The Old Man eyed the newcomer suspiciously, and wondered if he'd had an advert jammed on Craigslist without knowing about it.
"Can I get you somethin', Lady?" he grunted out.
Goddamn customers.
The Old Man eyed the newcomer suspiciously, and wondered if he'd had an advert jammed on Craigslist without knowing about it.
"Can I get you somethin', Lady?" he grunted out.
Goddamn customers.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Yeah," Nicole turned around in her seat to face the Old Man.
"A beer, please."
She glances up at the old man quickly, a bit surprised at the service. maybe it was too early for a beer, but maybe it was too early to be looking for the
thing that put her in the hospital; and would potentially put her in her grave.
She wished that beer was already in her hand when that thought caused goose flesh.
The Old Man grabbed a dusty bottle of Coors from behind the counter and opened it, sliding it across the counter towards the newcomer.
"Two bucks," he grunted out. "Anything else you're here for?"
Jacque grimaced as their words hit him like a cold torrent of water. He had already figured about as much, that this fight would be one that he fought away from the eyes of the world. What upset him was that this confirmation, this the realization that there were others like him and knowing they were in a situation that was little better than his. He was expecting the Men in Black and what he got was the neighborhood watch on steroids.
"Okay, not saying that I believe that you guys are straight shooters or anything, but where do you go from here? I mean like, do you actually kill these things, or more importantly can these things be killed?
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Thanks."
Nicole set her purse down on the bar, rummaging through until she found her wallet to produce the price plus tip. As she turn to shrug off the purse, Nicole watched as the man spoke; wondering after that grimace.
Nicole turns around and places the bills on the counter before her, glancing up at the Old Man.
"Are there any jobs around town?"
“Harlowe’s right. No one is hiding.” Daysha glared and seethed when she spoke. “Quinn also has a point. However some people like to live in a world of oblivion.”
She sat back in her chair recalling something for a moment. “Now, I don’t watch many movies but there was one cheesy one that I saw that said something that holds true for many things. ‘A person as an individual is smart; people as a whole are stupid.’ Or something to that effect. The thing is, you can’t just broadcast this shit to every Tom, Dick and Harry.” She looked around to the others. “Cause I know damn well I’m sane and I for one don’t want to fucking spend any time in a psych ward.”
“And yes Jacque, they can be killed… in a manner of speaking.” She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Is this fucking candid camera?
“There’s probably a lot of shit we don’t know about out there. I mean, look at all the hype about Area 51. Some people don’t need to see to believe. And some think seeing, is believing.” She said while wondering if Rory was getting to her.
I think I'm in my own personal hell. If it weren't for the other two women, I'd probably have probably been a total bitch at this point.
Jacque leaned against the wall, peering up the stairs that lead to the bar proper, he could barely make the out the sounds of people talking. "Look I'm sorry if this whole twenty questions thing is getting on your nerves, it's just that this is kinda of big deal to me y'know?" said Jacque with thinly veiled disdain.
He turned back to the group. "When I came to Sacramento I was expecting a safe place where I could put up stake. A place that I could use to springboard into San Francisco or L.A, but this? I'll admit I'm a bit rattled right now, so please bear with me while everything I used to believe in is subsequently torn apart, stomped on, and thrown into a fucking incinerator!"
Jacque sighed, rubbing his temples. I am so out of my league right now, but what the hell do these people expect? Is there some Monster Fighting Handbook that's suppose to be given out and I just missed it?
"I'm... Detective Jackson, Miss Harlow, Miss Quinn, I'm sorry, really. This has been one crazy-ass night for me, I don't what's real and what's not, but y'know fuck it. I don't have anything better to do, so I guess I might as well see where this takes me."
"Depends what sorta jobs you're lookin' for," the Old Man said, apparently paying hardly any attention. He started to wipe a filthy glass with an equally filthy rag.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"I'm trained as a Private Investigator." Nicole replies. She hesitates for a beat; wondering how much she should reveal. She might as well give a hint. If the guy decides she's a creep; she could try another bar.
"But I've been working with some guys off the Net. Net Zero."
The Old Man doesn't look up as he walks towards the register, flicking through the notes. When he gives Nicole her change, there's a keycard mixed in with the notes.
"Check out the pool table downstairs. There's a couple people who'd probably interest you down there," he grunted.
Members who have read this thread : 12You do not have permission to view the list of names.
Draft this Post
