2016.02.17:UnAbandoned Apartments
| UnAbandoned Apartments | |
|---|---|
| Abandoned Apartments find a new owner. | |
| IC Date | 2016-02-17 |
| IC Time | late night |
| Players | Shelby Melinda |
| Location | Abandoned Apartments |
The same car has been there all evening. It arrived earlier in the day, and then the other car left. They're working in shifts, and while they're not being loud it hasn't been too subtle either. It's been like this for a few days now. You've gotten to know the timing and patterns, and while the cars look identical, each time, each shift change, it's a new one. They're not rentals though, that's for sure, so someone must have a large fleet. Even before this pattern emerged, there was talk in the apartments of someone watching. Who knows how long it's really been? Probably started before anyone knew, binoculars from a rooftop or something like that, but now they want their presence to be known. They're announcing that they're coming. As much as it puts everyone on edge, maybe this is a good idea? The paranoia's been creeping for a week now, but imagine if the tires just screeched one day as a car stopped and people got out to come to the door.
Well, the tires aren't screeching, but it looks like tonight is the night. Another car -- all black, tinted windows -- has pulled up alongside the car that's been waiting. Driver to driver, like some sort of stakeout. It's not the cops is it? They wouldn't be acting like this, they'd just roll up and kick in a door, and with the lack of approach, it's usually the wrong door. Speaking of doors, three of them on the new car jus opened, driver remaining in place.
Two heavies, foreign looking, and while you can't see any weapons it's obvious they're packing. They have some training too, military, intelligence, something, these guys aren't amateurs. Then the third one ... what the fuck? Did someone forget to turn in their homework? This looks more like a teacher than any law enforcement or gangster, but she has confidence and the men move with her up towards the apartments. Slowly though, both as tactical caution, but also not to spook anyone.
Business, throughout the day, has been normal, if context from the last week or three have been any signifier. That's to say every few hours or so, a group of different people leave and arrive, in various tastes. Some sporting the usual go-gang bike leathers, some more white t-shirt and baggy pants, and then others in suits and sunglasses. Seemed this was the fairgrounds of sorts, the neutral flagged Tortuga of Prospect. The cars had garnered some note from those who seem to be the caretakers of the building, but other than noting and trying to be conspicuous about staring, they did not curb business any.
Information likely being transmitted to the uppers by the black car's occupants may or may not have had an influence on tonight's meet. An hour ago a dingy cab had pulled up, dropping off, as the last half-month has done everything to infer, the 'leaders' of this operation. A small woman and her compatriot, easily three times her size in terms of sheer volume. They'd walked in just as they had any night before this, a quick word to the door guard before disappearing inside. Tonight it seems that word is being acted upon, and as the car, the librarian, and her heavies start to approach, something in Spanish is vocallized toward the door. The man speaking doesn't move otherwise, but as sort of a parley, he does make a slow waving gesture to the group, his eyes looking over the heavies and their clothing a tad nervously. He's got the cliche pistol in his belt-line that's stuffed in over the shirt, but there's no reach for it. And he does seem to be the only one outside for the moment.
On hearing the Spanish, both men turn their heads ever so slightly to the woman between them. She repeats a phrase of a similar length, but in Hebrew. It looks like these boys are a little too old for a Bar-Mitzvah, and where they got that military training from is starting to be clear. The three walk up slowly, Melinda in between them and slightly behind, somewhat covered by the two men. They've definitely got their hand on weapons within their pockets, but they're trying not do that in a threatening way. Well, they are a threat of some sort, but at least they've been announcing themselves. If they setup others to feel this kind of paranoia on an initial meet and greet, well, then they must be pretty damn paranoid themselves.
The woman seems calm, almost emotionless, and just as she's being eyed by the spanish speakin guard at the door, "Oye. Pandejo, get your boss," she compels.
First impressions being what they are, the door guard was falling behind. As cool yet imposing the trio approaching the porch seemed, he was sliding toward the opposite. His eyes flitted more nervously between the two big guys, and his fingers twitched at his side wild-west style. Even though no motion was made toward the gun, his air became tense the closer they got. Then finally with the climactic head-check from the librarian, his eyes went a little wide, and he half-turns his head, having difficulty with his wants here. He WANTS to abide by the order from the stranger, but he also DOESNT want to turn his back at all to these three. Before the yell he eeks out a "Yo lady I'm doin' it okay? I got my orders," In a thick hispanic accent before dropping back into Spanish for the next call into the building--"YO Somebody go get Shake! Quick like bitches, this is some freaky shit going on down here!"
