cardinal_icon.gif tuck_icon.gif

Scene Title Remington
Synopsis Cardinal stops by Tuck's pawn shop for a little bit of business, and to do his business associate a favor.
Date February 23, 2009

Tucker's Pawn Shop

Every shelf, every flat surface in the entire shop is covered with things. VCRs, DVDs, small pieces of machinery, cheap jewellery - all the kind of stuff worth little money. It's the merchandise that's not worth protecting, even here. If someone wants to steal a VHS copy of 'The Little Mermaid,' then so be it. The primary purpose of the clutter of items is a front - to distract from the fact that the real purpose of the shop is to sell stolen, high-value goods.
The front part of the shop with its knick-nacks and assorted low-value items is separated from the high value items by a counter and a layer of bulletproof glass. There is a slot beneath the window for exchange of money or small goods. At the base of the counter is a chute for larger items. Surveillance cameras keep a vigilant watch over every square inch.
There is a small arsenal of weapons up on a pegboard above the counter. Not just guns but knives, tasers, pepper spray, handcuffs, nightsticks, brass knuckles - all sorts of things meant to cause pain. There's a rotating case at the counter that holds many expensive jewellery pieces, including a few Rolexes and a large assortment of engagement rings. There are expensive cell phones, iPods, laptops and other various small electronics, including listening devices and CB radios. Just about anything worth stealing is displayed behind the glass and up on the walls. Many items however, are by special request. You gotta know what you're looking for.

It's a regular evening at Tucker's Pawn Shop. The owner is behind the desk, behind the bullet proof glass. He's fingering through a pile of prescription pills and using a jeweler's loup to separate them by type. There's a TV just to his left that's playing episodes of Stargate SG-1. There's no one else in the shop at the moment, save Tuck himself.

A duffle bag's slung over Cardinal's shoulder as he pushes through the front door to the shop, heading along towards the glass-fronted window with a steady walk, boots thudding solidly against the flooring. He looks tired—dark rings shadowing even beneath the edge of his ever-present sunglasses, though the set of his jaw isn't a very pleasant one. Also, he could use a shave.

Thump. The duffle's set on the open side of the counter. "Tucker."

Tuck looks up over the top of his glasses at his latest customer. "Cardinal. Yooou look like shit, boyo. What kind of trouble have you been in, hmm?" There's a buzzing sound as he hits a button behind the desk. Apparently that's an invitation for him to come into the back. He drops down the loup. "What've you got for me?"

The duffle's hauled back up over his shoulder, and Cardinal moves along over to push into the back — shaking his head a bit at the question, apparently disinclined to answer right now. "Oh, got some jewelry for you — don't suppose you have any customers who're into expensive cosmetics? One've those fru-fru bikini commercial shoots in the city left their trailers open." Just how he gets back and forth to the island so easily's one of his many secrets.

"I'm not taking clothing, Card. There's no room for it and no one has swimming pools on Staten Island." Tuck momentarily returns his attention to the drugs, then pushes them aside for now. "Jewelry isn't what I want right now, buddy. I want stuff that'll move. Go rob a hardware store. That stuff I can sell. Oh…" a beat, "…I think Logan's the one who has the paintings you're looking for. I tried to find out for sure, but there was no way I was going to manage that and keep my balls. So you're on your own from this point on."

"I didn't think so, but, didn't hurt to ask," admits Cardinal - shouldering the duffle again, he leans his shoulder to the wall and watches the other man for a moment, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly in a snort. "Logan? Figures… well, thanks for tryin'. Anyway, what I really stopped by for - what d'you got in the way of things that go bang right now?"

"Listen, Logan's not a fucker you…fucking fuck with. That's why I can't help you anymore if you're going to try and steal from him. I owe him money and right now we're on friendly terms. I'd like to keep it that way." Tuck hefts himself off the stool and goes towards the gun case. He motions up to it with his best Vanna White. "What size of boom-machine are you looking for, sir?"

"Chances are he doesn't have all five've the paintings, I can check into other sources for the others… when I've got the time," Cardinal replies, perhaps in agreement with the first point made. Perhaps he's just avoiding it. That said, though, he looks up to the case with a thoughtful expression, "I need a nice heavy somethin' that'll open a door every time, and possibly whoever's on the other side of it. Shotgun's probably my best bet."

"Shotgun?" Tuck's brows arch. "We-ell mister, I have a few of those. Not many people want a fucking shotgun. Most folk want something they can you know, conceal. But," he shrugs, then digs a key out of his pocket and unlocks the case. He motions to the line of shotguns. Some are old and beaten up, some are in decent condition. One looks like it's military issue.

"I need a few doors open the hard way," is the only explanation given, without answering why a screwdriver, lock-picks, or perhaps a sledgehammer would do instead. Of course, god knows what he actually wants it for. Cardinal steps up and over to the case as it swings open, and he looks over the selection with a thoughtful expression—reaching out to pick up the military one, turning it over in his hands as he checks out the model, murmuring, "Now, what d'we have here…"

"How did I know you were going to go for that one? Maybe because it's the only one that doesn't look like you hunt geese with it." Tuck folds his arms over his chest and watches Cardinal examine the gun. "That sir, is a Remington 870, I do believe. Tactical model. An ex-Military gent sold me that."

"There ain't a lot of geese on Staten," Cardinal agrees under his breath in tones that don't bode well for whatever the gun's intended for, his fingers stroking down over the barrel - gripping briefly beneath it to test the pump action, with that satisfying clack-CHUNK of noise to go with it. A whistle under his breath, "Not bad. Not bad at all." A flicker of his gaze over to Tuck, brows raising, "How much?"

