11166/A Dip in the Mediterranean: Green Olives

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A Dip in the Mediterranean: Green Olives
Date of Scene: 08 March 2020
Location: Iceberg Lounge, Central Heights
Synopsis: Great White Shark is hired to set up a contract to construct a racket for some demon hunting, in a good ol' fashioned bottleneck finance trace - animal shelter style.
Cast of Characters: Great White Shark, Dean Winchester




Great White Shark has posed:
Great White Shark is in the billiards room of the Iceberg Lounge, with a pool cue and a game in play. His rival, 'Little' Tony Raspirotol, an Algonquin-French gangster from Ontario, is across from him, sizing up the table while Great White Shark takes his shot. Thugs stand about watching, including one with a glass eye, colored red.

"See, the key to playing billiards, is knowing where the hole is looking at the ball you're shooting into it, so you can look at the hole with your ball."

He angles his stick down with his left hand's middle finger, forefinger up and thumb out at the side, flat, his ring and pinky missing. Meanwhile, with his pinky missing on his right hand, he massages the stick beneath his armpit with practiced form.

"That way, you create a triangle, with an open degree matching the logarithm ^trajectoryy that you're carving across it, the parabola."

He snaps the solid into a stripe, and the stripe goes right into the rear corner pocket.

Shark leans up, his grin omnipresent and irremovable, irredeemable and evil. A mark of his new identity.

"It's two maneuvers, really, you're making the corner diamond your ^diamond. Your hand," he raises his left hand, then puts it down on the green felt. "Is at the second curve, with the distance between the ^trajectory of the ball you're hitting, and the point of the ^diamond up to the arc, equal, so you're on the second curve, making a path."

He stilt-walks around the table. "It's a highway pass."

Dean Winchester has posed:
Dean Winchester is a pool fan. He's not a math genius though and only....only sports a GED....while watching the shot and pretending to know what he's hearing. "So" Dean says, cautiously watching them, settling into a chair with a smile.

"So" he says, watching. "How then would you make a shot that caroms off all the cushions?" he adds with a wry grin. "That's the real question"

Desan's dressed in a full on suit, tie, smart pants, and oh yes, smart shoes. He's got a fake ID that lists him as a former CEO that's wanting to set up a charity. It's all an elaborate scheme to hunt down a demon that's infiltrated a church, of all things. He's wanting to kill the demon. Looking over it all, and the table, Dean watches silently, and pretends to know math. Though really, he just needs to start up a charity to get closer to the demon, who is masquarding as the preacher. Dean's well aware where the real preacher is, who called Sam and Dean and company in.

So, Dean's on a mission here.

Great White Shark has posed:
"A shot that caroms off the cushions is how you kill another billiard player," Great White Shark says, snickering with a sick wheeze. "Just a simple bet. That one, I call the Rodman, after the basketball player."

Shark moves around to the front of the table facing Dean, and pulls a cheap cigar's stub out of an ashtray on a fanciful wooden table, sticking it between his sharpened sharp teeth. He crooks it upwards, flicking a book of matches and lighting it with a reverential puff.

"Tell me, my man, what do you need from the Great White Shark. I hear you need a hebe set up." He flicks the matches out, depositing them in the ashtray and removing the cigar from his mouth in the same hand disposing of the matches. "Forgive the goyishness, but that's the term in the influence business. Just so we can't discuss the trick in court."

Dean Winchester has posed:
"You heard right" Dean says. "And I heard you're good at that through the grapevine. So" he says getting to his feet. Dean Winchester in n full formal wear,full suit, tie, smart shirt, smart pants, smart shoes....it's weird. But, Dean is dressed to impress.

"Now" Dean says. "So, what" he nods, "Can you offer me?"

That's the million dollar question isn't it? What can Dean be offered? Well, Dean is very much optimistic.

"The Rodman? How many rebounds, is that it?" Dean asks with a glint of amusement in his eyes and he shakes his head looking to the Shark.

Great White Shark has posed:
"It's not the rebound, it's the non-monetized bet. Dennis Rodman, will do something in public, if you win his challenge. Each challenge, always takes you down for taking the challenge," he muses, before looking up, puffing his gnarled stogie in his left hand, pool stick in the right. "I'll take the trick as a door fee."

Great White Shark moves around the table and lays his stick in the rack, sliding it down with his hand, before he wheels his left hand, smoking wafting from it in a circle. "I'm going to take a project, from a public work, and place it within a private act, with my gang handling the gear, you know, the setup, and then I'm going to run it right through a frame as something that looks nutty, so it will be real American commando." He strolls around the room, pointing at a guy on the side of the table, in a maitr'de outfit, that offers him a flask of mixer.

"So you want a church blown up, eh?" He takes the flask and takes a long swig of mai tai. "I know, I know, monsters and demons. A church is a church, even if it's one with a reptile pope and a dinosaur saucer floating above a city stealing all the newspapers from the Daily Planet with an ink suction ray."

"Give me five grand, that's four for the operation and one for myself, covering the accounting percentage to my shark and my bit of the chum, and I'll give you something."

