7984/Double Shot

Double Shot
Date of Scene:	21 June 2019
Location:	Red Hook, Burnley
Synopsis:	Summary needed
Cast of Characters:	Deadshot, Film Freak

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Deadshot has posed:
The beat up junker pulls to a halt as Deadshot's parked in an alley in Red Hook. The assassin is beyond angry right now as he storms out of the car he'd 'borrowed' half an hour earlier from a parking lot of some mom and pop convenience store, and come here for a meeting. His contact wanted him to take out a target. Paid $10 million. Deadshot refused when he saw who the target was. Now....Deadshot's angry. The target was his own daughter. That was enough to get the killer to flip the contract around. Squeezing his hands into fists, and with the faceplate down and visor down, Deadshot unslings his assault rifle, with the chatter of automatic fire spraying all around the alley. It's not a meeting....it's an execution. The money man's on his knees as bullets tear into and through him, then get embedded in the wall. "Burt. I'll find you" Deadshot snarls and slams the muzzle of the rifle against the dead money man's head, reloading solely to empty another magazine into it. Once done, Deadshot kicks the body a few times and turns around. He's...not happy. And he's got his underworld contacts tracking down Burt....and Deadshot's determined to find out if the film freak's involved or not. Given there's two mags worth of bullet casings....he's not caring to clean up. Instead he shakes his head and just stands in the alley mouth, as if blocking it off from view. He's not caring to call it in. Gotham cops will find the trash taken out.

Film Freak has posed:
Burt Weston had just skipped a fifty thousand dollar bond for involuntary manslaughter, a Mafiaso attorney pleaing him down from accessory to premeditated murder with a bit of excellent work on motions (and of course, a missing witness, who needed a vacation to St. Bart's for some hot Caribbean water to warm his ailing union blue feet). The issue with jumping bond, of course, was paying back the bail bondsman, and unless he wanted a bounty hunter like Savage Skull after him, he would have to acquire fifty grand primo plus ten grand as a vig to the crooked service that fronted his fee to release him. Arkham commitment wouldn't be appropriate, because his services were required by Lex Luthor.

A major contract like a job for Lex Luthor was not an opportunity to pass up, especially over a man who sat on an apple pie placed there by his son (and a resulting fall off a skilift at a hiker's destination, in New York State - slippery pants).

Burt Weston's job was to assassinate an underworld shyster that was operating as a hitman contact, one that had displeased Lawrence Loman and the Gotham Triads by purchasing a Polynesian-Japanese fusion restaurant's last dish of surf clam before the Squid could have his fill. That man was dead at Deadshot's feet, and the hiring contractor, Film Freak, was standing across the alley, on a building, looking down at Deadshot with his wild mane of black hair and his cold blue eyes, his wide necked leather jacket and t-shirt visible over his burly and slim shoulders, peering over the brown freize and ledge.

The pulse beat of Run Lola Run in his head, he pulls away and turns, having confirmed the target's demise and requiring Deadshot give chase to allow for the Triads to recover the body for the Squid (before the cops arrive), he goes running across the rooftop for the other side, where a fire escape waits on the inner edge of the city block.

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot looks serious then grapples his way up to the same fire escape Burt's going for. They'll meet in the middle...but Deadshot's up here to get a picture of the body as well, shaking his head again the killer grits his teeth and grunts. The money was paid before the kill. Then again, he learned he wasn't the only killer on the contract.....somebody else was. His contact didnt name anyone. Just said Deadshot had to get there first. Still....Deadshot'sstanding on the bottom of the fire escape, one foot on the very first set of stairs, climbing slowly. he's still looking for this Burt guy, whoever he is. Then....
Heirens are heard nearby as Deadshot scampers up the fire escape. The sirens go past, fortunately....but there's a good chance the cops will come back if anyone thinks anything's out of the ordinary. Then again, a murder in Gotham's not really big when there's the Joker and his friends on the loose. Getting up to the roof, Deadshot sits down on it, as if needing a break. He lifts his visor for a moment, then lowers his faceplate. He's still angry but....if he finds the right person to vent to, oh he'll vent.

Film Freak has posed:
As Deadshot crosses the street to reach the alley that leads to the fire escape at the back of the building, Film Freak jumps onto the ledge, and turns around as he swivels in mid-air to land on the ladder with his hands, his boots sliding into position on the rungs, the Freak leaning back as he balances from the sharp shift of inertia. His delusions of frailty driving him into psychotic commitment to a street runner, Film Freak goes rattling downwards as Deadshot grapples to the fire escape after grappling up the alley to the escape.

Film Freak goes pushing off the falling ladder as it reaches maximum extension two floors down from the interlinked ladder, while Deadshot goes upwards on the stairs and pedestals. The Freak flies off the ladder with the shove and lands a story below on the building, mercifully short for both parties, landing on a dumpster closed earlier by Burt Weston, while Deadshot reaches the crest of the roof above him.

Film Freak offers a crooked grin, looking up as Deadshot sits on the ledge. He turns and puffs out his cheeks with a dead heat hitting him as he jumps off the dumpster and onto a parked Indian motorcycle.

There's a sudden surge of the pistons, as Film Freak kicks out the stand.

