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It's already getting dark; the days are getting shorter and shorter. There are many reasons why long days are good, but at least long nights make certain types of business easier to transact.
For example, handoffs involving armored cars.
Just as has been promised, a red Dunbar truck is sitting in the mall parking lot. Two uniformed men stand beside the passenger door, rubbing their hands to keep them warm while they talk, their breath wisping away into steam with each word.
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As they pull up, Dizzy looks out of the car to the truck and the two uniformed men.
"Yep, that's an armored van, for sure," he says out loud, an effort to break the tension.
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Monica flashes Dizzy a smile as she gives his hand a comforting squeeze.
"Don't worry Diz, I've got your back."
She checks the Glock in the back of her waistband as she opens the car door, however she doesn't get out just quite yet. Monica waits for Dizzy to take the lead, since it's his cousin's friend. Besides, men could get real funny about that stuff, sometimes.
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"Aww, that almost sounded sincere," he replied with a smile.
He wiped the smile away though, steping from the car. Tough-looking was so much better than smiling-fairy.
Dizzy walked over to the van and nodded to the uniformed men.
"Nice van."
Well, it was an ice breaker.
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The two men look up at Dizzy's approach, moving apart from one another just a little. It looks like the two have been bickering over something and he came in right in the middle of it;one of the men has a sour expression on his chubby face, and as he faces Dizzy and Monica he's muttering to himself sotto voce. His cheeks are ruddy but its hard to tell if its his mood or the crisp evening air that has his color up.
The other guard, hands on his hips, looks at the two approaching strangers. "Yeah, it is," he says after a moment, eyes flicking from Dizzy to Monica to out beyond the pair before going back to Dizzy. "What's your interest?"
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Following Dizzy, Monica stands behind him and to one side. For once, her features are expressionless. She does, however, try to read what emotion might be the cause of the sour expression on the chubby man's face.
What's the matter, baby?
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Dizzy resists the urge to look sidelong at his partner. He was just the friggin' driver.
"We're here to collect it," he states, bluntly, looking between the pair.
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"Oh, good," the guard says, reaching up to scratch at his beard. "It's about fucking time, man, I'm--" He suddenly pauses, eyes flicking past Diz and Monica; his partner stops muttering and follows his gaze. An SPD patrol car glides by the parking lot and they watch it with terror filling their faces until it passes out of sight, when they visibly relax and their breath spools out into the air.
The shorter, dumpier guard watches his partner as they try to get heir breath back and calm down. It takes Monica some time to realize it, since the expression seems so out of place in a situation such as this, but he's watching his colleague with what appears to be the sort of disgust one would reserve for multi-legged creatures scuttling out from beneath one's fridge. The look only darkens when the other guard continues talking.
"Look," Beardy's saying, "You got to be extra careful with this, all right? Don't do nothing stupid. I'm letting Mr. K do this for the same reason you're working for him, but he knows that if we get in trouble for how this thing comes back to us, he's gonna have to take it out of your hide. We clear?"
Dumpy jams his hands into the pockets of his Dunbar jacket with a deep frown.
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"Listen," Dizzy begins, throwing a trademark smile, "I'll keep it as pristine as you two fine gents have delivered it in, okay? Now, can we do this please. It needs to be back by midnight and time's a wasting."
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Beardy nods, "Right, right, of course," and looks to his partner--who just glares back. "C'mon, man, I need this" Beardy mutters, and Doughy fishes a keyring out of his pockets, cursing all the while. He steps forwards and holds the keys out to Dizzy.
Once the keys have been turned over, both men unzip their jackets, remove them, and offer them to Diz and Mo. The doughy one wraps his arms over his chest and rubs his shoulders to keep warm--which keeps his hands away from the pistol holstered at his side.
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