(3CM) Norteno's Trax

[Bea]

The Norteno's new hangout, Trax, reminded Bea a lot less of a hole-in-the-wall, and a lot more like just a shit-hole. She always hated whenever her business took her places like this. She preferred to think of herself as the kind of person that was more akin to Lord of War than something like New Jack City, or City of God.

But life wasn't a film, even when your heart stopped beating and fangs grew in place of your eye teeth, so Bea turned to look at Ishani , the undead monstrosity occupying her passenger seat, and cocked an eyebrow.


"Are you ready? There's every possibility that this will go poorly. There's also the possibility that someone will try to steal this car, which would make things go equally poorly."

[West]

Trax has seen better days.

Without Roxie's guiding hand -- or the hand of anyone with an agenda more grandiose than 'fat stacks' and twenty inch rims -- the squat ranch style building has gone to seed. There's an air of disuse and misuse that starts with the weed-ridden parking lot and continues to the peeling paint.

Low riders dot the parking lot, of the two wheel and four wheel variety. From one end, hydraulics hiss as a venerable El Camino jacks itself up and down to appease a small crowd. The parking lot is mostly filled with young-bloods and wannabes. Kids, really, hoping to catch the eye of a real banger and get turned onto running or even holding down a corner of their own.

More than one finger points at the Phaeton.

[Ishani]

Ishani shrugs and nods to the scene unfolding around them. "I didn't really expect smooth here. I find young people these days to be hostile as a matter of principle for them. They have to prove something I suppose." She looks at Bea and smiles. "I will do my best to behave. I hope for their sake they don't try taking the car though. I have a feeling that would annoy you."

She forces yet more blood to move through her veins as she gets out of the car. Not looking very alive may be a conversation starter, but it wasn't really her first choice. She looks around, watching the kine play at being ad asses and waits for Bea to get out of the car. She hadn't been joking when she said Bea should take the lead here. Although Bea's manner could be very abrupt and to the point, Ishani wasn't much different. She didn't know if that kind of attitude would win them any points here though. And Ishani was fully aware of her temper. It was short, quick, and usually deadly to the recipient. She had a feeling that wouldn't go well either. She nodded to Bea and waited to see what she had planned.

[Bea]

"I assume I haven't done much to dissuade your opinion of youth," Bea replied with a wry quirk to her lips.

"Also, yes, having someone try to steal my car would be very vexing," she added, opening the door to her Phaeton and stepping outside.

She took a moment to glance around as she buttoned the front of her jet black suit jacket, taking in the sight the border's legacy. A reductive thought, perhaps, for a history of clashing cultures and economic legacies, but it was all Bea could spare for the moment. She had business to take care of tonight.

Walking around to the back of her car, Bea popped the trunk in reached in to grab a black duffel bag that she'd prepared for just this moment tonight. Inside lay the one bargaining chip that she'd thought appropriate to bring.

"All right, let's go," she said, hefting the bag over her shoulder and walking into the bar.

Bea has the usual equipment posted under her mini sheet, but in the duffel bag is also an unloaded AK47 with 4 empty clips and 120 rounds in boxes.

[West]

"'Sup lil mama..."

"Go for a ride..."

"...someone to watch this car..."

"...five-oh..."

"...what's in the bag..."

"...watch dat ass..."

"Shake it..."

"...wearing a suit..."

"...honey bitch..."

If Bea hung a steak around her neck and walked into a dog kennel, it would be like this. The wannabes converged with rabid eyes, flashes of teeth, and lolling tongues. Crotches were grabbed and hips pumped as they followed; some in front of her, walking backwards.

Even the El Camino hissed.

A parking lot never seemed so long or door so far away. A man sitting on an overturned five gallon painters bucket stood and moved to block the door. Silent and inscrutable behind sunglasses, he'd tip the scales at three hundred pounds. Most of it was simply bulk, torturing a dirty wife-beater that topped denim shorts and sock and sandal clad feet.

Apparently Trax was a private party.

[Bea]

Oh look...

There were free snacks.

She might take one, or maybe two, once she concluded her business.

Who was she to pass up free food, particularly when it came in such willing packages? Four arteries, a plethora of veins, and the corpus cavernous, which was essentially a sponge of blood that stood up to greet you. Only the jugular could beat that.

Sadly, the eager little snacks would have to wait. Bea still had business to take care of, and so she did her best to ignore the flurry of cat calls and focused her gaze on the two panes of black glass that hid the eyes of the door guard.

"Hola," she began, slipping the strap of the duffel bag off her shoulder and extending it toward the tub of a man. "Un regalo para tu jefe. Necesito hablar con el. Tenemos asuntos que discutir."

Then she waited, curious to see if the guard dog was as bright as she was hoping he'd be.

Apologies if the Spanish above is terrible. It should say: "Hello. A present for your boss. I need to speak to him. We have business to discuss."

[West]

Tomorrow Ishani will be written out if there's not a post Frost !

[West]

It's a process.

Mainly because the Super-Sized Door Guard Blocker doesn't move real fast. He takes the duffel bag, unzips it, and looks inside. Slowly bangs on the door with a knock that's too carefully cadenced to not mean anything. Eventually the door opens and a guy steps out. Hispanic, but surprisingly 'normal' looking. If Bea saw him at a college campus, she wouldn't look twice.

He inspects the bag.

"So. 'Choo wanna talk about? This business? Or something you got from your old man before running away."

At least the hyenas nipping at her heels have fallen silent and started wandering back to the parking lot's outskirts.

[Bea]

Bea couldn't help but laugh at the idea, loudly, her teeth flashing in a wide grin.

"That's a nice thought," she replied, "but this present isn't meant to impress you." Mostly. "It's because you don't give an enemy a weapon that can fire 600 rounds a minute. Business associates, however, are a different story. So let's go inside and talk. I guarantee you'll be interested in what I have to say."

And she knew he would say yes. It wasn't every day a strange woman walked up to your door with a free assault rifle in hand. Whether or not that same assault rifle would buy her the answers she wanted, however, was, as she'd said, another story.

Should I be rolling persuasion?

[West]

The lieutenant gave the door gorilla two slaps on the shoulder and the bulk shifted away from the door to the soft squeak of tortured sandals.

"You can talk to Lobo," he said, leaning into the door to push it open.

Most of the restaurant was empty. A few tables had clusters of other full members; talking quietly, counting money, or rolling dice -- all of which fell silent as Bea was admitted.

A table in a corner sat a single large man; unlike the gorilla, it looked like solidly muscled bulk. A garish paisley flared out into a wide seventies collar and beady eyes looked out from under a heavy brow and close-cropped hair. A cigarello burned slowly in an ashtray.

"What'choo about, lady."

Lobo.