Participants:
| Scene Title | Christmas Fireworks |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Lola goes down to Walsh's Discount Warehouse to place a fairly straightforward order. |
| Date | October 18, 2010 |
Walsh's Discount Warehouse
The warehouse that Walsh and his boys work out of on Port Ivory is empty today except for Nick — Walsh is off pretending to be a reputable member of society, leaving any business that needs to be done to the young newcomer. It's a slow day, and Nick's already done his inventorying. A box of guns and ammunition has been set aside for a run across the water later on, and another box of some explosives waits for pick-up.
The young man himself sits at the card table that serves as his desk, reading a newspaper, a small radio playing the local rock station on low so that he can hear any trouble coming his way — or at least, any knocks at his door. It's always a bit chillier near the water than in the heart of the city, so Nick's wearing a flannel shirt over a long sleeve t-shirt, jeans and boots, a tuque on his head making him look more like the longshoreman he pretends to be when he's not a smuggler.
Lola has been living in the underground world of New York for upwards of a year now. First Linderman, and then Staten, and finally Cardinal - until he went all up-and-up. Of course he's not so up-and-up that he doesn't need to hire a killer every now and again, but still. The address, the name 'Nick' were both given to her by an old contact who was chased off Staten just after she left while she was detoxing. Wow, pausing to think about it, Lola's life has been pretty shitty the past year or so.
She wears an old-navy type sweater, a pair of light wash jeans and some boots. And even if Nick's music were loud? It wouldn't matter. She's not exactly subtle. BAM. BAM. "Wakey wakey sugar, anybody home? Walsh, ya home?"
Arching a brow at the woman's voice on the other side of the warehouse door, Nick stands from the rickety chair he's sitting in, one hand going to the gun at his waist as he strides toward the door. He opens it enough that he can see out, but it'd be hard for Lola to see him, making sure the woman on the other side doesn't have a gun at the ready to blow his face off. He's sure Walsh has some enemies, after all.
Upon seeing Lola and no apparent weapon, he pushes the door open a bit wider. "Hey," he says lightly. "Walsh ain't here. You're not a pick up, I don't think — you orderin'?" His accent is rather generic American, hard to place.
"Naw sugar, Ah ain' a pick up. Ah do need ta order a couple a things though, if it ain' past closin' time," Her own accent is dripping with the Bayou - so much so that a foreigner might have trouble translating for a second. But then Nick is generic American, right?! Of course right. "Ya gonna invite a lady in, sugar, or leave me shiverin' on the doorstep?" she asks, hands on her hips with a little smirk. "Don' worry, Ah won' take too long. Ah ain' them girls what go shoppin' with no idea what color shoes they need. Nope, Ah got mine picked out long afore Ah ever leave home."
That brow arches more at the accent, and he smirks, giving a shake of his head. He can get the gist of it, if not every word. "It ain't much warmer in here, if you're looking for warmth, but come on in," he says, stepping out of the doorway and letting her enter. Letting the door shut behind her, Nick then moves toward his table to pick up a notepad.
"Are you someone Walsh's worked with before? I haven't met all his clients, but you know, depending on what you're ordering, I might need a deposit if not. What's your name?" he picks up a pen and clicks the button, glancing at her with blue eyes as he poises it to write.
A few steps brings Lola inside of the warehouse. She reaches into her front pockets, beneath the sweater, and produces a wrinkled pack of cigarettes and Kain Zarek's silver lighter. Ha, schmucky bastard. Cigarette inserted between pink lips. Light, do your thing too. "Naw sugar, Ah'm a first-timer. Ya kin call me Daisy, if ya like." Yes, she's picking her own name this time. "Leastways that's one a the names Ah'm gonna request on a set a papers. Ya'll do that sorta thing, right? Ah ain' even so worried 'bout Registration - folks Ah need 'em for ain' afraid a Registerin' an gettin legit cards just so long as the IDs pan out." She offers the wrinkled pack of smokes toward Nick. Well she's polite, at least.
"Daisy. If he don't know you, you might want to leave some collateral or a deposit, or he might not take it seriously, I donno. I'll take the order, but I'm not qualified to fill it on my own discretion. I'm just the hired help, you know?" Nick waves off the cigarette — he prefers his Capstans. "As far as IDs go, they can make something that passes at a glance, but nothing too in-depth, as far as I know. We're more about guns and drugs and that shit rather than paperwork. Walsh's fingers are too stubby and thick to do anything artsy like that."
He shrugs. "So you got photos and names and shit for the papers for me? I don't got the numbers for this kinda thing, but I can take notes and have the boss get back at ya."
