*shrug* FFN won't let me comment again, so here is all there is! _______
"Man, I'm telling you, it's good," said Scotty, gesturing at his plate of sushi.
"Man, I'm telling you, it's raw fish!" Kelly responded.
Pizzazz! And loads of it! The repetition of the other's phrase, the bouncing off of the rhythms… ah, bliss. And it gets better.
"This from the man who put mayo on his peanut butter, jelly and bacon sandwiches."
Scotty is just too well-armed in this battle of wits, isn't he.
"You're never going to let me live that down, are you? You're just going to keep throwing that in my face forever. I tried to share something, something truly unique and wonderful, and you've got nothing but contempt, man, it's really sad."
And I can't tell you how much I love the rhythm, here—short, little sentences, like opening volleys or piano chords to start a song, and then it slowly builds, becomes more complex and fun. And my Lord, the repetitions at key points, creating a music and rhythm of language! "You're never… You're just going to… To share something, something truly…"
"For peanut butter, jelly, bacon and mayo? You've got that right, Jack, nothing but contempt." Scotty took a sip of ginger ale.
Having floored his opponent, he can savour the victory 'cup' :) and go on to business…
"But the real question is, where do we start looking for Yukio Takasawa? You know, there are over twelve million people in Tokyo, man, the place has lost that whole small-town, everybody-knows-everybody charm it had back when we first came here and there were only eleven million, seven-hundred thousand."
…armed only with his ready wit. Too ready. "That whole small-town, everybody-knows-everybody charm it had back when we first came here and there were only eleven million, seven-hundred thousand." I just hear Cosby saying this, in that way he has. You're amazing. How do you get this inspired, inspired stuff? Stand under the stars and wait for it to strike?
"Ah, my fine young man, I do believe I have an answer for you, as I know a respected member of the Fourth Estate who's been working the Tokyo beat for almost fifteen years now, came in when the population was probably only about six million. This is a man with his finger on the pulse, you might say, a man who knows what's happening, a man who has some contacts."
I love Kelly's turn of phrase here – he's serious, but because he's being serious with Scotty, he's free to be serious in his own inimitable way. What gives the phrase its really unique and 'secret-language' flavour is, I think, the ellipsis—the way you deliberately leave out some words. "…I know a respected member of the Fourth Estate who's been working the Tokyo beat for almost fifteen years now, came in when the population was probably only about six million." Not "he came in…", and just commas instead of any more formal punctuation, which gives the line that lilt it has. … "This is a man with his finger on the pulse, [not 'on the pulse of events'] you might say, [very them, that bit] a man who knows what's happening, a man who has some contacts." And again, the repetition with variation, like music: "a man with his finger… a man who knows… a man who has…" Brilliant! Yeah, he's briefing him, and yeah, his thoughts are organized, but they don't have the appearance of it, no lists or semicolons or anything like that; when they're together it just trips off the tongue, like breathing. Contrast this with the conversation with Ketsch or even the conversation with Steve Martin below. See the difference? This is just how they brief each other. This Kelly and Scotty are adorable, to die for!
"Excellent, excellent, my fine man," replied Scott. "And who, pray tell, is this journalistic paragon of whom you speak?"
Ooh. Journalistic paragon.
"You don't know?" asked Kelly.
"I do not."
"Shall I tell you, then?"
"I wish you would."
In this, as from "Excellent," again, the artificially formal language, the give-and-take, just put us into that secret place, that decoder-ring camaraderie language-thing they have.
"Steve Martin," said Kelly, with no small pride.
"Isn't he the guy from the-?"
"The very one," Kelly replied. "Stopped into Tokyo for a brief layover to visit a college friend in 1954, and landed in the story of the century."
"Man, that guy is a legend," said Scotty. "He won every award in the world for that report from the hospital! Still gives me chills, man, really!" He looked back at Kelly. "And you know him?"
"I do," said Kelly. "And he owes me a favor, too!"
Of course, NOW I know what they were talking about. Nice oblique reference, and the fellas talking about it are very 'them' – they never stray from character even for a second (not that I'd know from the series, but the internal consistency is clear) – the way they tell of it isn't just exposition, we genuinely see both of them reacting to the mystery and shock of the event in their own ways. "Man, that guy is a legend!"
