Whiskey and Drugs


smedley_icon.gif tuck_icon.gif

Scene Title Whiskey and Drugs
Synopsis Smedley and Tuck meet to discuss a business arrangement.
Date February 26, 2009

Shooter's Bar and Grill

With law enforcement declaring the Island a low-priority in regards to enforcing various laws, many of it's visitors, businesses, and denizens have let their belts out one more notch in regards to the sorts of things they'll let themselves get away with. Wes Smedley's belt is still rather tight, but he is lingering a bit more out in the open between jobs. It's either that, or he's sitting at the bar in Shooters with half a dozen shots of whiskey on his tab, waiting for a job contact.

For anyone who knows the man, one is more likely than the other, especially at this time of night.

For a guy like Tuck, he was actually a bit better off with law enforcement. Kept him safe, and his business was usually too small to bother with anyway. He was always more useful as an informant than in cuffs in prison. But now, he's gotta fight it out more with the big fish.

He enters and nods to the bartender. He used to come here back when this was a cafe, backw hen he lived in a suburban home and played house. Seems like an age ago. "G'deve Charles. A pint of your finest Sprite please, sir." He leans on the bar and shrugs off his leather jacket.

There is a moment where Smedley has to hold a laugh in when Tuck steps up to the bar, but he drowns it in his seventh whiskey shot, slapping his hand on the bar once he's released the glass onto it. He's in his shirtsleeves, but they're both rolled up to his elbows, and his oilskin coat hangs on the back of the barstool. They don't skimp for comfort here at Shooters, apparently.

Smedly turns his stool just enough to look down the bar with a subdued yet professional sort of smile. "Tucker," he pronounces in greeting. "How's the swap trade?"

Tuck digs into his wallet for cash to pay for his pop. He glances over at Smedley and grins, both for the other man's state as in a friendly hello. "Oh you know. Lots of weapons going these days. Do you…?" a beat, then, "Listen there, Smed. Let's talk business when you're not pissed out of your mind, mmm?"

Smedley snorts, shaking his head before he leans in a little. "I'm as sober as a cat in'a room full'a rockers," he assures the other man with a smirk, "If you drank it, I'd bring you some damn fine drink. Not that you don't have a dandy collection here, Charlie." The latter is said with a slight raise of the head toward the barkeep, who makes no argument either way but sets Tucker's Sprite down in exchange for the cash without a word. "What're lookin' t'get?"

"Oh, I have wrestled with the drink. I think I'll stick with my dope, thank you." Tuck reaches into his pocket and pulls out a list with the names of prescription drugs. He hands it off to Smedley. "I'm willing to pay for your exclusive services in this particular type of merchandise." He purses his lips. "Competition is good in all economies except economies of crime."

With a thoughtful and somewhat impressed expression, Smedley takes the list and glances at it moment before pushing it into the pocket of his jeans. "I'm willin' to bring you ever bit of it I can lay my hands on, so long as we have an arrangement." Smugglers work on contracts, anyway. There's no sense in moving goods that aren't already wanted, save for a few exceptions. Smedley lifts his glass to signal that he's ready for another shot, and even after it's been poured, he holds it in the air to toast. "To not cuttin' each other's throats in order to fill our bellies."

"The ones with stars are the ones I can always move. The others are special orders. If I had certain requests, could you get your hands on it?" Hey, the people of Staten still have chronic conditions, even if the local pharmacy can't quite stay stocked up anymore. Tuck raises his sparkly, bubbly glass of Sprite that looks pure next to the shot of whiskey. "To…not doing that, yes. Here's hoping it lasts and we don't start eating each other alive, mmm?"

"I dunno, Tuck," Smedley says as he pulls his shot away. "I dunno if I could ever deign to sink my teeth into someone as sorry lookin' as you." He chuckles then, but after the shot is knocked back and he waves his hand as if clearing the air, it's back to business. "Depends. Some stuff's not too hard to find on the street, if you know the right people." Which is half of Smedley's job. "What sort of special order are you thinkin' about?"

"Certain…pharmecuticals, let's say. Narcotics. Painkillers. Or specific medications to which supply lines may have been cut." As he talks, Tuck fiddles with a wet coaster and starts to shred the edges. "Even antihistamines may be in demand someday soon. I'm…stockpiling. Preparing for such a time when our situation may become more dire. And for the record, I take no insult in the fact that you would prefer not to…bite me, Mister Smedley."

The other man's nervousness is noted, but it only makes Smedley smile a little more genuinely. After all, getting more utilitarian medications to the people who need them, even if it's going to a middle man instead of the doctors who diagnose such need, is work of a slightly more 'honest' nature than Smedley often has. "Don't worry, Tucker. I'll get you what I can, and I'll do my best t'keep it comin'. Can't promise a delivery date you. You understand."

"Oh, I've been in this business long enough to know that merchandise that doesn't come from a factory is not the most reliable." Tuck's not really nervous so much as he needs something to do with his hands. Even if that's ripping a coaster to pieces. Hey, he has to do something without beer labels to pick at. And you know what they say about people who do that. "I'm not a big enough operation to ask for an exclusive contract on the drugs that have street value. But I would appreciate a modest quantity."

"It's steady work, Tuck," Smedley admits with a shrug as he leans back in his seat, letting his arms cross lazily over his abdomen. "And I appreciate it from you. If there's a higher bidder, sure, I'll make a little. But you're offerin' me what'll more'n likely turn out to be a regular sort'a run, so long as no one gets wise." And he does his job well. "I respect that, and I can promise I will do my damnest to make sure you see proof'a that respect."

"Well good. I just hope that whiskey doesn't erase your memory and make you forget the terms we just came to," Tuck works his jaw back and forth, then takes a drink from his Sprite. He pulls out a cigarette and lights it. Seems he's not completely substance-free. "Do you think you could find me a buyer for jewelry on the mainland? I've got shit here that's just taking up room. Not a lot of demand for diamonds right now, y'know?"

Smedley mocks offense for a second, but a smile washes it away again. "I can see what's to be dug up, sure. Let you know if I find a fence. Any chance'a takin' a sample or two? Might make things go a mite easier."

"I run a pawn shop, sir. And it's jewelry. Which means the stock's all different. I can give you photos, manufacturer's names, serials. All that shit. Maybe a nice pair of diamond earrings. Are yours pierced?" The edges of Tuck's lips curl upwards. Hey, at least he amuses himself.

But Smedley only scrunches his nose as he frowns and shakes his head. "Nah, but Carson's are. Still, I don't think even diamonds could pretty up that mutt's mug. But pictures should be good. That lot like to see what they're buyin' before they commit is all."

"If you find someone who's interested, I'll take a trip to the mainland with some of the merchandise. I'll give you a finder's fee and give you the contract for ferrying the stuff over." Tuck reaches over to clap Smedely on the shoulder. Then he stands. "Gotta get back to the shop. Take it easy on the whiskey there, sport."

"I'll be in touch," Smedley says by way of parting pleasantries, but he adds with a wry grin. "You know, you can get a terrible bad headache if you drink Sprite too fast. Happened to a friend'a mine." He nods, lifting his empty shot glass before he offers it again to Charlie. Just one more. Or maybe a couple.

Gotta make it an even ten.

February 26th: In Tongues
February 26th: Best In Show
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