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| Scene Title | House of the Rising Sun, Part III |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Kain Zarek and his bodyguards find James Ford with the help of a New Orleans local. But this isn't the job they signed up for… |
| Date | July 31, 2009 |
New Orleans, Louisiana
Time heals all wounds, or so the saying goes. In the heart of New Orleans, that saying is visible on every street corner. Almost five years ago now, Kain Zarek left the big easy and vowed never to set foot in this city ever again. But the city he left was one ravaged by hurricane Katrina, one under the thumb of organized crime and one struggling to pull itself up out of the gutter. While the city's criminal element is still visible on street corners and back alleys, the city itself looks to have been given a second chance at life.
Driving through bourbon street, it's strange to see the storefronts cleaned up, boards taken off of the windows, spraypaint removed from buildings where once numbers of survivors or dead were marked in garish colors. The streets are cleaned, the people seem rejuvinated, and it's a far cry from the cesspool both he and Dixon left behind.
But all that pretense of clean city is just that, pretense. Three blocks from bourbon street, the gutters of New Orleans have overflowed and filled the streets with the refuse of society. The city is impoverished, clawing at its own veins for a fix of something that will take away its pains. Homeless clutter the benches and sidewalks, their cardboard signs and dirty clothing blending into a sea of brown concrete and red brick buildings.
It's in this poor side of New Orleans, the side not shown on the news, the side not shown on tourist attractions where James Ford is hiding. A bar called he Nightlinerm formerly a speakeasy in the Prohibition era, now a seedy dive for loan sharks and gangsters of a different era. Out here, in these streets, the shiny black sedan belonging to the Linderman Group seems just a bit out of place. But then again, so do the passengers inside.
"How many more blocks is it to this place?" The voices comes from the passenger's seat, where Kain looks over from the drivers seat to where Lola sits on the passenger's side, legs propped up and feet out the window, fingers diddling with the dials of the radio.
"I think she sais three blocks…" Comes Manny's distracted voice in the back seat, eyes diverted down to his nails where a file quietly smooth a rough edge on his right pinkie. His glance turns askance, looking to where Dixon sits beside him, cramped in the back of the sedan, then up to Kain again. "Are we there yet?"
Dixon watches the progression from the tourist facets to the veritable ghettos with a certain amount of trepidation. Like Kain, he never planned to return here. Too many old loose ends, too many bad memories floating about like motes in a stream of sun. They left because there was nothing more for them- now the face may be repaired and glossy, but the muscles and bones still remain stretched and brittle.
It's only a matter of time before they come to blows with someone from that old life, right?
"You keep asking that. Same answer it was two minutes ago- No, we're not." Dixon's voice rumbles in the back of the sedan like a second engine. Cramming these two in the back serves as an element of surprise, but hell, is it uncomfortable. "How long do you think this will take?" Not that he has a stopwatch, but the darker of the two bodyguards is looking at the metal watch around one big wrist.
All the sights and sounds that may or may not have Kain and Dixon back down memory lane are nothing to Lola. She was here before Katrina, she was here after. For her, it's a daily occurance - like living with someone and never noticing the changes they go through as they grow up, while grandma and grandpa, who haven't seen them in years, marvel at the change. No, for Lola this is business as usual. "Couple blocks," she says, noncommitally. "There's a place fer the decent folks on hard times, a place fer the bad folks, an a place fer the really bad folks. Then there's rapists an serial killers. So which one are we goin' to? You tell me an I kin find him for ya." She has to know what breed of man she's looking for, beyond 'puppy racist'.
All this while, Lola has kicked off her shoes and is hanging her feet out the front window, wrinkling her nose as only static and bad music can be found to play.
"If'm Ah' had t'guess, we're lookin' for the place with the cheapest booze, the loosest women, and the most ways t'get in debt." Resting his hands on the top of the steering wheel, Kain seems almost paralyzed by memories here in this city, seeing familiar buildings and street corners he'd left behind when he pulled himself up out of this dump. "Look, Ah know you're all native to this here jungle, but once we find Ford, you just let me handle this, a'ight?"
