Participants:
| Scene Title | A Dime a Dozen |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Charlie, Fedor and Eileen all come to a pawn shop in the Rookery looking for something different. |
| Date | February 6, 2009 |
Every shelf, every flat surface in the entire shop is covered with things. VCRs, DVDs, small pieces of machinery, cheap jewellery - all the kind of stuff worth little money. It's the merchandise that's not worth protecting, even here. If someone wants to steal a VHS copy of 'The Little Mermaid,' then so be it. The primary purpose of the clutter of items is a front - to distract from the fact that the real purpose of the shop is to sell stolen, high-value goods.
The front part of the shop with its knick-nacks and assorted low-value items is separated from the high value items by a counter and a layer of bulletproof glass. There is a slot beneath the window for exchange of money or small goods. At the base of the counter is a chute for larger items. Surveillance cameras keep a vigilant watch over every square inch.
There is a small arsenal of weapons up on a pegboard above the counter. Not just guns but knives, tasers, pepper spray, handcuffs, nightsticks, brass knuckles - all sorts of things meant to cause pain. There's a rotating case at the counter that holds many expensive jewellery pieces, including a few Rolexes and a large assortment of engagement rings. There are expensive cell phones, iPods, laptops and other various small electronics, including listening devices and CB radios. Just about anything worth stealing is displayed behind the glass and up on the walls. Many items however, are by special request. You gotta know what you're looking for.
If anyone ever made the claim that there's never a dull moment in The Rookery, they'd be lying. Friday afternoons are fairly dull, for instance. Most people have better things to do than to shop for 'specialty' goods. Oh sure, some people have been in and out, but no one's made any interesting purchases. There was the guy who wanted a cheap engagement ring for his lady. Then there was the teenager with a text message habit who paid him twice what it was worth to get his stolen cell phone back. Other than that, it's all been lookie-loos so far.
Gilbert Tucker sits on a high back bar stool behind the bullet proof glass. A small TV is up on the shelf, flanked by a pair of security monitors. CSI: Miami plays on the set as Gary Sinese pokes through blood and brain matter. Tuck's attention is only half on the television. The bulk of his attention is on a game of solitaire set out in front of him. He's got a cigarette dangling from his lips and a pair of mod, plastic framed glasses on his nose.
Charlie pushes the door to the shop open, briefly blocking out some light due to sheer size. He marches with determination to the front of the shop, holding up one hand in a fist before uncurling his fingers and slapping an engagement and wedding ring set down on the counter, probably dislodging cards. "I'm gonna do it," he announces.
Theres a pause just inside, as Fedor quietly removes his fedora. Today its green, a dark sort've loamy color thats hardly removed from black by any considerable distance. Theres a matching vest, jacket and slack combo underneath his long wool overcoat. For contrast of course is a black funeral tie, and a shirt thats best described as bronze. Not that strange, leather gloves and all but Fedor doesnt look north of drinking age by even optimistic eyes.
Quietly our favorite gentleman peruses the cases, peering to see any merchandise stacked along the back wall. Of course he keeps his distance from Charlie, at least for the moment anyway he isnt eager to encroach upon a man's personal space at a pawn shop. Especially when he looks like a cross between a pitbull and a cinderblock.
In one of the shadier corners of the shop, a young woman clothed in a white dress with a heavy gray pea coat worn overtop has been inspecting the contents of a glass case for the past ten minutes, but she looks up when Charlie makes his entrance and abrupt declaration. Eileen is innately curious about the comings and goings of the other customers, and he and Fedor are no exception — gray-green eyes study both men from beneath her lashes, silently hoping for a familiar face to jump out at her.
No such luck.
Features settling into a rueful expression, she turns back to the case and resumes perusing the items on the other side of the glass, though she keeps an ear on the conversation at the counter just in case something interesting should happen to drift her way.
Tuck looks up. The only reason he's not intimidated by Charlie is the layer of bulletproof glass between him and the big man. His eyes go down to the rings, then back up. "Why darling. We just met. Don't you think we're taking it a little fast?" The words come out in a slow drawl. He reaches up and plucks the cigarette from his lips after a slow inhale.
Waves of smoke roll up against the glass and then drifts away, a few fingers making it through the star-shaped air hole. "Drop them in the slot and I'll tell you what I'll give you for them." His voice has a tinny quality caused by the mic that projects his voice beyond the glass. There is a lazy, careless look in his eyes.
As for the other customers. Well, Tuck hasn't survived this long by being unaware. A surveillance camera keeps a close eye on Eileen and the fence keeps the monitor displaying her motions in the corner of his eye. Fedor is watched as well. Damn kids.
