Irish Business


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Scene Title Irish Business
Synopsis Nick and Lola talk about a mutual acquaintance and how taking him down is in each of their best interests.
Date January 8, 2011


The street that is home to the "Center Stage" is also home to a good many dive bars, tattoo parlors, cigar shops and the like, so when Nick York and the redhead currently on his arm leave for a place to grab a couple of drinks and discuss a certain bit of "Irish" business, they have a lot of choices. Of course, in such a neighborhood, all the bars are pretty much the same, with just a little variety in what music might be playing from the poor stereo systems to what imported beer they serve.

It's a place simply called "Drake's" that Nick leads Lola to, a hand on the small of her back guiding her to the back corner where he takes a seat from which he can watch the door.

"So what's your name? I don't remember the fake one you told me back on Staten, so don't worry about tripping up your lies none," he says with a chuckle, picking up the bar menu to flip through the beer list.

"Daisy's what Ah toldja back then. Figure that'll work well enough," Lola decides. His hand on her back makes her slightly nervous, as he might be able to feel her kevlar, but that's life. A girl can't keep everything under wraps, after all. She sits down across from him, her back up against the wall so that she's facing neither him nor the door, but she can keep an eye on both. Taking out her cigarette and a cheap bic lighter, she indulges, and offers in kind.

"So why aincha over with Pappy Irish, doin' his biddin'?"

He glances down at the cigarettes and reaches for one, lighting it and taking a long draw before blowing it to the side from the corner of his mouth.

One brow tics up at the question. "You mean, aside from the fact he strapped a few bricks of C4 to my chest? I donno about you, but that sort of thing just kinda puts a damper on the relationship," Nick says drolly. "But I figure, rather than go off hot headed and get even, I might as well capitalize on the situation and go in for that bounty, yeah?"

He watches her face, as well as the area behind her, to watch for people approaching should they need to change the subject when someone nears their table.

"Is the bounty all you're after?" Lola asks, raising a curious brow. "And will the Feds even care? For someone who has been working in the arms trade business, I don't know how forgiving they might be of you." Or of her, for that matter. Though technically, she's not even wanted for anything. Lola takes another deep inhale and exhale, letting the poision seep into her lungs.

"Hell, no," Nick says, setting down the menu again. "I want his ass in jail. You know what they'll do to a cop in jail? It ain't pretty, Daisy, and he don't deserve any better, I can tell you. And the guards'll look the other way, since he's givin' them a bad name, you know? It's what he deserves." He dashes his cigarette against the ash tray angrily before gesturing at her.

"Whatever you got goin' with him? He'll fuckin' sell you out if it'll help further his cause. And if you're special, what's the term now, SLC whatever? He'd torture you just for having that little gene. He doesn't deserve your protection, I promise you that. But."

Nick finally takes a breath, blue eyes darting over Lola's shoulder for a moment. "Might as well get the bounty at the same time. I ain't got a rap sheet." He shrugs. "If you can't get caught up in it, you help me, I'll make sure you're paid for it."

He clears his throat slightly as the cocktail waitress comes by to get their order. "Pint of Bass," he says then nods toward Lola to make her order.

"Bud light," she says, ordering the world's worst beer. But she's a redneck, so that's sort of how it goes. "Ah ain' got no loyalty ta him, sugar. Him an me, we're just business. Still, if somethin' does go down, Ah got news for ya - Ah don' wanna get paid." She inhales, removing the cigarette from her lips and exhaling downward again. She watches Nick very carefully. "Ah want his business, sugar."

There's an arch of brows at that revelation. "Yeah? Well, you can have it, if we take 'em down, but I donno if you'll get all his men swapping captains that easily. But if we can get him turned in, I'll try an' do what I can to get you whatever inventory he has on hand, get you his contacts for you to pick on up. I already know a few of them, having run some of those myself, but there's more to a business than the stock and the clients."

"Ah know sugar, an lets just say Ah ain' taken classes at the local community center. But Ah know how things in the underworld tends ta work - been there long enough - an it seems like a good business ta make some money in. More importantly, most folks need ya more than they don't needya fer that sorta thing." Usefulness=safety, and that's what Lola's going for.

"Got it." His head tilts slightly to indicate the swift return of the cocktail waitress who gives them both their respective beers. Once she's disappeared to check on another party again, Nick nods, lifting his glass to take a long draught, before blue eyes narrow.

"So how you see this working, then? If you can tell me where he is, or set up a little rendezfuckingvous, I can either call in the feds, or you'n'me can see if we can't wrap him up with a pretty bow together, and I can drop him off like Santa Claus to the feds," he suggests, voice low, eyes focused on hers.

Lola shrugs a little bit, taking a big gulp of her long-neck. "Ya tell me, sugar. Fer mah purposes Ah could just as well kill 'im if Ah wanted. Ya want him fer a reward, ya gotta do a little thinkin." Lola brings her cigarette back up to her mouth thoughtfully, letting it hand between her lips for a moment. She's thinking, it's clear.

She adds, "He's always got folks around him ya know."

"You can kill him, sure," Nick says, with a shrug and a swig of his drink before setting the glass down again, exchanging the beer for his cigarette and taking a long drag from that. "I don't fuckin' care, really, but here's a little idea. I bet I could find a telepath who'd be able to get his little secrets from him once we got him. Then we'd know where all his stashes are, yeah?" His brows rise to gauge her expression.

He shrugs again, just the one left shoulder rising and falling. "You plan to meet with him any time soon?"

Lola gives it some thought. "And how do Ah know ya ain' gonna screw me over, darlin? No offense, but ya got four limbs and a pulse and around here that's just about good nuff reason ta not trust ya right off the back. Not that Ah ain' sayin' ya don' got a sweet face an all. Ya do, real baby-face a girl could snuggle up with. But Ah been shot by babyfaces afore." One of them was Nick's sister, actually.

Nick gives a short huff of a humorless laugh. "Look, you know he was trying to hurt me, right? That he shot me in the chest with a rubber bullet, then nearly shot me in the head from a few feet away but his gun jammed? Rubber bullets still kill at that kinda range when aimed at your head, sweetheart. Then he hired you to kick my ass or shoot me or I donno what exactly you were supposed to do. And then he strapped a bomb to my chest."

He leans back, dropping the cigarette into the ash tray and turning the beer bottle slowly in his hands. "These are facts, Daisy," he says evenly. "Now. I'm all about trying to screw him over. You, we could leave the preposition out of it. Unless you try and kill me, you and me, we don't got a problem."

"Nah sugar, Ah ain' got no call ta want ya dead. Yer prettier on the eyes than he is anyway," Lola decides, lifting her beer bottle and slinging it back. That done, she snuffs out the cigarette - on the table. "Ah dunno when Ah'll see him again, but it oughta be soon. Ah'll be in touch, darlin. Promise." She gives him a wink and moves to stand.

The young man laughs a little, and leans forward to pull out a card before realizing he did that already. Instead he pulls out his wallet to lay a bill on the table, covering their drinks and the tip.

He jerks his chin in her direction. "The card I gave you, the phone's safe. And listen. If you don't wanna do this, just forget I said anything, all right? There ain't nothin' much to gain from me bein' dead for you, sweetheart. It might make him happy, but it ain't gonna get you what you want of his," he warns.

"Noted," Lola promises, and blowing Nick a kiss, she moves out the door.

Nick leans back in his seat and picks up his Bass to drain it with a few more swallows, followed by more drags of the cigarette as he watches Lola's retreat from and away from the bar through the window by his booth.

He doesn't trust her, but making sure Walsh gets his just desserts is worth the risk. After all, it's just Nick's life the young man is gambling with.

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