The Lavengers

By Mark Braun

This novel details the adventures of an unique company, The Lavengers in New York City who through the use of practical jokes,confusion, and other bizarre tactics help a young woman reclaim her estranged husband. Who knew the Russian mob would be so interested in our philandering husband when he finds himself in the middle of gang warfare. Or how could he fathom that time and space travel can occur while sleeping. Or that his girlfriend would find herself slimed in the rest room of a downtown office building. The book is humorous with many slapstick and laugh out loud satire moments. The above in no way detracts from the emotional and heart-warming finale set during the Christmas season.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Braun
• Release date: Jun 17, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476407838

Book preview

The Lavengers

Mark Braun

Copyright © 2012 Mark Braun

Smashwords Edition

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter One

The young lady walked the street with a determined air. The waves of New York shoppers parted as if by magic, as she hurried through the busy sidewalk. The city smelled of December, redolent with pinecone, mothball scented winter clothing, and pastries of every ethnic variety.

She was young and pretty, and dressed as if money was no problem— and it wasn’t. She was Mrs. Fred Harrington and she would be at least until sometime in the new year. Fred was in his early 30’s and his married time must have been up. His most recent affair with Ms. Peggy Colfax had resulted in their pending divorce and the pressing need for today’s journey. A friend had recommended this firm as someone who could help her. They weren’t lawyers. They were so much more is how they had been described to her. It was worth a try, she thought to herself.

The wind kicked in, blowing the pedestrians’ coats and hair and shopping bags into a lively winter dance that Mrs. Harrington, Jennifer, began having trouble negotiating. Rain would soon sprits down and she hoped she wasn’t far from her destination. She picked up her pace, as did the others; it was almost a race now.

Finally, No. 650 was at her feet. The sky was a gloomy mud stain that made the building all the more forbidding. It was an old brownstone, carved into several different offices. She scanned the registry, noting that Lavengers, Inc. was the basement office. The lobby reeked of old New York, musty, a place where too many people had stood and pondered their next move. The aged wallpaper led in graceful arcs down the stairs. She followed its billowing lines until the bottom dark stained door blocked her way. The sign to the left of the door proclaimed that this was indeed the office of Lavengers, Inc., Thomas Pettit, Prop. She paused for an instant and again looked around. There were no other offices on this floor—the place was not impressive at all, but maybe they could help. As if the internal decision had been made, she pushed hard against the heavy door, tripping a bell in the distance.

She was in a very small three or four room office that was overwhelmingly cluttered. Papers, books, magazines were everywhere, piled high with no seeming organization. A youngish man of perhaps twenty-five stared up from a desk that literally could not be seen. The room was crammed with furniture of every possible style and condition, with maps and travel posters covering the walls. It appeared to be a travel agency that was not very well run.

May I help you, he asked. He was clean-cut, handsome in a boyish way with stylish clothes that did not fit the environment.

Yes, are you Tom? Jennifer inquired.

No, Tom’s out, but I can possibly help. My name’s Mickey, and I usually do the initial interviews anyway.

He had rounded yuppie glasses, with a high forehead, lots of teeth and casual blonde hair. Jennifer liked him immediately—she began to relax somewhat as his quiet manner put her at ease.

You do have need for an interview, don’t you? he spoke again, almost coaxing her now.

Yes, yes I do. I need help with a situation and I’ve heard about your firm, although I must confess I’m a little unsure as to exactly what you do.

Well, have a seat and I can explain everything. Would you like a cup of coffee or something to drink, he rose from his desk in anticipation of a positive response.

Yes, I believe I’ll have some coffee. It’s very cold outside and I walked quite a distance.

He scurried off into the back room, emerging almost instantly with two cups of black coffee with spoons, cream, and sugar as well.

Here we go; this should make you feel better. Jennifer was still standing, having ignored his ‘Have a seat ‘remark. He motioned her to sit in the chair opposite the desk, sweeping in one motion the papers on it to the floor.