Charlie scowls at Tuck, picking the rings up with his huge fingers and dropping them into the slot. "Don't be cute. It doesn't look good on you. Just tell me how much they're worth. Money-wise, anyway. I know what they're worth otherwise." He smells a little like whiskey. He has been drinking.
Fedor was a surprsingly youth chap for such a dapper dresser, but New York takes all kinds right? Clean shaven, well manicured and of course featuring the latest fashion with a tightly cropped mess of blonde hair. He lets his Fedora hang from his fingertips as he unbuttons his overcoat with his free hand. Still as nice as guitars and pocket watches are, Fedor already knows what he's looking for. As soon as he finds a case with handguns he pauses, peering over Lorcins and Ravens with disdain before lingering on a pair of revolvers on the bottom level. A Model-29 by the looks of it and the butt of a Ruger Redhawk. "Hrm."he offers audibly finally, slipping that free hand down into a pant pocket before glancing back to see where in the world the proprietor has gotten himself off to. Splendid, other customers.
It's a daily occurence for drunk people to stumble in with valuables to sell. That's precisely why Tuck stays safely under glass. "What are you talking about? I'm fucking adorable." Those words are likewise wry. The cigarette is set down in the ashtray. He reaches for the slot to tug up the rings. From behind the counter, a jeweler's loup is produced He pushes his glasses atop his head, then leans forward to examine the diamond in the ring. There's a few minutes of inspection, then the rings are dropped back into the drop slot. "Five hundred for the pair." Probably a little less than half their retail value, but this is a pawn shop.
He eyes Fedor sidelong. "Hey kid. If you think I'm selling you a fucking gun, then you better have a hell of a lot of cash on you." Hey, he's a crook. His principals can be overridden by enough green.
"That's bullshit," Charlie rumbles, just shy of growling. "I think there's dirt that's pricier than that. Give 'em back, you fucking crook." He taps a finger against the slot, still a-scowl. Fedor's given a sidelong glance. A gun? Really?
To his credit, Fedor doesnt seem bothered in the least at least outwardly. He just glances between Charlie and Tuck"My money is the same color as everyone elses, and I've got a permit to purchase."Out of state buyers, usually commercial entities were able to obtain permits to purchase ahead of time. They took a good month or so to flush through the system and required a more exhaustive background check, but on the plus side once you called the permit code into the ATF and it was good you could just hand the firearm over immediately. Granted, nobody tended to carry permits to purchase when they went to pawn shops. If your paying the government a hundred bucks for the luxury, what more to find a gun dealer who'll just call around and find you what you want?
The corners of Eileen's mouth curl into a small smile at the mere mention of permits, accompanied by an even smaller shake of her dark-haired head. One leather-clad hand goes to her chest, and gently she works her fingers over the invisible outline of her own weapon, perhaps to reassure herself that the pistol is still there, perhaps for lack of anything better to do. She abandons the case and moves across the room, feet making very little sound on the floor beneath them as she guides herself closer to get a better view of the exchange.
"I am a pawn shop in the Rookery. Of course I am a crook. Now," the rings rattle in the slot. "You want a good price, put them up on fucking eBay. You want cash now? You get five hundred. You have any idea how many wedding rings I get in here? Divorce rate's high, man. Even higher in this shithole of a city these days. Diamond rings are a dime a dozen." Tuck picks up his cigarette again and smokes lazily.
He turns his attention to Fedor. "You are under the impression that I am a fair dealer. See my previous statement. I pick who I sell to. And I don't like selling weapons to kids. So you have to make it worth my while."
As Eileen approaches, Tuck's expression changes somewhat. Softens, even. "And what can I do for you, missy moo?" She's not his regular type of customer, especially not these days.
Charlie snorts, snapping the rings back up like jacks in a game without a rubber ball. He
steps away from the counter, looking down at Eileen. "A lick of sense?" he ventures.
Now comes the souring, yes New York was a lovely town. "Lets see the model twenty nine, and we'll figure out if its worth our time."He steps a touch closer to the counter, waiting for Charlie to vacate the immediate area. Now, some time ago Fedor thankfully learned that telling somone your not a kid just made you seem like a kid. So theres no witty retort here, fine he's a rich kid with daddy's money if thats whats easier to believe.
That smile twitches into something a little more mirthful. Missy moo? Really? Eileen raises both her eyebrows at Charlie, though her words are directed at the pawn shop's proprietor. "I'm just looking," she says, "but I think I have a few questions for you when you have time. I'm looking for someone, and this seems like the sort of place he might poke his nose around." She tips her head in Fedor's direction. "He was here first."
