BB Guns and Bastards


smedley_icon.gif lola_icon.gif

Scene Title BB Guns and Bastards
Synopsis Smedley is an innocent bystander while Lola is a pain in the ass - literally and figuratively. In the end, they both get something they are not displeased about (and that's not a sexual or flirtatious pun).
Date November 20, 2010

Red Hook

Down at one of Red Hook's piers, What Jenny Thought floats gentle in the evening tide of the Gowanus Bay. Carson lies with his head on the edge of the deck, watching his master as the man dressed in a boat-neck sweater and his oilskin coat wrestles crate after wooden crate onto the small yacht. With the last in place on the deck, he pulls a tarp over the lot and ties it down, obscuring the load. It's risky to carry so much that he can't fit it all below deck, but with two "capital improvement" projects lined up, he needs some capital. And that means small runs from Red Hook to Staten Island.
It's standard fare. Food, medial supplies, sundries - all the things people need and will pay top dollar to get. And even with Wes Smedley selling to middle men distributors, he doesn't come away empty handed either.

Lola's been stuck in Red Hook for weeks, protecting her charge. Her charge is currently locked in the secure military facility, which gives Lola bit of breathing space. Not much, but enough for her to take a bb-rifle (these things are actually legal and they don't do a background check on 'Daisy' in order to get them. Not really Daisy anyway, the guy's name on the card was 'Abe Froman.'
So she's set up behind some trash cans at the mouth of an alleyway. And it's totally unrelated when a drunk, shuffling down the road, yelps and cries out, a pellet striking his ass. "The hell!" He looks around sharply, pointing at the boat to see if there's someone there. "The hell you think you're doin-OW!" Another one, this one in the back of his arm. "Son of a whore! OW!" This one in the shin. The man takes off running, but not before he's clipped in the ass yet again.
The garbage can giggles.

Carson barks when the drunk yells, and in another second is on his feet. Smedley looks up, squinting at the scene before he shakes his head and goes back to work. But Carson doesn't let up, and shifts his weight from paw to paw, anxiously looking down the pier at the activity. "Fine," Smedley says after a moment. "Go see what it is. Just shut your trap, will'yuh?"
Given leave, the dog whimpers once before he leaps off the deck and tears down the dock, his gait only slightly stiffened by age. He starts to sniff around with fervor, his ears perked. Slowly, the mutt makes his way toward the cans.

Lola doesn't notice the dog, not until it's sniffing right up beside her. So that's what's got her staring at the dog, kneeling behind the trash can with a bb-rifle. She just stares a moment. What's it going to do? Is it rabid? Is it going to bite her?
"Nice doggy, good doggy, doncha bite, doggy cause yer a good doggy…" All the while her hand goes to the inside of her jacket. Just in case, you know. He's a bad doggy."

But Carson just sniffs at Lola, not getting too close to her. Then, after he's determined that yes that is a gun, he lifts his head and howls. There might be some coondog in the mutt, but the sound isn't quite a bay. He keeps his eyes trained on the woman even as he backs away, his tail waggging in victory.
It takes the smuggler a few minutes to join them, and when he does, Smedley isn't looking at all pleased. "Carson, shut it," he snaps, and the dog almost immediately quiets, licking his jowls while still watching the young woman. "The hell has gotten into you?" Smedley grumbles as he draws nearer, peering behind the cans to see what had his canine companion riled.
And he stares.
Not specifically at Lola, but in her general direction, his gray-blue eyes moving from the bbgun to her hands, to her hair, then to her shoulder. "…the hell?" he finally says, his brows furrowed and his mouth drawn into a frown.

Lola's face falls as the dog starts to howl. Really? She just gives him this incredulous look and lowers the hand from whatever mind be inside of her jacket. Her hands do remain on the BB gun, and now of course there's something other to look at.
Smedley's a decent looking guy, of course. But she's more worried about how dangerous he looks. Truth be told, the man does not look terribly dangerous. And what does she look? Why…oh. She must look pretty crazy indeed. "Its…..exactly what it looks like, sugar," The cajun woman drawls, without moving.

"It looks like you're hidin' behind a bunch a trash cans with a BB-gun," Smedley says flatly, arching one brow at her. "Shootin' at people?" Then he shakes his head and draws back his coat in order to tuck a thumb in the wide, tooled leather belt of his holster, revealing the butt of one of his revolvers in the process. "Y'ain't got nuthin' better t'do or somethin'? I mean, seems like a waste'uh pretty good BB's, if y'ask me."
Not that Lola did. With another shake of his head, Smedley turns to move away, reaching down to pat Carson on his neck so that the dog trots along after him.