He reclaimed his seat, adjusted his glasses, and took his first drink of the coffee. Jennifer did the same noting its bitter machine -made quality. She appreciated the warmth, but, since the room felt cold, she pulled her long coat tighter. She tried to steel herself for the interview that would follow.

Do you want to go first and explain your situation as you say or do you want some background on us first?

Well, I think I would like the background first. I want to see what you do and decide if it could help me, she spoke cautiously, the coffee warming her as it hit her empty stomach.

Mickey put his hands behind his head, looked at her, gazed at the ceiling, and began almost a fevered response.

Lavengers is a very unique company with a very unique mission. We create doubt, confusion, uncertainty, and, in general, problems for certain individuals on behalf of clients like yourself.

Isn’t that illegal, Jennifer asked. She removed her coat, as suddenly it was warmer.

We don’t kill or injure anyone, if that’s what you mean. We probably frustrate a lot of people, make them unsure of themselves. This, of course, puts our clients on a much better footing with these individuals no matter if its a business deal or a shall we say, domestic situation. They will always have one eye over their shoulder wondering what’s coming next or what something means. And it may mean nothing, but because of how it was presented they’ll think it means everything. We also try to direct these services only at people who, to put it bluntly, deserve it.

It sounds somewhat like vigilante justice; like you’re taking the law into your own hands. I cannot be a party to anything illegal, she pointed out in a more forceful manner.

You can call it what you want, but once you see some of the pranks we do, I don’t think you’ll be alarmed. Mickey started frowning, as if Jennifer’s constant questions and doubts were beginning to bother him. He blew the hair out of his eyes, swiveled back further in the chair, as he awaited the next barrage.

So, would you describe your services as some kind of practical joke that doesn’t really harm anybody and yet produces an opponent who is not as sure of his status and /or authority as he once was, said Jennifer, who smiled, pleased with her rhetorical summation.

I would change joke to jokes and insert sophisticated in front of practical. In other words sophisticated practical jokes, a full service company in its field. Mickey stood and began pacing.

"I don’t think I’ve ever heard of this field.

Would you like me to demonstrate? Mickey seemed to be talking faster.

Who are you having trouble with and that you want us to, shall we say, bother. Mickey got out a notepad.

My husband, who will soon be my ex-husband, she quickly volunteered.

You don’t live together anymore?

No, he moved out three months ago.

Did you use a dry cleaner for his clothes?

Yes, I did. But I don’t see what that has to do with anything, she was really puzzled now. What do these people do and how can they possibly help me with my troubles with Fred. She was becoming openly skeptical now and it was probably showing on her face.

That only seemed to spur Mickey on. Does he know what dry cleaners you used?

I don’t think so. Why is this so important? Jennifer persisted.

You’ll see. Did you ever use Williams Dry Cleaners across the street here?

No, it’s quite a distance from our house. My sister does live nearby and I suppose I might have used it once. I don’t remember, she was getting exasperated with this entire line of questioning. It didn’t make any sense and she was beginning to doubt her reasoning in coming here.

Mickey, however, was clearly becoming more excited. Give me your husband’s number at work.

555-8656, but he’s not at the office, he’s out of town.

Perfect. He does have a secretary, doesn’t he? Mickey was dialing with apparent great glee.

Jennifer nodded that he did have a secretary. This was becoming bothersome.

What’s your husband’s name and hey, do I even know yours? Mickey was pulling on his tie, but it was already down.

Fred and Jennifer Harrington, she responded.

Someone must have answered, for Mickey began to speak. His voice however was now in a high, Chinese accented almost singsong patois.

Mr. Fred Harrington, please. This is Williams Dry Cleaners, 58th Street.

Mickey listened. O, he not there. You tell message to him. Two suits, expensive suits, he or wife leave here couple months ago. He need to pick up or we give away. Can no longer store.

Mickey was having trouble keeping a straight face. Tell him, come soon.

He hung up the phone and again put his hands behind his neck. He was obviously pleased with himself.