Tuck seems unperturbed by Charlie's refusal of his offer. Hey, he really doesn't need more rings. The cigarette is finished off with a few slow drags, then crushed out in the tray. He stands and stretches out a crick in his back, then nods as Eileen speaks. "Be with you in just a minute." There's something very…adult in the way he addresses her. She's the same age as his kid.
He coughs lightly, then tugs over a ladder. He takes his time tugging down the weapon that Fedor indicates. A double-check to make sure the chamber isn't loaded and he drops the gun under the slot. "What, some kid make fun of your tie, now you want to 'bust a cap in his ass'?" the words fall dully, mockingly off his tongue.
Charlie already moved away from Tuck's booth; now he's pocketing his rings, eyeing Eileen warily. The comment about Fedor's tie earns a little snort of amusement from the big man.
Fedor collects the 29, and eases the cylinder open to peer under the topstrap. That beautiful factory finish was pretty beat up, but at least it was one of the original issues. Smoothly he knocks the cylinder shut, and works the hammer quickly in time to rotate the cylinder through a turn. "The timing is terrible, this thing needs a new cylinder spur and the crane needs new bearings."He sets the 29 back down, back into the slot anyway. "Its a gift for my father, he's a collector."Yeah, whatever right?
Eileen is watching Charlie much the same way Charlie is watching her. There's a cagey sort of air about the manner in which she regards him: coolly, but not without discretion. "How much were you hoping to get?" she inquires softly.
Tuck tugs the gun back on through the slot. "Hey, I don't repair the shit, I just sell it." Unless there's something particularly valuable about the item, then he has a guy. "Anything else? I don't wanna keep climbing up and down the ladder." He points towards it and stands there, shoulders rolled forward, gun in hand. Thug, yes. Criminal, yes. But the mod glasses takes the edge off. That and now that he's standing, it's easy to tell he isn't very tall.
He keeps half an eye on Charlie and Eileen, but declines to make any smartass comments. He's already a bit concerned that Charlie'll find him on the street and break his teeth just because.
Charlie shakes his head at Eileen, frowning a little. It makes the lines in his forehead stand out. "More," he answers, gruffly. "I dunno." He looks like he's about to say more, but then the scowl deepens. Not directed at her or anyone else in the store. Maybe Tuck's teeth are safe after all! "Who're you looking for, girl?"
Fedor fishes around inside his jacket to produce a cellphone, which gets a curious peer before he slips it away. "Yes, well how much do you want for the twenty nine? The ruger up there is cute too, but I have a sneaking suspicion your not in the mood to take much of my money so lets attend to the matter at hand first?"
"A relative of mine. I don't know what name he's going by these days, but there aren't that many Britons hanging about the Rookery — he's tall, about six foot I reckon. Got a face like someone hit him with a shovel." Eileen presses her hand flat against her own as if to demonstrate. "Dark hair, green eyes, big nose. Could be calling himself Ethan. Rafe's more likely."
Tuck checks over the weapons, then opens up a leger book to double-check a few details. He holds up the twenty nine and shakes it. "Four for this, that?" He points with the barrel of the gun. "Six twenty-five." More than they're worth, but he did say he was going to charge a kid more.
He keeps half an ear on Eileen's description, but doesn't respond to it right away. He's dealing with Fedor first.
Charlie scratches the side of his neck, blinking down at Eileen. Really? Huh. "I'll keep an eye out for him," he finally rumbles. That is not a lie. "Who's lookin' for him?"
Theres a moment of earnest consideration here, before Fedor nods. "Three eighty for the Smith, and let me see if I like the Ruger I may take that too."and as if to make it clear he's not just playing about he produces a pair of permits that've been neatly folded up. "I'll leave you my card, but theres some other stuff I'm looking for you dont have."and indeed, in a supple snap of his wrist he produces a business card which he sets down as well. "I'm very easy to do business with."he promises.
"Just me." That is a lie, though there's nothing about Eileen's voice that immediately identifies it as one — her tone is smooth, subdued and a little forlorn, no faking involved. She is at the very least sincere when she aska, "If you see him, would you tell him that Eileen is staying at the Filatov Clinic? It's sort of important."
Tuck tugs the second weapon down, checks the chamber again, then drops it through the slot. The permits are looked over briefly, but with the speed he pushes them back through the slot, he doesn't really care. "How do you know I don't have it? You didn't ask." There is a tug of an amused grin that quirks up his lips. Hey, there's only so much room to display his merchandise out front. And from the looks of things, there's a large back room. "The only thing I'm interested in is how much cash you have, kid. Talk…" he makes a handpuppet mouth with his hand. "…with your wallet."