Leaning back into his seat with a slouch, Kain's eyes drift up to a street light that turns red. The car rolls to a slow stop, and Kain's eyes drift to the side while the traffic in front of him crosses the intersection. "So what exactly do you do down here anyway?" It's an innocent enough question, on the surface, but for as much as Kain doesn't give a rat's ass what Lola does, there's also that sense of needing to distract himself from the ghosts this city presents.
"Please stop fiddling with the radio." Dixon serves to distract himself as well, though on a different scale. If there's no station, stop making static. Sure, he could say something more productive, but it is his job to be the stick poking out of the mud.
Lola doesn't seem interested in Kain's words, though she might be. It's difficult to tell - she's admiring the nail polish on her toes as it glistens in the sun. "At the moment? Playin' tour guide," she says, smugly. "But when we find Ford ya let me talk first, ya hear? My daddy knows him, I gotta at least be polite, an for all I know ya 'big shots' ain' ta kill him. Ain' gonna look so good for the Mayeux name if I don' at least give mah reguards."
Lola frowns over her shoulder at Dixon, flipping off the radio and sitting back with a little huff. "Oh, by the way," She says, pulling something out of her pocket and holding it out toward Dixon. "I lifted yer wallet back in the room. Ya really oughta carry more cash around here, unless you're hittin' the hot spots most place don't take plastic or paper." Haha! Thief extrodinaire!
"You know, I once saw Lorraine tear a man's arms clear out of the sockets because he took a fruit cup off of his tray at the cafeteria." Manny notes absently as he continues filing down on his nails, looking up and out the window as the car finally gets to moving again, noticing a homeless man on the side of the road holding up a cardboard sign that has sharpie marker scrawlings on it that reads THE END IS NIGH. 12.12.09 followed by a large black circle below. The bald thug's brows furrow together, craning his neck to keep an eye on the old man before blinking behind the lenses of his red sunglasses and sitting straight in his seat again.
"Manny, just— not now." On edge ever since setting foot in the city, normally Kain would go along with something like that, but today seems to have drained the good humor right out of him. "And for Christ's sake Princess, give the man back his wallet and don't do that again." It's got to be the heat.
Manny gets an elbow jammed into the arm beside Dixon, rough and without much warning.
Dixon then reaches forward as if to grab the wallet wordlessly out of Lola's hand, but instead his fingers loop around her wrist tightly, her joint small in his grasp. His other hand, thusly, reaches up to pluck the wallet away from her hand itself. It's not often that Dixon looks threatening to the people he works with, but surely this is one of those rare times. Why, exactly, it is not clear. Perhaps it has something to do with the pictures in that wallet, rather than the plastic or the Driver's License with 'Lorraine Ulysses Dixon' typed upon it. The few pictures, and the folded-up crayon drawing on a piece of tracing paper behind one of them.
"This is your only warning. Do not lift anything belonging to me, or I will take a page from B.C. and cut your little fingers off."
Ouch.
Lola is clearly surprised at the sudden grabbyness, and it certainly didn't come in the form she expected. She turns around to face him, face frowning deeply. "Hey…leggo, that hurts!" She points out, using her other hand to try and wretch Dixon's hand away from her wrist. She looks pointly to Kaine.
"You'd best get him offa me or I won' tell you where I tucked your wallet away, Yankee boy." Yes, she fights dirty! "Besides, he's hurting me!"
"You break it you bought it," Kain notes casually to Dixzon, the first crack of a smile he's had all day coming over his lips. Then, spotting a broken neon sign stained with rust, Kain's focus shifts and his eyes narrow. The Nightliner is written in a classy but worn pink script, imposed over a tilted martini glass that is trimmed in sputtering neon lights. In the dim evening sunlight, the garish glow of the sign seems almost as offensive as the rest of this ghetto cityscape.