"Well, go for yourself, Stanley, that's marvelous. What say you pick up the telephone instrument over on that table over there, and give good Mr. Martin a call, and see if he's got time to talk to us!"
SHRIEEK! Telephone instrument!
…and good Mr. Martin!
"My very idea, Doctor Livingston! The way you plucked that right from my thoughts, it's positively uncanny!"
*thud of me hitting floor*
-=oOo=-
Martin was a heavyset man, with dark hair and dark, intense eyes set deep beneath prominent brows. There was a stillness in those eyes that was somehow, paradoxically, both serene and haunted; what he'd seen in the holocaust of 1954 had marked him indelibly.
Wow. Wow, wow, wow. What a description. Serene and haunted: of course, serene because nothing can shock after this, and haunted, for the same reason.
Again, your description *is* character. "Heavyset. Dark. Dark, again. Intense. Prominent. Stillness. Indelibly marked." Like an oracle, a legend, at least to me.
His home was modest in comparison with his wealth, simple, comfortable furnishings, balsa-and-rice-paper walls. The one visible indulgence was a large, overstuffed easy chair with an ottoman, in which he sat back after offering Kelly and Scotty drinks and showing them to his sofa.
"I didn't know," he said, smiling, "that the Yakuza were big tennis fans." His voice was deep and penetrating as his eyes were, and held both warning and promise. You can't expect me to be straight with you if you won't return the favor.
Love the contrast between the facetious comment and the smile, and the 'deep and penetrating' 'warning and promise'. And I've always been a sucker for silent messages.
"Well, Steve, they aren't," said Kelly. "I don't have to tell you that tennis isn't all I do."
And Kelly, being immediately, unquestioningly straight and honest with him – yet preserving his dignity. It isn't backing down to be honest with this man.
"And you can't tell me...?"
"You know I can't."
Which is where the 'preserving his dignity' comes in. Kelly respects, but commands respect. Demands it.
Martin sat back for a moment, closing his eyes. Scotty leaned forward, opened his mouth, but Kelly stilled him with a raised palm. He shrugged and sat back.
Oh, wonderful.
Finally, Martin straightened, looking Kelly in the eye. "I hope you're as good as I think you are. I hope you're as good as you think you are. What do you want to know?"
Lovely, light little turn of phrase—and all business.
Scotty leaned in again. "If the Yakuza needed to keep someone safe and controlled, where would they keep them?"
"Safe and controlled," said Martin. "As in, a prisoner."
And you paint a picture of a man with a fierce intelligence…
"That's right."
Steve Martin thought for a moment then his eyes widened. "Good lord! Takasawa's daughter? They've got her?"
…and enough background to put the pieces together when given only one piece—half a piece, even. I can't tell you how impressed I was with this scene, all of it. Your OCs (I count Gabe and Martin as OCs) in this are realistic, believable, and have their own clearly delineated traits. And they all command respect. That's part of what I get in this fic – everybody is worthy of the respect they command. They step up.
Kelly nodded. "It looks that way, Steve."
"That doesn't make sense. They're not political-" He interrupted himself. "Oh. Oh, yes, of course. Work for hire. Red China, I assume."
I adore this guy, with his internal discussion and powerful mind. It really comes across.
"Don't assume, man," said Scotty. "Nothing good comes of it, really."
And Scotty can't keep a lid on that mouth! I'm smiling now!
"Fair enough. I'm sorry, it's the instincts of a reporter. There's no shutting them off."
Which I know from, and I love it here, to see him be human.
Martin took a contemplative sip of his brandy. [Contemplative sip. Lovely.] After a few seconds, he spoke. "There are three possibilities," he said. "There's a nightclub on the Ginza, Bassho's Repose. It's not as dignified as the name suggests, believe me. [*snorfle*] There's a suite of offices on the eleventh floor of the Fujimori building. An import/export firm, Tokyo International Trading. The business is a front for smuggling, but those offices are clean. They're only manned about five days a month, it's an auxiliary office. Then there's a warehouse on the waterfront, Takigato, Phelps and Company. Another smuggling front."