Charlie pauses, blinking down at Eileen. "He got any hangouts're anything?" he asks. And then, "Did he knock you up or something?"
"An M1 Garands, M1As, G3 clones, FALs, leverguns in four fifty four."Its a casual list really, yeah like nothing unusual right? Just all of them were so very unlikely to pop up in a pawn shop, or so an Alaskan might think. Anywho Fedor looks over the ruger"Hows nine hundred sound for the pair, fair enough considering the double purchase I should hope?"
Pink blooms across Eileen's cheeks, a furious blush that creeps its way all up to her ears. She waits until she's sure she isn't about to stutter out her response before replying, silky as ever, "He's my father."
"You're not speaking my language, kid. I've got a guy though. A gun guy. Can probably let me know if any of that's gettable." Tuck writes the list up on a pad of paper, then holds it up to Fedor so he can confirm he wrote it down correctly. He eyes the weapons, then Fedor. He tilts his head as the offer is considered. "Nine-twenty," he counters. A glance is shot towards Charlie and Eileen. He's been half-listening the whole time.
Charlie's been half-listening to Fedor and Tuck, too, and the kid's order rings weird to him, too. "Your father must be come collector," he rumbles. Eileen's regarded with even more of a scowl now. "If he's not returning your calls, he's not much of a father, now is he?"
Out comes Fedor's money clip, and onto the table goes nine hundred cash. "Nine, take it or leave it."before glancing offhand to Charlie"I collect too, and considering crime these days you can never be too careful. I think I'm the only helicopter pilot in the city who doesnt take a carbine along for the ride already."He lied there, because there were multitudes of carbines he already took with him whenever it suited his fancy. Theres nothing wrong with getting more though. "Anyway."he refocuses his attention to Tuck. "Why dont you just have him call me, and if he can help me I'll be glad to provide a generous finder's fee."
This time, Eileen does falter. There's a noticable hitch in her breath, a series of delicate lines appearing on her pale brow as she narrows her eyes at Charlie and worms her tongue around the inside of her cheek, digging for the right words. "If he had a number I could reach him at," she starts, voice growing tighter and tighter with every words, "then we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"Well, I'm not going to do that. Because then he wouldn't be my gun guy. You deal with him through me," Tuck tilts his head and looks at Fedor over the top of his glasses. Fatherly, almost. He sounds a bit too flippant for that. Then he grabs the cash from the slot and drops the weapons through. "Now get out of my face, all right?" No bags, no gift-wrapping. Just guns'n'go.
He turns his attention back to the young woman and the giant of a man. "You say you're looking for your dad?" His tone's very…gentle, but not condescendingly so. Sympathetic.
"Not giving a way to contact him, either?" Charlie demands; one hand clenches into a fist, knuckles whitening. "Tell me where he'd likely to go."
Where would Ethan be likely to go? Eileen tries to put herself in his shoes, and while her train of thought might not be particularly accurate, it doesn't take her long to arrive at a conclusion. "A bar. Maybe a cockfight — waste some money on watching something get torn up. It's been over a week since we last saw each other. He could be anywhere." She gives Tuck a slight nod.
Fedor takes both revolvers, slipping them into his overcoat before he turns back to button it back up. Now normally, he might be swayed by Eileen but this is a pawn shop. Fedor fully expects everything said here to be a lie on multible levels, so all he offers Einleen is a "Good luck Miss."before casually slipping outside.
Tuck watches Fedor go, then seats himself again and leans on the counter. "Well. I got some folks I could pass that description around to in case he turns up. You got a number I could give him if he does come around?" Oh yeah, this hits a bit too close to home. Lost parents and children in a bad part of town. His jaw tenses at Charlie's reaction. Hey, missing doesn't equal deadbeat, damnit.
Charlie shoots Tuck a look as well; he nods. "Give it here, too. Sounds like your dad might turn up around here, and I know this place pretty well."
"Thank you," Eileen murmurs to Fedor's retreating back as he takes his leave. To Charlie and Tuck, she offers an apologetic look. "No phone, but you can leave a message for me with Dr. Filatov down at his place on the corner. We have a working arrangement, and he'll be sure that I get it."
"Right. Well, I'll do that," says Tuck with a nod. He makes a note of something on a pad so the description won't fall out of his brain. He writes everything down.
 February 6th: All You Can Kill Buffet |
 February 6th: You See Us As You Want To See Us |