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot watches and follows, landing on the dumpster. "Hey!" he calls out. "Hey, you on the bike, c'mere" he shouts. He's got his own bike a half block away and knows he can get to ti easily...but...he's hopign to talk to the guy on the bike. He looks shady....but Deadshot's a fine one to talk. Still, he slides the targeting visor down and examines around the alley.

Film Freak has posed:
Film Freak knows Deadshot by reputation of his prodigous skill with a firearm, and he knows he could easily take a round to the back of the head. He swerves his bike around, faltering, and shifts into his Burt Weston personality, a whip out of his head signalling the shift as he shakes out from the petulant female posture of Mila Jovovich into his standard posture of a burly but fluid actor used to changing his posture for Straussberg neurological mimicry (a principle taken from Daoist condition and uncondition as it relates to the body and the mind's linkage).

He looks up at Deadshot from the sniper's vantage on the dumpster, his motorcycle turned to the side at a diagonal angle, revving with a rapid cough of fumes. He immediately knows he's made a fatal mistake, but fear has overtaken his otherwise rigid confidence when in character, confronted by the danger of his contract.

"Call me Burt," he says with an amiable countryboy smile, with a bit of soft tilt to his features from his childhood in the suburbs. "Planning on shooting me?"

Deadshot has posed:
"Would I?" Deadshot asks. "Off the bike. I want to talk" he says and has his arms folded so he can turn and shoot if needed. Gesturing with a hand, he's got his arm straight to get a shot with his arm mounted silenced gun. Smart play, he's keeping his options open. "You're Burt...ya?" he asks and keeps the faceplate off his face. Glaring at Burt he looks unimpressed. "I got a bone to pick with you. No bullets.....yet. Start talking" Deadshot says with a cold, professional tone.

Film Freak has posed:
"Burt Weston, yeah," comes a soft reply. He flips the kickstand back on and turns the key in the bike, slipping the keychain into his pocket as he dismounts with his back to Deadshot. While he makes the motion, he palms a Dillinger pistol in his hand, keeping it hidden in his leather sleeve with his palms diagonal in a submissive stance, perfect for a gunfighter in the age past swords and knives.

Tens of thousands of years of human dominance signals, done away by a simple bit of gunpowder in a metal cylinder with a trigger or pin.

"I need that guy's body for the Triads. Mighty amiable of you for shooting him for me." He looks down, fearful and ashamed of himself. He's still Burt Weston, the introverted actor and cat owner. The gesture is of a plantation worker from the south, more specifically the son of a plantation owner mimicking one, with his blue eyes looking up past his shaggy black hair. "I got a sixty grand debt to pay back, to free myself up for a contract. The Squid wanted that guy dead. Don't know why."

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot turns his attention to Burt, "You know that dead guy had it coming, right?" he asks, not moving an inch.....except his hands outwrd with guns aimed at Burt. "Now...start talking. If I think you're lying, I'll shoot you. You prove you're telling the truth and you live"" he says firmly. "Why do the Triads want him dead? I have my own reasons for him dying. You're welcome but I'm merely doing my job. Did you know you got sold out? The dead guy said you were putting up money to have little kids shot" Deadshot says. "I want to know the truth before I shoot you" he adds, staying put and at least willling to give Burt a tiny tiny amount of doubt. Still....Deadshot won't hesitate to shoot though....

Film Freak has posed:
"The Squid runs the Triads in this city, and he gets first crack at fish," Burt replies as his neck snaps to the side with a sudden jag, before he looks up at Deadshot with a plastic grin and bright eyes, his lungs expanding in his narrow marijuana burner's chest as he becomes Edison. "The guy was a pig at a Jap joint while Loman was there with a dinner party, impressing a lady. Loman's a big guy, he needs to run things, you know? If you score Loman under on his favorite dish, and he's impressing a woman, it looks bad."

Edison raises his chin arrogantly. "We all have rules, even you. Loman can't be humiliated by a white man at an Oriental joint when he's with a lady. I need to keep all my accounts balanced." His head tilts. "And you, Deadshot, don't like a lousy book keeper that would hire you to kill your own daughter."

"That guy," he says, jerking his head back with a roll of his eyes in the direction of the alley, where a distant trio of men in black suits and slick haircuts, sunglasses hiding their eyes, are dragging the shyster away, "Had rules too."

"He didn't remember his old friend Deadshot's daughter, did he?"

"Three of us are covered, one of us wasn't, and the one that pooped on the partridge, got birdshot up his butt."

Deadshot has posed:
Deadshot narrows his gaze and nods. "Yes. That guy wanted my daughter dead by my hand. I didn't go easy on him. I took my anger out on him. We all got rules, but some" Deadshot says "Are looser than other. You're telling the truth, Burt. You live.....just remember, everyone's got a price" he says. "And no. bookeepers are lousy and I hate ones that threaten what's mine" he says simply, with a smile. He pulls out his phone and taps on it. In the distance there's a rumbling and smoke and dust are visible. "I like their friends even less" he says. Yes, he's just blown up a derelict building where the (now dead) money guy had his settup. "You don't know if he squealed. Nor do I" Deadshot says, "So I'm playing it safe and breaking any trail leading back to either of us. Consider it courtesy" Deadshot says flatly. He watches Burt quietly. "What have you been up to?"