the_vigilante | wake up or you'll wake up six feet down (rp for fortheportfolio)

Entry tags:

wake up or you'll wake up six feet down (rp for fortheportfolio)

"Yo, so you know that blackout, a couple of months back?" Aces starts. Aiden didn't catch his name, if it came up at all, but the guy's had more face cards show up in his hands than there are in the whole of the deck, so the moniker feels appropriate.

"Yeah, what about it?" Lamb asks, glancing up from where he's been frowning down at his cards. He's getting fleeced, but he hasn't noticed yet. No one at the table has, as far as Aiden can tell, but that's their problem, not his. He's not about to fill them in.

"Word on the street's dude who cause it is in the city, now," Aces answers, picking up neat stack of chips to add to the pot. "Call," he mutters, before, "Word is Blume's got it out for him, too. Fifty thousand to anyone who can bring him in -- or roll up with his head on a spike or some shit."

"This ain't TV," Blank puts in. Aiden hasn't been able to come up with a nickname for him, drawing a blank. The guy is, as far as he's concerned, completely unmemorable. "Blume's a tech company. You really think they're gonna post some bounty, like they suddenly the Club?"

"I'm just telling you what I heard, man," Aces protests, holding up a hand. Blank throws down his, folding, and Aces continues, "Ask any kid in the Yards. There's a fifty thousand dollar contract on the dude who caused the blackout."

"Guy was a desk jockey or something for them, wasn't he?" Lamb wonders, laying down the turn card. Aiden, more interested in the conversation than the game, barely glances at his own hand. Fifty thousand dollars would be nice, especially considering money's tight now that Nicky's had her baby, and as Lamb continues to point out, "Sounds like it'd be an easy job. Dude probably doesn't even own a gun."

If there's a price on his head, their guy has probably bought a gun since then, Aiden thinks, but the Lamb's assessment isn't far off, otherwise. Chances are he doesn't know how to use it, not like he does, so the hard part, then, becomes finding Blume's guy before another fixer, looking for an easy pay out, does -- or before he skips town. Aiden doesn't want to have to leave Chicago, easy paycheck or not, not when Nicky might need him.

"You in or you out, man?" Aces asks, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Aiden glances down at his cards, his attentions again cursory, then taps them into a pile on the edge of the table and sets them down. Without reaching for his share of the chips, he starts to stand. Fifty thousand dollars will make what he's leaving behind look like pocket change. "I'm out."

Behind him, a chorus of jeers start up as he heads for the door, but he ignores them. He's got bigger things to worry about now.

► ►
It takes him too long to piece it all together -- who he's after, exactly, where he is -- but somehow, somehow it's still him who gets to Raymond Kenney first. While it should feel like a Godsend, however, the check all but in the bank, it puts Aiden on edge, instead. For all he knows, Ray's a hell of a lot more prepared than anyone's been lead to believe, and he's walking into a trap. For all he knows, this is some CPD set up, to see how many would-be murderers they can bait into catching, and it's still a trap, albeit one that ends up with him arrested, rather than with a bullet in his head. Maybe. It really depends on how the CPD is feeling today or if Lucky Quinn has them cleaning house.

Either way, he doesn't go in the front door and he doesn't let the cameras catch him. He hugs the building, instead, slipping from one blind spot to another, so that Ray or whoever's watching doesn't see him, and works his way around the back. From there, he finds a way up to a window on the second floor, climbing a stack of pallets high enough until he can pull himself up onto the catwalk under it, and pries it open just enough to slip inside. He takes the time to catch the window, once he is, and close it again quietly. He allows himself a breath out then (so far, so good), and on the inhale flinches, the smell of alcohol hitting home like a sucker punch. It takes him a minute to remember to breath through it, and when he does, he edges towards the railing of the walkway, and looks down into the warehouse.

Someone is definitely sleeping in the proverbial bed, here, and like Baby Bear, Aiden finds him still there, who he imagines to be Kenney sitting at a table in the center of the room, apparently unaware. He's also the source of the smell of booze, Aiden notes, a mostly empty bottle and glass at the table, too. Aiden makes a face, disapproving, getting drunk when half of Chicago's looking for you a terrible idea, but starts down the stairs all the same. Ray doesn't seem to notice him, doesn't move up until Aiden has the barrel of his gun pressed up against the back of his head, and even then, it's only a minute thing, just him stiffening, straightening.

"Ray Kenney?" Aiden breathes at his ear.

"Yeah," he answers dumbly.

Humming, Aiden cocks the gun and -- well, he's not sure what makes him hesitate, really. Maybe it's how easy this all seems, even for what's supposed to be an easy contract. Either way, however, he's pretty sure he hears Kenney hiss, "Just fuckin' do it, man," and then, for whatever reason, he can't. He fucking can't. He bites out a swear of his own, then at a loss for anything better to do, decocks the gun and brings the butt of it down on Kenney's temple, instead. Mercifully, Kenney slumps into the table, and Aiden watches him for a moment, frowning, before willing himself to move, to head for the door.

