Description: Following up on a street-side invitation, Daniel Jack heads over to King's bar. Anticipating to get his questions answered, what he doesn't realize is that King is a lot more than what she appears... and how much danger Daniel is in when she suspects the detective of the same.
As early as it is, it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that the lounge is more or less empty. There's only two peaks throughout the day, barring those occasions where there's some event worth showing on the large screens mounted on the walls, and even then, those tend to be fairly low key in comparison to, say, a sports bar.
The upstairs lounge, as a result, is vacant - walled off by a velvet ropeline and a friendly 'Upstairs Lounge Opens At 8pm' sign - leaving King the opportunity to go through the ledgers that had been kept during a much-needed - and much-extended - vacation. On the downstairs level, Sally and Elizabeth are trusted to keep things running smoothly, much as they have throughout her leave of absence.
The only addition to the main floor at this hour are a pair of guards to either side of the door, hired as much for their intimidating stoicism as their bulk. Given the news that's been floating around lately, one can never be too careful.
Early?
As Daniel always said, it was 5 o' clock somewhere.
The tense detective didn't have too much trouble getting in. Certainly, with his bright orange suit and somewhat outlandish presence, he might have been considered someone to make trouble for. But Daniel Jack had a few things in his corner. The first was the card; he had proof of invitation. The second was the confidence; he might be considered strange, but when he came to a place invited, he acted like it. Finally, the third trait was a side of Daniel that King did not have a chance to encounter.
"Thank you kindly, boss, I'll make sure to put in a good word for you!"
The detective gives a brisk wave towards the guard, before walking up to one of the two hostesses. A choice between Sally, or Elizabeths. It was a gamble for the detective; it wasn't unusual to have a 'hot' and 'cold' duo of floor workers to deal with all kinds of folks. Some people needed a harsh touch, some people needed a gentle. The detective eyes the pair of them briefly, hands in his pocket, tongue in his check. Finally, he makes his decision. He picks the one that owuld be Sally, and striding up, puts on a sincere, toothy smile.
"Why hello there sunshine. What's a guy need to get a table around here?"
"You can-- ask?" the woman says with a smile, trying her level best not to look incredulous. "Do you want a table, or a booth?"
"He doesn't want either," comes the familiar voice from the upper loft. "He's here to see me."
Lacking the coat, the figure that alluded to her actual gender is a bit more apparent, but still not overtly so. Dressed in something less flashy-- a regular dress shirt, presumably tucked into some khakis-- she's leaning partly over the railing, something that she might've considered hazardous if not for the guards at the door subtly going for, presumably, a sidearm.
Just in case, of course.
She offers a smile, not exactly welcoming, though it's not overtly aggressive. "Didn't think you'd take the time to stop by, Sunshine."
Daniel Jack's ears burn.
For a moment, he is stunned. Oh, no, not at the woman's rebuttal. At least, not that woman. But as King comes down, stepping in for Daniel's own introduction, you could see Daniel's face in stages. The initial neutral look. And then, the slowly spreading surprise on the man's face as he begins to identify in greater detail about King's true identity. The coming look of horror as he realizes every detail of the previous conversation. The sweat appearing on his brow as the men behind him ready a potential sidearm.
What did you do, Daniel.
Why did you do, Daniel.
"You're-" He begins, before adjusting his suit. Taking a deep breath in, he stuffs his composure back in. "You're sure have a nice place here!" He recovers, trying to shrugs off the brief gender confusion he certainly did not have at the first encounter. "Ahem. I mean, I had to make time to come here, ma'am. I had the utmost faith that you'd make it worth my while." The detective straightens out his suit, looking around with the arrogant swagger that was trying hard to reaffirm his masculinity.
"I believe you owe me a pool game, miss."
"'Ma'am' works just fine," she replies, the guarded look giving way to amusement for a time. "Elizabeth?" she says to the woman Daniel approached first. "Bring us up some drinks."
The younger blonde pauses a moment, then-- "But, ma'am, I thought--"
"What's your poison?" she asks Daniel, a raise of her hand cutting off the brief protest. "I prefer a good martini, personally."
"Bourbon."
