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

[the_vigilante]

"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.

Comments

[the_vigilante]

"Yeah, I was thinking that, too," Aiden confirms. He doesn't bother to add that, in addition to helping his shoulder heal, it'll help sell whatever lie he feeds Nicky, too. Maybe he'll tell her that he got hit by a car, crossing Wabash or something.

Pushing the thought away for the time being, for all that he doesn't have to deal with Nicky, right this second, he exhales a breath, and then repeats, "Thanks." In case he hasn't said it. In case Ray doubts that he means it. Whatever.

[fortheportfolio]

Ray nods. "You're welcome." He pauses a beat. "Though I gotta ask how you ended up with a hole in your shoulder in the first place."

Aiden can brush off the question if he wants - Ray half expects him to, honestly - but he is curious.

[the_vigilante]

"A job," Aiden answers. While it seems like that's the best Ray is going to get out of him, however, after a beat, Aiden continues, "I was waiting on some guys, but it was starting to feel like it was taking too long. There was -- something, in the side mirror, and I looked over just in time to see this guy, standing there. He sticks his gun in my window, and I took off."

If Aiden hadn't noticed him, he probably would have taken a bullet to the head, rather than the shoulder. He assumes the guys he was waiting on weren't so lucky. Either way, he seems remarkably calm about the whole thing. Probably because this is just life for him, and he knows that, eventually, life will catch up with him. Like the Vikings, he won't be dying, old and gray, in his bed, in the end.

[fortheportfolio]

Ray cringes a little. "Sounds like a great start to a day. You ever think about picking up something with a slightly lower chance of grievous bodily harm?"

He knows being a fixer isn't the safest job in the world, and Aiden is young. He's got plenty of time to find something less likely to end in death.

[the_vigilante]

"Like what?" Aiden asks on the heel of a scoff.

It's not that he doesn't appreciate the obvious concern, it's more that, like Liam Neeson in Taken, he has a very particular set of skills. He's pretty sure the best he can get, with things like getaway driver and expert marksman on his resume is dock work or maybe something at a garage, somewhere, and he's already tried both. Never mind the fact that neither of those jobs were legitimate, either.

Welcome to Chicago.

[fortheportfolio]

Ray huffs out a wry laugh. "Alright, you made your point," he agrees dryly, because yeah, he is very aware of the kinds of enterprises that are going on in this city. There's a touch of apology in his tone, too - he's honestly not trying to shame the kid, but he knows too well how things go for most fixers as they get older and spend longer in the business.

[the_vigilante]

"Chicago," Aiden says with a shrug. What can he say, he's a lifer?

"You from around here?" he ventures after a moment, trying to shift things off of him and his near-death experience. It's a natural enough segue, and honestly, he's curious, that much not on the contract on him. Working for Blume, they could have pulled him in from anywhere in the country, and while he doesn't exactly sound Chicagoan, the accent's not far off, either. But that could be if he just spent a lot of time working in Chicago, assuming this was ground zero for the blackout. But -- well, like he said. Curious.

[fortheportfolio]

Ray huffs out a breath through his nose, wryly amused, because Aiden is entirely not wrong.

Ray shifts a little, leaning back some in his chair. "Not Chicago," he answers eventually, "but not far off, either. Little farther north, up around Madison."

[the_vigilante]

"Fucking Wisconsin," Aiden spits immediately, making a face. He's more a hockey guy than a football guy, but the rivalry is practically ingrained in every Chicagoan, regardless of favored sport or if they even have an interest in football.

"I can't talk to you anymore." If there's a note of hesitation before that, it's because he almost told Ray they can't be friends anymore, and they're most definitely not friends. No.

[fortheportfolio]

Ray is surprised enough by that reaction that he actually barks out a laugh, grinning a little. "Why do you think I don't exactly go around advertising it?" he jokes in return.

And nope, definitely not. No way.

[the_vigilante]

"Smart guy," Aiden tells him, the implied even if you are from Wisconsin loud enough to practically be audible in spite of him not saying it.

"You follow football?" he asks, after a beat. It seems the natural progression of the conversation, friends or no.

[fortheportfolio]

That gets another laugh - and then Ray shrugs. "Not really. I might catch some hockey now and then, but I've never really been a sports kinda guy." He pauses a beat. "How 'bout you?"