Lola nods. "Ah understand, sugar. Ah know how the business works. Ah was legacy in this sorta shit, mahself." Well, it's not exactly an Ivy-League life, but the term still applies in a strangely ironic way. She reaches into her back pocket, pulling out a small folded stack of computer paper. She sets it on the desk for Nick to take. And then her butt's there too, right on his desk. She just…plopped down and got comfortable, it seems. "Well it's all there, sugar. All the ID information as well as mah shoppin' list. Few sorts a guns, couple bits a kevlar, grenades. Nothin' too snazzy, a course. Still, it was real nice ta hear 'bout ya'll. Been nickle-an-dimin' my ass on the street lookin' fer this sorta shit."
Nick reaches for the stack of paper, then chuckles as she sits on the desk. He's still standing, so he unfolds the paper and glances from it to her, reading the list and nodding. "It's not unreasonable. I'm not sure what he'll charge you, especially on the paperwork bit, 'cause I ain't dealt much with that end of shit before. I pretty much count bullets and grenades most days, you know? So I'll have to have him get back to you. You being new and all, he's probably gonna require cash. That a problem?"
Lola exhales, taking a moment to enjoy the smokey, sweet taste of tobacco and tar as it snakes from her lips. Then she speaks. "Naw, sugar," she admits, knocking the cigarette on the edge of his desk to knock the ash off. It goes on the floor, at least. "In fact Ah'd be a little worried if ya asked fer anythin' but." She's got money stashed away, and there's always Cardinal. He ought to be covering expenses for a job like this - even if she may or may not be technically off it.
Lola turns her mischevious eyes up to Nick, taking another drag on her cigarette. Her faux red hair is down, curling about her shoulders in a slightly wind-whipped, yet natural way. "So what's a handsome fellah like you doin' in a place like this, Ah should be askin'. Usually the folks they got coverin' these desks is eight feet tall an carryin' a pipe or four feet tall an smokin' cheap cigars."
The young man shrugs his left shoulder. "It's not a big operation. I do a bit of everything. Run the guns, take stock, take orders. Gotta learn somehow, right? And there wasn't a height requirement on the application. Nor was there an application, which is probably more to the point. I don't exactly have a fuckin' resume and I may or may not have a rap sheet, yeah?"
He pulls out his own pack of cigarettes, British brand, and his own Zippo, then gestures to the warehouse. "Maybe one day all this will be mine. I can dream, can't I?" he says sarcastically.
Lola glances around, curiously. "Ah seen worse kingdoms, sugar. Then again Ah was a drug addict livin' on Staten a while back. So this place is dry an it's full a guns. Seems 'bout as close ta paradise as a person kin get 'round here. All ya need is a nice jacuzzi an some curtains and ya could call it home." She looks back to Nick, knocking her cigarette against his desk again. "So fer the hardware, at least, kin ya give a girl an estimate? Just so Ah know what Ah'm lookin' at." She smiles again, a little flash of dimple coming out. Gosh, she misses men in teh business. They just make sense.
"Well, I am living on Staten, or may as well be, as many hours as I put in here." He glances at the list again, brows knitting. His weary blue eyes make him look older than he really is, most of the time, but once in a while he gives away his youth — this time, by moving his index finger through the air as if doing sums on an invisible chalkboard, before he finally murmurs a price range.
"That's an average, you know, depends on availability, supply and demand and all that shit. I haven't heard much on how available the Kevlar is, for example, but I'll get Walsh to get back to you once he's in, and he can finetune that number. You got a number we can reach you at, Daisy Duke?" Apparently he has seen some American television.
Lola smirks, and sticks out her tongue at the man. "S'on the bottom of the sheet, for any need of it," she explains. Maybe it's a little flirty. The cigarette is snuffed agianst the wall and tossed away, and 'Daisy' pushes to her feet. Hands fall to her hips as she looks around, glancing over the place once more. "It ain' a real rush job, but Ah would like it quick as possible without makin' anybody sweat too much. Girl's got a job to do, ya know? Can't be slackin' off. Particularly with the holidays comin'." Maybe the grenades are a gift. "
"So it is," Nick says with a chuckle, finally pulling out a cigarette and bringing it to his own lips even as she throws hers away. "The grenades'll make for some nice New Years fireworks, hm? He'll get back to you probably within twenty-four hours, and if he doesn't, you come by and tell me, and I'll make sure he does, all right?" He cups his hands around the lighter, though there is no breeze, and takes a puff of his cigarette as it ignites. "After all, I think I'd like to stay on your good side — you seem like someone I'd hate to piss off with that shopping list."
Lola pushes to her feet, smirking. "Aw sugar, just wait till ya see mah order fer the Chinese New Year. Talk bout fireworks, hmm?" She gives the man a little wink. "Be in touch then." With that, 'Daisy' is turning and moving for the door to head out. Of course, like most people that Nick probably sees around here, she's checking her six as she can, watching the dark corners. For someone who likes 'fireworks', she's paranoid enough to make it seem like she actually may like greandes and kevlar. And worse, for a reason.