View source for 2019.04.15: A Deal Not To Be Missed


{{Infobox Log
|name      = 2019.04.15: A Deal Not to Be Missed
|summary   = Dawson gets a visit from a local gang. 
|icdate    = April 15, 2019
|ictime    = Morning
|players   = [[Dawson]], [[Trent Bellamy]], [[Izayah]], [[Ramona Altenbach]], [[Barksdale]]
|location  = [[Styx and Stones]]
|spheres   = Mortal+, Garou
}}

[[Category:Logs]][[Category:Styx and Stones]]
[[Category:Dawson]][[Category:Trent Bellamy]] [[Category:Izayah]] [[Category:Ramona Altenbach]] [[Category:Barksdale]]


==Styx and Stones - Pool Hall==
[[File:Styx-and-Stones-04.png|thumb|300px]]

Monday morning at the Styx and construction is in full swing. The blue tarps hang in overlapping sheets over the back of the room to keep the dust and debris to a minimum out here in the main room. Though generally closed to the public for their reconstruction, a few old timers have come in and are posted up at the tables in the back - sipping down whatever they feel is necessary for an early morning and chatting about whatever kind of business they do.

At the bar, two men discuss the work. One, a dark-haired Latino, seems to be taking some instruction from the other guy whose hair is the color of cotton.

<hr>
The doors to the Styx opens to reveal the sight of Izayah, flanked by three others behind him. The moment they enter the room, the room grows instantly thick with an air of discomfort that may make a few of the muggles getting up and leaving, or staring uncomfortably. The large latino is wearing his leather jacket as usual, faded jeans and heavy combat boots. He has that cock of the walk attitude that is born and bred from a soldier of the streets.

As his eyes trail to the customers, he gives a jerk of his head upwards, teeth flashing in a cruel grin. He takes a straight path for the bar, sniffing the air as his eyes settle on the man with the white hair, rumbling out a deep baritone of latino accent. "Amigo. It's good to see you again." He says, his eyes cutting towards the other Latino for a moment, then rumbles out to him in Spanish. << You don't want to be here, my friend. I have business with the owner. >> He fishes out a fifty from his pocket, crumbled with some blood stains upon the paper as he hands it to the other latino. << Get yourself some lunch. >>

<hr>

Barksdale steps in behind Iazyah, the darkskinned man pausing to look around for a few moments before he just sort of drifts to the side a moment to give him a good angle at viewing the room. He doesn't say a word to anyone however, content to have Izayah take point on this. His shoulders flex for a moment as he takes on the role he is there for perfectly.
Trent follows Izayah in, a few inches taller than him, though also a step or two behind, dressed not for surgery but in a windbreaker and cargo pants, and a black handkerchief at his throat from which a deep, fresh scar trails. While Izzy takes care of the barman, Trent's blue eyes do as Barksdale's and he looks around the room, though he's specifically looking for pieces of tech. Not finding any up and running, he gives Izayah a little shake of his head, whenever their eyes might meet.
<hr>
Not speaking Spanish - or at least not that well, Dawson turns to Danny, the Latino guy next to him, for a translation. The man, adorned with a few tatts and the slight lump of a pair of dog tags under his shirt, has the bearing of a soldier as well - both from the streets and from active military service. He takes the offered money and throws it back at Izayah with a shake of his head; explaining that he doesn't need to go anywhere.

The white-haired owner, noting the arrival of the man and his crew, tells Danny to go to the back and tell Tommy to make a few specials for them. The Latino turns his eyes to Daws and nods and begins limp-stepping towards the tarps in the back; a combat amputation evident in his walk. 

"So what do you want?" he gets right to the heart of the matter - looking at Izayah since he seems to be the shot-caller of the group.
<hr>
Ramona walks in with the group, the lone female amongst a rough bunch of guys and looking not the least bit bothered by it. In fact she just seems cool as a cucumber, looking at the interior with the same vague seeming interest and passive reaction like someone who'd walked into the same building everyday and was just seeing if there was any new excitement.
<hr>
There is a flash of the eyes from Izayah as he finds the money thrown back at him. His eyes track after him a moment and he slowly leans down and picks it up. Chuckling, he tucks it back into his pocket, then takes out a joint as he sparks the end of it. Tucking it between his teeth, he stares at Dawson with a low rumble in his throat. "I hope you aren't too fond of your friend. I don't take disrespect very well. I told you I'd be back. The place kinda grew on me, it has a reputation, you see? A rep that was brought upon by my family many years ago." He takes a long drag, blowing the smoke out from his nostrils as he offers it across to him.

"So, this is my family." He says with a tilt of his head to the others. "I'm sure you've seen the movies, si'? Local gang rolls in, gives a shake down, talks all mean, maybe punches the owner in the face a few times and steals their register." He leans forward some, lips twitching upwards. "Today is your lucky day, amigo. We're gonna skip about eighty percent of it. We don't want or need yah' money, and I'm not gonna beat your ass unless you do something stupid. You own this place, but we're gonna be running shit through here. Si? Drugs, Hos, intel. We're gonna crash here once in awhile when shit gets hot too, and this will be a place for us to cool off of. We're gonna be partners."

Giving a casual glance about, he leans in a bit closer, shifting his jacket a bit to reveal a heavy pistol. "So, this is a pretty good deal for you, si'? Otherwise, we'll use you as a pincushion and string your mouthy friend up in the back and use his guts for jump ropes. So, see it as you're being a hero as well, saving his life." He speaks lowly, only so that the other man can hear. The joint he offers still dangles in his fingers.
<hr>
Unable to help the smirk, Barksdale moves over to the bar, he leans there for a moment nudging a stool out of the way as his gaze is leveled on Dawson as Izayah gives his 'sales pitch.' Eyes dart very briefly over to the others in his 'gang' but really its Dawson he is studying and gauging for reaction.