"Alright kids, ya'll get done playin' it's time to shut the hell up." Pulling the car over to one of the street-side parking spaces, Kain brings the vehicle to a stop and turns off the engine, killing the static hiss of the radio. In the back seat, Manny's grimacing expression has not faded as he rubs at his arm. "Lorraine is a pretty name, you should use it more often." He states quickly as he opens the back door, very abruptly slipping out of the car to stretch his legs, and also avoid an elbow to the jaw.
He's not even tightening his fist, so at least Dixon is aware that he's not hurting her; he just has made his fist small enough that it is the proverbial hand-in-cookie-jar moment. "Don't cross me, MAyeaux." As he lets go, the car stops and Manny does it again." The backhand this time misses by a mile because Manny knows better than to sit still.
Dixon climbs out of the other door, leering over the top of the sedan at the other giant man. "Do I have to warn you too? You know better, man. That's my momma's and you know it." Everywhere not Home, it's Ulysses. Not Lorraine. Only his mother is allowed to call him that.
Lola sticks her tongue out at Dixon. "Mean ol' Gorilla." She comments, standing up out of the car like a shot. "Hey! Remember I get to talk to him too. You guys aren't that big of shots…or…however it's said." She shrugs, giving up on that, glancing over at Manny. "So are you like gay or something? Ain' seen many gays in your line a work, but they are people too. With different interests'n all that." As for Kain's wallet? He doesn't ask. She doesn't tell.
"Huh?" The question draws an immediately look from Manny over the tops of his glasses, mouth open in a slight look of dumbfounded confusion. "I'm — "
"Ah' told you kids to knock it off." Kain growls out, jaw not really moving as he strains his words thorugh his teeth. That's enough to clam Manny up, causing the bald gorilla of a man to fold his hands behind his back and waggle his hairless brows at Lola before sidling up next to Kain as he makes his way to the front doors of the bar. However, the blonde cajun pauses at the doorway, turning around to look back at Lola, then Dixon. There's something in Kain's eyes, an anxiety Dixon saw months ago at the apartment of Danielle Hamilton, whatever that ghost that was eating at him then was, it's doing it again now.
"Ladies first," Kain murmurs, reaching for the door and pulling it open as he steps aside, bowing like a valet with all of the sarcasm and smarm he can muster. When the door opens, the acrid sting of cigarette smoke and alcohol rolls out of the dark interior like a fog, and the distant noise of a jukebox playing the twangy swamp-rock of Credence Clearwater breaks the ghetto's quiet.
You can't just ask those things, Lola! She doesn't get a real answer anyway, thank God. Dixon just makes one of those disgruntled sort of faces down at her from a stride away, hand tucking away the dark brown of his wallet into his back pocket. Ladies first, right. Dixon waits.
Kain's expression is completely readable for at least one of the gorillas he has at his side. And true to form, Dixon does not miss it by a centimeter. The split seconds of light filtering into the bar are almost immediately blotted out by the two bigger shapes, and those two smaller ones. Needless to say, there are going to be some faces turning their way for more reasons than that.
Lola doesn't seem to mind. She bursts through the doorway, pausing to pose, jutting out her hips and throwing her arms in the air. "Ante up, boys!" She calls, as though she owns the place. There's a chuckle or two, a whistle or two, but mostly people just go back to what they're doing. A few eyerolls are present.
Without waiting for the boys, Lola strolls in, past some pool tables, some drunks, some darts. She strolls right back to a man in the corner, standing anxiously by a pay phone. He's thin and haggard, but it's Ford alright - probably waiting for someone to call him back on a bet or something.
Lola slides her denim-cutoff-clad tush across a table nearby, sitting comfortably and swinging her legs as though idle. "Heya Fordie. You probably don't remember me, I'm Frankie Mayeux's little girl." He knows her father, of that much she's aware. Not well but enough to recognize names. "We did that job over at the tracks, remember hearin' about that?" A father daughter tag team. How Americana.
