Tidy

Participants:

nisha_icon.gif muldoon_icon.gif

Scene Title Tidy
Synopsis Nisha finds Muldoon and informs him that his boss is back in town. Reassurances are exchanged before business is concluded for the evening.
Date February 3, 2009

The Angry Pelican

A stone's throw away from the little makeshift harbor on the foreshore of the Arthur Kill river is this little even more makeshift bar. Little more than a shack, the interior barely fits more than its own stock of alcohol and kitchenware, and the seating spaces are outdoors under a rickety wooden cod with fishing paraphernalia and nets. The chairs and tables are broken down cheap things that look like they've been scavenged from all over the ver decorateplace, mismatched but comfortable with some cushions or blankets thrown over them. The ground is sandy and dirty, as if the beach extends right under your feet, and despite being outdoors, the place is cluttered. Simple alcohol is provided - whiskeys, rums, and beers - without a chance of food, and you'll mostly find yourself in the company of thieves, considering the kinds of boats that dock here.


Walking down the street, Nisha may appear as if in mourning. A dark silken scarf is wrapped in a more traditional style over her hair, but her face is exposed. This is no burka. Nisha's hands are tucked into the pockets of her fitted leather jacket as she steps into the Pelican, her heeled boots clicking against the floor.

She isn't a common Pelican patron, but she isn't so new that any heads which currently occupy the establishment stay turned for longer than it takes to appraise the new arrival. After all, Nisha doesn't make a beeline for the bar in accordance with The Code of the Desperate Hussy, but rather scans those already present with purpose.

The man that Nisha is looking for isn't difficult to locate. James Muldoon sits in one of the chairs closest to the water, a glass of whiskey in one hand, a cigarette dangling loosely from between his fingers in the other. Tabaqui the squirrel monkey, meanwhile, is conspicuously absent — but judging from the half-eaten bowl of grapes sitting on the ground by Muldoon's feet, he can't be far.

Muldoon glances over his shoulder when he hears Nisha's footsteps — there are only so many well-dressed women who show their faces around here, and so he isn't surprised when he recognizes her in his alcohol induced haze. Blue eyes take a fraction of a second longer than normal to focus, and he indicates the chair beside him with a vague gesture of his hand and a roll of his shoulder.

Sit.

There needn't be any more invitation than that.

Nisha sits without ceremony, lacing her fingers as she rests her hands on the table. By the look of him, it is possible that Muldoon is already aware of what she's come here to tell him. Her face lacks the relaxation or ease that would mark this as a social call, if the fact that she sought Muldoon out here, of all places, isn't enough.

"He's back," she finally says after a moment, watching Muldoon's face carefully to judge his reaction. "He's back and he wants to see you."

"I'm not surprised," Muldoon says, then pauses to take a drink from his glass. He ponders setting it down beside the discarded bowl of grapes but ultimately decides to rest it on his knee, looking out across the water and the glow of the sunlight reflecting off its golden surface. "It was only a matter of time. Things go to shit, of course he'll want to check in on his investments — pictures of what's left of the Narrows are all over the bloody news."

He snorts. "What else did he say?"

"Just that he wants you to contact him." Nisha shakes her head, letting her eyes close as she relates the true entirety of the message. She doesn't need to be told how bad things have gotten surrounding the island, nor does she want to distract herself with the view. The situation on the island has the danger of becoming equally bad, if it a different sort of way.

"How quickly can you sweep the dust under the rug, James?" It's business, of course, for Nisha to look out for her client's well-being from both a business and legal perspective.

Muldoon is silent for a moment, the expression on his face growing dark. When he speaks again, his voice is considerably lower than is was a few moments ago, thick with a rumbling, gravel-like quality. "As if I'd even let things get dirty. He won't find anything at Pancratium. If he decides to look elsewhere—" He gives another wave of his hand, words escaping him. "I'll burn that bridge when I come to it. He has no reason. There's nothing to be concerned for."

Nisha nods, relaxing at the assurance. Of course James wouldn't get sloppy, and she was wrong to doubt him. Still, it never hurts to be sure. Business isn't done quite yet. A smile slides onto Nisha's face as she changes the subject and tone of their conversation.

"Tavisha saw the fights tonight," she informs him. "Though, that means he also saw Truman."

"He'd have seen them sooner or later," Muldoon points out mildly. "He's here of his own accord — Truman should have no qualms about letting him in the ring after I make my proposal to him. It's not as though he knows we're responsible for his current predicament. And no one's going to tell him, either." It's a threat — no mistake. A carefully-phrased threat, but a threat just the same. "It stays between you, and I, and John Logan. The fewer people who are aware, the better. He has friends."

"James," Nisha says with a tilt of her head and a raising of her eyebrows. "Have I ever let you down?" Her smile grows, dancing on that thin line between professional and personal. "What I meant to convey is that your little babe from the rushes has taken an interest. Truman may not onject, but Tavi may be chomping at the bit by the time you even mention opening that particular door."
"Good," is Muldoon's curt response, seeming to relax now that Nisha has delivered some good news to counteract the bad. If Tavisha — Sylar — wants to participate in the ring, there will be less coercing involved, less energy put into making empty promises sound sincere. "I want you to keep a lookout for anyone acting suspiciously," he adds, "if you could. As I said before, he has friends, business relationships. Just as Truman returned, it's only a matter of time before their attention shifts back in our direction — especially if I follow through with what I have in mind." No elaboration, however, is offered. He simply raises the glass to his lips and takes another drink, stony and silent once more.

Nisha's smile slides to a smirk. "Well, I won't start looking for apartments here, but I'll keep an eye on my end of things." It's as much of a promise as Nisha can make. It's her job to do just what is asked. "Now, are you going to be a gentlemen and offer me a ride home, or do I have sleep on your couch?" Who ever said English aristocracy didn't have a sense of humor?

Muldoon rises from his seat, and with a shrill whistle blown through his teeth summons Tabaqui back to him. The monkey clambers easily up his master's pant leg, then springs up to adopt a perch at his elbow. "I already have a guest room set aside for you, my dear," he assures Nisha, leaving a tattered twenty dollar bill curled up in his now-empty glass to cover the cost of the whiskey and the attached tip. "We both need our rest — we have a busy day ahead of us."

Nisha rises, but rather than slip her arm through Muldoon's, she lifts it to stroke the underside of the monkey's chin. "Namastey, Iblis," she greets the monstrous little creature before she moves with his master to exit the bar. Here on Staten Island, even in her nicer clothes, Nisha is just another woman.

Surely a man like James Muldoon has plenty of them.


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February 4th: Unexpected Vision is Unexpected
Previously in this storyline…
Eve of Battle

Next in this storyline…
Filatov's and a Favour

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February 5th: Filatov's and a Favour
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