Participants:
| Scene Title | Honor Among Thieves |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Satoru pledges his loyalty, and possibly something more than that. Nobody gets beaten up. |
| Date | May 31, 2009 |
The coast of Staten Island is as much of a presence as its inland, with rivers that invade right into its heart as well as cutting off the circulation of transport from the rest of New York City. The coastal regions reflect a lot of this borough's rural nature, with rough shores and plantlife, broken brick, and general abandonment. The harbors are left to the devices of those that freely come and go, a conspicuous lack of official presence - a number of them notably overrun by the developing crime syndicate, but there are still quite a few, particularly on the coasts nearest to Brooklyn and Manhattan, that are accessible to the lawful public.
He'd told Satoru: let's go to the mainland.
It's probably somewhat counterintuitive, but it's an occasional requirement. He has to see a woman about a man, not that he'd told his newest goon such details. There is only so much go to ground Logan can take, and it had been the last thing he'd been told before Muldoon had buried himself someplace separate and untouchable. Or dead, that too is a possibility.
Fresh Kills Harbor smells about as good as one can expect. Acrid water, black at this hour of evening and perhaps even caustic considering the amount of decay this place has gone through, laps at rotten beach and smells like dying sealife. It clings slimily to the hulls of boats, a few of which rock in shallow water, some neglected but one currently being manned; a small, discreet yacht whose captainship is divided up by the three men who split the profits of illegal ferrying back and forth. Damnit, Jack. Your disappearance is ever so inconvenient.
Logan is dressed too nicely for the journey over, but probably not enough for the lawyer he's expecting to meet. The velvet is his version of high class and does more to impress pirates than it does women of actual high class, but no matter. Currently, he has a hand clasped on Satoru's shoulder as they pick their way downhill, through dirt and packed in sand, down towards the jetties. In his other hand, is a cane. He hasn't bothered to explain the sudden limp he's gotten, but it's a slender thing of black polished wood.
No wolf head in sight, just a curving black handle. A scarf chokes his throat. "You could always do his other hand if he's not crawling to the door within the next week. Six thousand dollars is only hard to get when you aren't desperate," are the pimp's conversation words.
Given that just a few days ago Satoru had said he should probably stay away from the mainland, it seems a wee bit ironic that he'd turn right around and head thattaway — but that's how things are. And he likes his job, even if he may not realize exactly what kind of boss he'd gotten himself involved with.
He's dressed up a bit today, which for Satoru means he's wearing a shirt without funny text on it. Gloves are on to prevent accidents, though as far as anyone else is concerned he's just trying to look… something. Plodding down the hill is an easy enough task, though made a bit strange through helping Logan along - the hand attached to his held shoulder is somewhat awkwardly holding his boss's free elbow in a guiding sort of way. Very strange, but that's the job, apparently.
"I'unno, boss," is his eventual, uncertain reply. "I figured he'd show up by now. He, uh.. is he the kinda guy who'd try and get revenge or somethin'? I mean it'd be pretty dumb on accounta how he needs me around to fix the thing," assuming he can, "but y'know how guys can get when they're freaked out."
Logan's eyes remain forward, his expression one of expectance and calm as his gaze hones in on the boat they approach. A pause in his step has him lifting the cane in something of a wave; a man hanging onto the railing lifts a hand in return, says something over his shoulder. Great, wonderful. The land is starting to flatten out, enough that Logan extracts his hand from Satoru's shoulder. He does try not to use his hired help as convenient furniture, but sometimes the ground is slippery.
"He might be under the impression he has friends. It happens occasionally, but they do come around, in the end. Usually."
Moving on his own, there is some practice in the way Logan walks, cane and busted leg and all, managing to make his footsteps smooth as his boots finds wooden jetty beneath them, trailing over the beach before it's headed for the river. "We're neighbours, after all. If I didn't suspect he'd try to shoot you, I'd have you check in." That's Logan. Always caring.
While it isn't expressed audibly, Satoru is nonetheless relieved when Logan removes his hand. As such, he removes his own, and the circle of awkward physical contact is broken. He relaxes a bit, in any case, adjusting his shirt somewhat as he follows the boss towards the water. The boat is regarded with little more than functional interest; it's a boat to which he holds no personal ties. The novelty of being on a boat passed long ago, with semi-frequent trips between the Island and Mainland; no more duets with T-Pain.