Kain's entrance into the bar comes after Dixon and Manny have wandered in. He's slow to follow behind Lola, anxious and uncertain as he saunters in through the front doors, neck tense and lips downturned into a frown. It's only when he hears the voice of the ragged old man sitting in the corner that he truly looks like he's seen a ghost.
"Well," Ford grumbles from his table, "ain't you just the hot shit. Ol' Four-Finger Frankie's daughter. Ah' remember you when you weren't tall enough to see of the the top of the bar." He cracks a smile, leaning back into the chair with his hands folded over his stomach. It's only when he spies the two mountains of men wandering in behind Lola, in their pressed suits and city demeanor that his expression turns sour. Accusing blue eyes flick back up to Lola, wide with discomfort and unspoken threats of treachery from the woman.
"Sorry Carl, I gots'ta be rollin'." Slapping down a wad of money onto the table, James rises up from his seat and straightens his loose tie, but this attempt at a beeline ends immediately when he sees Kain coming in behind the two thugs. Te color drains out of James' face, and instead of walking towards the door, he's frozen in place.
To a small part, Kain's expression mirrors that of Ford's, if but only for a moment. There's nothing said, just a motion towards James from Kain, indicating to Manny and Dixon that their guest should return to his seat. Given the look of shock on James' face, it's not going to be a voluntary seating.
Kain's entrance into the bar comes after Dixon and Manny have wandered in. He's slow to follow behind Lola, anxious and uncertain as he saunters in through the front doors, neck tense and lips downturned into a frown. It's only when he hears the voice of the ragged old man sitting in the corner that he truly looks like he's seen a ghost.
"Well," Ford grumbles from his table, "ain't you just the hot shit. Ol' Four-Finger Frankie's daughter. Ah' remember you when you weren't tall enough to see of the the top of the bar." He cracks a smile, leaning back into the chair with his hands folded over his stomach. It's only when he spies the two mountains of men wandering in behind Lola, in their pressed suits and city demeanor that his expression turns sour. Accusing blue eyes flick back up to Lola, wide with discomfort and unspoken threats of treachery from the woman.
"Guess mah call ain't comin' in…" Nervously moving away from the payphone, James tucks a pair of quarters into his pocket and straightens his loose tie, but this attempt at a beeline ends immediately when he sees Kain coming in behind the two thugs. Te color drains out of James' face, and instead of walking towards the door, he's frozen in place.
To a small part, Kain's expression mirrors that of Ford's, if but only for a moment. There's nothing said, just a motion towards James from Kain, indicating to Manny and Dixon that their guest should return to his seat. Given the look of shock on James' face, it's not going to be a voluntary seating.
Even if he would have made to get out, did he really think he'd get past the mountains first? Rather than wholly watch Lola work, Dixon keeps his eyes on Kain- his gaze flickers up to James Ford when it seems that they get each other into sight. There is something genuinely uneasy about that moment, and if he doesn't have a spare few seconds to ask about it while they're out, Kain will certainly be getting a few words once things conclude.
Years of practice doing this- Manny's the pup, but he and Dixon have habits that are hard to break. Call them trained if you want. "Evenin, suh." The drawl is painstakingly forced, and Dixon lifts his hand to James' shoulder when he's close enough, directing the man back towards the table and chairs where Lola had perched to garner his attention. Just roughly enough, for maximum effect.
"Don' look at me like that, sugar. My daddy always said you were an asshole anyway." Lola pauses to light a cigarette, snapping the zippo close with a satisfying clink and exhaling a cloud. "Anyway, innocent folks got nothin' to be scared of, right? An what could someone as innocent as you have to fear?"
She smirks, playfully, enjoying her game. "Unless ya ain' so innocent, now are ya? Hmm? Tell lil Lola about it why doncha."
Kain's eyes flick to the zippo when he sees it, patting down his right breast pocket and noticing his is missing. A fleeting look crosses his face, frustration, but it's projected onto Lola, frustration about something else, not just her. When James is forced back into a corner and down into a chair by Manny's looming form and Dixon's broad frame, his eyes grow wide and he holds his hands up in the universal not in the face motion. "Jesus fuck alright, the money's in the briefcase behind the bar. Fuck, look— man— look I was going to turn it around and triple it okay? I had this set worked out at the tracks, I promise you he was going to see it all again!"