He's fucking himself, he knows he's fucking himself, but he can't do this. He can't be someone's apparent suicide. He'll leave that to someone else.

► ►
Aiden's not sure what makes him go back any more than he's sure what made him leave, but the next night, he's back at the warehouse he found Kenney at. He goes in the back again, this time hoping not to be seen from the street rather than by the cameras, it still smells like booze when he lets himself in, and Kenney is still unconscious -- or is unconscious again, considering the bottle and glass have been swapped out for what looks like two empty six packs. Either way, Aiden wonders if Kenney isn't trying to kill himself, either by drinking himself to death or waiting here for someone else to find him, when someone already did, and that disgusts him more than the smell of booze did, last night.

He's tempted for a minute, then, to just fucking leave Kenney here, to the suicide he's too much of a coward to even do himself, and he turns to head back towards the stairs. He stops when his eyes fall on a nearby drum, filled with what looks like water, and all at once, he has a better idea. Marching back to Kenney, he fists a hand in his hair and pulls, trying to drag him back to consciousness or at least out of his seat. No matter his reaction, though, one thing is sure -- Ray's about to get a nice bath in the form of Aiden dunking him.

"Get up," he hisses, regardless, belatedly.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only | Expand All

Ray grabs something else at random and throws it after Frewer, not even bothering to see if it hits before he turns back to Aiden. "Shit. Sorry about that."

"Who the hell was that?" Aiden demands, glancing up from where he looked away to assess the damage. It's not bad, really, just a little rope burn, but after the day he's had, it's not thrilling, either. He's tempted, for a moment, to take his tacos and go, that in mind -- or pitch them at Ray's head as he leaves. He did his part, already, after all. Ray's still alive.

"And what the hell was with the -- " Whatever it was that actually knocked him out. His fingers hurt as much from that as from the rope, oddly.

"That was Frewer," Ray returns, almost saying the man's name like it's a four-letter word. "He worked with me at Blume. When I got shown the door, he did, too. He's obviously handling it just as well as me." He drifts back toward where he left his beer, working one free of the plastic ring, opening it, and taking a long drink.

Once he's swallowed, he looks back at Aiden. "You're gonna have to get a little more specific with that, kid."

When it comes to something to do with Frewer, that could be the start of so many questions.

"Pretty sure he tased me or something," Aiden supplies, still looking sour. He's not sure it was Frewer, not sure it was a taser, for all that he didn't see the former and wouldn't have ended up unconscious through the latter, but it's hard to tell. It's all a little fuzzy, and the headache that he's been left with is only compounding things.

Ray frowns at him - and then cringes. "Uh, yeah, that part was probably me." He gestures upward. "I'm, uh... not the most trusting person. You came in that way, you probably hit one of my booby traps."

He pauses. "Sorry." He looks like he actually means that, too.

Aiden hums, relaxing the tiniest bit. He's still not thrilled by the fact that he got fucking electrocuted, but it's slightly better, somehow, that it was Ray, rather than Frewer. Now they're even.

"You set all this up before or after I found you at that warehouse?" he asks after a beat, regardless, dropping his hands back to his sides. He flexes his fingers idly, letting feeling filter back into them.

Ray takes another drink of his beer in that beat. "Uh... both," he returns, turning to sit down in a different chair than the one Aiden was tied to. "I've had this place set up for a while now, but I turned some things back on after we parted ways."

He pauses a beat, looking up at Aiden after he settles. "What you said, about me doing this for a living. I know you meant the chip they put in me, but. Got to thinking maybe I can still make some of this shit right. Won't bring back the people that died in the blackout, but."

Maybe he can still do some damage to Blume.

Aiden, meanwhile, rounds the chair he was tied to, idly. He pauses behind it, leaning into its back, and folds his arms over his chest. It's a weird position to be in, to be standing in, but it feels safe for all that it's awkward. At least this way, he won't accidentally step on the pressure plate for whatever other goodies Ray has, lining the room.

"Make it right, how?"

That is not what he told you to do, Ray. He told you to get the fuck out of Chicago. At the same time, though, he can sort of understand wanting to do penance.

"I don't know," Ray begins. "Hadn't got that far yet," he admits. "I just know it'll feel mighty good to give Blume a big ol' kick in the balls."

He pauses, looking into his beer like he might find an answer to how to do this inside the can - and then looks back at Aiden. "I mean, I haven't worked out how I'm gonna do it, and there's still the problem of that price on my head, but. I'll figure something out." He takes a drink.

He hasn't ruled out leaving Chicago. He's just had some things to take care of before he can.

"Fifty thousand's a pretty good pay out," Aiden answers by way of agreement. Not that he's going to try and collect, not even now that Ray seems to have more of his shit together. It still feels a little underhanded, and -- well, he doesn't necessarily like Ray, but he doesn't want to see him dead, either. He's not sure why, what's still stopping him, why he fucking came here with tacos in the first place.

Exhaling a heavy breath, frustrated with himself, he makes a grab at regaining his street cred, and continues, "Make it worth my time, and I could probably keep the fixers off of you for awhile."