"I'm right here, man," The spanish comes out of the door along with the woman, her eyes perching on the three professionals just beyond her doorstep only after they'd come off of the door guard as she addressed him. "Go get a beer. And Vee, this looks like something up his alley," She remarks quietly, moreso out of an attempt to sooth the poor vato at the door than to keep secrets, and then switching to English she says in a more announced volume, completely bereft of the accent she'd taken with her Spanish, and with a forced smile, "Good evening. What can I help you with?" Her teeth are clenched somewhat in that smile, but she tries to make good the tone and expression. The spaniard at the door is no longer at the door the moment she tells him to move-- He in fact, nearly bustles into her on his hurried way inside.
Melinda and the three stop as the leader emerges. The two muscles step aside slightly, and Melinda raises up her gloved hands as if to say 'nothing here to worry about.' The two on the side are probably still enough to worry about, but they've intentionally made enough room that if you wanted you could get one clean shot on the woman before the took you down.
"I am sorry for the dramatics and the paranoia we might have induced within your group. I hope you understand that if we are creating such a paranoid atmosphere, it is only because we ourselves are equally paranoid. Not in a clinical sense, but in a professional sense. Sometimes they are after you, sometimes there is someone trying to kill you. Though that is not our intention tonight with you, and we hope it is not your intention either. If we can come to that understanding then maybe we might sit together ... not as friends, no, not yet I suppose ... but at least as two groups that respect each other. Does that sound like a possibility?" she asks.
Then, lowering her right gloved hand slowly in an offering, she adds, "Melinda Harris, City First Group."
The reputation of City First Group proceeds itself on the streets. It's a group of charities that benefit the marginalized members of society, and has spread throughout Oregon and Washington. Tonight it appears that it has finally spread to California, to your very doorstep. They run shelters, meetings, provide counselling, medical services, and drug treatment. Their needle exchange? Oh man do people love their needle exchange, but it's not fair to call it just a needle exchange. Operating 24/7 in major cities with both physical locations and roving vans to provide services in emergencies. What kind of emergencies? Well, drug emergencies. Clean needles, alcohol wipes, sterile saline water and cookers. They're even progressive beyond the typical needle exchange and have embraced harm reduction for crack cocaine and methamphetamine handing out sterile glass tubes, de-chemicalized chore boy, and they even give you a free lighter. Not a shitty one either, like real crack lighters, pre-set to that big-boy flame. That's not it though, the word on the street is, that they even operate illegal underground safe heroin injection sites in major cities in Oregon and Washington. These guys are the west coast vanguard of progressive treatment for addiction and helping those in need in urban and even hard hit rural environments.
"Yeah, no intent to kill on my end," Shelby quips out after Melinda's done speaking, including the introduction. Her hands leave her pockets smoothly but slowly, and wide open. She seems very aware of what fast movements can and usually do in these kinds of situations, and takes the essence of 'slow' very literally in everything but speech. As Shelby talks, her feet take a step forward, bare as the dirt path and foreyard leading up to the building, and she leaves herself and the woman ample space apart, to the point where she has to lean carefully forward even with her hand outstretching fully, to have it meet Melinda's. Maybe she just really wanted to keep her position on the steps. On equal footing it's likely even the smallest of those three in front of her would be taller than herself. But the Napoleon complex seems to be only restricted to her height. In voice she's quick, northern-style accent and speed, but calm, even casual. "Yeah? Shelby, I go by Shake. Heard about your group when I was up in Vancouver, nice enough sounding establishment. And don't worry, I'm no stranger to paranoia. Actually this sort of approach is refreshing. You wouldn't believe the number of cock-hard alpha dogs walk around here thinkin' they're hot shit. I like to start my relationships slow. S'more comprehensive and fulfillin' that way. Gives one a sense of security. So who's Mumbo and Jumbo?" Shelby glances their ways briefly, to each of her heavies in turn, before her eyes move back to Melinda. Given she resumes talking, it's clear she doesn't expect an actual answer and it was more an icebreaker. "But really it's nice to hear yuns are doing well enough to expand."
