Description: Collusion and Cooperation abound as Vyle calls in a solid and gives him some info on an interesting run in, just after Daniel's own car-wreck of a meeting. Play or be played, but these two obviously need each other's help.
Frankly, Daniel's mostly idle week just turned sour.
Up in his mid-class hotel room, the detective was sulking. He had come in at the end of his Neo-Development Project semi-final to set up camp to assist the Ladies Team on the ground game. Daniel Jack was in a curious position between the various factions; assisting the police, assisting the 'notorious gang' of the Ladies Team. Zig-Zagging between the pair, he was focusing on a string of kidnappings of low-ranking fighters. A few leads in, he was being somewhat successful...
Until he ran into Amy Johnson.
"Yes, Amy Johnson. Don't you know any leads?" The detective prattles on his cell phone. Dressed in a pair of dull grey slacks, he was topless at the moment. Free of both zoot suit and suspenders, or even his porkpie hat, his torso was heavily bound up with bandages. His forehead was likewise also stitched up and bandaged. And his brow was heavily furrowed. Amy Johnson. The god damned dame caught him on the streets, and made him her tender friend and special lover. That is to say, stomp him into the pavement for following this lead.
Needless to say, Daniel Jack was not in a peachy-keen mood.
"Nothing. Well hot damn, thanks a lot. No, I'm not being sarcastic, it really means it to be looking into it. Alright, alright. I'll talk to you later. Bye." The detective hangs up the cellphone, glaring at it as he leans a hand against the wall. Grimacing, he hangs his cell phone hand loosely to the side. Amy Johnson. She knew about this. This whole thing was getting more and more rotten by the moment. Gangs kidnap, that made sense. But these were all trained fighters. Why would a gang kidnap fighters? And why would they want Amy in their ranks? She was a crazed cultist instead of a thug. The detective mulls dilligently, piecing together the details.
That maybe there aren't gangs afoot in Sunshine City.
For those who think that there aren't gangs in Sunshine City, they obviously aren't looking very hard. Or are looking in all the wrong places. One just needs to walk out of the cozy, safe(r) confines of Inner Sunshine and go out toward the fringes to find them. Of course, gangs aren't the only thing you might find out there....something one certain Vernon Cross found out the hard way.
It wasn't so long after his run-in with that female paramilitary who assaulted him on his 'recruitment drive', his clothes still slightly damp, mohawk actually wilting, and only enough time to stop by a convenience store once he got into Inner Sunshine to buy a pack of ice. Convincing the clerk he wasn't a gang member and was in fact victim was...interesting.
Of course he wasn't stupid enough to get a hotel in Outer Sunshine...not unless he wanted to raise suspicion regarding his participation in the tournament. But it did make for a long journey for a change of clothes and to fetch his damn cellphone. It figures his mark WOULD end up going straight to voice mail the moment he wanted to call in a solid....
The phone beeps.
Daniel Jack looks at the phone, begrudgingly. Phone mail. Bringing it to his ear, he listens to the voice mail. A familiar voice is on the other line. Vyle. An old enemy, an old ally. A troublemaker to the core, but at least he has a heart a gold. At least, to Daniel. The truth is a lot further from the fiction that the detective wove in his mind. At the very least, he was giving the guy a chance.
Naturally, he might be singing a different tune if his knew about Vyle's recruitment drive.
Nodding silently, he looks back to the phone, and scrolls through his address book. Reaching Vyle, he selects a call. He had kept Vyle on shortlist when he planned on breaking through the Ladies Team. Of course, when Daniel succeeded in talking with them in a reasonable fashion, Vyle's services were put on the backburner. From the sounds of it though, Vyle had a need for HIM, and likewise, had something very valuable in following the watch thieves. Daniel Jack needed leads, and frankly, with a hoodlum like Vyle, he could get the contact he needs. Calling up Vyle, he waits. Ring. Ring.
"Hey! Vyle! It's Jack. Daniel Jack. What's the noise on the floor, scuzzy?"
Finally back into his hotel room, Vyle grumbled. Waterlogged, sewer-smelling clothes were tossed away into a trashcan...they were 'work' clothes so...whatever. They were meant to be plain and disposable. Unlike his REAL work clothes. And believe it or not, someone disguisting like Vyle? He really didn't like smelling like scum. So it's only the ring of his cell phone that keeps him from jumping straight into the shower.