Ray arches an eyebrow at him - and then sits back to study Aiden when he goes on. "Worth your time how? You got the part where I'm persona non grata around here, right? And that I got thrown out on my ass. I'm not exactly raking it in."

Aiden snorts, one corner of his mouth ticking upwards into a brief, humorless smile.

"What I know about this shit could fill a thimble," he starts when the expression fades. He doesn't bother to clarify what he means by 'this shit', if only because it'll become obvious here in a second. "But I do know how to get into someone's OnStar from my phone and turn off their car alarm." Again with the part where this is Ray's thing, though. "If you can blackout half the country ... " Then Aiden's pretty sure he can put two and two together and figure out how to get into someone's bank account.

He's not sure Ray hasn't already, and isn't just trying to throw him off the scent, for all the things he has here, from the toaster Frewer stole to the rubber ducky he threw at him. Those had to come from somewhere and Aiden has an easier time believing that Ray made the money magically appear, rather than trying to imagine him breaking into someone's house to lift a fucking blender.

That in mind, and very deliberately, he takes a look around the room, muttering, "Nice place," before he returns his attentions to Ray.

"Thanks," he drawls in return, expression carefully blank. "Won it at poker."

Ray pauses again - and then huffs out another breath, looking tired again. He's too old for this shit. "Alright, kid, I'll get you the money if you figure out how to keep those buzzards off me."

Trying to keep from looking too pleased with himself, Aiden hums.

"Deal, then." He'll even give Ray something of a grace period, and start throwing people off of his scent now, rather than waiting until he pays up. If it seems like Ray's trying to fuck him, not hold up his end of the bargain, he might withdraw his protection, but -- well, he won't see a dime if Ray ends up dead.

"Alright," Ray agrees easily, taking another drink from his beer and then looking toward the take-out bag. "So are those actually tacos or you hiding something else in there?"

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to get close, if I just came in here with a grenade," he deadpans, allowing some of his amusement to creep onto his face, now. After a pause for effect, more seriously, he answers, "It's actually tacos."

"You'd be surprised," Ray returns, equally amused - and then with more interest - even if he still looks a little confused. He still doesn't understand Aiden's motivations with all this. "You brought me tacos."

He pauses a beat - and then decides what the hell. "Well, I brought beer, so I guess it's a party."

"Starving's about as shitty a way to go as pneumonia," Aiden tells him, shrugging. Honestly, he's not entirely sure what his motivation here is, either. The streets just haven't stripped him of his heart entirely, yet.

Either way, though, after a beat and some confusion of his own, he asks, "You asking me to join you?" Because that sure seemed like an invitation to sit down and share in Ray's beer.

"Yeah, kid, that's what I'm asking," he returns, not unkindly. "Pull up a chair. I promise you won't end up strapped in this time."

He really is sorry about the trap getting Aiden. He didn't expect him to track him down again considering how they parted ways.

Aiden still isn't sure what to make of the invitation, caught off guard for all that he originally showed up to kill Ray and is now extorting him in some fucked up protection racket, but -- well, he supposes his half of this is just as fucked up. He's the one that started it, bringing food to someone he originally took a job to murder, after all.

That in mind, he pushes away from where he's been leaning into the chair, grabbing it by the back to drag it over to Ray. He sits, once he feels close enough, and almost hesitantly, starts to reach for one of the beers. And as he pulls it back into his lap, he notes, "I'd worry this was poisoned, but ... "

But they're both sort of taking a leap of faith, here, as much as they are confusing the shit out of one another, aren't they? Never mind the fact that he's already seen Ray drink the beer.

Ray snorts. "I could be saying the same thing about these. Especially considering where they're from. You know there's some actually decent taco places in the city, right?" He's mostly teasing with that - he likes junk food as much as the next guy.

"As for these," he begins and takes another drink of his own, "I'd say something about never wasting a good beer by poisoning it, but I don't know that would inspire much confidence."

They're not terrible beers, but they're not exactly top shelf, either - or whatever the equivalent is when it comes to beer.

"I was in a hurry," Aiden argues, making a face at him. Yes, he knows there are better Mexican places in the city, but none of them have a drive-thru -- not to mention the fact that stopping for tacos was sort of a spur of the moment decision.

"You're not wrong about the beer, though," he continues after a mouthful and a pause. It doesn't help that beer isn't really his thing. He's too much of a control freak to have ever taken to drinking.

"I wasn't expecting company," Ray counters as he takes one of the tacos, setting his beer aside to unwrap it.

"But, uh," he says, before he actually takes a bite of it. "Thanks for this."

Aiden hums, a your welcome, and reaches for the bag, himself, to fish out a taco. "Yeah, well. Don't expect this to become a thing."

Never mind the fact that it probably will turn into one, if he starts spending time here, for whatever reason.

"Never crossed my mind," Ray returns easily, because it didn't. He would love to have any inclination as to what Aiden's deal is, but he doesn't, and so, he doesn't really have any reason to expect this to happen again, since he never expected it to happen once.

wake up or you'll wake up six feet down (rp for fortheportfolio)

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)