Side Jobs


abby_icon.gif helena_icon.gif kain_icon.gif

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Scene Title Side Jobs
Synopsis Cameron's shipment finally comes in, much to PARIAH's surprise.
Date October 20, 2008

Staten Island Boat Graveyard

Exactly where land gives way to water at this point of the island's edge is uncertain - first because of the saltgrass growing everywhere, both on dry earth and in the shallows, giving the illusion of solidarity; second for the structures visible in the distance, drawing the eye away from the deceptive ground, suggesting its reach extends beyond its grasp. Even if the structures are still recognizable as ships, and nothing that ever belonged on land.

There are a multitude of them, abandoned hulls of salt-stained wood and rust-pitted steel, dying slow and ungraceful deaths as wind and water claim their dues. Some still appear to rest upright, braced upon the debris of older, lost relics below; others list to one side, canted at an odd angle like someone who just struggled to the surface in search of a desperate breath. There are no hands to pull these hulks from the water, no ropes to save them from drowning; each has been surrendered to the sea, left to the ravages of unmerciful time.

At low tide, some of the closer ships can be reached - not without getting soaked, but such is the price of daring. Never mind that the rotting metal and splintered wood are the stuff of nightmares for any germophobe, definite hazards to the unwary. The more distant ships are distant indeed, beyond the reach of all but the most bold - and are all but submerged besides.

There's something about the fringes of Staten Island that will always inspire sentiments of unease. After the bomb, much of Staten Island had fallen into glorious disrepair, so much so that places that were already in stages of decay look more like monuments to entropy than once urban settlements in decline. It's not hard to find the Staten Island boat graveyard, the derelict hulks of beached ships bristle up from the waterline like broken fingers grasping at the sky. In the pale moonlight that shines clear and bright on this cloudless night, these coastal waters look like the end of the world, jagged and broken.

Parked out amidst the gravel on the edge of dry land is a large white box-truck with no logos printed on it. A black sedan is parked behind the truck, a new car, too clean to regularly frequent Staten Island, not in this day and age. Leaning up against the car is a man who looks just as out of place as the vehicle, with his pinstripe suit and swept back dirty blonde hair, he looks more like a businessman than the kind of social detrius that reside in this district of the city. Not far off though is a man who — at least somewhat — looks more at home. He's a hulk of a man, pale as the moon with a waxed bald head and small circular-lensed glasses covering his eyes. Were it not for his suit that seems to match the style of the more scruffy and unshaven man by the car, he'd seem right at home out here. The two wait impatiently, checking watches and looking for the most part puf-off by this late night rendezvous.

What, exactly, had Cameron gotten himself into in the months before his death?

Don't ask where Helena got the truck and the tarp to go with it. She's a girl with resources, okay? And tonight these resources saw fit to bless her with a truck, a tarp, and Southern blonde with a shotgun and excellent aim. As they park, Helena murmurs, "I don't like this, Abby. But whatever this is, it's apparently bought and paid for. Step out with me, but keep back a little." With that, Helena turns the ignition off, gets out of the car, and begins to approach the two men, her hands shoved into her jeans. She knows what she looks like. A too-young girl, trying to play an adult game. Let them think she's a kid.

And Abby knows what she looks like. Fresh faced, innocent, gold cross on chain dangling around her neck. The blonde nods one to Helena, that's all. Her hand grips the gun securely. 'Not exactly what I planned on doing when I woke up this morning, but.. I'm not one to turn down a request" pure southern drawl, like honey.

At the sight of headlights, the mountain of a man moves towards the box-truck, climbing up into the back and disappearing into the open end of the vehicle. His partner leans off of the sedan, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks as he walks with a cocksure swagger across the gravel, each footstep crunching soundly. "Well then, ain't you two jus' the pictures of southern comfort?" The drawl is southern, with a notable creole edge to it. "Ah'll give it to ol' Cam, he ain't never said he was shackin' up with such fine ladies." One hand slowly slides out of his pocket, rubbing across his chin as he looks back to the truck, then back to the two women.

"Ah'll keep this fair and simple then, since it sounds like ol' Cam got himself in a fat mess a'trouble. Ah figure this shipment was for just such an occasion, but hey, ain't mah fault it was late." He points to the truck over his shoulder with one thumb, "There's ten cases in there, all paid up for. Ah' figure Cam at least gave you the skinny on what he was orderin', right?" One black brow raises, lips crooked into a smile that implies the almost teasingly rhetorical nature of the question. "Right?"

Helena lifts a brow. "Yeah, you know Cam. He just had one big love den." The sarcasm, it floweth. Then, without answering his question she asks, "I assume your gentlemen won't mind moving the cargo onto our truck? And there's documentation in case we're stopped? Not that I expect to be, but." She smiles, flashing dimple.

"You'll catch your tongue there, fine ladies we are, and not the kind to be thought of in such lewd ways" Abby's jawline is tight, a flicker of her eyes to the truck. "I agree with my friend here. A good southern gentlemen doesn't make the ladies do all the lifting. So if you might perhaps, please?"

Kain's brows raise high at Abby's comment, tilting his head to the side and inclining his head with a broad smile, as if concieting her point to her with a wordless recognition of her victory. "Documentation?" The blonde cajun cracks a smile, "Darlin' you ain't got no idea who you're dealin' with do ya?" He looks back to the truck, "'Ey! Frankenstein, clomp your huge ass out here with one'a th'boxes!" There's no concern about raising his voice as he shouts back to the truck, and with that he looks back to the two girls again, cracking a smile. "These ain't the kinda' toys you get liscenses for. Not when you ain't wearin' camouflage and drivin' tanks."