....'Jack'pot. Just the mark he was hoping to talk to. "V," he answers, hastily trying to find the hidden pocket on his suitcase where his 'personnel files' were kept. About time things were looking up.
About time things might be looking up.
"Hey Vyle, I just got your message. You got my attention, scuzzy. I'd hoof it over to whereever you are, but I got messed up real bad. I got good reason to stay off the streets right now." The detective pauses. Amy Johnson might be a priority. But a good lead was a good lead.
And Vyle sounded like he had a good lead.
The detective heads over to the counter, and draws out a bottle of Jack Daniels. Picking out a pair of shot glasses, he continues to rattle off on the phone, the clinking of glasses tapping in the background. "You got a moment to come up to my room? You know the Sunshine Central Hilton? I'm room A145. If you can't find it, just give me a ring. I got some shots, and I probably can order a pizza or some crap like that. You got a favorite topping? You better not be a wise-ass and say Anchovies."
"I'm not kidding, Vyle, you better damn well not want anchovies."
Sounds like Daniel met some nasty as well. "Sounds like both of us ran into some ****," the rudo glowers, quickly pulling out Daniel's file. "Give me time to clean up after my own run-in and I can be over man. Best not to talk too much on air. Never know who's bugging who you know," he insists. A quick flip through...before the file is closed up. Might have to fill in some things after tonight is done.
"And no mushrooms. If I can't do anchovies, then there's no mushrooms."
"Dammit, Vyle, I love mushrooms, you ASS."
Daniel Jack growls furiously, before shaking his head. "Fine. I'm gonna get a meatlovers then. I hope you like meat!" The detective snarls back. Hanging up, the detective heads over to the list of useful local numbers every hotel gives, and starts browsing.
That damn Vyle.
Daniel Jack loves his pizza like his burger: strong cheese, mushrooms, beef, bacon, and garlic. But so help him, he didn't want mushrooms? The detective seethes, as he places the order. 30 minutes. Plenty of time for Vyle to show up.
Hopefully, Vyle will make it worth his time.
It was funny that a man like Vyle wasn't big on the fungus. But regardless, it didn't take long for the Shadaloo agent to get the smell of sewer off of him and put on some new 'work' clothes. Drab, inconspicuous, loose...again, nothing like what his preferred fighting look was, but hey, this was all hush hush undercover anyhow.
Thankfully, Vyle's hotel was around the same plaza, meaning he was there with plenty of time to anticipate the pizza delivery. Arriving at the Hilton, room A145, a knock came at the detective's door, a rather...strange and distinctive rhythm. "Someone order the Jack Daniels?" the sneered from the other side of the door. Oh, he's going to have some dirt to push for Daniel, that's for sure.
He just better be able to put up the muscle this information is going to be worth.
Time passes.
Soon enough, Daniel Jack hears a knock at the door, not the first of the evening. The pizza was already out, as well as a bottle of coke and the Jack on the table. The detective peers through the peephole, before grunting, unlocking the door. Opening it, he takes a peek at Vyle. "Its on the table. Jesus christ, scuzzy, what the hell did you go through?" Daniel Jack inspects him, moving aside to let his partner in crime take a seat.
"Help yourself to the pizza."
Wow. He must have been slower than he figuerd. That or pizza in this town delivers a lot faster than he's used to. Either way, Vyle comes in with his own bottle of Jack hanging from his fingers looking back toward the detective. "Long as you don't mind me chewing slow. Know a lot of people get annoyed by that crap," he says with silghtly muffled sounds from his swollen jaw.
Dropping the bottle down on the nearest counter, the rudo tries to pull up a chair before grabbing a piece of pizza. "So...what you know about paramilitary anyways?" he asks, apparently eager to get to the nitty gritty.
Rolento.
Daniel Jack's eyes glaze over when Vyle mentions the paramilitary. The Southtown Siege surges back to him. A warzone, where he was caught up in. In that hot warehouse, being forced to fight alongside Rust against Rolento, to fight for their freedom in vain. The paramilitary hell, only broken at the end of the war. It was hell.
Hell that Daniel did not want to go back to.
"I've been part of one before." The detective begins, sitting at the table. He pours a shot, and downs it immediately. Clutching the shotglass, he stares dimly ahead. Press-ganged. Why. Did you run into.... run into a soldier? A paramilitary nutjob?" The detective's mind burns, rolling over the thought.