"Well Ah guess shootin' 'em with real bullets might've been better practice an all, but seemed kinda…Ah dunno. Cheesy to me." The woman picks herself up as Smedley starts to walk off, though the sight of his gun doesn't seem to surprise her. I mean, come on. Red Hook is the new Staten. If you're not armed, that makes you the weirdo.
"Though if ya insist, sugar, Ah could switch ta proper bullets stead a B-Bs. An as it happens, no. Ah ain' got nothin' better ta do. Ah'm tethered here on a job fer awhile."

"Then y'got that t'do," Smedley says without turning around, but he does seem to take his time getting back to the pier and the boat docked to it. "S'there y'go. Somethin' t'do." Turning slightly, he lifts a hand, palm up, in half a shrug.
But then he pauses. A job involving sitting at Red Hook, at the pier he's used for the last three nights…
Smedley frowns anew, turning fully to face Lola and once again tucking not one, but both thumbs into his belt. If it were noon, and there were tumbleweeds in New York, it might be mistaken for a shootout. "What kinda' job?" he asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Someone got you recruitin' for bum fights?"

Lola, seeing the boat and all the rest, is curious. She was following him anyway, so it's good enough that he got curious in response. She's actually in the process of about to hop onto his boat, apparently amused by the thing greatly. The B-B gun has been set down already. "That were so, sugar, ya'd be mah King Bum. Naw, just babysittin, takin' a few pot-shots as necessary." Or, you know. Specifically configured and premeditated sniper shots. But we'll call them pot for arguments' sake. "Why ya ask, sugar? Ya one a them ferry-men?"

"No," Smedley says, stepping in front of Lola to prevent her from boarding Jenny, going so far as to place a hand on her shoulder in order to keep her at least at arms length. "You start talkin' plain, sugar, or we're gonna have problems. The hell are you doin' campin' out and tryin' to get on my boat? Y'got someplace y'need to be? Cause I ain't no damned taxi service."

Lola stares at him a moment, and then? She rolls her eyes, lifting her arm to break contact with his hand to her shoulder. "Oh, will you get yer panties outta a twist. Damn, sugar." She sticks her hands in her pockets, walking along the pier/warf thing, looking at his boat. "I like boats is all, don' get 'round 'em much. An Ah ain' here fer you, not unless yer taller 'n blonder an got some lady parts hidden under there. An even if ya do have all that, Ah ain' here ta hurt you or anybody else. Gosh, little ol girl like me, gettin' some big ol fellah's panties inta such a twist, Ah declare…"

"'Scuse me if I don't like strange women who hang out behind garbage lookin' at what's mine." Smedley's voice is even, but carries an edge to it. He doesn't immediately follow Lola, but instead bends to pick up the abandoned B-B gun. It's been awhile since he had one, so it takes him a moment to find the catch and let the small, round pellets drop into the water beside the pier. Emptied, he tosses the gun behind him, where it rattles against the boards.
It's only then that he follows her, but Carson - good old Carson - has already jumped aboard Jenny, where he stands between the hatch to the cabin and the covered crates. "For a gal that likes boats, y'ain't got much taste." Jenny is notably small and isn't exactly something to write home to your yacht club about.

Lola laughs. Hands in her pockets, she turns so she can idly continue her idle walking, but she's doing it bakwards now, so she can face Smedley. "Ah'm from Louisanna, sugar. Ya think we ever done seen a nice ship down there what ain' a Carnival Cruise?" She smirks at the memories. "An those things ain' hardly nice. Mostly shrimpin' boats s'all." She pauses rocking back and forth on her heels now, watching him. "Aw darlin, we ain' gotta make this a pissin' contest. Just two folk havin' a nice old chat on a shitty day."

"Your the one wantin' t'chat," Smedley points out. He doesn't have a southern drawl, but his slight twang is definitely west of the Mississippi in origin. "I ain't a fan'uh small talk, and unlike some, I've got shit t'get done on this shitty day." He purses his lips, then click his tongue, impatiently biding his time. "So how's abouts you get down t'brass tacks and tell me what it is you need?"