I like his shorthand way of speaking. Details and important information is given, cut any extraneous matter. "Another smuggling front." "An import/export firm, Tokyo International Trading." See? You make them people we can respect. Admire.
Scotty and Kelly exchanged a look, and Kelly nodded.
[And how cool is that nonverbal communication thing? Great, great little touch. Bet you didn't even realize you were doing it, did you?]
He turned back to the reporter. "Listen, Steve, indications are, they're really jumpy. If they hear somebody's looking..."
"I understand," said Martin. He stood. "Still, I am a newsman. Can you give me something when it's safe?"
Kelly smiled. "You know, we just might, Steve. We just might at that."
As they made their way down the front walk, Scotty angled his eyes over at Kelly. "We just might? What's that all about?"
Kelly shrugged. "I figured, if we pull this off, and once little Yukio is safe, there's a news story from an anonymous source about the good old USA having rescued her, then her daddy might be properly grateful, man, that's all."
Great closer where they 'give back' – great, realistic, strong-sounding conversation - and their political, practical minds are a joy to watch!
From: Sarah Date: 02/20/2010
You know I hadn't read this since I actually started watching the eps? It feels SOOOOO different now I know the characters!
Some things I never told you about the first part:
Busy Making Other Plans
Tokyo - 1967
The man was a little too handsome.
And that's a great opening right there. I love the 'the man', creating a little, tiny mystery – Kelly? Scotty? An OC" A villain? Kelly from someone's PoV? – and the concept that there can be a 'too handsome' – leaving the reader asking, too handsome for what? – and providing a visual that you explicitate (is that a word?) in the next lines.
His hazel eyes, even here as he sprinted across the tennis court, [nice setting]crinkled with amusement, [and nice characterization] his light-brown hair parted on the left and waving in the breeze, [lovely image that lightens the heart, too] his nose long and straight and decisive over a mouth that even as he returned the volley with a savage backhand flirted with an ironic smirk.
And your adjectives are all indicative of character here: 'straight', with its symbolism of someone who's morally upright; 'decisive'; 'savage', and yet 'ironic'. You give a perfect thumbnail sketch of Kelly here, compressed and in a nutshell.
He was striking, charismatic, memorable. [And this is more the façade: 'he was this, he was that' – and your next words, all about the cover, make that clear.]. This was entirely in keeping with his life as a tennis bum, wandering from millionaire to billionaire across the globe, teaching this son how to serve and volley, indulging that daughter by playing just hard enough to beat her without embarrassing her, letting her think that she might actually beat this well-known athlete at his own game if her father kept him over for one more night, one more match. [And this last bit was so memorable that I think about it randomly throughout the day. So calculating, so cool, and with all the commas and parallel 'wandering…teaching… indulging…' and the compression of 'one more night, one more match'. This sentence really, really flows with a wonderful rhythm.]
As a tennis bum, Gregory Ketsch thought, Kelly Robinson was just about perfect. But he was far too famous, too noticeable, and, God dammit, too pretty to be a spy.
WAH HA HA! Now that's funny, and very in keeping with the comic side of the series!
This entire opening is energizing and exciting, drawing us into the windswept, outdoor world of the tennis court, just like in the episodes, and highlighting the glamour of the spy façade – to be destroyed soon, sure enough, but that glossy veneer is what's kept spy writers in business for years. Very energetic, very glamorous.
And then… and then you start on Scotty, and we feel the difference. Kelly runs and leaps, volatile, moving, but you stress Scotty's stability, his position as anchor:
His partner, however... Ketsch glanced over at the sidelines [great symbolism here! Not so much the sidelines of the *action* though, more the sidelines of whatever emotional storm Kelly gets caught up in – this wouldn't be immediately recognizable were this a novel starting from scratch, but as it's a fanfic with established characters we, the readers, pick up on that], where the tall, slender Negro stood, [it starts here] with Robinson's rackets and balls in a white canvas case at his feet, [again the emphasis with the feet planted firmly on the ground] holding a fresh white towel easily [I like the 'easily' – a man relaxed, at peace-ish] at his side as his dark eyes tracked [nice choice of verb, here, better than 'follow' which implies motion; to 'track' is to be grounded, to monitor without yourself changing. You make a perfect sketch of the two men's contrasting personalities here with your choice of words.] Robinson's movements. He was certainly more than handsome enough, with his strong cheekbones and slender jaw.
