"Now, of course, we have the business of salary. I will pay you more than your last position, and bonuses as well," Fisk says bluntly. "Give Natalie a number. If the buildings are secure and no incidents arise, after two weeks, you will receive a bonus. The pattern will repeat following."


Listening to the terms of the gig, Clint gives a nod at the appropriate times to match the words offered by Kingpin. He furrows his brow at the needed moments when he mentions a few of the particulars, and even gives a small affirmative nod with a faint smile at the mention of the devil being caught.

"Sir, if I may?" He uncurls a hand to add gesture to his words as he awaits some sign that he might. If he's given it he'll continue, "If the capture of the Devil is a strong objective, might be best to approach it from a more aggressive angle." So many things with Clint are angles, lanes of approach… fields of fire. "I can lock down the building and make it a focal point for a few sorties around the kitchen itself. Flush out the target and then perhaps acquire it that way. I've found it's often better to be proactive in those situations. More used to going out and making things happen than waiting and letting them happen to me."

There's a pause, a tilt, then he adds. "That is if there aren't mission parameters I'm not fully privy to. Would I have freedom to pursue such in this arrangement?" He asks as already some of the gears in his head are churning, considering exactly how he might wrangle up a suitable dish to serve this devil up on.


Fisk leans forward and nods at the question. Yes, Clint should continue. And as the man explains, he nods meaningfully. And then with a faint smile, he offers, "I believe you and I are going to get along well, Mister Barton." His smile grows, if at all possible. "Enact whatever plan you need within the confines of the law. The property is mine to protect. If the Devil should find his way in, capturing him would be within my rights as a business owner. Vigilantes will not be tolerated, especially those who choose to mask themselves in their practices."

He manages another smirk, all too pleased with himself.


Another nod is given in reply, then Clint tells the man, "Very well, sir. I'll set about it once the rest of the matters are hammered down with Miss Rushman," His blue eyes turn towards her and he gives a nod before he looks back towards the Kingpin. For a moment he gives the inclination from his body language that he's going to get up, or perhaps he's merely waiting for the Kingpin to do so himself. Once the man does rise, however, Clint gets to his feet as well.

"I'll begin seeing to the task directly." There's another small hint of the accent, and insight into his background with that word choice, but he at least seems together. Which is more than can be said for much of the criminal henchman hiring pool these days.

A hand is offered, and if accepted they shake. Once that's settled he'll wait til things have progressed to turn his gaze back upon Nat. Once they're clear the first hint of communication between them that he gives to her is just the slightest quirk of his eyebrow.


Fisk does rise and easily takes Clint's hand. He maintains eye contact with Clint and then gives an easy nod as he glances back towards Nat.

With the pair of men looking towards her, Nat issues both that same saccharine smile. It's her job to be pleasant and get work done. Nothing else really matters.

When the handshake breaks, Fisk issues Clint another nod. "Alright then. Thank you, Mister Barton. Miss Rushman, I trust you can get Mister Barton properly outfitted and situated?" But before the question is answered, he's already moving towards the door.

"Of course, Mister Fisk," Natalie replies sweetly when the man leaves. When the pair are alone int he space once more, she hums lowly and turns her gaze back to Clint, "You're a better actor than I remember." Her voice dips down into its more natural tone, "I stole the files." Her head turns towards Clint, "There are reasons he's not happy about it."


Tilting his head back towards her, Clint cocks that eyebrow all the more as if punctuating the silent sentiment. But then he steps towards her and settles himself on the edge of the table as he looks to her, "Who says I was acting?" Barton smirks slightly and looks to the side in the direction from which Kingpin arrived. He looks back towards her and spreads his hands slightly, "Woke up the other day to hear about the bombing, got a phone call and I'm out of a job."

He pushes a hand through his hair and grimaces slightly, as if the wost part of the whole thing was his loss of gainful employment. He shakes his head and looks back to her, "I'll get this op set and moving for real, and if it happens to net this Devil guy well then he ain't the worker I figured him to be." Sure he talks like he'll let the chips fall where they may, but chances are he wouldn't serve Daredevil up on a platter for the Kingpin. Probably.

A toss of his chin is given towards her, "How about you? I heard a lot of your colleagues were being pulled back. Not you?"


The question warrants a vague arch of Natasha's eyebrow followed by a hum. "No, but then some of us are better assets in the field than out." Her lips purse following her sentiment. "Besides, I have work to do. And not just here."

Although here does seem to warrant some suspicion from the way she says it. "Whatever Fisk is playing at is bigger than some properties. I think he's trying to buy out the Kitchen. But it's not about resale." Her eyebrows draw together slightly, "He claims it is, but," her head shakes. "I think he's vandalizing his own properties." The faint cluck of her tongue punctuates the thought, nearly expectant as she does so. "I don't know why."


Another glance given in the direction of the departed mob boss, then Clint murmurs. "Some fellas enjoy the whole chaos approach. Get the waters churning and people won't see who throws in the dynamite." Memories of fishing with his dad not withstanding, the good old days, yet he continues. "But I'll push forward on my front, and get in position for when you need to call the ball."

A smirk is given to her as he rises to his feet and offers her his hand to help her up, a gentlemanly gesture as he adds, "So you gonna play hard ball with me about my paycheck or can I trust I'll be well taken care of, Miss Rushman?"

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