Participants:
| Scene Title | Richest Bum in the City |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Diego hires Daphne for a job that does not involve getting his heart boxers, but a notebook of important information |
| Date | December 17, 2009 |
Brooklyn
The sun has only just set on the city, the red and orange and gold bursts of light cast off in the day's final throes a sweet, pleasant memory. All of this is pretty much unnoticed by the occupants of a quiet little bar called 'The Glass Turtle'. Its just a hole in the wall, its descriptors residing somewhere between 'dive' and 'average'. Its occupants mostly laborers and the like, except for a few here and there. Nobody notices them, but that is the way of these types of things. Quiet conversations and money exchanging hands with none the wiser.
Except in this case, someone does notice. He isn't anyone special himself, in his drab clothing, dog on a leash sitting obediently at his side, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Nobody you'd look twice at- ok, maybe twice, if you thought he was cute in a rugged sort of way -but no more than that.
It's hard for Daphne to blend in, which is why that's not her Modus Operandi most of the time. You don't have to blend when you can be a blur, after all. She doesn't look like other dirty or dark (or both) appareled patrons, mostly men, in a bright green sweater that makes her shock of white-blond hair stand out all the more in the dim light. Her hands move quickly to stow the envelope of money in her courier bag, nodding to the man she was doing business with as he thanks her, promises to 'be in touch,' and heads away. The speedster is left to sip her well-earned drink.
When the man Diego had seen meet with Daphne earlier leaves the bar- and with no sign of her -he moves. Capone's teach is loop once around a nearby parking meter pole and then handed to the pup- Capone, it seems, holds his own leash. This done, Diego makes his way into the bar and joins Daphne. Just like that, no preamble, no courtesies, just sits down right there with her. He offers a smile. "Well, hello there, darling."
The speedster sets down her drink — an extra dirty martini — and quirks a brow at the man across from her. "Just so you know, I could have been out of here before you sat your tall drink of water self down, so you're talking to me out of the goodness of my heart," she tosses up to the man. Or maybe it's out of the bottomlessness of her wallet. Whatever works. "Are you here because I'm the only girl in the place, or …?" she trails off, letting him fill in the blank.
"Yeah, well. I can take good luck when it comes my way. Something to do with a gift horse and its mouth." Diego looks over as a waiter- wait, no, thats not right. The only waiter approaches. "Whiskey. On the rocks. Top shelf, none of that well garbage." His eyes come back to Daphne and her 'good heart'. "Maybe its a bit of you being the only girl around." The way he speaks, its quiet but it demands attention. Its gentle but firm, somehow. Its disarming. "I kind of had an idea that you wouldn't stick around if you didn't want to. See, I know a little bit more about you than you do me." The waiter returns with his drink, and Diego pulls out his wallet even as he's finishing the sentence. Its important, the timing. What he said could sound creepy. Its important that she see's when he pulls out a hundred from that wallet and hands it to the bartender- and that she can see that the wallet is bulging with more of them. "I'm rather fascinated, actually, given the reputation you've got."
Her eyes narrow a bit, and she glances over his shoulder at the door, then back to his face. Combat seating — always face the exit so you can see who's coming in at all times. "Give me a name, or I'm out of here. You're sounding a bit like the guys who snoop around with darts and say they're from the government, except you don't dress as well," she points out. "But maybe they wised up and decided the whole Feeb look is too suspicious and went with the Bohemian on Skid Row look instead."
"Diego." The name is offered freely- the first name by itself isn't enough for anyone to do any harm with. Not unless they have pictures of him, as well. Even then… "Professionally fascinated. Not I kinda wanna poke around inside you and see what makes you, you. Whatever it is, is, and its no business of mine. Its what you do that I'm more interested in, and when I work with someone, its favors or cash that get exchanged. Because there's something that I want."
"Tell me a name I know, Diego, because no offense, yours doesn't have any clout with me just yet. Who told you about me and what I do, because it's not like I've been advertising or throwing my business card in the jars they put out for free lunches at the diners, you know?" Daphne tosses back, picking up her drink again and taking a sip, then chewing on the olive that drops into her mouth along with the alcohol. "Then we can talk about what I do or don't do, and what it is you want."
Diego's eyes flash there for a moment, narrowing in consideration. Then he leans back, shrugging. From his wallet he pulls out another one hundred, having not gotten change for the first yet, and drops it on the table. "Guess I was misinformed. Simple miscommunication." He slaps his wallet closed and slips back into the interior pocket of his oversized olive drab coat. Looks like it came from an army surplus store. To himself, he mutters something about something being 'just like fucking Phoenix', and then he stands. "My name is Diego Smith. If you decide you like money, you come find me next time."
