Tricky Ricky And The Dangerous Double Cross


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Scene Title Tricky Ricky and the Dangerous Double Cross
Synopsis Richard Daselles is about to make a thousand and one enemies…
Date August 26, 2010

The Rookery

The Rookery is one of the most dangerous places in the United States, a haven for drug and gun running, human trafficking and murder. Even with the United States Government leaning down on Staten Island, the Rookery still proves to be the pustulent head of Staten Island's infected underbelly.

It's on one particularly hot and humid summer afternoon that brings Rain O'Niel out to this terrible side of New York City. Where derelict apartment complexes lie boarded up, burned out husks of cars lay on the street side, and graffiti paints nearly every building and surface. A musty stink rises up from trash-clogged sewer grates, rain soaked newspaper pages lie patch worked across the sidewalk, and homeless junkies are huddled in shallow alleyways and stoops for closed up businesses.

On one particularly run down street, there lies a brick-faced building of crumbling appearance with barred windows on the ground floor. The old sign that once proclaimed Tuck's Pawn Shop is now unlit and left to fade further than it already was. Near the pawn shop entrance, there is an entrance to a stairwell marked with a smashed in intercom and buzz-lock system that leads up to apartments above the pawn shop.

It's here where a man known on Staten Island as 'Tricky Ricky' resides, an on-again off-again informant for the Company, drug runner, and generally untrustworthy sod of a man. But the Company knows him by a different name, Richard Daselles, and knows him as the man who might just be able to crack the murder investigation of Senator Anthony Portman wide open.

When Rain pulls open the shattered frame of the doorway that leads to the apartment stairwell and heads up the concrete steps to the second floor, he can hear the muffled and distant sounds of an argument, a man and woman's voice raised, something smashing, a child crying. Another floor up a dog is barking and someone has their radio on too loud, but far enough away that only the generic bass beats can be heard through the ceiling.

Apartment 201 is the first door on his right, just like he'd read in the dossier. It's numbers have long since been peeled off — they were copper, but copper is valuable — and all that remains now are the faded markings that ghostly show suggestions of numbers. Beyond the door, the sound of a too-loud television prattles muffled through the too-thin walls.

Rain looks extremely out of place, but he doesn't feel out of place, nor does he look like he does. He looks confident, like he belongs here and no one needs to question whethe rhe does or not. His steps are steady and even as he makes his way up the stairs to the tenements, steps quick as he climbs the stairs. He makes his way up through the building, pausing at the door he's supposed to knock on. First he walks up the hall, then down the hall a bit, then back up it, nodding in satisfaction before he turns. He eyes the door for a few moments, going over what he is and isn't going to say, then gives a firm knock on the door, the young blonde finding a patch of wall that won't give him AIDS to lean back against and settle in to wait for the door ot be answered.

While he does he checks over what's on him, his phone, and for once his tazer. He never carries the thing, but this time he did. He still doesn't have an actual gun on him, but he's got his tazer and his ability, and a cell phone. If he gets into any trouble that he can't get himself out of he can barrier and call back up. His eyes settle on the door across the hallway from him and he simply watches now, a slight smile gracing his lips.

"Hold on!" Comes the booming voice from inside, "Hold on!" A little quieter that time. With all the noise in the apartments, Rain can't quite hear what's going on behind the door, not until the floorboards creak right in front of it, and the chain slides back, two deadbolts click back into the door and the knob unlocks. When the door comes swinging open, there's a confused looking man with an unruly mop of curly hair standing on the other side.

He looks like he was expecting someone else. It always happens like this for poor Ricky.

"Whoa, fuck— Jesus." He closes the door partway, pressing a foot up against it and peers through the open crack at Rain while frantically trying to hook the chain back on. "Who the fuck are you, what the fuck do you want? Did Espenosa send you because I fucking told him I don't have any. Not that I don't appreciate the gesture but— fuck."

Rain to his credit, doesn't react in any fashion but to sm ile at the man. He watches him open th edoor, and then flip out, or partially flip out anyway. He crosses his arms over his slim chest and just stands there, that smile, confident without being cocky on his lips. Eyes glance over the man, and then the partially closed door. "This has nothing to do with Espenosa. YOu can consider this… a… social call." His smile twitches a bit, amusement flitting through his eyes. He pushes off form the wall, taking a single step towards the door and stopping.

"Richard Daselles." He offers the man's name, his smile staying in the realm of amused and confident. "I need to talk to you. I need some information, and we're accustomed to you being cooperative. My associates assured me you'd be able to provide me with th einformation I need." He lets one of his eyebrows slide upwards in question as he stands there, his arms uncrossing and hsi hands tucking into the pockets of his slacks.