[I love he way you put that. I've been trying to figure out what the hell I find so attractive about Cosby as Scotty, and you hit the nail on the head. Of course, I might have said 'delicate' jaw, but that's why yours is better: 'delicate' is girly. So the challenge is, how to convey the delicate line of the jaw while keeping him a 'he-man', as you've just made Kelly? 'Slender', of course, which actually has a secondary meaning of 'graceful of line' – but the meaning is buried enough for it to do the job without making Scotty less of a 'man'. And you make the cheekbones 'strong' instead of 'high' or 'refined' again to obviate the 'girliness'. Great description of him, though. And youcaught the part-line in the hair! (Ambivalent about it IRL, but here it really works.)
Ketsch thought wryly [And I like here that you start to show us where we are, in Ketsch's point of view. We thought it was omniscient at first, but this makes more sense and establishes Ketsch as a character, too, and it gives it added interest that we're seeing the characters through the eyes of another agent.] that the only way he knew to describe the man's features were in stereotypically racial terms, that trying to describe Alexander Scott to a sketch artist would result in a generic "Negro" that would come nowhere close to capturing him. [And of course, this ties in to what you told me earlier, and what I saw in the comic books. Gah. Great catch.] 'They all look alike,' Greg? Ketsch smirked at himself. [You make us smile right along with Ketsch here. Culp wanted the non-statement statement, and it worked for them; but we're under no such restrictions, and it's realistic and powerful to show how their co-workers deal with Sixties stereotypes/bias/etc.]No, they did not, and Scott, with his close-cropped hair showing a part-line on the left and his intelligent, watchful eyes, [oh, beautiful]with the happy crinkles at the corners [like Kelly's, only Kelly gets 'amusement' which is more fleeting and Scotty gets 'happiness', again more stable, and kinder], was one of a kind. He watched Robinson carefully and critically, [making us respect Greg too, I see?] every inch the dedicated trainer making sure his charge was playing well and taking care of himself. He had the solemn stillness [See? See?] of [a]scholar - which he was, a Rhodes Scholar who spoke six languages fluently - and the rangy athleticism of his partner. But he wasn't flamboyant, [and again] and even when he spent time in parts of the world where the color of his skin made him a rarity, he was able to keep quietly [making it explicit now, but still with those well-chosen adjectives. I remember 'Chrysanthemum'.] to the background. Even with his good looks, he fit Ketsch's profile of a secret agent.
Ketsch waited for the match to end, waited for the moment to make his approach. He liked Scott a great deal. The first time the Pentagon had used him as a contact for these two, his role was to play a racist, insulting Scott and provoking a scuffle that would let him surreptitiously slip the coded documents into his pocket. When he'd called the man "Boy," Scott had looked him up and down, and muttered Pathetic! and pulled him by his elbow into the hotel gift shop. Listen, he'd told Ketsch, I know you don't write the scripts, and you've got your job to do, but there's more than enough of that in the world without our own guys adding to it. You tell General Throckmorton that if they ever again send me a contact with that stuff, I'm going to walk right past him like he's not even there. Scott had looked hard at him. You understand me? Ketsch had nodded, and Scott had smiled, offering his hand. Great. Call me Scotty. Now, what's the assignment?
That was a wonderful anecdote. Everything about it: Pathetic! (the italics don’t show up here, but I love them) – the intelligent man's reaction to a silly and patronizing plan. I can see the framing and the camera angles in 'pulled him by his elbow into the hotel gift shop' and he entire line starting "You tell General Throckmorton" – it doesn't matter who his boss is, Scotty has a principle to uphold – and his threat is so perfectly in keeping with his character, not even to clock him one: " I'm going to walk right past him like he's not even there." And the kiss-and-make-up, once he's got his point across.