On order, there's a crashing sound in the back of the truck, along with muttering. A few moments later, the enormous man comes lumbering towards the pair carrying a matte-green chest about three feet in length. He settles it down on the gravel gently, then unlatches the sides and opens it, revealing that it is full of automatic rifles, similar to the kind used in the PARIAH raid on the Company facility. "Thirty AK-103's. These babies have a ninety degree gas block, AK-74 style front sight block, bayonet lug and accessory lug, black ribbed 30-round magazine made a'phenolic resin, an AK-74-type muzzle brake, and black synthetic furniture with a heat shield." He reaches down inside, taking up one of the rifles and showing how it's loaded with a loud series of clacks and snaps. "Truck's got twenty-four hundred rounds of ammunition in it, fifteen pounds of plastic explosives and a few claymores thrown in since Ah' needed t'get rid of 'em an ol Zippo paid in cash anyway." He stares at the two girls with a broad smile, rifle resting over his shoulder. "Manny'll go load yer truck."

Helena is completely unprepared for this. And quite frankly, there are few things that floor her, but her mouth drops open. For a second she can't even speak, and when she does, all she says is, "Oh." What are they going to do with all of that? She recovers fast and manages a polite, if somewhat stiff, "Thank you."

There's a glance over the weapon, the look of someone who maybe knows a thing or two about weapons. There's a raised brow glance to Helena, Grip still nice and firm on her shotgun. "Definately not what I had planned when I woke up this morning. Heavens Helena what did you get me into?" The last is muttered under her breath, the sharp eyes watching both men from behind the other blonde.

With a lopsided smile, Kain keeps his brows raised with the rifle laid over his shoulder, "Well," One brow lowers, leaving the other quizzically raised, "Guess you girls'll know what to do with enough firepower to take down a small army, won'cha?" He turns to hollar over his shoulder, "Get th'truck loaded so we can get outta' here!" The large and bald man nods, taking the rifle from the man who's clearly in charge of the operation, tucking it away into the crate before latching it closed again and carrying it to the back of the pickup.

"Ah' recommend you two darlin's do your best not to get a good ole' inspectin' by the po-liece, or ya'll might find yerselfs in a whole lotta' hot water." Without the rifle in his hands, Kain tucks them back into his slacks, rolling his tongue over the inside of his cheek before eyeing Helena, and then Abby. "So what really happened to ol' Zippo, anyway? He just not wanna' show up? I ain't buyin' the corpse-story, he ain't never struck me as the dyin' type."

Helena looks Kain right in the eye, despite her short height. "You can believe whatever you like." she says. "But you heard about the Reaper and that unidentified corpse that was recently found near Chelsea?" Again, her lips purse tight. "That was Cameron. Someone's targeting Evolved. If you've got any people who might need to know, warn them." Her jaw sets. "Call that your tip." She looks over her shoulder at Abby. "Ready?"

"Ready" Abigail nods once more to Helena, a deep inclination of her head to Kain out of respect. "Best be warned and best be safe, if your gifted like the good woman says she is" It's careful steps backwards, towards the passenger side of the van. "Thank you for following through on this delivery, even though you likely could have walked off with it and would not have known. I'll says a prayer for your manners to keep on as they are"

At the insistance and the strong attitude, some of Kain's puffed-up demeanor deflates, and his shoulders slouch, brows lowering when his gaze moves from the girls to wander the gravel at his feet. "Hey," His tone has completely changed, "M'sorry," It sounds honest, and a touch disheartened, unlike much of his earlier attitude. "Ah was an aquaintence of ol' Cam. He an' a good buddy a'mine go back a long ways, we had drinks once or twice. He was a good kid, ain't right for somethin' like that t'happen t'him." His eyes shift over to the hulking man in the suit who laborously moves from one truck to another carrying stacked ammo crates.

"Look, whatever it is you kids're doin', Ah' ain't gonna' get in the middle of it. But," He nods his head towards the truck that Helena brought, "Ah' offered mah services t'Cameron back when he got his feet dirty and wanted t'keep his hands clean. So, as a favor t'an ol'friend, Ah'll keep th'line of business open with you. Cam's got mah contact number in that phone a'his you answered, under Han." He cracks a smile, awkwardly, "You jus' go on up an' call me if you need anything off the books. Information, hardware, or someone disappeared one way or another. I ain't normally gonna deal with kids, but if yer' money's green…" He finally looks back up to Helena, "Then Ah'll work with it. Now…" He tries to act a bit more tough, despite the confirmation about Cameron seeming to have shaken him up a little. "You go on an get your pretty little heads out've here before somebody gets the wrong impression seein' you with a shark like me."

His eyes then fall on Abby, grimacing slightly, "Mah daddy always prayed I wouldn't turn out like him." He makes a crooked smile and holds out both of his arms to his side, then shrugs, "Guess he prayed hard enough."

Helena looks for a moment like she's sucking on a lemon, and then nods to Kain. "Thank you." she says again, sincere, if terse. "I'm sure I'll be calling you in the future." Her brain is whirling, there the hell are they gonna stash this stuff? She'll need to make some calls while they're on the road. "Abby, can you drive? I'm going to need to be on the cell." She gives Kain one final nod before she joins the other blonde back at the truck.

"I can drive enough to not get us arrested. I'll still pray for your manners, mohnseeieur. Least I can do from someone from back home. You get going too before someone takes an interest in your hide. Not do well for you to get in a mite of trouble either" There's a motion with one hand for Helena to pass her the keys, shotgun held casually before she slides up onto the seat.

October 20th: The Edge of Reason

Previously in this storyline…

Next in this storyline…

October 20th: Christmas Comes Early
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