There is a distinctive roll of Daphne's dark eyes. "Oh, sit down and quit trying to look like the richest bum in the city already," she mutters, picking up the bill and holding it between index and middle finger for him to take back. "You already paid for the drink, and mine was already paid for, so you don't need to go being all ostentatious like and leaving a $195 tip to Benny. He sure as hell doesn't deserve that much. The only reason Trick hired him is they're cousins. Otherwise he'd fire him."
"I thought guys like that were the ones you always hear about getting tips like that." Diego hesitates at the tables edge for several moments, seeming to consider the tip he left and Daphne in equal parts. Finally, he settles back down into his seat. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I am the richest damn bum in the city. But thats all a little irrelevant, if you think about it."
"Right. Irrelevant. So let's get to the relevant part, Mister Smith. Because time is money, and while I may have more spare time than the usual person, I still don't like to waste it. What is it you want, and why do you think I am the person to help you?" she asks in a low voice that is just loud enough for him to hear her, but quiet enough for all the other voices and noises to cover easily.
"I don't know if you are the person to get it. Thats kind of what I'd like to figure out." Diego reaches into another coat pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He withdraws one and lets it roll amiably across his knuckles. "As for what it is? Its a notebook. Nothing unobtrusive. Just a simple notebook in a leather case. Nobody even wants it, except me."
"Well, that part sounds easy enough unless it's being guarded by someone who shoots lasers out of his eyes who can slow time down to a crawl," Daphne says, with a lean of her head toward one shoulder in a backwards shrug. "What's so important about the notebook — so I know what to charge you, not that I am planning on reading it, mind you. It's about risk. And be up front, because if I find out later you lied, I won't be a happy camper."
"I'm terrified." Diego's tone explains that he is anything but. His cigarette stops its slow twirl, the non-filtered end tapping restlessly against the table's surface. "In the notebook is notes. My notes. Pertaining to various individuals that were once business associates of myself. These people, they aren't very pleased that I just said 'fuck it', shut down my doors and liquidated my assets. They would be even less pleased if they knew there was a notebook in my old apartment with notes about their… personal character. Anyway, my old apartment is most likely being watched, and its best for both of us if nobody knows who you are or what you're doing there." There is a pause, and then, "Lets leave the threatening tones out of this little friendly convo. Happy people do happy business. I don't care much for threatening languages."
She makes a face at him in a rather juvenile way. "Oh, come off it. I didn't say I'd come beat you up or that I'd boil your bunny or something, Smith. I just said I wouldn't be happy. I don't really do threats. Just promises." She smiles in a mock-sweet way at that. "All right. So this is your old apartment — who's doing the watching, and is anyone living in it?"
"Dunno for sure if its vacant, or watched. Maybe nobody. Maybe every pissed off senator, congressman, and rich fucker on the Eastern seaboard with an ax to grind. No point in paying if I do all the hard work myself, right?" Diego takes a pleasant little drink. "Boiling my bunny, thats funny, I like that. Anyway. My point is, there is a definite possibility that someone is watching, thats about the best I can do. The notebook is stashed in the kitchen, behind the dishwasher."
"What'd you do to piss them off, or is that too personal to ask?" the speedster asks curiously, tilting her head as she takes another sip of her martini, draining the rest. She doesn't need to know to do the job, but it certainly makes things more interesting. "And what's it worth to you? I'll let you tell me what you're willing to pay, and we can negotiate from there."
"A grand. Another four if nobody knows who you are afterwards." The bonus is four times the amount of the job? Thats a tad bit ridiculous. Diego finishes his own drink after she finishes hers. "I just told you what they're not happy about. I just up and closed my business and liquidated my assets. When you're in the security and defense industry, people don't take kindly to that sort of instability."
"Well, yeah, you left out that detail," she points out, meaning the industry he mentions. "No one will know who I am. All they'll get is a blur at most. All right. You're on." She offers her diminutive hand, short nails painted in a charcoal gray with a hint of glitter. Long nails get in the way of her work. "When you want it done by, boss?" Her brows arch as she looks up at him.
"Get it done when you can. I don't rush genius; and if you're not a genius, well, you're not my girl anyway. Faster the better, but I'll wait for the quality." Diego takes her hand and gives it a firm shake. He looks around the bar appraisingly, then nods his head towards the door. "Mind stepping outside? I'd like you to meet my associate."
