Participants:
| Scene Title | Two Losers |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Cardinal hitches a ride back with two of the escaped robbers and does a little community service. |
| Date | October 16, 2010 |
Red hook
How long they drove, well, Cardinal in his form can't tell because he doesn't have a watch he can see and he's spent the ride clung like the shadow that he is to the leg of one of the thieves. Not your usual professional bunch, they had started hooting and hollering, the pair of them while they drove fast at first and then when a fair distance away, drove normally so as not to attract the attention of any cops till they could ditch the car and steal another.
But they eventually made it to some run down house out in the red hook area, pulling the vehicle up into the back of the residence, yanking a tarp over the car to hide it till they could dump that car too and headed into the house. "Think they'll rat?" THe masks came off, a tall butcher block faced black man and a more scrawney white guy with a pocked face that was the remnants of a pimply faced teenagedom in his past. "Bet your ass they will. They got most of the stuff, but we still got some good shit. We can stay here, maybe another hour, start gathering the shit and we'll get the van and take off. We can get out of here, go park in jersey, I got a guy who can take this shit" The black guy points out, even as he's stomping through the house grabbing empty duffle bags.
As the tall black guy stomps his way through the house, the living shadow that is Richard Cardinal weaves the way up the skinny white dude's back without any sensation whatsoever. A whisper coils from the darkness, a thoughtful murmur, "You know… a year ago… the Flying Dragons would've pulled your tongue out through a slit in your throat for hitting a business in Chinatown. What, did you figure that just because they were out of the picture there wouldn't be anyone in your way… a free ride…?"
The man's head whips side to side, turning quick and pulling out his gun as Richard starts whispering in his ear. 'Who's there? Jack!"
"Shut up and pack Stuart" The supposed Jack calls out. But Stuart is shuffling backwards in the livingroom of the run down home, head still whipping side to side.
"Unfortunately for you… the 'Dragons still have friends in Chinatown…" Cardinal's nowhere to be seen as the other man whips his head from side to side, "…and you killed some perfectly innocent people there. So what am I going to do with you two losers? I suppose I should just kill you… kill you…"
"Not kidding Jack! There's something here! Get the fuck down here" Stuart is backing through the house, constantly turning and looking around, gun up and safety off as he tries in vain to look for the source of the voice, not knowing that it's clinking to him and not actually corporeal. "Fuck chinatown, fuck the flying dragons and fuck whoever you are" he spits out, hands trembling as he moves.
The shadow upon the man's back twists with a subtle ripple as a gloved hand emerges from it with a heavy pistol gripped within it, an arm growing from Stuart's back and tilting the pistol until the barrel presses against the base of his skull. "Now," he whispers, "That's not terribly polite."
That was unexpected and it's plain to see by the way that Stuart drops his gun, that he's not exactly the best one in the bunch nor the ringleader. The gun doesn't discharge, and both his hands go up, quaking as Cardinal becomes corporeal and has his gun pressed to his head. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck" He whines. "Man, oh man"
The rest of Richard Cardinal pulls itself out of the man's back in a slow shift that twists him around to keep the gun against the back of Stuart's head. Once he's fully corporeal, he exhales a sigh of breath, "You're new at this, aren't you? You ever kill someone before, kiddo?"
"n..n…no" Elsewhere in the house, Jack is still gathering stuff, can hear the thump of things being opened and stuff removed. "You better be packing out there Stuart or I'm gonna have your fucking ass do you hear me?" Since he can't hear any movement. "Start packing the fucking van, we can torch this place after"
Stuart doen't even move, other than to twitch and shake, waiting for Cardinal to pull the trigger.
A sigh whispers past Cardinal's lips briefly. "Amateurs," he swears under his breath, and then he brings the gun up - and then down, sharply, slamming the butt of the pistol into the base of the young man's skull to try and knock him out.
Down goes Stuart, with a grunt, body hitting the floor as eye's roll up into his head, Stuart is out for the count which leaves Jack. Who has stopped making noises in other parts of the house. "Stuart!" He calls out, from somewhere upstairs.
There's nobody there but a shadow, though - well, a shadow and Stuart's unconscious body, the former of which drifts through the house as a lonely silhouette to head up after the shouting voice of the other man.
Through the house he goes, shifting like the shadow that he is, flowing up the stairs over the worn wooden steps with the one that a splintered and if any weight was put on it would surely send a foot plummeting down and lodge shards of wood in ones foot. The sounds have stopped up here and trips through the various rooms have found nothing in the shape or form of people, with cursory looking in rooms and under beds. There's money, cash all neatly piled in one room and the bag that Jack was using to toss in the money and other goods that look to have come from this place or that. Robbed homes and other businesses. But no Jack. An open window, but no jack.
Ah. A smart man. Well, there's plenty of money laying about, which Cardinal's shadowy form washes over in a slow draw… and in his wake, the cash vanishes as if it were never there. After collecting the loot, Richard Cardinal ghosts back along down the stairs to slip back out of the house.
Stuart'll probably find a new line of work, and Jack'll be running scared. Good enough.