Daniel felt that if he said Jack Daniels, people might think he was being funny. Bourbon was close enough for the detective. He does cast a glance towards Elizabeth. For some reason, he thought she was a Sally. In fact, as the detective looks towards the other girl, he looks back. No, that WAS a Sally. He blinks a bit. They were both twins.
Why was everything here so weird.
"Get on it," King says, keeping the ropeline to the upper floor open for Daniel to step through. "And keep the intercom on. We might need refills." Turning back to Daniel, she gestures for him to make his way up the stairs, dutifully refraining from any cheeky remarks beyond, "Seems to me, you and I have plenty to talk about."
"If I recall, you were the one that was supposed to talk."
Daniel Jack tries to make that sound cool. The fact that he was treating King like a man has his survival instincts on edge. Women have a short-list of things you never do to them. Well, more like a long-list. A very long list of things you never do. It is safe to assume that 70% of everything a man does to a woman is wrong. But it's that 30% that makes it count.
Daniel felt far away from that 30%.
As he works his way up the stairs, the detective continues. "I wouldn't know what you would like to know about me. I'm just a detective. Course, if you need to know anything, well, I might just let you get a few points on me. Was I stripes again, or was I solids?" The detective gives a terse grimlock, trying to keep up that tough guy exterior that King's surprise had cracked.
He wasn't doing a very good job at it.
"'Just a detective' could means a lot of things, Sunshine," she replies, ascending the staircase, making a vague gesture to the doormen to keep an eye on the upstairs; the pool table is close enough to the railing for them to know when something's gone wrong. "And it's solids," she amends, approaching the rack of cues to pick one before chalking it idly. She looks over to him, offering a congenial smile to say, "Hope you don't mind if I break?"
Well, it was a modest lie.
Daniel Jack didn't think of himself as much of a detective. He did think of himself more than just one too. But modest lies aren't anything to be worked up on over. "Solids, well." He begins, eyeing her cautiously as he himself pulls a pool cue from the rack. "That's do just fine." As he walks to the edge of the pool table, he motions his hand, sweeping it over the green.
"I don't mind at all, sweatheart."
She takes a brief stock of the configuration, lines up her shot, and takes it. The break is clean, but not exactly 'professional'-- at least one of the solids drifts into the corner pocket, teetering before it finally falls in. By all outward appearances, she can't help looking irritated, though the expression's muted.
"So," she says, "ask your question."
Sweetheart.
Daniel Jack eyes go wide. Sweetheart. He looks at King prepare her shot. He studies her, analyzes her. The feminine form... why didn't he see the obvious? Perhaps it wasn't so obvious. As the crack comes, Daniel doesn't even flinch. But the sweat on his brow just continues to bead. Sweatheart.
Why did he say sweatheart?!
As the 2 ball drops in, Daniel raises a sweaty brow, a smirk on his face. "If you insist, sunshine. How about I cut back on the nicknames, then. What's your name?" He asks bluntly, as he lines himself behind the white ball. Aiming the cue, he tries for an easy line-up; five ball to side pocket. With a crack, he lets the ball fly. The five ball bounces off the wall, just missing the pocket, before it bounces around, bumping the 11 a bit. The detective grimaces.
Maybe she wasn't good at pool either?
"You look like you're a regular around here," she says, as Elizabeth ascends the staircase to bring them both their drinks, setting them on one of the raised tables, "so you know as well as I do that giving out your full name is a bad idea."
Lining up her shot, she takes it-- and sinks the nine, though it could've been a stroke of luck.
Straightening, she looks up at him, offers a smile, and says, "Well. Guess that means it's my turn." Taking up the martini as the young woman who served them returns to the downstairs bar, she says, "Just who do you work for, anyway?" before taking a quick sip, setting the drink down, and lining up her next shot.
That didn't count as an answer at all!
As Sally (Or was it Elizabeth? Daniel is suspecting it is the first one) comes up with their drinks, her advice is met with a scowl. "Full name or nothing, what's the deal with the name King then?" He questions openly. Instead of an answer, he gets to watch King get a point on him. The detective winces, pursing his lips. Clutching his drink, he puts the cue between his elbow and chest as he tips his hat to the hostess, and with a smooth gesture, downs the shot cleanly. He returns the glass back to Elizabeth.
