“…..Let mine go huh? Actually, you shot. Wait. Unloaded into the guy we were actually looking for questioning, jackass.” Daysha took a drag of her smoke.
Usually she wasn’t this bitchy. Most of the time she kept her police cool.
It’s a good thing she wasn’t drinking.
“Sure, you can help us bring her down.” Taking another drag.
“But about your balls. There’s no way in hell I’d ever get on them.” She wasn’t that desperate.
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"Alright, get off my back then. There, happy?" Ramiro says, huffing and shaking his head. "Cristo Santo..."
He motioned for another drink. The bartender might just flip out at him, but he had to try. Cop breathing down his neck was draining his mood.
"Couldn't let him live. Told you I went there for him. Figured you three had the other two, but there you go. Share a smoke?" he asks, raising his hand. He had ran out.
Daysha haphazardly threw her pack of cigs at Ramiro.
It could be that he had no remorse for what he did sickened her even more. Sturling may or may not have been a vampire, and obviously he ran with them. She needed facts, but clearly it was too late for that. Dickhead.
I'm sure this fucker kicked little old ladies when they were down too.
The Back door crashes open and in walks a coverall wearing Irish, cigarette in one hand, shovel in the other. "'ey 'ey 'ey yer derdy bastards, why don't yer shut de feck up an' tell de auld paddy waaat 'appened. Cause oi nu waaat oi jist got done cleanin' up yisser feckin 'ames." The Irishmen drops the shovel on the bar top. On the end of the shovel there is dirt, mud and clay.
The Old Man pours the round and looks to the Detective. "Drink the whiskey, I poured it."
Shit, Irish cleaned up the mess?
Looking at the old man and trying to be polite, cause her father would be disappointed. "With all due respect, I'm already bitchy I don't need it amplified."
"You can give mine to Irish." Cause he's pickled anyway. God I hope he didn't clean the shit up drunk.
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Alexis bit her bottom lip as Irish entered, trying not to laugh at his accent. Through the light drug haze which surrounded her, every word that came out of his mouth started summoning images from certain cereal commercials. Finally she managed to pull herself together by downing her shot of whiskey, using the alcohol's tender burn to chase off the giggling fit.
"Alright, alright, I'll explain. Damn, can't believe I'm beating the cop to this one," she chirped, giving a brittle laugh. "Ok, so here's what happened. Cal and I went to dig up info on Sturly, like we were supposed to, but we were going to do it on the DL. 'Cause, we were, ya know, thinking of being smart. But then our plan came crashing down around her fucking ears because your Intel was fucking horrible. He worked at a shitty STRIP CLUB! NOT A CLUB! How do you mess that up? Oh, and he was also A DRUG DEALER! Who the fuck gave you info on the bastard?" she spouted, her seemingly lighthearted explanation turning into a rant. The more she had thought about the incident, the faster her old frustration had returned.
"GOD! So anyways, we show up looking totally out of place and where just about to start getting some info when some dumbass biker starts trailing after Sturly. I called Daysha for backup and went on with the plan and then the next thing we know this jackass," she says, pointing at Ramiro, "shows up, and then a vamp shows up, and it turned into a shootout. We won, the vamp ran, and it got cleaned up. All in all, it wasn't our fault so don't start giving us any shit. There. I said it." The abbey gal slumped in her seat, brushing a fall of lank hair out of her face.
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Cal loses his shit and starts snickering like a hyena into his fist at Irish's accent, mounting tempers and the atmosphere of disarray.
"Yeah," he manages, bringing sucking, giggling breaths under control. "There was this gross vampire hooker. And a biker. Whoever put that folder together really fucked the dog. I don't even know who that guy is."
Cal points at Ramiro.
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"Name's Ramrod, we're in the same business and were going at the same man for different reasons." Ramiro says, catching the cigarette and lighting it with his own lighter.
He takes a long drag, a good quarter of the whole cigarette, and blows the thick cloud of smoke through his nose.
"I might know Sturly's buddies, maybe we can track the bitch from there."
"The intel I gave you was what I had. It wasn't concrete." The Old Man says at the accusations. "So what did you find out? Anything? Do you even know who the Stripper was?"
Irish reaches across the bar and takes the shot sitting in front of Daysha and takes the shot. "Ello Luv."
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"No, we didn't find out anything besides the fact that I need to start using a bigger gun," Alexis said, her mouth quirking in a tight smirk. "Stupid vamp outran our bullets, if you can believe it. If I'd have had something with more punch we might have taken the bitch out. Ah well. At least the kiddie rapist bit the bullet. I mean, that counts as some intel right? Oh, and the fact that the guy who was giving Sturly the beat down, the biker I mean, they were both thralls to the Vamp. Really weird if you ask me."
It became more than clear, at this point, that Alexis was uncomfortable during silence.
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