My associates.

"Oh. Good. Oh just good, Jesus— Christ get in here before you go waving your badge around and get us both killed." That half-latched door rattles as the chain is pulled off again and Ricky opens the door, stepping aside to give Rain space to move in, even though he's watching the hall from partly behind the door. "Get in you're lettin' all the goddamned cool air out." Ricky leans around the door as he Rain inside, dark eyes checking the hall again.

The apartment beyond the doorway looks both like too many people and no one lives there all at once. Open pizza boxes are piled up near the door with crumbs on the linoueum floor. Portions of that very gaudy avacado flooring are peeling up in places. The paint is quite literally curling off the walls in spots and the flannel-covered couches have cigarette burn marks in them and tears in the upholstery where yellow foam pokes out.

A small cathode tube television rests on a tray opposite the couch, squeezed between a bookshelf and a fish tank that, on Veronica's last visit, looked so dirty it looks like an algae culture experiment, but now contains a twisting and knotted branch upon which a tiny songbird perches, chirping and tweeting beneath a cage mesh cover. On the television, it's clear Ricky was watching Days of Our Lives and eating Cookie Crisp Cereal out of an open box.

Rain keeps his eyebrow lifted at th emention of a badge, but doesn't comment, just steps in when the man moves the door to the side to allow him inside. Rain steps inside, his eyes on the man, carefully watching him. He steps to the side of the door, giving Ricky the room he needs to close it. He then pulls a hand from his pocket and gestures for the man to lead him on into the apartment.

Eyes traverse the room, obvious disdain on Rain's features for his surroundings, even if that disdain is faked. He doesn't make any comments though, just turns his head a touch and brings his eyes around to rest on Richard. "Mister Daselles." He tips his head to him, just a slight tip. He doesn't launch into questions or anything like that, not sure how this man usually conducts business, so instead, for the time being, he stands there just inside the door, his hands in his pockets, an easy smile on his lips.

"I dunno where tall, brunette and gorgeous went but I think the price on my time's gonna' be a little bit higher if they're sendin' in the juniors…" Stepping away from the door after its closed and locked, Ricky makes his way not deeper into the small apartment, but into the kitchen and the refrigerator. "Alright, lemmie know whatever it is you think I know and then I'll tell you how much it's gonna' cost. At least you guys ain't sending more than one person again, cause I swear if I get a reputation as a Narc…"

Leaning over and opening his refrigerator, Ricky's bulky frame blocks out part of the refrigerator view, though the clink of glass bottles seems to be pre-emptive of his own question for Rain. "You want a beer or something?"

Rain lets a little bit of slyness creep into his features. "Well, I'll lay that one to rest right now. I'm no junior. They wouldn't send me if I was." He winks at the man, his smile twisting slightly into a smirk before he takes a few steops, following enough so he can see into the kitchen, if not actually be in th ekitchen. 'I don't drink when I'm working. Thank you though." He pauses, letting the pause linger out a few seconds before he continues.

"We're looking for someone. And we know you're the best source to go to when we want to find someone. How much do you charge for finding someone? You're not going to be in any danger if you give us the location of this indivdual. All we need to do is talk to him, and when I say talk there's no hidden connotations or actions. We need to /talk/ to him about a few things. So, how much?" Nope, he hasn't given a name yet, he's looking for prices first.

Making a grumbling sound, Ricky rises from his refrigerator with a green bottle of beer in one hand, closing the door with his heel. Pressing the cap of the bottom to the corner of the counter, one slam of Ricky's palm to the top pops the cap off. "Alright…" is a little belated to say, especially with the drawn out manner that the large man had offered it. "Well, see, that's kinda' complicated. 'Cause either it's gonna be cheap because it's someone I don't like, or it's gonna' be expensive because it's either someone I don't want getting asked questions— or generally someone who I'd be afraid to Narc on a little, even if you do tell me everythin'll be okay."

Furrowing his brows, Ricky looks askance to the television, then back to Rain as he takes a sip on the beer. "Starting price is sixty bucks if it's someone I don't like, you get more complicated and the price goes up."

Maneuvering himself to stand in front of the air-conditioner perched in one window, Ricky tips the bottom of his beer up and takes a long swig off of it.

Rain give shis head a slight tip when a price is finally named, a starting one anyway. He walks over a few steps,s topping as the man stands in front of the air conditioning. "Gregory Fritz." He sstates as if the name should be important to Ricky here. "We need to find thi sman, and we need to talk to him. He has information that we need, obviously, or we wouldn't hav ecome to you to find him. We also know he is holed up somewhere here on Staten Island."