"That's, er. … That's good to know, boss." Doubt drips almost palpably as he speaks. Clearing his throat, however, he continues, "Anyway, uh, so I figure maybe if he doesn't show up it ain't his hands he cares about. Guy was kinda lookin' at me weird when we were talkin', y'know?" And he nods there, tensing his jaw a moment.
"I gave him a kinda weird cover story," that he is so not explaining unless he has to, "and long story short I'm pretty sure the dude was into me. He's pissed now, sure, but might be I can get to somethin' he'd be more worried about not bein' able to use."
Thump-thump-click of two feet and a cane, a rhythmic sound down the jetty, which is more familiar from when he'd carried one around in affectation than necessity, so maybe people won't look too askance now. Logan has his focus elsewhere as Satoru talks— namely on the slats of wood his moving across, careful not to stumble or sink the cane through them or something equally mortifying.
The cane almost misses, however, when he glances back at the employee trailing along with him, brow furrowing. A pause, accentuated by the sound of greasy water shifting around underfoot, and footsteps on the yacht they've approached.
Satoru finds the cane shoved into his hands for holding. "Whatever you desire to do on your own time is fine by me," Logan says, with a quick smile and a turn that has his coat flapping, hands out to pull himself up onto the yacht, good leg taking charge. "But do keep an eye on him and see if he's found some other solution for his problem rather than the obvious ones. There are healers in this world, and all. I hate to leave loose ends hanging."
The possible implication implied by that comment is almost cause for Satoru to lose his temper a bit, but — oh, there's a cane, and he's reminded this is his boss he's dealing with, after all. Best not to flip out, and whatnot. Cane is almost dropped with surprise, but he maintains a steady grip, standing by as Logan boards the yacht; once he's steady on board, he hands the cane back up before following suit.
"Man, boss, I didn't mean anything like that, aight?" He can at least ruffle his feathers a bit. "I ain't into that sick shit, man. Jeez." With that out of his system, he tugs at the bottom of his shirts, ensuring they are all straightened out, fidgets a bit with the pants, and calls it good. Nervous energy directed to the enforcement… of presentability.
He remains standing near Logan until told otherwise, one arm at his side and the other somewhat akimbo. "Anyway, why're we headin' over there anyway? I mean, I was just sayin' the other day how the mainland usually gets you into trouble, and I don't see what you'd gotta get done over there anyway." He pauses, thumbs his nose. "I mean, not that it's my concern or nothin'. Just seems you could prob'ly send someone to do whatever it is for ya, huh?"
The spark of temper at the implication gets a look of study from Logan, a flare of interest at the choice of words from the younger man, amusement alongside it. He doesn't needle it, doesn't care to, and dismisses the clarification with a shrug of elegant shoulders beneath dark green velvet. Moving to lean against a railing, reasonably out of the way, Logan fixes his scarf to tuck a trailing end within his jacket, sighing out a breath of steam.
"Some things require a personal touch," he states. "On Staten Island, I can send you or Eloni or anyone else to run these errands, but the mainland— " His angular jaw tenses a little at this consideration and choice of words. "The mainland is different. I'm not going over there to live, it's simply a visit. Unless you think the words of lawyers should be filtered through a chain of underlings before they reach my ears."
His eyes narrow on Satoru for a moment, mock-study. "I don't pay you to ask questions, do I?"
A flicker of anxiety, there, but ultimately Satoru offers a cautious smile. "Just makin' conversation, boss," he explains, in a hopeful sort of tone. "Makin' sure there wasn't anythin' I needed to know or nothin'." He follows Logan over to the railing, almost like a tiny badguy puppy, resting his hands on the edge and leaning forward a bit.
"You pay me to watch out for your interests and shit like that, right?" A shrug. "Or whatever. Expressin' my concern an' all. I think I'm a little confuesd why I'm comin' with ya — I mean, I got that one thing I can do," and here he switches to discretion, uncertain if it's something he should mention on a yacht full of strangers, "but I mean… if you're goin' to see a lawyer I ain't sure what you need me around for."
"Not that I'm sayin' I don't wanna go, I'm hella cool with that, but I don't exactly make you look any prettier." And thus ends his soliloquy, with a crooked smile and a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his head and mussing his locks.
Fleeting callousness is only fleeting. Satoru's answer is deemed fair enough. The cane goes up to tuck beneath Logan's arm as he gets out a thin silver cigarette holder, working on lighting up before the boat can kick off, which it begins to around the time his cupped hand moves from sheltering the cigarette, leaving behind glowing orange embers. Logan's cheeks suck in as he draws in a deep breath of smoke, lets it out in an vague cloud that's dispersed quickly by the river wind.
