Take It From Me


cardinal_icon.gif smedley_icon.gif

Scene Title Take It From Me
Synopsis Smedley comes by to ask a question, finding himself brushing the edges of conspiracy in doing so.
Date Aug 22, 2010

Redbird Security Solutions

They're almost ready to open. Of course, if you want to be technical the company itself has been operating in some limited capacity, but the building is just about finished. The dim lights shine in the windows of the lobby as the sun sets, and Cardinal's in the lobby, sprawled out in the receptionist's chair going through some text messages in his phone.

He called first, which is something to be said when it comes to how Wes Smedley normally operates. When he arrives at what will soon be known to more than a few as Redbird Security, he's wearing his usual tan sportcoat, well-worn jeans, and boots. The only strange edition is the pair of sunglasses. It's not incredibly bright out, but there's more than one reason for a man like Smedley to don a set of shades.

Strolling up to the desk with no small measure of purpose, Smedley leans on the surface, his arms crossed. "What are you doin' between now and September third?"

"What we do every night, Pinky," Cardinal replies without missing a beat, "Try to take over the world."

The phone's snapped closed, then, and his gaze flickers up from the phone, eyebrows raising a little, "Why? Are you holding a Lunchbox Convention that you need security for, Cowboy?"

"Funny." But the way Smedley says the word, all lips and teeth, doesn't imply he finds it that way. He straightens up, taking a deep breath and lifting the glasses from his face as he looks around the empty lobby. "This is more important than gettin' paid for a job or unloadin' merchandise. I need information on one Emile Danko, and I need it before the third." Smedley could probably dig up the pertinent facts himself, but A) Cardinal could probably do it faster, and B) giving the man business is not something Smedley is going to avoid. Letting Cardinal kill the unfortunate soul, well. That's another story.

At the mention of that name there's a narrowing of Cardinal's eyes behind his sunglasses. "Danko." The name is thick with derision as he sits up, leaning forward with folded arms to the edge of the table and regarding Smedley over the edge of midnight plastic, "If you're looking to deal with him, don't. If you're looking to kill him? That's a very long fuckin' line."

Smedley's eyebrows go up, but he doesn't change his expression beyond that. "Gotta be a reason he's still kickin' then. Any ideas as to why that may be?" He leans back and looks down his nose at Cardinal, contemplating something.

"I don't plan to deal with him," he adds after a moment, but he leaves it at that. Not that Cardinal would turn rat on him. "What do you know about 'im?"

"It's funny you'd ask about him now, of all times," Cardinal says quietly, his jaw set as he regards the other man for a moment, his voice both flat and hard, "This is the one year anniversary of that sonuvabitch putting a gun to my… to someone I care about's head and pulling the trigger. He's alive because he's good at what he does. He's ex-military, black ops. He ran a Humanis First cell or three before we exterminated the sons of bitches. He's got backing from someone in the government. I'm guessing Mitchell."

None of this is good news. Smedley's face sours with each bit of it, and he finally runs a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head and pushing a deep breath back out through his nose. "Fuck." The word is spat out more than said, but it hides beneath a blanket of breath all the same. Mitchell's about as high a friend in high places one can get without having some serious good breeding.

"The fuck is the Vice President doin' supportin' a gang of nutjobs like Humanis First, anyway?" But it's a stupid question to ask. There are any number of reasons, and only a few of them have to do with the rumors that sprang up when Mitchell ran for President - rumors that hit a little too close to home for the westerner. "He got away from you before," he mutters, more of a fact-check than to rub Cardinal's nose in it. "Louse must be good to pull that off."

"More than once." Cardinal gives his head a tight shake, "I could tell you some things about Mitchell, but I'd start to sound like one've those conspiracy nuts, and you probably wouldn't want to get involved in all of that shit anyway - suffice it to say, he's a capital-b Bad Guy."

A bit of a lean back, hands on the desk as he regards Smedley flatly, "So what's your interest in the Hunter, Smedley?"

"Personal." That's what. A bovine reference creeps into Smedley's mind, but it's too reminiscent of other things and is quickly snuffed out. "You got any away of figuring out what he's up to? Where he might take aim next, so t'speak? I'd be interested in knowin' that. And I'd be interested in the assurity that you and yours are gonna steer clear'uh him for the next fifteen years." Smedley presses his lips together tightly and lifts his chin. There's really no more to be said on the matter.

"Danko's been off my radar for a good long while now, Cowboy." Cardinal's lips purse for a moment, then he shakes his head, eyes closed, "The only way I have to check on what he's doing is to ask our clairvoyant to look into it, and to be entirely honest, he's made her suffer enough. Unless you've got a really damn good reason for digging into him…"

But Smedley just shakes his head. "Don't bug her about it," he says gruffly, waving his hand in front of his face as if plagued by a foul stench. His mind is wheeling with possibilities, but each one get shot down. Too risky. Too dangerous. But he can't just stand around and wait for it to happen, can he?

"Thanks, Card," he finally says, a whisper of defeat in his voice. "You find out anything, you let me know." As he walks away, Smedley lifts a finger to point the promise at his associate, the other hand replacing the glasses on his face.

"Smedley." Cardinal's eyes open behind his shades as he sits up, frowning at the man's back as he turns away, "What's this about? And— by the way— I know someone you can bring that box to for identification." If he won't tell right off, maybe he can reel the cowboy back in with business.

It's a very tempting bait, but Smedley doesn't bite immediately. He does pause and stand a bit straighter, lowering his arms. He puts his head to one side and shrugs. "Swore I wouldn't tell, Card. Sorry." It's a little flippant, sure, but it's honest. "What kind'uh indentification we talkin' about? I don't think it has a serial number." It or the whatchacallit inside.

"I mean, she might be able to tell you what it is," replies Cardinal. He nods a little bit at the mention of the promise, not pressing any further, as much as it's clear he's tempted to. A lean back, slowly, "There's a motorcycle gang in the Rookery, the Ravens— ? Bring it to their leader at the garage, Devi, let her take a look at it. Tell her you're from me, so she won't try and fuck you over. And keep an eye out for the Locos, they've been around there lately."

The once-cowboy nods, his expression somewhat blank for the moments before Cardinal's warning. At the mention of the Locos, he lowers and shakes his head. "Why can't they just light their damn selves on fire already and save us all the headache from the fuckin' fumes…" The question trails off into more muttered if colorful language about the strange group of nigh-hoodlums in Staten Island.

"Thanks," Smedley adds once his brief tirade ebbs. "I'll go pay her a visit. You let her know I'm comin'?"

"I'll leave her a message," Cardinal says with a jerk of his chin up towards Smedley, leaning back slowly in his chair with a soft creak, "And, Smedley…"

A moment's pause, "…be careful. If you're going after Danko - the guy is really, really bad news. And that's coming from me."

A smirk curls into the corner of Smedley's mouth and he nods once again, lifting a hand to touch the the temple of his sunglasses in a strange sort of salute. "Duly noted."

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