Melinda gently moves her gloved hand forward to shake Shelby's hand. It's a nice handshake, but there's something real strange about it. The way it feels it's as if in some places inside the glove, the hand is glued to it, and in other places it lubricated. It shifts oddly in your hand as the two of your shake. "I'm glad you've heard of us." She shifts her head to the left "Rafi" and then to the right "Daviid." She then looks you confidently in the eyes, with a slight smile. "They're from Israel. I think it's best not said where they used to work. I don't mean to intimidate, brag, or insult your intuition. Let's just say I trust their instincts in these matters, and they trust mine in all others. Yes, we're expanding to California, and Prospect is our pilot city. We want to start slow and understand California's needs before we expand throughout the state. Right now we are working on revitalizing New Hope Sanctuary as our first operation here. I am also looking into further real estate and trying to understand how I might serve the community here. I understand if you have questions for me, so feel free to ask. However, I wouldn't mind seeing the building from the inside." She pauses a beat and then adds, "Beyond the photos and videos I already have."
Something about the timing keeps Shelby from, atleast visually admitting, that she'd noted the wierdness of the handshake. But while whatever -had- taken her attention isn't clear, what is clear is the unfocused gaze that takes over her face for the moment, a passing thought overwhelming her perhaps. Her features turn slightly more grim during that assumed thought, but her smile takes back over as she gives a final polite shake to the hand before leaning back. The look seemed cued at the names offered, and as she listens on, she grins and waves a slow hand, not so much dismissively as to ease away the words. "Nah Melinda you don't have to worry 'bout a thing. Sometimes less is more, I understand that. I'm actually impressed, even. Most of my boys are home-grown." She listens, nodding slowly, but not absently. With the words New Hope Sanctuary, a disappointed sneer crops up. "Yeah, shame that place flopped. Heard okay things about it. But, of course. I don't think you'll be disappointed, we've scrounged up clientelle from more of the savory of the less savories, from around the city. Now I can't give you names, that'd be unprofessional. But I also can't help what you glean on your own after leaving here," Shelby gives a cheesy grin and her eyes take on a mischievous squint, and as she falls silent she also steps to the side with a gesture toward the door.
There's a man in a business suit just stepping outside as she moves, and he looks over the three gathered plus Shelby. An all too polite smile crosses his features, and he asks of Shelby, "So this is what has been waiting for us? I am not disappointed." Shelby looks back and beams a smile, the expression lingering as she turns back to Melinda. "Vasilli, my accountant. And my Pee Are, usually. But today's a good day." And she, at that, leads the way into the building, muttering something very faintly in Russian on her way by Vasilli, who had stepped back in the door to make room for those entering.
Melinda smiles at the welcoming. She turns to Rafi and mutters something in Hebrew, and he begins to race back to the car. Then, thinking better of it, he slows his pace. Sensing his approach, the trunk opens up, and the driver gets out. "Just a moment," Melinda notes as she glances back at the two by the vehichle.
The two gather at the trunk, and maybe for a moment strange paranoid thoughts come to those watching. That quickly abates. From the trunk, Rafi is returning with two cases of liquor: Jack Daniels and Absolut, a very nice gesture that is neither thinking down with the rot-gut or putting on airs with the top shelf. The driver has four plastic bags and it looks like takeout.
As the two approach Melinda and Daviid, she turns back to Shelby, "I couldn't come empty handed. I hope I chose well on the booze. For food there is Chinese and Mexican, hopefully enough for everyone. While I do know numbers, my intelligence wasn't good enough to know appetites." She then nods to Vasilli, "A pleasure to meet you." Then back to Shelby, "Come now, shall we enter your territory as friends?"
It's only at Melinda's words to her that Shelby turns around. They stop in what used to be the foyer, and front desk area. But it looks nothing like what the conventional area should look like, in your normal apartment building. In fact, most of the first floor has been busted out, and made into a wide open clearing. What likely used to be rooms only hold tents and pitifully shod stalls, a few couches and chairs intermittently, in a sitting area style, around the huge area here and there.
