Participants:
| Scene Title | Delivery Especial |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Because Special Delivery was taken. |
| Date | November 26, 2009 |
It's been a few days since Cardinal left town and Peyton with directions for her to deliver a 9 mm pistol to an associate of his; she stopped by once but to no avail — apparently Lola was not at home that night. So she has bundled up against the late November chill, the pistol stowed in a big designer bag carried carefully, strap across her chest. She herself is learning how to use guns, but hasn't taken to carrying one unless she is doing something likely to get her in trouble — of course, that's most of the time these days.
The girl knocks on the door of the correct apartment, or what she hopes is the correct apartment. If she gives the gun to the wrong person, that could be a very bad thing. What if it's an undercover police officer? She knows Cardinal told her to be careful, but what does that mean? She fidgets on the hallway side of the door, chewing her lower lip nervously.
Lola was asleep. She was having a very nice dream. Four pool boys, a mai tai, and Cancun. But now? She's back in her silly little apartment, hiding for her life in New York City. Oh, yeah. Lumbering up like a great big bear waking from hibernation, Lola shuffles her way to the door, wrapped in a giant quilt with a sleep-mask pulled up over her forhead. Her hair is…everywhere, to say the least. She checks first, but seeing an unfamiliar face, she decides to open the door. "What?" She asks, sleepily.
Peyton frowns a little. The woman on the other side of the door looks familiar, but she can't quite place her. "Hi, um, is your name Lola?" she asks, tentatively. She looks a little out of place in the Red Hook neighborhood — she's dressed "down" but not as far down as she'd dress for Staten Island. Her jeans, boots and coat are designer, if casual. The bag is Prada. "Cardinal sent me. I'm a friend, I promise." Well, a friendly stranger, at least.
Lola, in all her sleepy glory, looks Peyton over once. "Dicky's been sendin' a lotta folks lately," Lola finally decides, turning and lumbering back into her apartment, letting Peyton follow if she wants. "Shoulda left me a list or somethin'. There's beer an vodka an some gingerbread in the fridge." Well at least the offer is there! Lumbering along, Lola finally falls flat on the sofa, curling up to stay warm. She's sure Peyton will get to the crux of things when she's ready.
The former socialite raises a brow at the offer of booze or gingerbread, but smiles and shakes her head. "Thanks, anyway," she says with a smile, moving to take a seat across from Lola. "He gave me a gun for you," she explains, reaching into the bag and pulling out the gun, setting it on the table lightly. "You know how to use one?"
Lola sits up quickly. "Bout damn time. Ah been bitchin' fer him ta get me one ever since
mah last one got taken away from me." Like a child who gets her cell phoen taken away at school? Reaching out, Lola's thin fingers curl around the peice of metal. She checks the chamber, checks the magazine clip, and overall gives the gun a once over. "Still learnin' but good 'nuff where Ah been needin' one. Never know what'll jump outta the darkness these days, ya know?" She finally looks up at Peyton, eyes narrowing. "Ya look damned familiar, sugar."
The accent brings back the memory of meeting Lola before. "We met on Staten, I think," Peyton says, making the answer vague enough not to embarrass the other woman if she doesn't recall that she was strung out like a junkie at the time. "My name's Peyton. Nice to meet you proper, I suppose. Cardinal's out of town for a while, so if you try to get a hold of him, you won't be able to."
"Ah know, he came'n gave me the whole rundown. So are ya onna 'his'?" Lola asks, nodding at the reference to STaten Island. She remembers, but doesn't bring it up. More because of a lack of relevence than any real shame. Whatever Lola does, she's willing to admit to. Why do something if you can't admit to it? "An if ya are, how come ya ain' in Guatalahara or whatever it's called?"
"Most of us aren't going, at least that I know of," Peyton says with a shake of her head. "Just a couple of others, and the other people aren't necessarily all in the same place. My guess is that I don't do anything all that useful." She isn't about to admit to this woman what she does, yet, if she doesn't already know. "I'm sort of more a supplier than anything else." She has money, and she has time, to run down to Staten and bring supplies with her. "Like… jobs like this!" She gestures to the gun.
Lola turns the gun over in her hand. "And a good job this one is, sugar. An a needed one. Sure ya don' wanna beer?" She asks again, nodding to Peyton. This is her way of saying 'thank you'. Booze! "Say…what else ya willin' ta run, sugar?"
Peyton figures there's a reason for Cardinal sending her, so she shrugs. "Sure, one. I can't drink too much, though. Gives me migraines." Something like that. "Um. I don't really … I mean, whatever Card and Shard ask me to, but that keeps me pretty busy."
