(Sink or Swim) Too far

[Jhet]

Jul 2014

From Nous to Star

Jul 2014

(Sink or Swim) Too Close

Sep 2014

(Sink or Swim) Too far

Dec 2014

(Sink or Swim) Scrambled Eggs and Hash

Jan 2015

(Sink or Swim) Homework

Continued from (Sink or Swim) Too Close...

Coffee and waiting is on order for at least a couple hours. Omar is off doing whatever tests he needs to do with the stuff that Star gave him. Jack of Diamonds. So cute. Not that Omar would notice. Not that Omar could notice. He doesn't have the frame of reference. Omar is off doing whatever tests he can manage in such a tight time frame, and Nous drove Star to a coffee shop an exit up the freeway.

The coffee shop isn't so much for coffee, but it's more a diner when the kitchen is open. At this early time of the night when the bars are just starting to be fully populated, there is only coffee and pie. The stick of the oil in the air is heavy long after the flat iron griddle has been turned off and cleaned. It permeates the air and leaves a film on anything that doesn't get cleaned daily. The coffee is not good. It tastes burnt, and there's no way to tell if that's its natural state, a product of being brewed hours ago, or a product of the machine not being very clean-or any combination thereof. It requires copious amounts of milk and sugar to mask that flavor and keep it from settling in the back of the mouth for the rest of the evening.

At least there's pie. Sugary, crumbly, syrupy pie.

The time limit for the spell comes and goes and the substance on the end of that Jack is as inert as it was when Star opened the deck of cards. About half an hour after the time limit was gone a solitary text comes in on the burner number.

Meet at the house. Need to talk terms.

[Star]

He's seen enough of these places to last a lifetime. Probably several. It's the kind of place he's stumbled into at three in the morning, or lounged in at three in the afternoon. Ports in a storm, greasy refuges, or just bookmarks.

One thing he knows? If the griddle's off, don't eat.

Burnt coffee grates at his olfactory senses. He'd given that up years ago, after a hum-dinger of a caffeine headache. Plus? Stains your teeth, yo. Every performer needs a shiny grill. It's the little things. Details. He'd known one coffee fiend that drank through a straw because of it. His straw was currently being used on his water. Every now and then it would attack the lone lemon slice among ice cubes.

He held up his phone to show Nous. It wasn't bragging. It was transparency.

"You want me to try to redirect so you can get a look at him?"

Maybe Omar wanted it bad enough to step outside of his man-cave-comfort-zone and meet here. Him? He didn't care, but maybe Nous wanted to see the guy.

[Jhet]

"Not really. I don't want Omar seeing my face and then ruining the good work I'm trying to put into this community. Kids need a safe place to grow up. And they need a grown up who can show them the way and keep them safe. Most of their parents are too busy working two and three jobs to do that. So I'm trying to help with what I can. Can't have Omar ruin that for us."

Who the 'us' is, isn't completely clear, but it's safe to assume it's at least Nous and Shaniqua. Because the kid grows on you. Attitude and personality in spades.

"Beside, he says meet at the house. Not come to the house, or come to my crib. It's more open ended. Wouldn't want to ruin any chance of him showing you something that my presence would screw up. You made an impression though."

Made an impression. Or something. Did she have a pit in her stomach telling her that this is a bad idea? Always. It's a worse idea to let a breach go public, especially if there's any chance of stopping it. She asked the right guy to deal with it. Right?

[Star]

Would it be tacky to hum Whitney Houston? Probably. Still.

You're a marshmallow, Nous Trois.

He nodded. Yep. He wouldn't have been thrilled if she'd wanted to, but he made the offer. Because polite. Well. And it would be nice to know if someone could identify his murderer if things went sideways. He dinked the lemon one last time.

"Coolio."

Turning the phone around, his fingers rapped out a staccato message.

On the way.