"Empty," She repeats, Shelby gathering what she'd missed by turning back to face Melinda and peering out the door in search of the missing Heavy. Her eyes light up wide, but the rest of her features manage to restrict her from showing the impressed surprise she'd been afflicted with at the sight of the liquor and food. Her voice takes on a sultry tone almost as she murmurs out, "Oh you're good." She looks back to Melinda and raises her voice back to a normal, ish, the affection still lingering somewhat. "As friends, Mel. Definitely. I didn't expect something like this but I should have, given your peoples rep. Damn," She murmurs the last part as her eyes drift back to Rafi for a moment, but she gets back on topic after a quick note to one of the Saints standing by. "Yo offer him a hand? He's big but he's only got two, man. Anyway, this is the floor. Now I only give a shit about these people in a professional manner," She had gestured as she switched up subjects, her hand sweeping behind her. It wasn't a packed area per se, but there were about 50 visible bodies total, counting everyone in seating areas and stalls. Among the stalls were items ranging from weapons, to electronics, to vials and baggies. These vials and baggies were everything from minor pharmaceuticals to the harder, more 'hot' items like your painkillers. "Now I don't sell anymore, I'm past that part of my life. But I screen the people I do let sell here, and they chip me in on a premium for business space. There's a white flag on every stall, strictly business no grudges. Our motto is don't start shit and we won't have to finish it." Shelby even perks up a cheesy grin and a thumb-up at the end of that. "I'm real bad at givin' tours though," She admits with a complete change of demeanor, from that fake enthusiasm to resignment complete with a floppy-armed shrug. "So that's all I got scripted."
Melinda smiles entering the building with her two heavies and driver, now packing more food and booze than heat. "The tour can wait. The food is best while hot." She pauses a moment, "Now I hope you will understand that we mean no one here any harm. Also, should you want it, all of this is for you, these men have no need to eat now. However, paranoia bein what it is, you are welcome to select any food and beverages for them to consume first just in case there's any doubt in your mind that this is anything but good food, folks, and fun. Either way, the tour can wait until afterwards."
Rafi stands guard, but in a more relaxed manner. Daviid puts down the two boxes of liqour and begins to open up the boxes. The driver looks around for the best place to put the food, while also being in the possibly awkward position of being one of her majesty's royal food testers, a position many thought died our centuries ago.
"Granted. If you were going to poison anybody, this'd be the way to do it. A smile, congenial as fuck, and with a good story that didn't revolve yet vaguely associated itself with the food and drink." Shelby leans against the back of a nearby couch, as there was one of the said seating areas rather close to the door, with a few gang members slouched in it watching TV. By looks, they were associated with the same group as the door guard, but looking is something they knew better against, as well as listening to anything but the reruns of the Three Stooges they were watching. Vasilli stood nearby and took this opportunity to delegate, tapping one of those men gently on the shoulder. "Take all this upstairs. Run it to Rebecca's room. Pass it through her, then do what she says." His words are thickly laid with a Russian accent. The boys, all of them even though Vasilli addressed one, stand to retrieve the goods, a few of them even remembering to have manners and thank the Israeli heavies and Melinda on their way by, before moving off with full arms toward the building's main staircase on the far left wall.
Shelby continued to speak as all this happened-- "I struggle just like you, no offense, with my own paranoias. We all do, yanno? Comes with the circles we run in. But you, again no offense, are peculiar to me. In that your continued mention of paranoia, is the one most paranoia instilling thing. Which is good. To me, that infers incredible consideration." Shelby smiles all the way through her words, and at the pause, crosses her arms comfortably. "And because of that pretense, Daviid here doesn't need to worry about dying horribly to poisoned food." She grins chesire-like, glancing over toward the stairs as her crew members disappear up them.
Vasilli takes this momentary pause on Shelby's part to speak up. "It is likewise a pleasure to meet you. Please, allow me to offer up one of our private rooms to continue speaking, if it is uncomfortable for us to continue otherwise?"
Food no longer in hand, the driver returns to the parked car. Rafi and Daviid return their watch, relaxed as their training will allow them to be. Melinda smiles, "Paranoia can be a healthy thing as long as it's sensible. As I said, as I professional rather than clinical trait. I am approaching my good-natured actions tonights via paranoid rhetorical veloity. This is a recent military term, probably from their psy-ops. It means that I engage in my actions in a way that anticipates and sets up your reactions. I am moving you through my own paranoia, the way I would be in your shoes. I understand my own intentions, but I want to make sure you know I am not discounting yours" ....
