11152/Two guys walk into a bar....
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| Two guys walk into a bar.... | |
|---|---|
| Date of Scene: | 04 March 2020 |
| Location: | Josie's Bar, Clinton |
| Synopsis: | Victor Creed is approached about a job while at Josie's. |
| Cast of Characters: | Sabretooth, Great White Shark
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- Sabretooth has posed:
It is a cold night in the city this March night. THe sun went down hours ago and the mild day went with it. Inside the bar, it is warmer but the smells of old beer and used fryer oil is the trade off. The bar has a few patrons hunched over the bar, but it is not croweded as it is a weeknight.
Victor is seated at the bar about half way down the bar. He has a bottle of whiskey in front of him and a glass of the amber colored liquid next to that. He is dressed in a long coat that is open inside. The stools on either side of him are empty as folks seem to be giving him a wide berth.
- Great White Shark has posed:
The doors to the shanty tavern open and a pair of men walk through, in black suits with black ties and Ray-Bans, pressed white shirts beneath their buttoned black jackets. Following them between, is The Great White Shark, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and his khaki shorts, loafers on his feet and an expensive onyx Rolex on his left wrist. He removes his sunglasses as he pauses after the door, looking across the room as his bodyguards part for him. A constant tooth-filed grin is on his lipless face, as he finds Sabretooth at the counter. He slides his sunglasses away, and walks past his men, who stay at the door.
"Victor Creed?" comes a smooth rasp, as the Shark sits down next to Creed at the bar, his left arm up on the bar, elbow just before, and his right hand on his knee, elbow out and behind Creed's arm spanse. He perches on the stool with both balls of his feet notched on the scaffold, before he looks to the bar.
"I'll take a shot of Vermouth, and a seltzer."
- Sabretooth has posed:
The few patrons of the bar turn their heads at the arrival of the Shark. There are a few curious looks, but mostly they just turn back to their drinks and conversations. This is Hell's Kitchen after all. The music doesn't miss a beat from the machine and the hum of the bar continues.
Victor lifts his head to look at the man now sitting next to him. His nostrils flare as he takes in the scent of the man along with his bodyguards. "Swear all security must buy the same aftershave," he mutters under his breath before looking more directly at Great White. "Yeah, that is my name," he says with a growl but looking back at his whiskey. He downs the drink in front of him and looks back at White even as the bartender brings over the newcomers drinks with a slight look between the two men.
- Great White Shark has posed:
A ten dollar bill is laid on the bar, eight for the drinks and two for the road, a twenty-five percent tip, the standard mark of a guido insult.
"The name is Great White Shark, I run out of Gotham City. I'm a shyster, I deal in influence contracts and architectures." There's a delicate movement of his mangled left hand, missing the ring and pinky, to his drink, withdrawing the straw from the bubbling tall glass and the ice cubes, lifting it to his teeth and placing his tongue under the straw through his clenched teeth. There's a long, whistling imbibement, the draught going down his parched throat. He sets the glass back down, with a sigh off the back of his tongue. "I'm looking for a contractor to deal with a delicate matter," comes the next breath, a dark gurgle in the back of his phleghmatic throat, his nose and sinuses drained and long since decrepit from frostbite.
He picks up the shot of Vermouth, and whips it back, in the tradition of a monarch's oath to madness. There's a click of slamming glass, as he drops the glass back on the counter, right-handed.
- Sabretooth has posed:
"Great White Shark, huh?" Victor gives a little huff of a chuckle as there is a slight shake of his head too. "Bet you are a hit during those Jaws marathons." His chuckle is dark and mostly without real mirth, but his eyes follow the movements of the man. How he drinks. How he pays and tips. He nods finally at White's inquiry about delicate matters. "I certainly have been known to get rid of problems from time to time although I am not always the most subtle or discreet." He raises an eyebrow as if in question if that is what the man is looking for.
- Great White Shark has posed:
There's a long look to Victor at the comment about Jaws, his face impossible to read, just a skull staring at the Sabretooth. Finally, there's a subtle wrinkling of his eyes as his eyelids narrow, and there's a little bounce of his chin and spine, as he snickers in some sort of inhuman wheeze.
He moves on without comment, looking down into the bubbles of his seltzer, calling him back to his childhood. Not as a show of saudade, but rather a method from his genome, the unlocked potential that Arkham Asylum found inside him. His rite of passage to being a cowboy. One of Cheyenne's Men, from his favorite childhood movie, Once Upon a Time in the West. Those strange eyes on the black hats calling to him, the enforcers of those robber barons.
Here was he, one of those railroad men. He was here for a hit on the marshall, and that meant calling in an outlaw.