"You're right, I might not need you. I hope I don't. All I ask is you stand outside the door while we talk and— be prepared." Logan's canines show in his attempted reassuring smile, before pale green eyes dance on over towards the sailors working to get the boat cast off. It shifts beneath their feet, and Logan's smile dims some, eyes hooding before he adds, perhaps reluctantly, "I also don't trust anyone as far as I can throw Manchester. I wanted to bring someone with me on the ride to and from."
A slight head tilt to indicate the crew, before he shrugs just once. "Used to be I had a man who'd sail me to the mainland whenever I wanted, but he's since repaid the debt he owed and— " A long fingered hand makes a vague wave. Gone somewhere. Whatever. "So now I have to rely on the kindness of pirates. You'll find that Staten Island is full of wolves more ravenous than the mainland's justice system." His head tilts, bringing the cigarette back up to his mouth, assessment in his eyes. "Why, did I choose wrongly?"
Satoru turns around to rest his back against the rail, looking at Logan and ultimately shrugging. "Lemme level with you here, man." His voice softens a bit from its usual crass tone — nothing creepy, but enough to make it so that he isn't actively trying to sound like an idiot. "This gig I got goin' on here…" He holds a hand up, shrugs. "If I wanted to, I could probably go back home to ma and she'd gimme all the money or whatever I want. Vee sentimental, I think I told ya before."
He frowns a moment, runs that hand through his hair again, crosses his arms. "I ain't here 'cause I gotta be, is what I mean. On Staten. I ain't gonna stab you in the back if I get a better offer 'cause I need the money, 'cause I don't. I dig the job, y'know?" Another shrug. "I like doin' the violence shit and all that so it ain't like I'd find a satisfyin' job on the mainland, and anyone else on Staten'd just be more of the same."
"Anyway, my point's just I ain't desperate for work so I ain't got no reason to do wrong by ya." Stopping abruptly there, he looks to his hands, fiddling with his gloves for a moment. Awkwardly. "—-I mean y'know, figure I may as well put that all out there so you know where I'm comin' from."
Logan watches him throughout the spiel, expression a picture of fascination mixed with dull interest as the younger man works through his attempt at of leveling with him. The tip of his cigarette flares when he takes in another drag, shifts enough to tap ash over the side of water as the yacht makes its way away from the coast. If the pirates are planning to slit his or Satoru's throat any time soon, they aren't making a show of it, going about doing— whatever it is they do. Speaking louder than the two Staten Island criminals, anyway.
Eventually, Logan looks Satoru up and down, and nods. "I think I see where you're coming from," he confirms, voice that strange sort of kind that's tinged with something more acidic. It dips down into something more conspirational. "But if you're going to propose, I suggest you wait until we're on dry land. You never know with sailors."
While the reply isn't vocal as such, somewhere deep in Satoru's heart, the youth is replying, 'fffffuuuuuu'. He grits his teeth a bit, gripping the rail tightly to ward off a pissy fit, and finally tilts his head back and lets out a long, obvious sigh. "Okay, whatever, dude, make a joke. I just wanted to make sure you got my meaning, yo." And the crass tone is back. "What the hell is it with all the dudes I run into tryin' to push that shit on me? Christ."
Let's just not mention certain incidents that have happened in the past. "I mean, I may be a lotta things, yo, but a fag and a turncoat ain't one of 'em." Or, presumably, two of them. "So okay, we go see your lawyer, I chill outside the office and make sure things is all good, we come back and everything's cool and then later I see about finding out what's eating Gilbert Grape. I missin' anything?"
It is a joke, and Logan's small smile betrays his own amusement, doing nothing for the adrenaline spiking Satoru's ultimately suppressed tantrum, neither encouraging not discouraging. Maybe another time. More smoke is breathed in favour of cold air, stinging and thicker than the steam that otherwise leaves mens' mouths out here, colder as they go. "Understood," he says, primly, and utterly unreadable beyond the definition of the word. Not a fag nor a turncoat. Good to know.
Taking his weight off the railing, idly, and leaning instead on the walking stick, Logan nods once and looks beyond Satoru towards the distant mainland. "No, I think you have it," he says. "Providing that everything remains all good and cool throughout, otherwise we'll just have to see if you can improvise."