"Another bourbon, if you please."
Turning back to the game, he coughs once, and grabs his cue, leaning on it. "I work for three things, ma'am. I work for Ryuhaku Todoh of the Todoh-Ryuu Kobojutsu dojo, in upholding the honorable Todoh-Ryuu arts. I work for whoever hires me for my investigative services. But beyond those two things, ma'am?"
"I work for myself."
She glances up at the question, and nearly chides him for it. But, given he's kind enough to let her sink her shot and, presumably the next, she focuses only on lining up the cue. The shot is aimed for striped, but it bounces off the side wall. Again, there's a subtle look of restrained irritation.
"You sink this next one, I'll give you my answer," she says, taking up her martini for a larger sip.
Daniel Jack gives King a look.
Glancing over his rose-tinted lens, he adjusts his specs before moving around the table. "You don't sound surprised. What kind of man do you think I am? I've been quite a few things in my life, ma'am." He begins, lining up a shot. Winding back the cue a few times. "You could say I've even done some unsavoury work, with unsavoury people. But I assure you, ma'am." He lets fly the cue, letting a shot to send a solid straight into the corner pocket.
"I'm a straight shooter, when I need to be."
"Private Detectives like dollar signs, Mr. Jack," she replies, not seeming all that ruffled by the earned point, her glass raised to take another sip. "You're as much of a businessman as I am. So to speak."
All the while, dutifully, Elizabeth returns-- this time, with a tray of bottles, and a couple glasses. Seems the young woman knows the routine, to some extent; there's gin, vermouth, and, of course, bourbon.
It earns her a smile, and a, "I knew there was a reason I kept you on the payroll," though it's said more as affection than threat. "Set the tray over there." Turning back to Daniel, she waits for Elizabeth to depart before saying, "As for the name?" She shrugs. "This town isn't exactly the most accommodating when it comes to women. Trying to make a living, it was easier to leave who I am more... ambiguous." A faint smile. "The name's a bit gauche, if you think about it, but no one caught on to the joke, so I kept it."
More booze?
Daniel makes sure to eyeball the tray. He does give Elizabeth a glance as well; he can't help but investigate things, after all. He makes a note to grab the bourbon a moment, but as King responds to his response and old question, he seems to relax more. "Money's cheap nowadays. I don't really concern myself about it anymore. I had a bit of windfall, so to speak. As for the name, yeah, looking back, I kind of get it. Kind of a cruel prank, don't you think? Imagine if a pretty young lady fell for you, you dig?"
"I suppose it might have been funnier if you ran with Queen, though."
Daniel Jack repositions himself. Two balls down. He lines himself up behind the third. "I can't imagine women having trouble in this town, to tell you the truth. Always seemed to be fairly equal; not as much as it is back in the states, but pretty strong. Then again, that whole 'Seijyun/Gedo' split has always been a bit strange to me. They seem to have a strong idea of what a woman should be like, and what a woman shouldn't be like." Another shot is made, another solid lands in the hole.
"What's your relationship with the Kyokugen Dojo?"
She glances up at the mention of a 'pretty young lady,' the hint of a smile playing over her features. She doesn't respond to it, immediately, but there's a knowing look to her expression. It sobers, however, as she watches him sink all the shots; that said, she doesn't look particularly disturbed or upset about it.
"I've been around this place for almost two decades," she replies, then. "A lot's changed. And so have I." She finishes off the remainder of her martini, then, setting her cue aside for a moment to start mixing the contents of a refill in the crystal - visibly expensive - mixer. "As for my relation to Kyokugen?" A shrug. "I know the current proprieters of the local branch. Fought alongside them a few times, took my earnings, and added to the bar."
A pause-- then, "Next question?" she asks, (probably when he's right about to take his next shot). "By my count, you've got three."
Daniel is somewhere on the extremes, in terms of perception.
Details come and go past him. He misses out on King being a woman, he correctly assumes she is associated with Kyokugen. He picks up on the smile of the pretty young lady, and yet, he is missing why she is suspicious of him. The woman's accent sits with him, the man considering the french trill that hangs with the words. And yet, he had no reason to be surprised that, as he is taking his next shot, she mentions she had fought alongside the Kyokugen. He has no reason to jump at it, to flinch at it. And yet he does.