"Oh, I don't know. For you?" And Tuck quotes a price that would've been a rip-off before the bridge exploded. But now? It's not really that unfair given that supply lines are pretty constricted. "That's a fair price, sir. You bring me some good shit most of the time, so I'm taking a bit of a hit. There'll come a day soon when weapons are a high commodity on this island. I'll even throw in a box of shells."

A bit begrudgingly, Cardinal admits, "Decent price." The shotgun's set down, and he reaches over to pull the zipper on the side of the duffle down, offering as he reaches in to pull out a stack of rubber-banded bills, setting it down on the counter before reaching for another. In fact, more than the price asked, and appears to pretty much empty out the cash he's brought. "…and I'll add on a grand—" He fixes Tuck with a serious look, " -to help keep your creditors from shootin' you in the face. Call it a favor."

Tuck squints at Cardinal. It's the way he looks when he's trying to figure out if someone's trying to work an angle. He looks from the cash to the thief. "Now why would you do that, hmm? Why do you want to rack up a favour from me?" He's not sure if he likes where this is going, but he does like the look of that stack of cash.

"Call it a moment've weakness," Cardinal replies with a snort, gesturing towards the other man before reaching to lift up the shotgun, and - if not stopped - tucking it into the big duffle. He shakes his head, focused on that task as he adds, "You get yourself killed or drummed out've business, I have to work out a new relationship with the -next- fence, and then I have to find a new poker circle. S'a fucking hassle."

Tuck purses his lips and makes a sound by swishing air around in his mouth. "I don't know how I feel about this, Cards. I owe enough people money. I don't really want to owe someone I buy from." But he's clearly on the fence. That grand'd pay off some of his smaller creditors or buy him more time with the bigger ones.

Cardinal gives his head a shake to that. "I'm not gonna ask you to pay me back in cash, Tuck," he notes, looking over with a brow's raise, "You get in somethin' special, or hear about somethin' particularly interesting? Call me. Hell, a good hint on one've the other paintings, if word gets around, and I'd call it even. Worse comes to worse, I'll call it a tab and grab a stereo or something later on down the road. Just take the fuckin' money, man."

This is not the kind of thing Gilbert Tucker is used to seeing in his line of work. This smacks of…generosity. That's a foreign word in his world. "We-eell, considering that cash might stop me from getting my fingers broke, I'm not going to turn it down. But it's only a grand worth of favours, all right? No charging interest." He shakes a finger.

"No interest." A brief, tight grin from Cardinal, "Just keep your head in one fuckin' piece, you know how hard it is to find a fuckin' fence that'll only steal from me a -little-?" A pause, "Speaking of, you mentioned a box of shells."

"About as hard as it is for me to find someone who works for me who only steals a little," says Tuck. He walks past Cardinal and unlocks another case. He checks the box, then hands it off to the thief. "Don't go doing something stupid with this gun, all right? Like fucking with Logan or Kain. Take it from a guy who's been around the Staten block a few times. It's not good for your health."

"You're almost sounded worried 'bout me, Tucker," Cardinal replies in amused tones, accepting the box with a raise of both eyebrows, "I'll still be breathing when I'm done with it, though, promise you that. I didn't make it this far as the best god-damn burglar in New York City to get stupid with a gun in a shit-hole like Staten."

"I'm worried about every fucker on this island who doesn't have hired goons to shoot someones' head off if things get rough, kid." Tuck reaches over to the desk and picks up a joint. He lights it. He motions to the gun. "Though you could take someones' head off with that thing."

"Maybe I should hire some," Cardinal mutters under his breath, tucking the box into the duffle bag and zipping it closed, "I suppose I'd be a pretty shitty burglar showing up with an entourage, though, eh?"

"Doesn't really work, no. Thought your type were solitary animals. You know. Prowling around. Without bigass shotguns." Tuck nods towards the duffel again. Then he turns to his desk and flips through a box until he comes up with a card. He writes whatever's on the card down on a slip of paper and then rips it off to hand to Cardinal. "Don't usually do this, but I figure your grand is worth this much at least. It's the name of a fence who sells bootleg high class shit to the girls who want to pretend like they're socialites. He'll probably take all the makeup and clothes and shit."

The scribbling upon the paper is regarded with a bemused look -and then he leans over, accepting the number and glancing at it before the explanation is offered. A smile tugs up then at one corner of his lips, and Cardinal glances up once more, "Thanks, man. Appreciate it - don't worry, won't stop comin' down this way. I'll look into some hardware stores, maybe, after my current business's done."

"Yeah well. I kind of have to…" Tuck makes a whistling sort of sound and holds his hands apart, then moves them together. "…start compressing my business. Start focusing on more useful products. I only have so much space here and with the way things are, I can't afford to have stuff taking up space that isn't going to move. Generators. Guns. Water purifiers. Drugs. That's the kind of shit that's going to keep me afloat. You bring me that sort of merchandise and I'll make sure you get a good price."

"I can't do anything big like a generator or a water purifier, but maybe I can pick up some parts'n shit. Some car batteries, that sort've thing," Cardinal admits, thinking a moment - then he shakes his head to push the thoughts away, and shifts to shrug the duffle up and over his shoulder. "Just try not to get in too close to those big fuckers, Tuck. One've these days, they'll start goin' at it, and you won't want to get caught in the middle."

"Oh believe me there, sport. I know how to keep myself in one piece. I fenced my first bit of merchandise when I was eight." Tuck winks and clucks his tongue. He takes a pulls off the joint and exhales. He relaxes visibly. The smile gets a little lopsided. "I know how to keep the balance. Stay safe, all right? Consider this…" he picks up the wad of bills. "…store credit."

"Just keep your head down, man." The caution repeated once more, Cardinal steps over to push himself back into the main room, making sure the door's closed behind him before he heads through the store, "See you soon, all goes well."

February 23rd: A Wheel To Run In
February 23rd: When Tavisha Met Gillian
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