Description: Anthrax (1985). As Elle continues to pick up on the contracts to sweep out what was left behind by the war in Southtown, she takes a moment to contact Jayden and discuss with him his future plans. As the case may be, it seems that the cajun commando is looking for more of the same. Lucky for him, Elle has work on the spot. Cleaning up the leftovers was never so profitable.
As the war in Southtown dies down from a nightmare to merely a bad dream for the majority of the populace, some people find that it's just business as usual. While many people clean up the wreckage of what's left of their lives, Elle finds herself cleaning up all the loose ends. This work comes in the form of taking care of her own personal business and dealing with the rise in basic contract work.
A stray ganglord here, a drug peddler there... with all the chaos having thrown the underworld in Southtown into disarray, it's pretty simple for a gun for hire to pick up work. The fact that she's normally hired to take care of people that are really dregs of society is is a nice change of pace. Nobody really complains when you horribly murder the head of a child prostitution ring except his clients, and they're not really the kind of people that can really raise a public fuss.
But it's this kind of work that gets you out there. People realize how nondiscriminating you are, and the phrase 'no job too big or too small' becomes a reality to most. That aspect of reliability is something a mercenary earns over time, and is really one of the biggest selling points that you can cultivate.
So what was a quiet morning turns into a busy one as Elle stops at a sidewalk cafe, waiting on Jayden as part of her schedule. Normally, she wouldn't meet in a public area like this. However, the way things are going, she has to adjust her schedule to meet the limited amount of time in a day. Each individual job doesn't pay much, but at a few thousand a head, she can walk away at the end of the week with a considerable amount of coin, which is what she needs to get her enterprises running again.
So she sits and waits. She's given herself plenty of time to get things done. So despite the fresh energy and the steady work, she's taken the time to relax and enjoy the new situation. Or, as much as an emotionally dead person that basically kills other people for a living can relax and enjoy anything.
Jay needed some time. Time to recuperate; time to consider, or reconsider, his association with Elle. After all, their first mission was a doozy--infilstrating a NESTS base, stealing and blowing shit up, dealing with an unbalanced, slightly crazy AI. Truth be told, he hasn't seen much action since then--but he's alright with that.
'til Elle contacts him, wanting a followup, he just lazes about, such as it is--still busy, just not for work. His approach to the sidewalk cafe is casual, unhurried, though the man is as wary as ever; he's already scoped out the area, making one pass before making a slouched approach to the cafe.
"Elle," he says, in greeting, gripping the back of a chair, dragging it outwards and dropping into the seat. Despite the casual, slouchy manuever, he looks fresh, alert, meeting her gaze dead on. He, perhaps, isn't quite as dead inside as she is, at least not normally, but the lack of emotion in her eyes doesn't seem to bother him any.
Truth be told, Elle's a little hard to deal with when you're not used to her. She knows that as much as the next person. Not a lot of people can tolerate her for an extended periods of time, and even in small doses she's a little bit of a pill to swallow. That doesn't really make her stop behaving that way. It just makes her appreciate the actions that others take when forced to play ball with her.
So the fact that Jayden feels the need to recuperate and reconsider is no surprise and not held against him at all. After all, this is why she's here, right? So as Jayden approaches, she gives him a nod, points to a chair and tosses a manilla envelope in front of him. "There's the remainder. Covers all the hazard, as promised, plus your share of the salvage sale." And it's all there. Elle's in a shifty business, but it doesn't mean she has to be shifty about it. The more on the straight and narrow she is, the better things go. At least in her opinion.
"So, that's how this works," she says, as if those words sum up everything he's been through. "I'm giving you one last chance to walk out of this. It only gets nastier from here on out. I pay well. I'll treat you well. But you have to put up with me and the work I hand out... and that's not for everyone and I understand that. If you want to walk away, there's no hard feelings, no loss of face, and next time I see you, it'll be strictly business. But if you're in it for the long haul, I'll show you shit you never even thought existed in this world, and you'll have more money than Uncle Sam ever thought he'd give you in a lifetime."
She looks up, craning her neck to peer into the cafe for a moment, as if looking for someone. Whatever she's looking for doesn't appear to be inside, and she turns her attention back to Jayden. "Just as a heads up, though. Your Frenchy buddy already signed the full time contract, if that influences your decision one way or another."
He snatches the envelope out of midair, opening it and taking a cursory peek inside. He's no math whiz--but it looks about right. Glancing up, he merely queries, mildly, "I don't need to count it, do I?" He probably doesn't--everything he's seen of Elle, thusfar, has been on the up and up. It'd be stupid to screw him over right here, where he -could- check it... and Elle isn't stupid in the least.
