Another Parkman


carter_icon.gif cardinal_icon.gif

Scene Title Another Parkman
Synopsis Tuck's newest employee has a job for his best customer.
Date March 23, 2009

Tucker's Pawn Shop

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.

Working at Tucker's Pawn Shop isn't all sitting behind the bulletproof glass and reading back issues of magazines. This afternoon, Jesse Carter is stocking shelves with car stereos. A box of kischky flowered plates sits at his feet as he arranges the gutted-out electronics on the shelf so that their price tags are clearly visible. He's dressed in a thermal shirt and jeans, but given that the pawn shop is kept at a balmy sixty degrees, the grey sleeves are pushed up.

Despite the fact that the counter is unmanned, Carter is ever-aware of his surroundings. Sure, it's a slow afternoon, but that doesn't stop someone form coming in thinking they can get away with cash or goods. And that's where and when Carter'll catch them.
You see nothing special.

The bell jangles a bit as the front door've the shop is pushed open, and Cardinal steps through and into the place with a duffle bag slung over one shoulder that's bulging with whatever's been stuffed within its ill-fitting confines. The criminal, still wearing his shades even indoors, looks like he's slept like hell and he's frowning at the general area and life itself as he approaches the counter. There's nobody there. He pauses, glancing over to the man stocking the shelfs to ask over, "Hey, where's Tuck?"

"Out," is Carter's curt response. He doesn't turn around for a second or two, but he hardly needs to. Cardinal's mental voice is enough to tell him who it is. "Is there something I can help you with?" The last of the stereos is slid onto the shelf and straightened before he finally turns, brushing his palms together as if to clean them of some sort dust. The decorative pseudo-collectibles are left in the box on the floor. It's unlikely they'll grow legs and walk out, after all.

"Huh. Tuck finally find somebody t'replace the old guy?" Cardinal gives the other man a brief, appraising once-over before bringing up one shoulder in a shrug, the same movement sliding the duffle down to his arm before it's dropped onto the counter. He drags the zipper down, pulling out a pair of boxes, "Well, he said he was looking for survival equipment, so, I picked him up a few table-top water distillers."

Sadly, it's with the eye of a law enforcement official that Carter eyes the merchandise, careful not to touch it with any part of his hand or hard enough to leave a significant fingerprint. As he eyes the boxed devices, he scans Cardinal's thoughts for memories of conversations with Tuck. Did they agree on a price? How much did he think he would be getting away with today? Did these things actually work? Was there any risk of them being traced? As he inspects, both physically and telepathically, the lines in Carter's weathered face are drawn hard as any buyer's ought to be.

There's no suggestion that these appliances specifically were requested, or any deal made, although Cardinal seems confident that Tuck'll want them. They came right off the shelves of a big-name sports and camping supply store, so as far as he knows they work just fine. Hard to trace simple shoplifting, too, if it wasn't on camera. He's expecting probably a hundred or so, half their market price, but one takes cuts dealing this way. Besides, Tuck'll sell them for three times that. "So what's your name, anyway," asks the thief, one brow arching over the edge of his shades as he lets the merchandise be inspected.

"I'm Carter," the employee says with a sniff as he leans to look at the other side of the boxes. "How's an even hundred for the bunch sound?" It's all business, as far as Carter is concerned, but for a moment his tight features slacken. "You're Richard Cardinal." It's either that Tuck has told his lackey who to expect with survival goods among their more regular suppliers, or that Carter knows the other man from elsewhere.

"My reputation precedes me," Cardinal affirms the other man's 'guess', with just a hint of tired amusement to his tone, shoulder resting to the bulletproof window, arms folding across his chest as he regards him in return, "A hundred works. About what I expected."

Carter nods and moves around to the other side of the counter, behind the glass. Rather than slip the money through the slot, he brings it back out with him. It's laid on the counter without ceremony, and Carter starts to move the boxes closer to the door that leads behind the protective clear barrier. "Does it?" he asks, a wry smile creeping into the corner of his mouth.

The money's gathered up in Cardinal's hand, thumbed through to count briefly before he tucks it into the inside of his jacket. A single brow crooks upwards at that question, suspicion stirring as he looks back at the store's new employee. "Well, I s'pose Tuck telling you who I was counts," he observes, "Unless we've met before?" Shit, I hope I didn't steal his radio. Or knock up his sister or something.

"Well, I don't have anything worth stealing," Carter says as he opens the door and pushes the stack of boxes through with a foot. "So I can't say we have. But you know how this place can be."

"Don't I," Cardinal admits, regarding the man suspiciously for a few more moments before pushing the suspicions off with a shake of his head, shoving off from the window, "Well, tell Tuck I'm still lookin' into that thing for me." You'd think a kid named Rocket'd be easier to find.

"Word on the street says you're good at that sort of stuff," Carter says with a nonchalant air as he moves back toward the box of knick knacks and picks it up. "Mind if I add to your list?"

A brow crooks up on Cardinal's forehead at that question. "Possibly," he admits, reluctantly, "What is it you're looking to have looked into, Carter?"

"There's this guy who stole some money from a good friend of mine about ten years ago." Carter seems to be fully focused on moving the box over toward the shelves where the rest of that sort of merchandise is. "I want to know where he is. Want to pay him a little personal visit, just as a reminder of sorts."

"That's a long, long time, buddy," Cardinal points out in dry tones, stepping over to zip up his emptied duffle bag and slinging its now-limp form over one shoulder, "Who's the guy, and what can you tell me 'bout him? I can't make any promises, got a lot've shit to do…"

"Yeah, I know." Carter sets the box down with a grunt and then stands up straight, stretching his lower back. He easily has about ten years on the younger man. "Tried to find him back when it would've been easier, but we never could. But he's showin' his head around again, so I thought a guy like you might have better luck. Small operators and all that. His name's Parkman. Maury Parkman. Lived in L.A. awhile, but that was years ago."

Parkman? A coincidence, or…? Cardinal's brow darkens at the name, his head cocking to one side as he regards the other man for a moment or three before asking bluntly, "This have anything to do with Agent Parkman, from Homeland Security?"

Carter blinks, then sneers, shaking his head. Play the part. "Fuck if I know, man," he says as he bends to grab a stack of plates from the box. "It's not like it's an unusual last name. S'like Smith, or Cohen."

"True enough," admits Cardinal. Just been a lot of damn coincidences lately… ah, you're gettin' paranoid, Richard. He tips his chin in a nod up to the other man, "If he was 'round LA, what makes you think I'd be able t'find out anything here?"

"I got a buddy who works security who saw his ugly mug on a tape. He might be ransackin' high class apartments these days, from what I hear." Carter shrugs, then shakes his head. "Guys like us can't really go runnin' to the cops or the P.I.'s they consult with to get this sort of stuff done. I'd appreciate anything you can dig up, and I can pay for it." Let it not be thought or said that Jesse Carter is unaware of the value of information.

"I'll ask around with my usual sources," the thief says with the slightest of head-shakes, "And see what they can dig up, but I can't make any promises. I'm pretty fuckin' busy these days, but I'll let you know."
"Thanks, man," Carter says with a slight smile, looking up from his work. "I really do appreciate it. I'll pass your message along t'Tuck."

"No promises," Cardinal reminds him as he heads for the door, his head shaking ever so slightly. Christ. I should just open a PI business or something, I'd make a fuckin' killing.

<date>: previous log
<date>: next log
Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License