Resting a hand on Manny's shoulder, Kain urges the tall man back, then lightly taps his knuckles on Dixon's arm, motioning to move the other giant aside. There's silence, once the two are face to face with one another, silence enough for the both of them, and the cold stare that Kain levels down on James. The older of the two swallows, and that gray-haired man wipes a hand down his mouth and leans back in his chair he was edged into. "Never thought you'd come back…" Ford says in a low growl, cold eyes focused up on Kain. "What'sa matter boy, you look like you done gone and seen a ghost."
"Shut up." Kain says in a sputtering breath, jaw trembling. "Ah ain't never— " he catches himself talking like a hick, swallowing down his words. "Ah' wasn't ever goin'ta come back here. But you know what they say 'bout fate." The words come off with a bit of a tremble of Kain's voice.
"She's a fckle bitch," Ford adds, head languidly tipping to one side. "So, what're you gon' do now, boy? Ah've got ol' Linderman's money. An' Ah'm pretty sure Ah' ain't— "
BANG
The gunshot practically shatters the windows from the caliber of Kain's .45 revolver. Withdrawn from his suit jacket and fired into James' chest at point black range, the force of the shot is hard enough to knock him backwards out of his chair where a large, dark red stain dampens the wall. Kain's eyes are wide, his hand holding the gun is shaking, smoke issuing from the muzzle and a few droplets of blood darkening his pinstripe slacks.
No one in the bar is talking. No one in the bar is moving. Even Manny seems absolutely shocked. They didn't come here to kill him. But somehow, Manny can't even find the words to voice his shock at what he just saw in front of him, and at the man laying gurgling on the floor.
Forget later. There's not going to be any talking later. Those words are coming as soon as humanly possible. But, like the rest of them, the shock of what just happened doesn't seem to register for Dixon either. At the very least, his own wears off the most swiftly, and his gaze settles down on Kain's face. Shock, but quickly seeping into question and somewhere in there, irritation. They weren't supposed to do anything besides come in and out. As per what he heard- Kain had this planned from the start, didn't he? "Manny. Get the briefcase." You were listening, right? It's behind the bar.
Dixon doesn't move for an awkward second after speaking; and finally, after a figurative eternity, his hand lifts up to lower Kain's gun arm- forcefully if he as to. Too much resistance and he'll even have to take the gun. "We're done here. Get out. Car. Now."
Somebody isn't the posse leader anymore. Dixon's voice sounds like some angry god having risen out of the woodwork, throbbing at the eardrums.
Then again, Lola can always find the words. In a second she's suddenly up on the table she was sitting on, in a coruched position, as if afraid of mice on the floor and ceiling fans above.
"Whoah, whoah, whoah sugar! That ain' what I came here to do! The hell's the matter with you!" She looks wide-eyed at Kain. She's not a killer. Okay, she is a killer. Not the point. "You coulda'least givin' me a bit of warnin! I mean jeeze, that's common courtesy!" Car what? Okay. "Buncha crazy yankees, it's true what they say…"
Kain's practically frozen in place, arm out and gun still drawn even as everyone else in the bar seems to be moving in slow motion, some making for the door, others ducking behind tables, while the bartenders fall to the ground to hide behind the glass-topped bar. Waitresses let out a sharp scream in the delayed moments after what happened actually registers. Rushing for the bar, Manny shoves a man out of the way, grabbing a briefcase situated by the taps, then straightens up with his own pistol in hand, aimed at the bar staff. "You all jus' stay nice and still, an' let us go, capice?" Manny's brows tense, his heart races in his chest, and he moves back away from the bar, noticing Dixon lowering Kain's gun arm. Like a zombie, Kain looks up to Dixon, and that haunted look is still in his eyes as he nods his head slowly and tucks the gun into his jacket holster, quietly turning blue eyes over to Dixon and then Lola.