The detective scratches, sending the balling over the edge.
Clucking his tongue, Daniel Jack pulls away from the table, already on the bourbon. A quick, clean pour; a quick clean gulp. Putting the bottle and cup down, he turns back towards the ball he knocked away, a grimace on his face. "How far back do you know Ryo?" He asks, somewhat aggressively. He hesitates, but follows through on the real bones of the question.
"Before or after the kidnapping?"
She takes her time pouring out her drink, watching peripherally as he takes down his third shot of the night. Spearing an olive from the small bowl filled with them, she places it in her drink, and takes a sip.
She doesn't react much to the question, saying only, "After," taking up her cue. "Next question?"
There, she lines up her next shot-- and without seeming to think to hard about it, sinks th 10.
She knew about the kidnapping.
Daniel's suspicion hang in the air. About what, he wasn't quite sure. But something seemed off. Standing beside the table, he idly watches her knock the 10 ball in. "I don't think you are a member of the Kyokugen dojo, then. At least not currently." The detective mulls about this, before his brow furrows, and his eyes narrow.
"Do you even know anything about that crab grass infestation?"
There's an actual pause as she lines up her next shot-- then a slow raise of her head to look at him. Straightening, she can't help but show her incredulity. Then, after a moment, there's a light snort of laughter, though she at least does him the favor of raising a hand to hide her smile.
It takes a moment to sober, and say, "Crab grass?" though that smile sneaks back over her lips in spite of what's, otherwise, been rather expert control over her demeanor. "Is that what this is about?"
A hand is placed on the cue stick.
Daniel Jack has moved over, holding King's stick. And he looks her dead in the eye. There isn't a hint of humor on Daniel Jack's face. It's as if he just told of a death in the family, and all King had to respond was a snicker. Daniel Jack speaks with cold, heavy words, responding to King with the grave presence like no other.
"Yes. This is what it's about."
She arches her eyebrows at the sudden invasion of personal space, a glance cast at the hold he has on her cue-- then back at him, meeting his eyes with little hesitation. "Do I look like a gardener to you?" she asks mildly, one brow arched. "Or a saboteur?"
Unsurprisingly, she doesn't look any more amused than he does, at this point, the cue yanked out of his hold.
"I've been in Europe for several months," she continues, lining up her next shot as if she has little reason to be intimidated - and likely doesn't, given the guards at the door. "I'd say if you are who you say you are, you'd have figured that out by now," she says, sinking the 13 with little issue, "but since you didn't notice who I am, I suppose that shouldn't come as a surprise."
Raising again, she looks Daniel in the eye, and says, "Then again, I'd assumed 'grass' was just a euphemism." A beat-- then, "Maybe it still is."
"Frankly ma'am, I don't give a damn about appearances."
The detective lets her break the cue free, as she gets herself another point. Her claim of being in Europe was absolutely believable. After all, he had no idea who she really was, until he arrived. Not that he couldn't find out the truth from a paper trail. But as she questions his detective skills, his arms tighten, a flash of anger boiling up. But as she reaches the ultimate point of this, the detective throws it back with outrage.
"Are you talking about Mary-Juana?"
"Reefer? Pot? The Roach?!" He exclaims. He readies a fist, to pound it upon the pool table. And there, he holds, restraining himself. Body trembling, he hustles back to the tray, and swiftly pours himself a glass of the bourbon. He tosses one back, and then, a quick repour allows him the second. Gasping, he regains his composure, turning back towards King. "It's crab grass, a weed. Not that kind of weed, but an invasive species of grass, only found in the Todoh-Ryuu Dojo. It's somehow broken out, starting at the Kyokugen Dojo, and it is taking over the city. And I haven't heard a damn thing from Kyokugen in months. That's why I asked you; the integrity of the city is at stake if nobody stops that crab grass,"
"And I'm the only one that can stop it."
It takes real effort not to bust up laughing again. It really does. For all the tension of those last few moments, the absurdity of what he says is so trying to her ability to hold a straight face that it's visibly failing.
To that end, "Crab grass," is repeated, amended with her inability to keep from smiling-- but she doesn't let herself feel, or show relief. Not just yet. "Really?"