The envelope almost magically disappears, tucked into a pocket in his jacket--he's already made the decision to take it. If Elle tells him to count, he'll count, but he's pretty sure she'll pay what was promised.
"Walk _away_? You crazy, chere?" laughs the man. "Shee, I ain' worried 'bout danger. Wasn't trained to turn tail, y'know? Hell. No much use throwin' in with the other players. They all wounded, tryin' to fix themselves. An' their style ain't mine. I t'ink Blackjack be doin' fine for me."
All the inducements she just mentioned are bonuses, of course--but the money is good and the work involving. That's all he can ask for, really. Beats trying to rise in the ranks in the mob. He'd be there for years, ferrying packages and bein' shit on.
"Oh yeah? Well, shit. Then I def'nitly can't back out now. Ain't lettin' that froggy bastard gettin' one up on me like -that-, y'hear?" That information there, that's even more of a bonus.
"'course, you understand if he an' I... work things out. Extracurricular, like."
"Count, don't count. Won't insult me one way or another," Elle says with a shrug. She's got very few raw nerves to step on. As long as nobody tries to tell her what she should and shouldn't do without paying her a fee first, Elle couldn't really care less.
"I'm just giving you the option," Elle points out rationally, once again looking into the cafe for a second or two. "I like to give people choices when they've shown me that they've earned the right to get them and that they're responsible to make the ones that are best for them. But at the same time, when you make a choice, i want you to stick with it, no matter what happens. That's how this is done when you work for me. You stick to your convictions, go with your choices, and suffer the consequences or enjoy the benefits."
It's definitely not the same bargain you get elsewhere, and Elle almost prides herself on that level of flexibility. Choice is a powerful thing, and allowing others to have it where nobody else offers it is one of the benefits of working with her. The drawback is, when you screw up, the only person you have to blame is yourself. Of course, Elle will save you... but only up to a point.
Then down to business.
"In that case, all I have to say is that if you want to mix it up with him, you make sure you don't do anything to reduce his effectiveness. If something does happen? I want to know. Communication is the most important part of this business. Leave me in the dark, and I won't be happy. That's something that nobody wants."
The gears shift, as that's all she has to say on that matter. As long as Jayden remains clear on that matter, there's no reason to retread it. "I'm expecting a few old faces to come back in the next few weeks. When I get them on board, we'll have a meet and greet. Until then, i'll be digging up a whole new set of jobs, and I want you to be ready for them. Can't give you a lot of details, but it'll likely be more of the same: infiltration, stealth, retreivals and good old fashioned killing people while they sleep. So rest up, because I'm just getting started."
He doesn't count. He'll do it later. Jayden glances at the cafe, then nods. "I hear ya, but I made my choice. I'm throwin' in with you, and you'll get out of me exactly what you got on the last job." That much he's confident of. The large man stretches his arms up, flexing interlaced fingers until they pop, then lowers back into his chair.
"Aww, don' worry. I won' be breakin' him up too bad. Jus' a friendly misunderstandin', hey? Prob'ly have some beers after." When she starts talking job, though, he sits up a little straighter.
"I hear ya. Ain't got nothin' on tap... waitin' t' see how the professional fight circuits fall out before I decide to do anythin' on the side. Hell, if we busy enough, won't even have t' do that... but I like to keep some options open." The Ex-Forcer twists in his seat, eliciting a series of pops from his back. "Ahh... now, ain't none o' my business an' you be free t' say so, but... who you lookin' for in de cafe?"
"That guy over there," Elle says, nodding her head towards a little old man, no more than 5'4" tall, looking all the world like a human toad emerging from the back room of the cafe. "They call him the 'Water Man'. Ex-VC enforcer for some interests in the Golden Triangle. Not fighter grade, but he likes to stick him victims in bathtubs and electrocute people until they talk by hooking car batteries up to people's crotch. Apparently, he ran with a few Geese-related interests two times removed. His umbrella's gone now, and a bunch of Triads have had relatives charbroiled by the ugly little hobbit."
She stands up, stretching her arms out and rotating her shoulders. She tosses some keys onto the table. "Do me a favor, would you, and bring the white van parked around the corner around? I'm going to need a driver to take me out to the boonies in a minute."
With that, she starts towards the cafe, motioning with her hand so that a foot long punching dagger slides out of her sleeve. A daylight job seems pretty daring, but they're paying her extra... and again, not a lot of people are going to call in the fact that the Water Man is dead, considering the reputation te guy's built up. Nevertheless, there's a lot of screaming and yelling that comes the second Elle and her weapon cross the threshold of door, which means that things are going to get messy in a very short order.
"Huh... ounds like a great guy," he remarks, sarcastically. And then he's up. "Service in about five minutes," he says, paying no mind to the punch-dagger. Not his job, not his concern; he turns away, threading through the cafe outside, looking for that white van she mentioned... ahh. There it is.