After a moment, the cajun just turns towards the door. "Sorry," he murmurs to no one in particular, unable to move quickly as he just begins a casual stroll towards the door, one hand smoothing over the stubble at his mouth.
By the time they get out onto the street, there's no sirens, no police, nothing to indicate anyone is the wiser save for the bar's patrons themselves. Kain turns to look at the car, murmuring quietly, "Can someone else drive?"
Dixon meets Kain's unsettling look upwards with that always unordinary degree of steadiness; when the gun tucks away, still warm, and Kain turns toward the door, Dixon is right behind him. One hand rests heavily on the smaller man's shoulder, acting like a makeshift weight to keep Kain at his side- to keep him from straying for whatever possible reason. All the way to the car, no less- if he stops, Dixon pushes him further, though smoothly. If Lola is coming, she had best follow too.
"Manny, put the seat back and drive. I know you don't know the streets. Just drive. Got it?" Directions will come later. But right now, Dixon is yanking the black door of the backseat open, rocking the car as he leans his free hand on the edge of the roof, above the open door.
"Kain, you're back here with me." Zarek knows better than to protest when Dixon is being firm, so hopefully he has not changed out of his zombie-like mode when the big hand on his shoulder practically directs him into the car as well.
"Yer damn right he's back there with you. I ain' sittin next to a crazy person." No, she's sitting next to Manny! But she's convinced he's so metro it's silly, and they can chat about nail polish or something. She slips into the front seat, rather quickly, looking behind to make sure nobody is following.
"So what the hell are ya'll doin' here? Shakin' down some bookie? Anyone could a done that. Even killin him, anyone coulda done that!"
Uncharacteristically pliable, Kain is shuffled into the back seat even as Manny struggles to force the driver's seat back far enough to meet his considerable size. Still looking a bit like an ape in a clown car, Manny manages to get himself mostly comfortble as he closes the driver's side door, watching Kain settle into the back seat in the rear view mirror, which he is obsessive-compulsively adjusting to just the perfect angle. "Ain't none a'your busines…" Kain murmurs in response to Lola, seeming for all his worth like he was just punched in the gut.
By the time Manny pulls the car out of the parking spot and pulls out onto the street, Kain has one hand holding his head up, hunched forward on the seat with a tangle of blonde hair spilling between his fingers. "Take us back t'the airport," Kain rather abruptly orders, "we're done." That, at the very least, is rather obvious. Done is quite the matter of the day.
For a moment, Dixon is sorely tempted to give orders otherwise. It's hard to tell who has seniority right now- especially for poor Manny. On one hand, there's Dixon, and on the other hand, there's Kain, who seems to have gone temporarily mad with something. Okay, scratch that, it's not hard at all, is it? "That's done. But we're not." The tone from the seat beside him will remind Kain of not minutes ago when the older guard warned Lola. Not to cross him. In this case, however, it is not so much a warning as it is telling Kain that he is not going to slip away from this without being interrogated.
"Turn right at the light, keep going. There are signs." And it seems as if they may just be leaving with an extra person, if Lola doesn't want to jump out of the window in about five seconds when the red light blinks up.
Lola is an adventure junkie, but not to that exent. Besides, sticking with them might be more interesting. Oh, and she's about to be wanted for murder. Again. What the hell! "Yer damn right we ain' done." She points out, turning to glare at Dixon and Kain, pointing one finger threateningly. "Yer gonna have to tell me exactly what happened back there, or so help me, it'll be more than just yer wallets yer missin!" She gives them the stink eye once over before settling back into her seat. "Take a left here, it's quicker."
Reaching inside of his jacket, Kain's fumbling on the side his gun isn't on. A leather folio about the size of a check book is taken out, thrown over the passenger's side seat to slap in Lola's lap. "Shut up," he enunciates in a hissed breath, "you ain't goin' nowhere an' you ain't askin' nothin'… We didn't even come down here for Ford. We came down here for you."
What?