[Jhet]

She probably has the Whitney Houston album on her iPod. Not because she's a p.o.c. but because Whitney was the bomb. And interstellar bomb of vocal awesome-osity. Also, they have similar problems with curly frizzy hair. Sistahs gotta stick together.

Coolio doesn't share a hair type with Nous though, and he's not on her iPod. It's a better chance of Slater-Kinney coming up on random than much else like Coolio from that decade too. She just drives back to Omar's 'office'. The house is still there on the dark street, a few cars having left and a few arrived on the street. It's still the picture of a broken neighborhood when you look it up on wikipedia. She parks in silence, a few houses down the street from Omar's office.

That's when for the first time tonight, there's actual traffic on the road. A large work van comes from one direction, and a sedan from the other. Before Nous has a chance to pull back out onto the street, she's boxed in, and there's a bunch of thugs pointing their pieces at the car. Even if she wanted to take off, the extra insurance on the rental probably doesn't cover bullet holes and while she can patch herself up, she can't patch up Star. So she leaves the car in park.

Omar saunters up to the passenger window and a tap-tap comes from the metal in his pistol as he knocks on the side of the car.

"So, you comin' wit or are you gonna make me hide a coupla bodies tonight? Be a shame to have to hide one of them."

He's not clear whether he's talking about Elle or Jack. Doesn't matter. Invitation's out there.

[Star]

He should have gone to the bathroom at the diner.

Funny thing? In the movies, field agents never 'go'. He wasn't sure if that was a Hollywood thing, or special training. Tonight, he might find out. A few moments were spent rummging in his pack as they drove. Gum. Mints. Something. He had a travel brush and toothpaste, but, no water and nowhere to spit.

It's the little things.

He wanted to ask if the radio station was broken, but before that happened, they got Yakuza'd.

That glare? He'd practiced. Sure, he looked like an angry koala, but it was definitely a step up from an angry sugar glider. Slow movements got him out of the car, grabbing his pack.

"Dude. What." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Why you gotta put my business out on the street? I told you I was coming over. That's unprofessional, man. And way uncool."

[Jhet]

"You pulled some David Blaine shit with the card. I couldn't have you going rabbit in a hat on me. It's unprofessional to give such a short time limit for delicate work. Now get your scrawny white ass in my car or your bitch gets it."

Not the most eloquent of demands, but Omar's point is clear. Nous' knuckles turn white in how she's gripping the steering wheel. The situation or the label running her rage right up into high gear. She stays put and says nothing. There's a barrel of a gun visible just pointing down at Nous from the passenger van window. Who knows how many other guns are pointed at them from within the door that hasn't opened yet. Trap sprung.

"Let's see if you can be more professional this time."

[Star]

"Don't be like that." He started walking wherever Omar's leading.

"You know how hard it is to find a girl born on April 11th?" Well. Not really. Nineteen million, the last time he looked. But not a birthday, yo. "She's hot, huh?"

Yep, he'd closed the door. He offered a fist bump. Dap time. Because hottie. Don't hate, appreciate.

"What's with the whole Blackwater thing? Where we going? Not, like, where-where, more like, what are we doing?" he asked. The tone was casual; unconcerned. "Because, dude, I'm not gonna lie. I gotta go. Bad. Even if it's just behind a tree. Unless we're getting somewhere soon."

[Jhet]

"You can go when you get there. What you think this is, a family vacation? Get in the fuckin' car. We gonna talk terms."

He points at his car with his gun. Omar is serious. He brought cavalry. He brought a van riding heavy. It shouldn't need to get more obvious that he's serious. He leaves the fist bump hangin'.

"Maybe you show that you got some real skill that can be 'ppreciated, you get to ask questions. 'Til then, you gotta decide. You want to talk business, or you want us to be cleaning your blood off the street?"

[Star]

"Dude. I'm not slow-walking you." He wasn't. He was going.

"I was just making conversation."

The outstretched hand turned into a one-handed shrug. It's all fun and games until someone lets it fly out of an open door. Windows are just too high.

"Let's do it."

Whatever 'it' was.