Rolento was back in town?
Vyle takes a bite from his given slice of pizza, going slow about it and wincing all the way through. Not that the screwed up jaw is going to keep him from eating, but it's not exactly a fun experience either. "Something like that. All black, protective helmet, mask and balaclava. Think even had the night vision going from the way the eyes glowed. Either paramilitary or someone has some serious bank to get someone paramilitary gear," he insists.
He reaches over to take one shot glass, content to swirl it about for now. "I looked it up, and a lot of the gear looked Russian. Anyways, someone's got some serious crazy business going on here. I know Outer Sunshine's supposed to got gangs swarming and everything, but this is a whole other level." The shot is slugged back, another wince crossing the rudo's face. "So the rabbit hole is even deeper than before, sounds like."
The detective listens. He thinks. He mulls. Analyzing Vyle's short words, he pieces together a story. And finally, he speaks.
"I bet you money that it is Rolento cutting out a ground game here." The detective begins, his mind running. "Yeah, see. I was on the trail of these missing fighters. A bunch of low-level no names that registered for the tournament in town. Basically, the people who did not qualify ended up disappearing. From the looks of things, they were kidnapped. This dame jumps me the other night right when I am hot on the trail... and you come to me, telling me that you are running into a paramilitary asshole decked out in surplus Russian hardware." Daniel pours another shot, and raises the glass towards Vyle. "Now, I tried to figure out why someone is kidnapping low level fighters, but I don't think this is watch thief work, Vyle."
"I think that someone is trying to get an army going."
Now that....that idea intrigues Vyle. He heard about the disapperances, but he never really put much stock in them since...hey, they were the wash outs. What would Shadaloo need for them? But the idea of an army being built right within the city limits is...worrying. After all, in disarray as his own organization is, having more competition is going to be a problem.
"Either that or they've already built one up. Underneath the cover of gang violence, huh?" he ponders out loud, taking another few chews of his slice of pizza, still wincing the entire while. "Why take the low guys on the totem pole though? Why not go for the big names? One heavy hitter is worth at least 4 of the washouts, right?"
"But how do you GET the heavy hitter?"
Daniel Jacks the side of his head. "You got to think like a ganglord, like a commander. Sure, they could get the heavy hitters... except it takes four men to even make a challenge for that. While on the inverse, you get one good guy, you can capture four different men. They aren't total washouts either. Hell, they might have kicked my ass a few years back, before I did Todoh-Ryuu." The detective pours another shot, downing it quickly.
"But I like that theory.
Daniel Jack mulls it over a bit, jabbing a drunk finger at Vyle. "So here is the question. Why build an army under the guise of gang warfare? What is there to cover up with gang violence? If it is Rolento, he might be staging a coup, or simply trying to sneak out. Man. I might have to talk to some of my contacts about this..." The detective raises a skeptical eye at the lucha.
"Have youse heard of Amy Johnson?"
It's probably a good thing Vyle hasn't hit the sauce too much himself. Makes it a lot easier to remember what Daniel does in his drunkeness (something he made sure was mentioned in his personnel file. "You're thinking too direct though. You're thinking they need to be beaten down first thing before you can kidnap 'em. Sometimes all it takes is a little dirt or a little green," he insists. "After all, you kidnap someone, you keep them out for a while. You give someone reason enough to flip, and you got a soldier."
Hey, after all, that's how Vyle ended up with Shadaloo, right? He speaks from experience! "Far as what kind of army needs to be hidden under this kind of stuff...you got me. All I know is from the equipment this chick had, the boss has bank." He eyes Daniel back as he brings up a name in specific. "Amy Johnson?...can't say I do. She the one that did the number on you?" Certainly doesn't sound like a name fitting the chick he got waylayed by. Not Eastern European enough.
Meanwhile, Daniel was hitting the sauce more and more.
Taking the shots like a king, the detective was getting more and more intense. "Yeah, or a little of the pink. You should have seen her man. Built like a brickhouse. Why are all the hot ones always out to beat me down?" THe detective laments. "I better track down your problem though. It is sounding more and more like MY problem." The detective belts out, before lashing out for the pizza. He was FAMISHED. Mouth full of meatlovers, he mmphs out a bit, before forcing a swallow.
"So where did you run into this dame. I want to interrogate her."