Even Manny's shaved brows rise up at that remark, looking to the leather folio laid in Lola's lap. Then, eyes on the road, he starts to turn right, then suddenly turns left from Lola's request. Torn in so many directions at once, Manny withdraws, keeping quiet as his shoulders hunch forward and head dips down, teeth pressing into his lower lip.
"Ah ain't explainin' none'a this, it ain'cher business." The folio in Lola's lap is a combination of many things, as she starts to paw through it. It contains an address Dorchester Towers, 155 West 68th, Apt. 505. Behind that is a New York State driver's liscense with all of Lola's information, under the name Marie Sophia Clemens. Behind that a birth certificate, social security card, and a Linderman Group business card with Kain Zarek's information on it, he's listed as Public Relations in some sick irony.
"Danny sent me down here t'get you up to New York. He needs you there, not down here. You got some money in the bank under that name, there's an ATM card in there too for the account." Slouching to one side, Kain leans against the door, resting his head against the window.
"Let's just get outta' here…" He mumbles to himself, eyes partway closed.
Like a puzzle. Start at the corners, and work the way in. Kain's admittance about the purpose of the entire trip gives a great many pieces, and actually replaces some others. If it were really only a trip to take care of getting Lola to New York- Kain would have indeed only stuck with Manny. But he brought both of them under the pretence of James Ford. Kain made a point to have Dixon here, no matter what the actual intent was. Was that because Kain needed him for something else entirely?
Maybe for this. Zarek tells Lola off with a practiced tongue, but when he leans back against the door and the window, it is under a watchful eye from the next seat- silent and not-quite brooding. Lost in thought, if anything of the sort.
Wait, what? That's all Lola can think as she lifts the booklet slowly, flipping through it. Name. Accounts. Addresses. "The feck?" She asks, spinning in her seat to look at Kain again.
"Ya could have just asked. The hell was the point a killin' a fellah in this town fer? All Daniel Dearest had ta do was ask, an I'd a been there! Shit!" It seems telling Lola off doesn't do much to get her to shut up. Hell, she never shuts up. "Ya'd better have a damn good reason like that! I ain' no killer!" Beat. "Well…yes I am! But not that kind!"
"Ain't none'a your business," Kain grumbles, rubbing one hand over his mouth to try and get that sick feeling out of the pit of his stomach. "Manny," Kain reaches up and slams a hand on the driver's seat. "We're just droppin' Princess off at the airport, she can cool her heels on th' jet." Kain leans back against the cushions of the back seat, pinching forefingers and thumb at the bridge of his nose. "Af'er we drop her off, hit route seven, Ah' wanna stop by the Saint Louis Cemetery."
There's a tired sigh from Kain, one of both the fall down from an adrenaline rush, and from some emotional weight sitting on him. He looks over to Dixon, expression apologetic, and then focuses on where Lola sits in front of him. "You ain't done nothin'. All Danny asked me t'do was come get'cha… this's mah mess."
They gathered as much. No need to tell them. Dixon meets Manny's eyes briefly in the rear view mirror, simply nodding once for confirmation- just in case he is left wondering who to take his orders from this time. There is a time and place to find out what is going on- what happened- but it is not in the car, en route somewhere.
Lola is still very unhappy. "Yeah, you'd best drop me off. Ah' gotta call mah' daddy…" She doesn't seem like a daddy's girl, and yet her language seems to indicate just as much. "Come on, hurry up." She urges Manny, figuring that murder is bad enough - what's being pulled over for speeding at this point?
She's actually relatively quiet until they gets to the airport, perfectly happy to step out of the car and angrily slam the door, hurrying for the inside of the airport and the air conditioning. While the sedan stays parked out front. Kain doesn't make a move for the passenger's seat, but his blue eyes meet Manny's in the rear-view mirror when the bald thug looks back to his boss, then over to Dixon.
"Saint Louis Cemetery…" Kain murmurs, closing his eyes and resting the back of his head against the seat, "she ain't goin' nowhere yet."