Rain's eyes focus in on the man he's here to meet. "Now, you tell me how much you want, and we can get down to negotiations and figuring things out before you give me the information we need." He offers the man a slim smile as he waits for a response from him.

"Holy fuck, you're looking for Fritty?" There's an almost choking laugh from Ricky as he shakes his head. "Hey, fuck, man I'll do that for free if you promise to knock that motherfucker's teeth out aftrer you get questions from him." Cracking a smile again, Ricky lowers his beer and rests it on the chipped kitchen counter. "That piece of shit lives out in Port Ivory in this old dry-cleaners building on Woodland Terrace, number 332." Glancing askance at his beer, Ricky's brows furrow. "He runs bookie work for some pretty fuckin' cruel fights out there. Dog fights, homeless people. Really violent stuff."

Looking from his beer to Rain, Ricky's shoulders rise and fall. "If the tooth-knocking's out of the question, sixty will cut it. That guy's a piece of shit though, nobody'd miss his ass disappearing off the face of the earth, if you feds wanna' just make him vanish."

Rain reaches into his back pocket, not betraying the slightest emotion to the man before him. He pulls out his wallet, and thumbs it open, pulling out a hundred dollar bill. He tucks the wallet back away in his pocket, then steps forwards and holds the hundred dollar bill out to Tricky Ricky. "Call it incentive to keep quiet and a special thanks for providing the information so expediently and willingly." He smiles at the man, then pulls out his cell phone. He taps a few keys, typing out a quick message to record the information he was just given, then sends the text message out to everyone who needs to get it in the Company, then closes his phone and tucks that away inside of his jacket. "You have been very helpful Ricky. I'm sure we'll be seeing you again sometime. Thank you for your assistance."

"Well ho-lee shit." Ricky notes as he snatches that crisp $100 bill up and snaps it taut, holding it up to the glow of sunlight coming through one of the partly blinded windows. Brows are furrowed, "Man it's even real too. I mean, heh, not that I doubt you agency types but man…" There's a flash of a smile from Ricky, then an askance look offered to his television before he ambles over to Rain. "Okay, you know, you're a good kid. So, I'll throw in a little extra something since you've been a fair shot on this. Fritz? He's small time in the criminal scope of things, now I dunno what you actually wanna talk to him about? But despite his small-fish status, he happens to have big teeth.

Looking into the kitchen, Ricky lowers his voice as he sidles up to Rain. "See, Fritz is one of them Evolved," his stare swivels back to Rain, one brow lifted. "Dunno exactly what he does, but it fucks with people's minds. I saw one guy get Fritz pissed, next thing I know the guy's pissing himself and crying and trying to hide under a table. Fritty didn't even so much as bat an eyelash. I hear that he rigs the dog fights by fucking with one dog with his power too. Seems to work on animals and people."

Ricky leans away from Rain, then begins meandering into the kitchen to retrieve his beer. "So if you're goin' down to deal with him? Best be careful to stay on his good side, because if not? His dog's are the least of the shit you'll have t'worry about."

Rain lets an evil and wicked little smile pull at his lips. It's a complete act, but he is good at acting. "Thank you for the tidbit Ricky. And you can trust in the fact that we have ways to deal with the Evolved." He smirks and looks around the apartment a moment before his eyes settle once again on the man sitting near him. "Thank you for being so very helpful. It means alot ot us that you are so cooperative. We'll be seeing you again soon, and maybe we'll send the hot brunette back." He winks at the man, his sly smirk spreading further over his lips. "Take it easy Richard." He turns towards the door then, pullin git open and stepping cleanly out into the hall. The door will be shut behind him before he starts along, smooth easy strides carrying him down the hallway. His phone is flipped open and a call placed to Veronica. He'd rather deal with her than Ryans."

Up in his apartment, watching Rain come out the front door, Richard Daselles furrows his brows and reaches down for a disposable cell phone kept near his fish tank. Picking it up, he peers thorugh the blinds again and presses one of the speed-dial names. Waiting for several long moments, Ricky turns around and offers a hushed murmur into the phone. "Espenosa," sounds tense, "yeah it's Ricky. Look, I just had a fed nosing around here about Fritz…" Ricky looks over his shoulder and out the window, eyes narrowed.

"He didn't say, but you might wanna watch the fuck out. I gave 'em the address for the old dry cleaners we used that time?" His voice is nervous, one hand shaking while he talks on the phone. "Yeah… yeah. Alright, look— I just— we're still cool, right?" There's some things that Richard Daselles fears more than any one government acronym agency.

"Good, good, I— I'd really like to keep it that way."

Daniel Espenosa is it.

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