Lola shrugs a little, moving to walk past him and pick up her rifle. "Nothin, if you ain' onna them 'ferry' types. Seein' as ya got the boat 'n all, Ah thought Ah'd ask. Particularly in this neighborhood. Ah mean, ya know. It ain' like it's only sweet peaches an' cream what come around here. Usually the exact opposite." She eyes him, both mischevious and knowing. "Not that there's a lick wrong with that, sugar."

"I ain't a taxi service," Smedley says again, lowering his chin even as he furrows his brows even deeper, watching Lola move as if circling a ring with her. "That bein' said, you needin' t'go where I'm already headed, well. The right kinda money might get you goin' where y'need. And I'm in the business of gettin' people what they need. So yeah, you need ferryin' across the bay, and y'got the cash?" Smedley shrugs, shaking his head and rolling his head back slightly. "I might be able t'do business."

Lola picks up the rifle, turning to face Smedley. The rifle hangs over her shoulders, and she has her arm over it in a crucifix-like pose. "Hmm? Ya bring 'round infermation, sugar? Ah got money if ya got some a that. Nothin' serious, mind ya. Just a little bit a gossip. Though," She smirks, eyeing him openly. "Ya don' look like the sort what's into gossip. Even fer the right amount a money. Damn shame, that."

"Gossip?" And Smedley shakes his head, backing up so that he can step onto the deck of the yacht, all without taking his eyes off of some part of Lola for more than the span of a blink. "Gossip ain't worth shit." Lola's here looking for passage someplace, or information - it's a fair bet to say she knows how the New York City smuggling racket works.
"I listen a lot though - people like t'talk. So I might be able t'point you in the right direction, if I know what questions yer askin'." He tries a smile then, but the half-grin lacks any real strength.

"Ah dunno," she drawls, walking toward him idly as she lets the rifle sling over a single shoulder. "Ah mean, ya don' seem real trustworthy. An Ah know this kinda business sugar, an Ah know the only thing worth havin' is professional integrity. What's sayin' you got any a that, hmm?" She watches him, her dark eyes wide, waiting to take in his response.

"Y'know this business and y'don't know me?" Smedley chuckles, actually chuckles at that. It may be a sign of too much ego, but the amount of business he's gotten lately, including the partnership turned full=profit share via the late, great Kain Zarek based solely on his reputation will do that to a man. Besides, it isn't as if he's not hard to pick out of a lineup, what with the iconic coat and pistols. It just makes staying a few steps ahead of the ATF and the DEA that much more difficult.
Smedley shakes his head, turning his shoulder to Lola in order to start untying Jenny from the pier. "Nice try, Annie Oakley," he says, still chuckling. "Y'have fun with your bums."

Lola rolls her eyes. "God, ya can' have any fun with anyone ya smug bastard. Here," she reaches into her pocket and hands him a slip of paper. "If ya want some easy money, just pay attention to this, hmm?" She actually should be getting back to Liz. "Information ain' normally mah business." Killing, however, is.

Smedley takes his time straightening up, but he snatches the paper out of Lola's hands quickly, dropping his eyes to look at it only after another moment of watching her face, avoiding her eyes.
His lips press into a fine line when he reads the words scrawled on the scrap of paper. With a sniff, he folds it and slips it into an inside pocket of his coat. "I'll keep my ears open," he says. "Maybe we can do business."

Lola smiles sweetly. "Well, if ya are as big shit as ya say ya are, sugar? Ya oughta have what Ah'm looking for real quick then. If yer such big shit 'n all." Mwhahaa! An ego has a price. "And if the information ain' good? You ain' gettin' paid. Ah got mah own business ta see to."

Smedley just nods at that, a smirk twisting into one corner of his mouth. "Y'gotta name, Annie? Or am I gonna just have to guess at who I'm gettin' a hold of when I pin somethin' down for you?" He pulls the rope up out off the water and off the dock, taking his time to coil it as he watches the woman. "Y'know, so I can be polite 'n all."

She has a slight desire to say 'Call me Annie,' but she wants a name that might be believeable. "Sara," she decides. "though somethin' tells me mah name could be 'Princess Katherine' an ya wouldn' be terribly polite. Though Ah'm more'n curious ta see if ya got it in ya ta prove me wrong."

"Sara," Smedley repeats, letting himself look her in the eye for the briefest of moments before he nods, and lowers them. With that, he moves into the wheelhouse to pull up anchor and start the engine.
As far as politeness goes, he isn't starting off well by not saying goodbye.

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