Vyle shrugs a bit, swirling around a second shot in hand as he listens to the detective. "I dunno. Bad luck with chicks?" he asks...not like he's exactly a good example of it himself. "Either way, something is going down here. Something biiiiiig." He finally slugs back that second shot, shaking his head. "Man, that numbs good," he says, taking a more enthusiastic bite of his pizza this time...before a big grimace comes. "But not that good...." His chewing slows significantly again, not bothering to swallow before talking again.
"Outer Sunshine, on the fringes. Bridge near the railyard. Lets just say grifting out there isn't exactly a good idea..."
"I agree, man."
Daniel Jack was still unaware of Vyle's Shadaloo background. For the detective? He was a jerk with a heart of gold. Helping out Daniel beat out other gangs. Except, well, Vyle was beating other gangs because HIS gang was stepping up. A criminal organization by the name of Shadaloo. But if Daniel Jack knew the truth about Vyle?
He probably would still help out Vyle.
As Daniel Jack has shown himself with Shadaloo, he is willing to work with villains to get good ends. Dirty means are viable for the detective, as long as the ends are worth it. A fanatic? A hypocrite? Maybe he was just too darn idealistic. Or maybe he trusted people too much.
Or maybe, in his own way, he was gonna get Vyle to do the right thing for the wrong reason.
"Numb is bad." The detective states. "It's like those Psycho-Dames." Grabbing the bottle, he starts drinking it straight. "Numb means you are getting REALLY screwed up. Okay. I should be good in a day or two. How long does the most annoying cockroach in the wrestling ring take to hop back in? I want to keep a low profile in the the outskirts. And ultimately, see if we can't lure out that paramilitary wacko, and find the truth."
"You digging me, Vyle?"
Interesting how people can play each other and end up playing themselves...though it really was hard to tell here who was getting played more between the two of them. Either way, Vyle finds himself touching his swollen jaw a bit, still wincing with every touch. "Better than feeling like somethin's ready to bust out of your jaw, if you know what I mean," he grumbles, finishing that bite of pizza and swallowing it hard.
"Give me some Advil and ice and I'm good to go tomorrow morning," he brags. Then again, wrestling isn't exactly a sport you can just up and quit because you got a booboo. "I dig you. You poke your head in low, I sneak in lower and give cover in case Little Miss Commando shows up again." This way, Daniel gets to take front stage, Vyle gets a better look at his competition without risking losing his jaw rather than a fracture, and everyone goes home happy...at least unless Daniel gets killed. But...hey, no skin.
Like Daniel was going to get killed.
Wait, was he?
Perhaps they were both playing each other in their own games. Vyle certainly was playing Daniel for his own game. But likewise, Daniel was playing Vyle was a do-gooder. Maybe in the end, they shared the same goals. To that end, it didn't mean who was playing who. For that matter, perhaps it was actually...
... Teamwork?
"Then it is all set. We will slink around there at night. I'll get the word out I'll be heading out there amongst my circle. I won't mention you scuzzy, I'll just get myself a little lifeline. I don't like being stranded, or disappearing without warning. You always gotta have a backup plan, you know?"
Daniel eyes the pizza.
"Hey, you wanna take that back with you?"
Vyle manages to finish off that one slice he had, swallowing it hard but obviously not having much stomach for more. Or the pain of chewing off that swollen jaw perhaps. "Just give me the hour and I'm good, my man," he says, pushing himself up and backing his way toward the door. "Keep it. Gonna need it to fill your stomach again after you puke up later," he snarks wryly, backing into the door and turning the knob to show himself out.
"Don't sleep on this one, man. Whoever this chick is, she's cutthroat. And the boss is probably worse," he warns. Hell, he only escaped by taking a dive, literally.
"What, you think I don't know how to handle a dame?"
The detective does not see Vyle up, only scarfing down the pizza and booze like a glutten. Daniel Jack might be getting more bold than he should be, thanks to the drink. But he was confident. One on one? He might be in trouble. But two on one? That was more his and Vyle's style. While Vyle was annoying in his tactics, and deadly agile, Daniel Jack was much more even in his approach. Anything that this paramilitary type could pull, he could hit harder, hit faster, and hit better than anything she could pull. It was a she, wasn't it. The detective mulls.
What was up with all these dames getting in his way?
Log created on 18:48:16 07/01/2012 by Vyle, and last modified on 14:15:36 07/03/2012.