Cal turns to Alexis. He kind of agrees, but is also mindful of his authenticity-fetishising hipster cred.
"Why don't we at least step inside, see what's up?"
Maybe find you some honest work.
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Cal turns to Alexis. He kind of agrees, but is also mindful of his authenticity-fetishising hipster cred.
"Why don't we at least step inside, see what's up?"
Maybe find you some honest work.
As Ramiro sits he hasn't seen hide nor hair of his target yet. But his guy had told him that he would be here tonight. Ramiro sat in sniffers row, one of the broke ass women walked over and said... "HeY Baabbyyy, Youu wAnT. a LitTle pRivate time..." She said in her shakey, barely there voice.
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"Fine," Lexi snaps, her eyes glinting dangerously. "But since this isn't a proper club it means I can bring in something else."
With that she ducks back into the car and begins rooting around inside the dashboard, blindly grabbing various objects until she discretely pulls out a champagne pink hold-out. Still inside the car, she opens her purse and carefully places it where it "couldn't" be seen. Getting it out might be a problem but she mainly wanted the gun just so she could mentally say she was carrying.
Once she was finished she shut the car door and adjusted the small dress she wore before walking next to Cal. "Maybe this will be more fun than I thought."
Hide failure
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"Fuck off and get me a beer." Ramiro says, flinging a twenty across the table.
He grabbed his head with both hands and rubbed down to his chin. His temples were pulsing, and he could feel flushing. It wasn't the beer, it was his patience. The feeling of how just he was about to lose it had just crept on him.
Dealing with this kind of shit was dealer business, he was past having to do this himself, he thought in passing. But he was a hands-on man, and when you fucked with him personally he liked to deal with it himself.
He ran off with a lot of his product, and hadn't even been in touch about payment. That was just disrespectful.
The shakey stripped does just that. And doesn't return the change.
As far as the two Abbey members walking up to the strip club. The heavy with the clip board looks like he is about to say something. Then decides that he will let the chick and the queer in. Its been a long time since a woman had been in this place who wasn't looking for work or to score.
Once inside they realize that this place is not one of those where its better on the inside then the outside. As they go in there noses are filled with the smell of stale beer, bad perfume and vomit. Along with that there isn't a single Diamond in the rough here. The woman gyrating on the stage looks like she had been used up and thrown away a couple times. And she is the best looking one there. The only one that stands out in the entire place is the tough looking dude in Sniffers Row.
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Third wanders over to the bar, watching the floor for anything sticky. He screws up his face at the ragged talent working the place. Looking at the guy in sniffer's row, he's glad that it isn't his picture in the file. He searches to make sure he hasn't lost Alexis and motions for the bartender's attention.
"You do a fuck punch here?" he asked, somewhat unwisely.
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Unlike Cal, Alexis decided that even though she was sticking out like an elegantly manicured thumb-nail, she was going to go for broke tonight. They were here to get information and she was intending to get it in the only way she knew how: by wheedling and lying through her white-on-white teeth. She came strolling in after the Third, taking a moment to look 'appraisingly' at the strippers before following him to the bar. The man by the stage didn't look as though he belonged there, but then again, who really did 'belong' in this shit-hole? Well, murdering pedophiles, Lexi thought, taking a seat at the bar.
"Do you serve Orgasms," Alexis asks, miming a drinking motion with a grin. "We've never actually been in here," she adds, nodding towards Cal, "but a friend of a friend usually man's the door so we thought we'd take a peek inside. Were is Sturly tonight, anyways?"
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'The hell is with these two? Spoiled kids trying to roll around the shitter for kicks so they can claim they're hardcore to their buddies?' he snorted out loud and took a long gulp from the bottle. Swill. Would pay anything for an Aguila or a Costeρita right now. Literally, maybe.
American cheap beer was fucking insulting.
He took another look around, casually. Trying to see if the mark was there. He was itching at this point, physically itching, it was somewhere in the frontal lobe of his brain. He'd have to go through the forehead plate to scratch it though.
"If you want an orgasm talk to one of the girls. You ain't gonna get that shit here." The bartender says ignoring the hipster kid.
But the three hunters, waiting for the same target, wouldn't need to keep waiting long. The target walks out of the back. He is dressed okay for a place like this, clean pair of jeans and a collared shirt. Only thing that any fashionista may find annoying is that damned popped fucking collar. That dude is just asking to get killed...
Shortly after he exits the back room a girl comes out too. She looks like she's been crying.
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'So he's here. Nailing a broad to the floor while I am drinking bottled piss and watching Mary Meth strut her stuff. Virgin Mary, fucking...'
Ramiro paused and scratched his forehead, that itch. He blowing steam through his nose now. He gave himself a second so the bile went back to his gut before he took another swing from his bottle.
'Where are you going then? Come on...'
He watched the stage, trying to pretend being remotely interested, while keeping the corner of his eye on that piece of work.
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