<hr>
An offer that can't be refused. Trent's smirking, too, but his eyes are bright in a way that suggests, oddly enough, he's a happy bastard. Maybe, if the staples in his scalp are anything to go by, he's a little brain damaged. However, he keeps an eye on the vet and the back, just to make sure the other staff aren't up to any funny business.
<hr>
"Loyalty," Dawson begins catching note of the man's mood, "...is never a /bad/ thing my friend." He tries to keep things calm but the cluster of older men that have called this place their 'office' feel the need to remove themselves from the place. They've been coming here for probably more decades than he's been alive and they know when trouble's brewing. So Tommy, the cook, opens up one of the tarp panels to let the guys out the back wile things continue to unfold up front.

The white-haired man knows this tune all too well; hell, he's probably pulled it a few times himself back in New Mexico. After a moment to think through the offer he asks, "So you want...to make a 'deal'," he asks and leans forward a bit, his blue eyes reflecting a bit too much light to be normal - like shining an light on a cat or fox at night they seem to catch the light just right to look weird.

"...I think we can work something out."
<hr>

Ramona has mostly been listening and watching up to that point, till now anyway. "It all sounds big and scary, I know." She says as she leans on the bar, folding her hands in front of her with her posture and her rising smile calm and even quite friendly. She looks like a college girl at best, not a gangster. Her voice is low and smoky, but sincere sounding. "But we aren't going to bring you any trouble. Why would we, if we want to have a nice establishment to relax? No one likes to bring their garbage to a place like that. And hey, we'll probably scare off the real problem people, so that's a win for you."
<hr>
"I do enjoy a good win win scenerio." Barksdale chimes giving Ramona a glance and a smile, eyes gliding back over to Dawson then.
<hr>
"Si, a deal. The type that keeps people happy and alive. Loyalty is stronger than family sometimes. You can call me Hector, Mister Dawson, or do you like Patrick?" The latino asks as he passes him the joint, blowing out another curl of smoke from his lips. "We are ghosts to you. You don't tell anyone 'bout us, you don't ask questions of what we may be doing down in your basement." He says with a smirk to him. "You may hear some screaming, the kind that'd give your kids nightmares, but you don't ask questions. Si? Any mess we make, we'll get it cleaned up. You just keep things happy and oblivious for us. You keep cops out of here, and we'll keep rival gangs out as well, the kind that /will/ want your money." Giving a lick of his lips, he glances to Ramona and nods his head, then to Barks and Trent. Sliding a hand into his pocket, he takes out a plain card and scribbles a number on it. "Burner phone. You're the only one who has this number. I will call you from it in a few days and we'll have a contract." He tips a wink.

<hr>

"Daws," the white-haired man insists with some degree of feigned indifference. The name, his -real- name doesn't seem to set well on his shoulders as that person is long since dead in his mind. Izayah's instructions - about them being ghosts and anonymous 'protectors' is absorbed flatly as he listens to try and make sure that nothing is snuck in at the edges of the deal. He'd rather deal with one gang than a dozen and if this crew can keep them, and the cops, out of the place so much the better.

He takes the offered card, glances down at the number and slides it into his pocket for later. Tommy, the cook, comes back out from the back and raises his voice so that Daws can hear him, "Hey...you want the special for these...folks?" With a shake of his head, the white-haired owner removes the 'order' and the cook goes back to his kitchen; clearly a signal in case there was some kind of trouble.

<hr>
"Look how nice everyone is getting along." Barksdale quips with a soft chuckle, "To think, some might have been concerned he would say no." he muses as he gives Izayah a nod of approval.
<hr>
There's a smirk from Izayah as he glances over towards Tommy and his special. "Si, I'd be afraid if Tommy woulda tried to give us the special. I'd hate to see what my buddy T-Dog over there woulda done to him." He says with a motion of his head over to Trent. Giving a lick of his teeth with his tongue, he taps the top of the bar a few times. "We got some chores to run, but we'll be in touch, Daws. Nice to see one of the Harbingers out in /my/ area. You all did some good work." He flashes his teeth at him wolfishly, then snaps his fingers as he starts for the door. "Let's roll, we got a party to plan for tomorrow."
<hr>
"Sounds like a plan then, glad everyone's on the same page." Ramona stands back upright and looks over towards Barkdale with a light, lopsided grin. "A pleasure to meet you, Daws." And then she's moving to follow after Iz and out the door.

Trent had predicted that, and that's why he was keeping an eye on the back. Funny business. "Nice meeting you," he says to Tommy, and it almost sounds genuine. Almost. There's just the faintest touch of 'don't you dare think of fucking with us' and a slide his lips showing just a bit too much teeth to be a proper smile. Then he goes to clap Dawson on the side of the arm, "And nice meeting you, too!" His voice is golden, or maybe silver, smooth and trained. This guy could be a singer, or a narrator, and there's a bit of a rich, happy rumble, as he speaks to the owner, before turning to head out.

<hr>
And everything was going well - or as well as Dawson could have hoped given the situation. He got the number, made the deal and no one got hurt. And then..., then Izayah had to mention his old gang. The man's body stiffens slightly at their mention but he tries not to let it show. Old wounds? Old enemies? He tries to remain chill, taking a few sips of his morning coffee as they say their peace and head out but it's clear that their knowledge of him broke through his icy, business-like facade.