It's time like this, that one must channel the spirit of Todoh.
The detective responds with silence. Putting the cue stick against the tray, he turns towards King. Legs akimbo. Face locked into a grimace, a look of restrained contempt. And with the grace only a true martial artist could muster, Daniel Jack crosses his arms. Brow furrowed, utterly mute, he grimly stares into King. And there, he gives the only response that can truly express the sheer magnitude of his mission from on high.
He nods silently.
She shakes her head, then-- turning back to the table to sink another shot; 15 in the side pocket. Well played, too, given the brown coloration, and what she says.
Namely: "You're so full of crap," said mildly, turning her head to look towards the balcony. "Get up here," is barked. "Now."
The considerable bulk of the two doormen makes their footfalls up the staircase more than obvious, but even before they make it to the top--
"This is the part where you answer *my* questions, Mr. Jack," she says simply, to the tune of two mangums being raised, hammers pulled back. "All of them."
Dames.
The thought crosses Daniel's mind as he hears the hammers cock back. Looks like King wasn't letting on just how deep Kyokugen was getting in this. Thoughts drift back to Rust. It was odd how the crab grass broke out. And how Rust was 'down on his luck.' He might have been desperate for money. Maybe he was the victim of a smooth lady with the right kind of payment, for the wrong kind of services.
And kind of woman like this King.
The detective doesn't crack this time, though. As the goons come thundering up, the detective moves easily, slowly, gracefully. Uncrossing his arms, he opens his palms, holding them up. Backing up, he parks himself right back to the tray. "I won't deny a lady what she need, ma'am." The detective states calmly, pouring himself another bourbon. "Go ahead, King."
'Ask me."
"Hands off the merchandise," one of the goons warns, the magnum raised.
Until King raises a hand, staying the action, "Let him have his drink," said smoothly. "It's the least we can do." There's a grudging acknowledgement, but Daniel's still held in the sights of both weapons.
Stepping closer, hardly lacking in confidence, apparently, she says, "You didn't come over here for crab grass," in a flatter, far more dire tone. "You had to know you were stepping into a--" a glance at the bodygurads, "fortified position. You wouldn't risk your life for something that ludicrous." A beat. Then, "So who sent you?"
Daniel Jack wasn't afraid of the guns.
He had cased the goons coming in. They were effective for riffraff. Daniel Jack might have looked like riffraff. But the detective had move beyond riff-raff levels years ago. As he finishes pouring the glass, he keeps calm, keeps cool, keeps collected. He downs the bourbon in a single gulp, before pouring himself another glass. Slowly, this time. He listens. He mulls. And after a brief pause, he respond.
"The pope sent me."
The detective pauses. "On the suggestion of Athena Asamiya, you understand. It's a collaboration between the two, with Shadaloo as the middle man." Daniel Jack swirls the glass in King's direction, looking her in the eyes. "I'm not sure what kind of answer you are looking for, ma'am, but it seems pretty obvious you are looking for one that I can't provide you. Since the truth's not good enough for you, maybe I should ask you:"
"Who do you think sent me?"
"This isn't really a good time to crack jokes," she says mildly, brow raised. "Guys like these two have their sense of humor bred out of them." She moves around the table, then-- and calmly sinks another shot, apparently relaxed enough to fetch another drink. "As for me?" A beat. "I don't take kindly to the Syndicate breathing down my neck, and I don't have the patience for the usual euphemisms."
"Syndicate?"
Daniel Jack repeats the word. "You mean the Southtown Syndicate?" The detective downs the drink, letting out a small croak. Clearing his throat, he repours even more booze for himself. "I'm sorry ma'am, but you've made a mistake. I've never worked with the Syndicate; and if I wanted to, I wouldn't have an opportunity. You should know as well I as know, that the Syndicate has been out of the neighborhood for years now. I've got, uh, reliable sources that they've been bunkered down in Metro City now."
The detective pauses.
"They -are- out of Southtown now, right?"
Joking?
Daniel Jack gives that same intense grimace he unleashed before straight back into King. "I'm not joking. I haven't seen any Syndicate goons down in Gedo Street, not a single Mad Gear either. The only troublemakers I've seen about has been a few old friends, and I know where their allegiances lie. The only real danger that I have to worry about this town, this day and age, is that accursed crab grass." The detective sips the next one slower, swaying slightly. Peering into the half-full glass, he looks up at King.