And the ting I almost forgot to mention, so important: " When he'd called the man "Boy," Scott had looked him up and down, and muttered Pathetic!... *gasp* Scotty could tell from just looking at him that he didn't mean it! It was the first time he'd met him, which means that (a) Scotty twigged that he was an agent, and (b)realized that the comment was insincere. Which is why he let him off lightly. You give the impression of a man on top of things here, really calling the shots, and I like that.
Robinson swung again, a mighty overhand drive that rocketed past Onizuka's racket, left a one-inch skid mark just inside the line, and was gone,
Lovely description.
and Onizuka stumbled at the end of his swing, taken off-balance by the absence of impact. He looked back at the ball, lying spent in the grass outside the court,
You give good spent.
and turned back, shaking his head with a rueful grin at Robinson. "Okay, Kelly, that's match. You got me. Let's call it a day, I'm going to be two martinis and four hours in the bath to recover as it is."
"All right, my man, yes indeed," chuckled Kelly, reaching across the net to take his hand. "It's been a rare privilege indeed beating your trousers off, and I hope to do it again next week!"
"All right," said Onizuka. "You know I'm a glutton for punishment."
"A diet that will help you keep your slim, trim, athletic figure, good sir, mark my words!"
And that's a great line, just subtly subordinate, calculated to court the favour of the client and reinforce the idea that the sport is a game for the patron's benefit – as though Kelly won just as part of his job to please the client. Which links wonderfully to the lines above about "teaching this son how to serve and volley, indulging that daughter by playing just hard enough to beat her without embarrassing her, letting her think…"
Ketsch stepped forward as the two parted, and moved smoothly up to stand by Scott. As the tennis bum approached, he took another step, placing himself in his path, and held the package out in front of him. "Mr. Robinson? Fred Skinnersworth, from the Spaulding company. I wanted to talk to you about our new line of rackets."
Robinson smiled his toothy, movie-star smile, [Lovely! I can see this!] and reached a friendly hand. "Certainly, sir, certainly!" His voice held a sort of singsong merriment. [And this, this is perfect.] "Please accompany us into the secret world of glamor that is the men's locker room, and you may regale me with the virtues and hidden wonders of your magnificent new racket while my trainer here rubs the kinks out!"
[giggle] Way to hit their rhythm!!! "…the secret world of glamor that is the men's locker room, and you may regale me with the virtues and hidden wonders of your magnificent new racket"! It's the 'that is' and the 'regale' and 'hidden wonders' that get me, I think. BTW, it was you who gave me a taste of their lines, before I watched (duh, you know that, right?) But what I eman to say is that this kind of artificially high-flown language – it's very funny, and from what I have seen, very them, although you're still the best judge of that.
Ketsch sat by the massage table while Robinson showered, making small-talk with Scotty about Mark Lane's Rush to Judgment.
[This is another thing I like: you give the small talk 'a local habitation and a name'. It makes it so much more realistic and really lifts it out of the vague plane of run-of-the-mill fan fiction and into the nitty-gritty realm of that time and place.]
"Mark my words," Scotty was telling him, "we'll be hearing conspiracy theories well into the next century. By the time they're done, everybody will have killed Kennedy from the Cubans to the Man in the Moon."
Ketsch smiled. "Hard to believe one bullet could have-"
"My son, my son[,]" came Kelly Robinson's voice from behind him, "if you'd been working in the field instead of behind a series of wonderful, wonderful desks, you'd know that a bullet can do just about anything in the whole damned world, including tap-dance with a straw hat and a cane while singing Clementine."
I love this line seventeen ways to Heaven, especially the 'damned' in the middle of all the humour. Your Kelly cuts it off so firmly, yet funnily, with that dash that ends Ketsch's speech; he can't stand to hear it said that 'one bullet' is somehow trivial. It reminds us of every painful experience – "a bullet can do just about anything in the whole damned world" – that has led him to say that. "If you worked in the field" – another grim reminder of the realities of their profession. And of course, the most wonderful thing? The way he lets the grim statement hang in there like a joke, with the lightness in the last bit – I can actually just make out the amusing visual, a bit like Charles Schulz's Snoopy putting a tiny mustache and top-hat on a tennis ball in response to the line, "If you're going to fool me with a drop shot, you'll have to disguise it better than that!" And singing Clementine! What was that you said about Kelly's inner monologue? "All jazz and razzamatazz." Yeah. This qualifies.
