Making a Sale


smedley_icon.gif lola_icon.gif

Scene Title Making a Sale
Synopsis Smedley and Lola strike up a deal - or the makings of one.
Date November 28, 2010

Skeevy Bar

The Staten side of the mainland is always full of little dives that are good for nothing with good for nothing people. Such is one where one 'Sara' agreed to meet her newfound contact, Smedley. She's wearing a blue tank top with rhinestones in the shape of the Americna flag covering the breast. On herl egs are baggy cargo pants with big old black combat boots. Her hair is messy from being rained-on today, but she doesn't seem to care. Nope, she leans over the pool table to line up another shot as she hustles a couple of guys for some bucks, keeping herself entertained with a few Heinikan beers while she waits on the man she's here for.

The heat's been turned up on Staten, and by the way Smedley carries himself into the coastal Brooklyn dive reflects that. He may be out of the kitchen, but just on the other side of the door still isn't to comfortable. His oilskin coat billows at his knees as he moves through the bar, his shoulders stiff and his thumbs tucked into his wide belt. He isn't carrying in this neck of the woods - or, at least, not in any way visible to the naked eye.
Rather than interrupt Lola's shot, he stands a few feet off and leans against the wall, ordering a glass of whiskey when the waitress comes around and paying her up front in cash. So once the cue thumps against the felt and clacks against the other balls, he's taking a sip from the honey-colored liquid served in a low ball glass.
"That looks t'be enough," he says with a curt sort of nod, this words rolling across his tongue like a tumbleweed over the prarire. They're delivered to the men Lola's working as much as they are to her. "Com'on, Sweet Cheeks. I ain't takin' you out so as you can spend your time takin' another man's money."

Lola turns, looking over her shoulder with a mischevious grin. There's her prey - er, man. Rising, she tosses a cue to one of the men she was playing with. "Here darlin', yer up bah two. Try not ta blow it, mmm? Momma's got a date." And so she walks right over to him, her 'date' and smiles. "What's the matter? Didn' order me another? Kinda hard ta do pleasant business of an empty glass." Just to prove her point, she drains her bottle.

"Y'look plenty capable uh orderin' your own booze, Sara." Smedley drops the volume of his voice even as he gestures Lola toward a booth, sitting down only once she's settled. Once there, he only relaxes a moderate amount, leaning back into the cushion while keeping his shoulders straight and his head erect. He's silent for a few beats, then nods his head and inhales sharply through his nose before leaning forward slightly.

Licking his teeth behind tightly held lips, Smedley runs his fingers against the planes of the glass before him before he speaks, bringing his eyes to Lola's rumpled hair. "I figure you asked me what you did for one'uh two reasons. Either you need these people 'cause you're runnin', or you need 'em because you want their business. Seein' as how you found me, I'm willin' t'bet it's the latter'uh the two. M'I barkin' up the right tree?"

Lola sits indian-style on the booth, lighting up a cigarette with the lately deceased Kain Zarek's zippo, inhaling deeply into her chest and then exhaling. "Ya got me all kindsa wrong, sugar. Me, Ah'm an opportunist. Luck is when hard work meets opportunity, right? Well, Ah'm doin' mah work. Legwork, hirin' ya an the like. What comes outta it will be evaluated based on it's merits. Yer just here ta provide the merits, sugar, unless ya got somethin' else fer me." She offers the cigarette pack over toward him, in case he wants to jump into the habit.

Not only does Smedley lift a hand to silently refuse the pack, but he frowns. "I don't know t'blame this city or the one y'came from for that bit of silver-tongued talk you're startin' t'pull," he says with only the slightest sliver of a smile creeping into his voice. "I'd like to see some'uh what's been promised before I show off too many'uh my merits." He nods politely, his eyes closing for a moment and cutting off their audience's view of the scene.
"If y'don't mind."

Lola smirks a little. "Just call me a sweet little peice o' cultural diffusion." And then comes that sound. It's a horrible, awful, ripping sound. The sound that can make ears bleed. It's Lola whistling through her teeth, a sound so loud and jarring it cuts through the bar like a bayonette through flubber. "Chuck! Ya got mah purse?" The man tosses a heavy black purse across the bar to Lola, who catches it. He yells something about rocks being in there but Lola's already turned to Smedley, flashing the purse carefully open in his direction. Cash, baby.

Smedley does, in fact, wince, but more in sympathy for remote ears than his own. He only glances at the cash in practiced nonchalance, then reaches into an inside pocket of his coat for a piece of paper neatly folded so as to conceal whatever may be written on it. "This here," he says in a whisper that borders on a mumble as he doesn't move his lips too much, "s'list. Delivery's in four days. You can scrounge up 'round half uh what's on it, I'll bring y'in."
He smiles then, putting his hand on the table, the list pinned beneath his calloused fingers. He leans back, and the smile broadens into a grin. "Gotta evaluate yer //

Lola sighs, reaching over to pick up the list between her fingers. She runs down it, using her thumb as a line note, to know where she's reading from. "Nah," she says softly, though not to Smedly. More to teh lsit itself. She moves down the list a bit. "Nah. Mmmmm, yeah Ah spoze. Nah. Pfft, hell yeah. Yeah. Aight, Ah'll bring three things ta yer little pot-luck if ya want, so long as Ah get ta eat long with everybody else." She tosses the list down, looking to see Smedley's reaction to this promise.

Smedley hadn't guessed that the woman would be able to get everything on the list, and he follows along with her assessment, checking off his own mental list of items (and the order they were written in). He lowers his chin as one hand beneath the table retrieves a relatively small leather pouch from somewhere inside his coat and subsequently tosses it under the table to Lola's side of the booth.

Once it lands, he nods again, his eyes flicking from the woman to the purse at her side. "I'm ready t'explain step two when you are, Sweet Cheeks."

Lola shrugs a little, list left on the table between her hands. "By all means, darlin', keep that nice little tongue-swagger a talkin'. Ah ain' got all day, come think of it, so get yer hoss a goin'." She says, grinning a little bit, mischeviously. Yes, she's ready to move on.

Lola smirks, pulling the pouch onto her lap. It is properly loaded, then slipped back across teh table to him, almost as though she were reaching for his hand to hold it. Like they were lovers. Of course it's not true, but to the passing eye that's just what it's meant to look like. "There ya go, then."

Smedley is practiced enough in dealing with female clientel to catch on to Lola's game in time, though he does cough when he lets his hand linger on the pouch before slipping it away and back into his jacket. "Four days," he says softly. "New Hamburg. There's a little island not far from the marina where I make my drops. Meet me there 'round eleven."
and, of course, no honest smuggling would be done before lunchtime.

Lola just smiles, moving to slip out of the booth with her bag over her shoulder. Of course, she's leaving him to pay the tab. But he's a gentleman, right? So of course he was going to offer to pay anyway like most gentleman would, when having drinks with such a pretty, gracious young lady.

Smedley doesn't get up so quickly. He lingers, taking a sip of his whiskey as he watches Lola go. He doesn't drink her in so much as he eyes her, hoping, wondering, if his silent partner in all of this was able to play her part. He'll pay her tab of course - he'll have to. But at least he'll be able to use her money to do it. re.

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