[the_vigilante]

"Hockey," he answers at once, starting to lean forward over his knees. He stops when the movement and then pressure that follows makes him see stars, and on a heavy breath out, leans back again slowly. It takes him a minute to continue. "I'm a Blackhawks guy."

[fortheportfolio]

"Why am I not surprised?" Ray asks as he watches Aiden catch his breath. He hesitates a moment, too, making sure Aiden is recovering before he goes on. "You're just a good ol' Chicago boy."

There's some disdain there, but he's absolutely teasing.

[the_vigilante]

"You hadn't figured that out, before now?" Aiden shoots back, mood returning as his breath does. He leans back in the chair instead, that much easier on his shoulder, before, "You been paying attention at all?"

[fortheportfolio]

"Well, I gotta say, the accent is throwing me a little, now," he says easily - and he's still trying to pry while not prying. If Aiden shuts him down on any of these topics, he'll back off readily enough, but he also wouldn't mind having more information, since they're sharing.

[the_vigilante]

Aiden straightens again at that, flushing, clearly embarrassed. He scrubs a hand over his mouth, as if something more physical is required to push down the accent he tries so desperately to hide (and mostly manages, when he's not waiting for the aspirin to kick in after being shot), and then lamely, he answers, "Yeah, well."

He at least sounds more Midwestern, now.

A moment of silence follows, and then carefully, but ever without the accent, he admits, "We moved from Belfast when I was ten." And then he braces to wait for the inevitable accusations about whether or not he's Club.

[fortheportfolio]

Ray doesn't immediately jump to that, just gives a soft, thoughtful, "Hm. How's it gone for you over here, steering clear of the Club?"

He knows what Club guys look like, and Aiden so far hasn't pinged any of that - especially not if he's hiding the accent.

[the_vigilante]

"Hasn't always been easy," he allows, relaxing in measures as it seems Ray isn't going to start screaming or spitting on him or whatever. "Especially not when I kinda ... "

Well, he's not a good person, and some of the shitty things he gets into runs adjacent to the Club's dealings. He's never gotten into the harder things, the drugs, the human trafficking, true, but he was still here to kill Ray, when they first met. He still took a bullet on a job less than twenty four hours ago, and the Club definitely has its own fixers, its own drivers, its own thieves.

[fortheportfolio]

Ray hesitates a long moment and then begins, carefully, with a brief, warning raise of his hand. Don't jump down his throat for this next question, kid. "You hooked up with anybody or you running freelance?"

He thinks the kid is a free agent, but maybe there are some groups out there he doesn't know about. He's also not trying to imply anything; he's still just gathering information while Aiden seems willing to give it.

[the_vigilante]

Aiden frowns at him for a moment, despite the attempt at placation, and then exhales a heavy breath before shaking his head. "There's a few guys I've worked with, a couple times, but it's mostly freelance. I pick up a lot of shit where they need an outside guy, for whatever reason."

Mostly driving contracts, in that case, or contracts like Ray's, where the purse goes to whoever actually pulls the hit off, regardless of affiliation.

[fortheportfolio]

Ray just nods, letting the question go. "Figured, just asking."

He pauses a beat before he sighs. "Already did the whole 'find a safer job' thing, so I won't ask how often you end up having close calls." Like the new hole in his shoulder, Ray means.

[the_vigilante]

In spite of the fact that he's not really asking, Aiden still shakes his head. "Not often. Not like this."

He's had some cuts and scrapes and bruises, sure, maybe even the occasional broken rib, when a fight's gone sideways, but nothing like this. This is the closest brush with his mortality he's had, to date. It probably won't be the last, all things considered, but it also won't be something he makes a habit of.

[fortheportfolio]

"You know who put that hole in you so you can avoid them until they forget you were driving for the other guys?"

He's assuming whoever shot him was the enemy of whoever he was driving for. Whether or not they know Aiden's not actually affiliated is another question, but at the least, he figures Aiden should avoid either side for a bit.

[the_vigilante]

"They didn't see my face," Aiden promises. He honestly doesn't know who shot him, though, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out, and yes, avoid them for awhile. Though, "Though, shit. I need to do something with the car I was driving last night."

Like drive it down into the Wards and leave it near Rossi-Freemont. It won't last long there.