"We'll set up an orphanage, for Little Orphan Annie to be given to Daddy Warbucks, the monster running the preacher's tent, so you can have an undercover baby go in and shoot the guy. Let's call it an overseas study program from, say, Germany, on a cartographer of the Wehrmacht controversy of politicians appearing anywhere near the graves, and say he's trying to clear the American Republican Party from scandal to get votes from German kids that want to make cartoons about farts. Sounds real demonic, doesn't it?"

He turns around, hitting the flask again. "And we say, we'll get you a visa from Poland, as your travel country of transit, so you can be that guy, as the undercover cop, some kinda hero. Tell them you want to help them infiltrate a country farm ward down in Pennsylvania, out in backwoods country, where they make moonshine and they have a lot of dark hollows, one of those little towns with the hanging signs that says something in fake old English."

The Great White Shark turns about, puffing his cigar. "That's our starter proposal. You run me through your concerns, and we keep going."

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Well" Dean says. "What if I said I want to set up a charity to work my way into a church's good graces? Two months ago I got a lead, a preacher had been impersonated at his church. I found out there is a demon in it. I don't want to blow the church up. I'd rather kill the demon and save everyone else. If that means stuffing rainbow frosted cupcakes down a demon's maw till they die from sugar overload..." Dean says with a straight face. "I've got an ID. I just need somebody to file the paperwork for this. I want something that can look right at home in a church parking lot bake sale" Dean shrugs, watching Shark.

Then his eyes light up. "So what aboutabout..." Dean says with a smirk. "What about if we put a cat in the church to kill mice, and have the cat's whiskers coated with poison and introduce the cat to the demon? Meantime, the cupcakes are just so adorable the demon can't help but want one more. See. see" he says. "It's a win win. Cupcakes get made and eaten. If anything, the demon will suffer death by frosting. Sound good?" Dean asks. he's a straight face. Not even a smirk. He's keeping a a straight face. Dean looks pleased with his creativity. "You want five grand? We'll need more for supplies" he offers with a nod. "Baking supplies are not cheap, and enough cupcakes to kill a demon....that's a lot of supplies really" Dean shrugs.

Great White Shark has posed:
"So what we've got here is a worker's impasse," Great White Shark says, puffing his cigar, flask in hand. "See, in corporate business, this kind of thing gets you booted from the firm. Some kind of thing they call market ethics." He exhales smoke upwards. "I've never believed in those. I had my second chance at life in Arkham, and I know not to blow it for you."

Great White Shark ponders quietly, narrowing his skinny eyelids. "So you need a charity, there to find informers, and when the demon finds your man or lady, their distributed tags inside the church populace, kill your principle, the individual capital representative of skill-based labor we wish to remove."

"Now, that's your worker's position, and you clearly can't break it. Now you should know, I can't break mine, because you can't break yours. So I won't make you break yours, and we work out a median."

Great White Shark goes strutting, as he sips his flask, waving his mangled hand with the cigar. "The median is the space between an introductory equation, yours, and our phantom conclusion, the two stages I seek to solve by combination, from finding the median, the method of taking the phantom solution, our goal, and introducing the solved conclusion, from median and phantom."

Great White Shark swings about on his loafer-clad heel. "How about, I set up a poverty loan assistance program for you, however as a private outreach from your charity, and all the money, is tail-backed to your office, labeled with the proper paperwork to be the charity in incorporated form, so we can see just where each congregation-membered cashs the cheques, so we know where the preacher is, with the paperwork at the very center of our cluster, filing the slips, and we know where the demon is, outside of the parish, so you can get him outside of the tent?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
"Now you're on to something" Dean nods, "I do have an office as well"

Sure, it's leased in New York but, but....office space. Rented for two months under an alias. "Do you have anyone in mind to go over all the accounts? I like the outreach program. Do we have enough funding for it betweeen us?" Dean asks. He's running numbers in his head before he nods, looking over to Shark then the baize.

Dean snags his phone as it rings. "Hey, no I'm here, no, I'm meeting with an investor for the charity, yes, alright, send it to the office" Dean nods. "If Jo's in, tell her to forward the details to my phone, I'm not in the office. Alright, thanks" he says and hangs up, phone back in suit pocket. "Thank you for your time" he says and hands over a card. It's a fake name, burner phone. Real charity he's set up, real office. Which is where Dean's heading to in Manhattan, of all places. Back to 'work.

Sure, he'll invite the Shark over too, and keep all this above board. Or, more accurattely...

"If I give you contact information for my charity, will you be able to pick the best candidates for investments in the outreach program and public relations?" Dean asks. Less supernatural, more board meeting. Dean's more in the 'bored meeting' category. Either way he checks his phone and smiles. He's stayed here long enough, and doesn't want to take up any more of this fine man's time. Mostly since Dean is, if anything, acting as a CEO that's above time wasting.

Great White Shark has posed:
"I'll get your candidates, all grey-business, each one a professional willing to work a contract in the underworld, meaning they're discreet, as long as it's not anything immorally palpable in cultural production value terms."

Great White takes the card. "Superheroes, you know. Good for business."

He taps the card to his skull. "Be seeing you, Mister Winchester. I'll be in touch once I get my team together. Remember, this meeting, and this card in my hand, means a commitment. I'd hate to get in the boat and not have a ride."