This gets a dubious expression from the Speedster. Thieves have to be cautious, but you don't get jobs from being overly cautious, and there's always an element of risk. The good thing is she can evade most danger simply due to her power. "Your associate? Any reason they can't come inside?" she asks, a bit skeptically, but rises from her chair anyway.
"Yeah, in fact. They don't let him in places like this. Its against the law…" Diego recollects some of his money, though he still leaves a sizable tip. Then he makes his way outside and lights his cigarette, taking a long puff. As he exhales he gestures towards Capone, who is still sitting patiently at his post, though its beginning to strain his willpower to not come bounding towards Diego.
"Oh?" Well, that narrows it down. Daphne assumes it's a street kid or something of the like, but she still lets Diego lead the way so she has his back in her sights, in case there's a trap of some sort outside. She's not paranoid, just careful. When he gestures to the dog, she arches a brow, then chuckles. "Man, and I left all my milkbones in my other pants," says the petite blonde, grinning as she steps toward the dog. "He looks happy to see you, but will he eat me if I try to pet him?" One hand is out, for dog sniffing, though she doesn't quite stretch it close enough to do so, waiting for the answer from Diego first.
Capone whines as he is approaches, but he remains motionless. "No, he's nice. Go 'head, Poney." Once Diego gives the dog leaves, he just.. well, kind of unwinds, all the pent up energy and tension erupting it a dog missile. He doesn't jump up, but he spins around, his back half crashing into her leg so that she can pet him- even though he never manages to stop wiggling from the excitement. "Don't let his goofy face fool you. He'll… well… he'll lick you to death if you rip me off." Yeah. Terrifying.
Daphne stops acting like the tough thief as Puppy Glee is unbottled and oozes from the muscular pit bull. She pets the dog, laughing as she tries not to fall over from the bump into her legs. "Hey, Poney," she says, assuming it's Pony of course, not having gotten the actual name of Diego's comrade. "You are a big handsome beautiful man, aren't you?" Yes, she is still talking to the dog.
"Capone. His name is Capone. He doesn't like it when anyone but me calls him Poney." Diego just continues to smoke his cigarette gleefully. Of course, Capone gives no indication of minding the miscommunication in the least. In fact, assuming she's petting him, she might as well be his best friend in the whole world. A few quick licks might escape, though he clearly knows its not nice to lick strangers. "I think he likes you."
"Capone, then. Do you shake, Capone?" the blond thief asks, kneeling down in front of the dog and putting out one hand, the word shake given just a bit more emphasis to see if he will recognize the word. "It's good to meet you. You're much easier to get along with then your partner there." She's teasing of course.
Daphne scritches the dog's chin and then stands again. "He's a good dog. We had a few dogs out on the farm growing up, so I always liked them," she says with a smile. That might come as a surprise, that she's a 'farm girl' of sorts. "Okay. So I guess all that's left is the fact I need your address, and then a way to contact you when all is said and done. If you want it quick, I can do it now. I don't have much else tonight."
"I want it done right, too." Diego stuffs his hands in his pockets long enough to grab a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles a number on it and hands it to her. "I don't have an address. Thats a number that will get to me in an emergency, but I've got a room up the road you can drop it off to me at."
"Fine. Give me the address to your apartment, then, and I'll get to it in the next couple of days. If you say someone's watching, I suppose I should check it out, though I don't think it will give me any problems." After all, she's gotten through major security systems without any problems. "Anything else?"
"Dorchestor Towers. Its the big ass one at the top." Diego is talking business; sometimes gets antsy. That said, he lights another cigarette and lets the smoke swirl around his head. "Nothing else I can think of. Good luck with it, though."
"I know the place," she says, folding up the paper and slipping it into her back pocket. "I'll get your notebook. Anything else you want out while I'm there, if I have time?" She must be feeling charitable. That and she likes the dog. "Lucky socks or anything like that?" She grins sassily as she adjusts her shoulder bag, getting ready to speed away soon.
"Nope just the notebook. We'll leave the lucky heart boxers. Let the next tenant enjoy their magical bounty." Diego, Magic Pink Ninja in lucky heart boxers. Now there's a sight. "You get that and I'll be just, oh, just ecstatic."
"Got it. Nice to meet you, Smith. And Capone the dog pony," she says, offering the dog another pat of the head. "Be safe. And I take cash, cash, or cash." With that, the tiny speedster is suddenly no longer in front of him, but a blur of black, gray, and white that disappears down the street and out of sight.