He crossed around in front of Ketsch, a towel wrapped around his waist, and hopped up onto the table, stretching out prone, to cock an eye at Ketsch. "Okay, Jack, this room's clean and private. What have you got?"
Again, I can see the camera angle, and the businesslike, brisk tone in Kelly's voice – the switch-flipping thing you describe in the very next paragraph – is all right there. It's nice that we read it from your Ketsch's point of view, because it builds Ketsch's character a bit more, builds the backstory a bit more – but it's all right there in those moves, the way the man, even prone, is alert and all business.
Ketsch sat up a little straighter, drawing in a breath. The change in Kelly Robinson had been like the switching ['flipping', you think? Just to avoid repeating 'switching' and 'switch'?]of a light switch, and, while the humor wasn't gone from his eyes or his mouth, [And this, right here, this is perfect! It *is* like that – Kel can be humorous while being serious. This is so unique, and in saying it here, you capture the essence of 'I Spy' – well- based on my woefully inadequate knowledge of the series, that is.] there was a real seriousness there that reminded Ketsch again how wrong his initial impression was. He might not think Kelly Robinson was cut out to be a spy, but his record had said otherwise, again and again and again. Robinson and Scott were probably the most successful operational team the Pentagon had.
"You've heard of Tetsuo Takasawa?" Kelly nodded, grunting slightly as Scott began massaging his shoulders. [Lovely touch, keeping us visually 'in there'. And the rest of this briefing sequence making us respect all three men for their sharp minds and grasp of the information.] "Japanese Ministry of Defense, Office of International Liaison, in charge of agreements on allied bases located on Japanese soil."
Ketsch nodded. "Yes, exactly. We're trying to open a new Naval Air Station on Hokkaido, near Kushiro. Takasawa's obviously very important to us at this point."
[and great job of giving us the exposition, so smoothly we don't realize you're doing it. It started with the wonderfully put "You've heard of…?" which gets us all curious, but establishes that these guys don't have to be briefed on every little titbit of international affairs that comes down the pike.]
"Hard to argue with that," said Scott.
"Well, apparently, Peking figured that out as well," said Ketsch. "They've paid the Yakuza a hundred thousand dollars to kidnap Takasawa's nine year old daughter Yukio."
"Ah, yes!" Kelly's words were merry again, but there was real steel in his voice. [You're doing it again! And I love 'merry'!] "The Reds get hold of little Yukio, and they can make Takasawa turn down the naval base. So our job is to keep them from getting hold of her?"
Ketsch shook his head. "No, Kelly. It's too late for that. We had no information until after the Yakuza had snatched the girl. We don't know where they're holding her. We do know that the Yakuza still has her. The Reds have a hard time operating here."
Kelly made a surprised sound, and Scott chuckled at him. "You only say that because you're an overly-scrutable Westerner!"
"Hey, Jack," objected Kelly, "I didn't even say anything!"
"And you were still wrong, man!" said Scott.
[What a GORGEOUS exchange! Overly-scrutable – how very Scotty! And the 'still wrong', as in 'man, you can put your foot in your mouth without even opening it!' The ending of the line with 'man' – I can't explain it, but it gives a lovely, *them* rhythm to the line.]
"Chinese and Japanese are racially very different, you see, and any Japanese would know a Chinese at a glance. It would be like sending you into Oakland to infiltrate the Black Panthers."
[Now there's an image!]
"Scotty, Scotty," said Kelly. "I do begin to see the error of the words I did not, in fact, utter, indeed I do."
[There it is, again, that artificially pedantic sentence construction with the subordinate phrases, so uncharacteristic of normal speech, and so characteristic of your Kelly and Scotty when they banter. The repetition of 'do' as you pointed out to me, repetition is one of the things that give them that jazzy groove of theirs.]
"Sure, sure," said Scotty, his attention returning to Ketsch. "So the Yakuza are the ones holding Yukio, then. That's bad."