"What happened to you in Europe, anyways, to put you on edge like this?"
She takes a moment to look at him, squinting, leaning a little more heavily on her pool cue as her other hand comes to rest on her hip. The question, for the most part, goes ignored, the puzzled expression she wears punctuated by a curl of her lip in the beginnings of an actual smile. She staves it off, as she had before, gesturing for both men at the top of the staircase to lower their weapons.
"Mr. Jack," she says, the smile broadening in spite of her best efforts to keep from laughing again, "I'm going to ask you again: do I really look like a gardener to you? Or like someone who knows a damn thing about botany?"
Daniel is nursing his booze now.
Not breaking eye contact, he just endures the staredown. But as the two men are motioned to leave, the detective just gulps down the rest of the booze. "Considering you had two armed men holding me here, no, I don't think you understand a damn thing about crab grass. I've done a lot of gardening, toots. Have you seen the Todoh-Ryuu yard?"
"That thing is a god damned jungle."
There's a brief pause-- then, "Cool it on the cute pet names," is said simply. "You've already worn out your welcome on the ludicrous accusations."
"Ludicrous accusations?"
Daniel Jack puts down the glass back on the tray, and then, very slowly, the bottle. And with a heave, he shoves himself away from the tray, to stagger towards the pool table. Leaning against he, he coughs a bit, clearing his throat again. "Lady, I have to get three sacred treasures of Todoh in order to stop this crab grass from overtaking the city. I'm pretty sure standards of ludicrous have been relaxed at this point." The detective hiccups.
"But it's clear that your not gonna stand between me and saving this city."
Another brow raise-- and this time, she doesn't make it a point to hide her amusement. Or her relief.
"Listen, honey," she says, lining up her next shot, even if it's clear the game's effectively over, "it might have an impact on the kind of produce we can offer with the food, but half of that? I can import." She takes the shot-- makes it as effortlessly as the others-- and straightens, waving off the two guards, letting them wander back downstairs.
After that, she turns to Daniel again, and says, "And if you're looking to the Sakazakis for a lead? You're an idiot."
"And I bet you would just pay off the Syndicate to leave you alone, if you had the chance."
The detective might be tipsy, but he still had venom in him. "There are times you gotta stand aside, and let trouble pass you by. But this is something I need to do. If I don't do it, then hell, no one will. There got to be heroes in this world, you dig?" The detective groans a bit, trying to pushing himself off the table. The shots were catching up. As she refers to him as an idiot, he taps a fist on the table. "Yeah."
"I know."
The amusement turns cold rather rapidly at the mention of a pay-off. But at least he acknowledges the reason he'd say something that-- short-sighted.
"Then go be a hero," she says mildly. "I've got a business to run."
"You know what?"
"I think I will." He responds, shoving himself off the table. He takes three steps towards the stairs. And stops short. "I'm sorry for the trouble." He states flatly. And turning around, he looks at King... and then back to the tray. And quickly, he strides back over. "I'll just take one more for the road, though." He quickly mumbles, as he pours himself another glass.
I mean, what kind of man could turn down free liquor.
She allows it-- she did offer, after all-- and says, "Any more and the road's likely to take you," under her breath. "Or the crab grass, apparently," she amends, lining about another shot. "But it's your life."
That said, she leans over, and sinks one of the last few stripes on the table.
"Oh..." She straightens a bit, moving towards the table to fetch her own half-finished martini, which, conveniently, is right in front of Daniel. "Just one thing." A sip. "We never had this conversation."
"The road's tried to take me before."
The detective downs that glsas, finishing it with a smack of the lips. Putting the glass down, his stomach rumbles. "It has yet to succeed." Staggering towards the stairs, he pauses at the top of them, at King's words. Turning back towards her, he gives a nod and a small bow. "No problem, ma'am."
"I'm used to being told that."
And with that, he begins to work his way downstairs, to see himself out.
Log created on 23:16:42 01/20/2014 by Daniel, and last modified on 23:19:33 01/21/2014.