Jennifer was smiling, but still somewhat perplexed.

What does that accomplish, she asked, almost frivolously.

It forces your husband to come way up here before work. He’ll be tired, he’ll be mad about traffic, and then he’ll be extremely upset with the staff across the street about some suits they won’t have. I love it. Mickey laughed some more. Jennifer started getting a mental picture of Fred yelling at the poor clerk about whether they had already thrown away his suits, and why hadn’t they waited awhile longer since they had gone to the trouble to call. Jennifer could see the vein on his neck elongating as it often did whenever Fred was mad. He did not suffer inefficiencies very well, particularly the people who were responsible for them. She began to feel guilty about setting the whole episode in motion.

You’re starting to see the possibilities, I gather, Mickey was watching the corners of her mouth edge upwards as if she wanted to smile or laugh, but it seemed somehow inappropriate.

The door suddenly swung open and a somewhat non-descript man with a smirkish expression entered the room. She felt a blast of hallway heat, pent-up no doubt at the bottom of the stairs. His face was ruddy with the cold, with an even higher forehead that made his entire appearance oval looking. He was somewhat overweight and bundled in winter clothing that added to the roundness.

Is this our new client, Mickey? If so, I like her already, the man spoke in a half-kidding manner. He removed his coat and a colored scarf, revealing a puffy face with glasses, tall, about 6’0’’, with casual type clothes muting to an extent a rather large belly. He brushed his hair back and fairly shook with laughter at something Mickey had whispered. His eyebrows were a solid line except when he laughed, breaking into two black points that went their separate directions.

Mickey was now standing, laughing also, You’re right, she just got here a little bit ago. I’ve been explaining and demonstrating our operations. I think she’s beginning to understand our business and how we can help. Jennifer, this is the owner of Lavengers, Tom Pettit. Tom, meet Mrs. Jennifer Harrington.

Jennifer stood up and shook his hand. They were cold but fleshy as befit his appearance. She smiled her best ‘I think I’m glad to be here’ look. She noted that he seemed younger than her first impression, in his thirties.

I’m very pleased to meet you. I had seen the appointment book before I had left and saw your name listed. Is your husband’s name Fred, a stockbroker I think? I met a Fred Harrington once at one of those seminars they’re always putting on.

Yes, that’s him. He’s been very successful over the years and now unfortunately we’re probably headed for divorce. That’s basically my reason for being here. I hope you can help.

Tom was smiling and edging his way to the back office. He tossed his coat and other accessories in the direction of a paper-strewn chair. The impact sent the papers cascading to the floor. He seemed to impel hot air through the room and Jennifer warmed again.

Why don’t we finish your interview in my office? I’m sure Mickey won’t mind.

No, I don’t mind. I’m working on the Jenkin’s case anyway, Mickey responded.

O, what is the status of that. I haven’t heard anything lately. Tom was speaking but also moving crab-like across the room, motioning Jennifer to follow.

Well. I’d say right about now, he’s boarding a plane to Tibet.

Tom roared with laughter, the sound of it almost made Jennifer back into a coat rack that held no coats. People here enjoyed laughing— she at least had made that determination.

I love it. Mickey sometimes you even amaze me. How did you arrange that little excursion? Mr. Jenkins doesn’t seem the type to want to waste large amounts of time on long plane rides.

Well, he thinks he’s on a plane to London, but he’s a little confused and getting very sleepy. You know those preflight cocktails can pack a real punch. In fact, they’re putting a blanket on him now and we’ve arranged to have somebody put an ‘Everest or bust’ sign above his head. Everybody thinks he’s a mountain climber.

When will he wake up?

Tom was starting another round of laughter, as the corners of his mouth began arching towards his brows.

The Mideast, I would say. Dinner is to be some hummus concoction, in honor of the flight plan. Our friend will think it’s about time they landed at Heathrow. Mickey was laughing now with Tom almost bent over with tears in his eyes. The two of them were rollicking about Mr. Jenkins plight in an almost deafening manner.