"I'll say, man," said Kelly. "The Yakuza are just in it for the money. If the Reds had her, they'd hold onto her as long as she was useful to them, but the Yakuza will just kill her as soon as they start to think she's more trouble than she's worth."
[All this is superbly calculated to make us see the crisp, no-nonsense professional core of these three men.]
"Exactly." Ketsch leaned forward. "They're on a real hair-trigger, as well. The general's pretty sure that they'll kill her if they get even a hint of a rescue attempt."
"So what are we doing, then, baby?" Kelly asked. [Love the 'baby'!]
"A rescue attempt," Scotty replied in a chorus with Ketsch [YES!], but where Ketsch's tone was matter of fact and confident, Scott's was cynical and sharp, [Oh, beautiful!] and he continued, "Man, Greg, I like you, I really do, but you keep opening your mouth and letting the most terrible stuff come out of it. I mean it, man, you need to start turning down some of these assignments, or we're just not going to talk to you at all."
I just love the rhythm of Scotty's speech, I may not have watched many eps, but I know from the rhythm of Bill Cosby's bantering riffs that you've got it down. I can just hear his tone going up and down as he says this! And it's really fununy, and no less funny because it's aggrieved and serious.]
Kelly's eyes narrowed and he pushed himself up on his elbows to spear [! But why not?]Ketsch with a disgusted look. "Now, man, as much as the general wants us to just get a nine-year-old girl killed so the Reds have no more hold on Takasawa, [giggle]would there be any objection to us actually, you know, bringing her back to her father alive?" [The 'actually, you know' have the same lilt as above, plus they wonderfully encapsulate the way he expresses his disgust with that subordinate-clause thing I told you the characters did earlier.]
Ketsch smiled grimly. "The general knows better than to overly constrain your operational latitude. He is concerned that, if it is apparent to Takasawa that his daughter was killed as a result of an American rescue attempt, he would blame us, and that would sour him on Hokkaido and other U.S. priorities. The general feels that, although a successful rescue of the girl would place on him a vast On in regards to the United States, which he would be unable to repay, the consequences of being seen to have failed require serious consideration on your part before any operational plan is put into effect."
[Love the feel of Ketsch hiding behind official phrasing here. 'Overly constrain your operational latitude' my left hind leg.]
"In other words...." said Kelly.
"In other words," Ketsch supplied, [like the 'supplied'] "if you can rescue the kid, that's great. But failure is an option as long as you don't get caught doing it. Our concern is getting Takasawa out from under the Reds, not the girl's life."
"Man," asked Scotty, "Do you ever get so disgusted with your job that you seriously consider just opening a fruit stand somewhere?" [I told you what I love about this before, reet?]
Ketsch looked down at the floor. "All the damned time," he said quietly, then looked back up at Scotty and then Kelly. "For God's sake, ignore the damned General. Get her back. She's nine years old!"
Kelly and Scott both smiled at him.
And so do we, Leviathan. So do we. And at Kelly and Scotty, and at you, and the whole dang world.
"Scotty's right, my man," said Kelly, settling back down again. "You need to either start turning down assignments or find a new line of work all together. You still have a soul, Jack, and this job is going to kill you." He closed his eyes as Ketsch stood and started to leave,
GASP! How did I not notice this the first time? It's stunning! The visual is stunning – I can see Culp's face absolutely crystal clear, the pain in his expression as he speaks of "this job is going to kill you [if you have a soul] – and the weariness in the closed eyes, probably closed to hide part of the tiredness and disillusionment inside.
…and didn't open them when he spoke again.
I rest my case. This makes the visual impact of the next line more chilling, and lets us all see it clearly on the screen.
"Leave the racket. We all still have covers to protect."
And oh, amazing, Kelly's professionalism in the middle of all this – we, the audience, would have clearly forgotten it, but that's why, you're showing us, he's the pro and we sure ain't. And "we all" – the respect he affords Ketsch as a fellow-agent shows us a man we can respect in our turn.
Ketsch stopped short, turned, placed the package containing the new Spaulding racket on the chair he'd been occupying. "Good luck."
And I can see this, too…
"You too, Greg," said Scotty, as he turned back to massaging Kelly's back and shoulders, "you too."