"I'll need your usual discretion, of course," he says, looking into the seltzer glass. "I'm looking for a SWAT raid, and you're the man that fits the bill. My philosophy is my own, but I prefer a parallel. I need you to pull a selectman, in the suburbs, out of his house, for blocking an operation up." Great White Shark wants his own special tactics commando, to take care of a gangster, interfering with his bootlegging business into Gotham City, which he regards as a legal regulatory contract on importing legal alcohol. "Are you a fan of World War 2 movies, Creed? Ever want to take out Rommel?"
- Sabretooth has posed:
"Don't need to watch the movies. I was there," Victor grunts in a response to the question about World War II. He grabs the bottle of whiskey and pours himself another hit. "I don't spill on my employers if that is what you mean. And yeah, I can fight the SWAT or be the SWAT." He drinks the whiskey and nods again. "Don't really care why you want the guy out of the way. Point me in the direction, and he wil be the last one that will stand up against you."
- Great White Shark has posed:
Great White Shark has two levels of view, both his personal needs, and his method of approach.
He's running bootleg beer, produced by a plant managed by a local criminal consortium related to the Gotham Families, through the suburbs and into the Gotham slums. One of his watering points, where he houses the stock and the trucks, has heat on the titles, from the particular selectman. The selectman is involved with anti-rackateering elements of the local New York state's ATF detachment, and is attempting legal pressure to remove Great White Shark's means of ingress for his employers (business partners from whom he collects a contractor's fee).
His lower view, is his method of approach. He is involved in a licensed import of luxury goods with licensing from the Gotham Families, and a gangster, the selectman, is interfering with the import of his principle, the capital - the finished goods. The gangster is attempting to unseat the Gotham Families' position to steal it, having an inferior position himself. Hence, Great White Shark has positioned his rival as Rommel, and himself as Eisenhower, requiring the services of Victor Creed - British Commandos - to remove the thief of his livelihood, and that of his backing body, the regulated (through Mob enforcement, of course), liquor trade.
"Good. I want you to be a Gideon Force on this. His name is John Kleinsmeyer, and he's operating out of Bails County. He's the chief selectman, and he's attached to the ATF."
- Sabretooth has posed:
Victor reaches for a bar napkin and signals the bartender for a pen. He nods as he begins to jot down the name and info in his own personal shorthand that wouldn't make much sense to anyone else if they could read his scratches anyway. "Kleinsmeyer. Bails County. ATF," he says more to himself than to the Great White Shark. "You want him fully dead or just scared?"
- Great White Shark has posed:
"I want you to tear him to shreds," comes a low rasp, Great White Shark lifting his eyes from his seltzer and slowly turning them to Victor. "In public, in clear view of the people. Show them how The Great White Shark deals with common criminals."
Great White Shark lifts his drink again and takes a long, deliberate sip, the draught sliding down his narrow, clenched throat, his thin Adam's apple rising and falling.
"It's my philosophy, you know. You have your operation as a private sector housing analysis. You base it on a public sector structure. You model the entire thing like it's from something you can imagine in your mind. I want this to be North Africa, got me? Erwin Rommel, is Kleinsmeyer, and he's stealing my territory, in Morocco. I have a base and landing, and right now, Hitler, Batman, is holding him back, from moving on me. He wants the titles and deeds to my contract over the warehousing and shipment cut off, so I don't have political capital in the community to exploit for when they come in blasting to shut down my partners. So I want you, to drop right in on Rommel's ass, and pull him out of his little tank, and do whatever you think a Nazi like him deserves."
He sets down the glass, now to the bottom with some liquid and the cold rocks, taking a long, raspy breath, before fishing around in his Hawaiian shirt and pulling out a pack of Marlboro 27s with a green lighter inside.
"I'll pay you a penny farthing. Thirteen thousand dollars, two thousand in advance."
- Sabretooth has posed:
"If I am recalling properly, Rommel gave Montgomery hell for a while until Old Blood and Guts showed up. So I guess I get to be Patton?" Victor laughs an actual laugh now as he rocks back on his stool before looking at Great White. "I like that. Never fought under Patton as I'm Canadian, but I heard stories." He nods and his sharp teeth flash in the glow of the bar signs hanging up above the bottles. "Thirteen is fine. How soon do you want it done?"
- Great White Shark has posed:
Great White Shark pulls off his stool with a swing around, left palm propped on the bar. He gestures for his men to approach.
"I want it done by next week. Once I see it on the news, the money will be wired in for you, in full."
One of the men in suits reaches into his jacket for a slim leather wallet, handing it to Warren. Shark pulls out a debit card, and slips it to Sabretooth across the bar. "There's two thousand in this account already, and the eleven thousand will be added once I see the news broadcast of the dead selectman."
Shark tugs at the labels of his Hawaiian shirt, inhaling, before he looks to Creed over his shoulder. "Thanks for the company, Creed. You're a real solid egg." He turns about and shuffles out of the bar, his two men following.