Lola shrugs. "Just remember hearin' bout some business ta be done on Staten - fer a good cause, mind ya - movin' some rather dirty materials. But Ah kin understand if it ain' yer thing," Lola gestures to the fridge, setting the gun down and wrapping herself up tighter in the quilts. Damn Yankee-land. So damn cold. No wonder the Yankees are always so damn bothersome way down south where the sun is nice. Ah, that nice warm sun…."What else they gotcha runnin?"
"Mm, I don't think it's a good idea I do anything too dirty… I mean, I'm kind of recognized, so it'd be easy to catch up with me if anyone saw me doing something illegal." Not that it stops her most of the time, but it's a good excuse. "I'm not really running anything. I mean, I have money, you know? So I buy stuff and bring it to Staten, to the hospital or clinic. I've been buying stuff to help outfit Cardinal's group, bringing it out to them," Peyton explains. Not everything she brings is bought, of course — she's stolen medical supplies, but Lola doesn't need to know that.
There's a lot that Peyton probably doesn't want ot think about in what Lola's stolen. She is, after all, a professional thief. "An what exactly does this group entail? Dicky keeps givin' me little its a information, but Ah kin never nail 'im down long enough ta get more'n that. Fer one thing, he still ain' got me that jacuzzi he owes me." Priorities!
Peyton gets up to go to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer. "You want one too?" she asks. "Cardinal's group? If he hasn't told you, I'm really doubtful that I'd be able to fill you in on anything that he can't. I'm kinda new. Not really all fully initiated or anything. Like I said, I'm just helping out. Cardinal put me in touch with Shard's group, for example. I help over at that clinic, and help bring new supplies over since it's hard for some of them to get to the mainland and back, you know?" She brings over the two beers, handing one to Lola.
Lola nods, taking the beer and cracking it open off the side of the coffee table. "I hear ya." She raises her beer to Peyton's to offer a light 'cheers'. "Ah owe that clinic a good turn, if it's around much longer. So if ya'll ever need somethin's kinda hard ta procure…" she lets her voice trail off, leaving the rest of her offer rather vague.
Peyton's eyebrows rise up and she nods. At one point she might have been shocked by such criminal activity — never mind she herself had broken quite a few laws at her tender age — but now that she associates with ex Moab inmates, it's just par for the course. "Sure. I don't know if I personally would need anything, but I'll let the guys know." She opens her own beer and takes a sip. Not her favorite drink, but she can stomach it.
"So ya said ya had money, sugar," Lola says, thoughtfully as she peels the label away from her beer. "What kinda? Got any connections in any…government offices, stock brokers…jewlery stores?" She asks, raising a brow thoughtfully. "Just curious mind ya. Thinkin' a gettin' into a new line a work, s'all."
"My dad was a stock broker," Peyton says, with a shrug. "I mean, I still know the secretaries and stuff in his office, but I don't think they think too highly of me. I was kinda the rebel kid who gave my dad heart attacks growing up. But um, it's really complicated, being a stock broker. What kind of work do you want to do?" she asks, skeptically, taking another sip of her drink.
"Aw, I was thinkin' a goin' into banking. Investment. That sorta thing. Just wanted ta see how it all works, learn how it all happens, ya know?" Lola always looks mischevious, and this time is no different. She sips her beer happily. "Course there's a lotta stockbrokers in trouble right now, doin'….non-stockbrokin' things ta get by."
"Yeah, it's not really a good business for beginners, I don't think, right now, but you could always try day trading or something. I don't really know much about it, to be honest. I never paid any attention to what my dad said about work." The young woman looks a little regretful of that fact. It's clear her father is no longer around. "Anyway. Thanks for the beer. I should probably get going soon," she says.
Lola nods, scribbling down something and handing it over. "In case ya need some help in any a yer movin' an shakin', sugar. Ah got mah own talents an all that jazz," Lola promises, giving the girl a nod. She picks up the gun again, twirling it with startling dexterity between ehr fingers. She must be really good with guns.
Peyton sets down the half-full bottle of beer and takes the slip of paper, glancing at the scribbled information before sliding it into the back pocket of her skinny jeans.
"Thanks. Good luck on the job search, Lola. Good to see you doing better than last time." She stands and waves. "Don't get up unless you wanna lock the deadbolt after me. I can let myself out." She picks up her bag and puts it over her shoulder, happy to be rid of the burden of the handgun, and heads to the door.