He wastes little time in starting the thing up, making sure the locks are working--making sure they're popped open, so that she can get in when the time comes. And he pulls around, leisurely-like, the driver's side window open.
Jay adopts a casual pose, leaning on his left arm, gazing blandly out the window. He even taps his fingertips on the steering wheel, as if bored and looking to just complete the job.
He is, of course, expecting Elle to fly out the doors any moment now. Bad man he may be, there's still a lot of societal pressure -against- just stabbing someone to death, in public, during the daylight. It's frowned upon.
Looking relaxed, he's actually checking out traffic as far as he can; flipping the AM radio over to traffic alert channels, playing escape routes out in his head. Preparing, like a good soldier.
There's a lot of noise. That's the downside. The upside is that the Water Man ruled by fear and connections. With the connections gone and Elle looking alot scarier than he does at that moment, there's not a not of people jumping to his aid. Like most rats fleeing a sinking ship, he planned to go back to Vietnam in short order. That's why Elle got paid to do this now, today. That, and it makes a definite statement to not mess with the Triads.
The problem is, like most Asian gangs, they want evidence of the kill, and there's really only one real, definite way to bring that back.
The details are best left undescribed. It's noisy, messy, and takes some time because no matter how sharp you make a knife, when a man's neck is protected by laters of fat and thick hide, it takes a couple of hacks to get things to work loose.
Elle doesn't really fly out of the door as much as she does walk very briskly, the horribly smudged plastic doggie bag clearly filling up with the common fluids that leak out of a squat, toad shaped man's head when it's been forcibly removed from it's host body. People go flying from her presence as if propelled by an invisible force field as she clambers into the car just as the sounds of police sirens echo in the distance. She takes a second to tie off the bag, then stuffs it into a cooler that she's brought just for such an occasion.
"So let's go, already," she says, turning to the special forces soldier in the driver's seat. "Police have got their hands full everywhere. They can't track us too far until everything settles down. Even so, we'll be changing rides in a mall parking structure down the road just to be safe."
He doesn't send the van bolting off--it's a very smooth, quick acceleration to a good clip. Hell, he floors it once everything's secured. It is, as they say, a war zone; he doubts cops are going to issuing tickets for speeding. For having a severed head, /yes/, but they don't need to see that, do they?
"Roger," he says, almost absently--focusing mainly on the road. Not that there's much traffic, far from it, but there are plenty of huge craters. Such as the one he smoothly veers right, then left, to avoid.
"ETA on second drop five minutes." He knows the area pretty well, having done a lot of fun in Chinatown on his 'off' hours; the van corners neatly and is shunted into the parking structure. "Best tell me when we at the car," he reminds, not out of spite but just because attention to detail is a good thing.
It doesn't take long to get to the structure or the next car. In fact, that's the part that's deceptively easy. The transfer to the mid sized Toyota sedan doesn't take words so much as motion and direction as Elle places the cooler filled with gangster noggin in the trunk. The difficult part will be what needs to happen next.
"Here," she says, giving Jayden a gas can and a paper sack from the back of the Toyota. "We'll need to part ways from here on out. I'll be making the handoff on my own, per previous arrangement."
she rattles the baggie. "White phosphorous grenade. Keys to a blue Daihatsu minitruck parked on the second fourth level. License plate number's written on the inside of the bag. Should be a janitor's uniform inside the truck. You'll need to make this quick. Torch the van, get to the truck, and book it."
She slams the back of the sedan closed with one hand as she walks around the car to get into the right side. "Once that's done, lay low for a few days and meet me at the safehouse when I give you a call. We'll regroup from there and I should have work for you then." And with that, she's turning the key and pulling out of the parking garage, absent any more questions.
Unfazed, that's the name of the game. He takes the bag and nods; opening it, checking the contents, he gets the van back in gear. "Right. See you later, then," he says, as he performs a quick three-point, turning the car back down the ramp; he'll torch the car in the basement. Willie Pete means it won't matter if the sprinklers go off; without looking back at Elle he takes the van down to the basement, next to the stairs up, and gets out.
Dousing the insides with the gasoline, he leaves the passenger side window open; it's only when he's just at the stairwell that he turns, pulls the pin, and tosses grenade -and- pin both into the car. Three seconds before it goes off; he starts booking it up the stairs, legs pumping as they carry him up to the fourth level. Just inside the stairwell, he feels the muffled *BOOM* of the grenade going off--and smiles to himself. Already shedding his jacket, he climbs into the truck, changes, then drives on out, as leisurely as can be. Lay low? Not a problem.
Log created on 14:00:01 06/14/2009 by Elle, and last modified on 20:42:29 06/20/2009.