2019-07-30 - Tweakers are the worst!
Joey got tasked with making Evan change his story. He did a good job, even if he did get tazed.
IC Date: 2019-07-30
OOC Date: 2019-05-25
Location: Edge of Town
Related Scenes: 2019-07-11 - The right to remain
Plot: None
Scene Number: 925
The text that comes to Joey's phone is from one of Felix's random minions - not Graham, not Andre - and says simply, Come to the club around 9:30. Meeting
Joey is at the gym trying to get the industrial sized fan situated so it stops feeling like training in an easy bake oven and can smell slightly less like one too. Thankfully he's on good terms with the tool & dye shop owner next door and could borrow it in exchange for betting tips. Everyone's out to get their nugget.
Propping the steel door open his phone buzzes with the humm hmm-hmm he's got for 'business'. He checks it and promptly deletes the message. He quietly resolves if this is more bullshit someone's getting their jaw broken or buying him a goddamned lap dance because the day is too damn hot to be jerked around.
Thankfully by the time 9:30 rolls around the day's cooled off a bit, and Joey Kelly with it.
He pulls his bike up and parks it. and heads over to the side door to be let inside. While not generally one for pleasantries, and is on business, he does give a Sup. to the people he recognizes that don't grate on his nerves. He knows where he's supposed to go and he gets his ass there. Directly Felix or Felix-by-Proxy, the man is prompt. Too late can mean accidents. Too early can mean being a witness which is not something he's rather fond of.
The same random minion is the one blocking the door to the back of the club tonight, and he lifts a friendly wave to Joey. "S'up, man, right on time," he greets over the incessant bump-tss of club music. He pushes open the door and beckons Joey to follow, stopping for the requisite pat-down. If Joey's carrying a gun, he's gonna have to leave it with the bouncer, 'cause no one carries a piece up the stairs into Felix's office.
Which is where he leads next, opening the door after a soft knock. He lets Joey in, there to face Felix. The office is well-appointed but not ostentatious, and looks down over the club through a wide, one-way window. Felix is seated at the desk, working on a laptop when Joey enters. There's no offer for the younger man to sit, just an upward look. Felix is not a big fan of pleasantries and wasted time, so it's straight to, "Do you know Evan Johnson?"
Most people in town at least know of the guy: crackhead that sells random junk from his shitty place at the edge of town.
Joey was already pulling the piece out of the back of his pants, double checking the safety and handing it over discretely to the guy that paged him. There's a vaguely amused arch of eyebrows "Eh someone i this city's gotta know how time works. Hey, Trini workin t'night? If I got a short night tell her t'text me if she's down for doin somethin?" Rhetorical as it'll take a while to get that answer, and that's a while he ain't gona make Felix wait.
He steps in and closes the door nodding. "Boss." Greeting. Acknowledgement. Succinct. He doesn't bother taking a seat and rarely does unless thee's a drink involved or the agenda is shooting the shit. The denim foot soldier dips a nod, "Yeah, squirrely lil shit that can't keep his own shit out of his own goddamned nose. What about em?" Because there's something. Sure he nickels and dimes the world, but they ain't Joey's nickels or dimes and thus does not care. What he dpes care about is why Felix cares about this asshole.
The guy that's done all the letting-in stays in the doorway of Felix's office once Joey is in. That's the protocol: There's always a bodyguard in the room when someone has a meeting with the boss.
Nodding, Felix acknowledges that this sounds about right for what he knows of one Evan Johnson. Odds are, the boss has never laid eyes on this squirrelly fuck. "He told the police a story about two men selling him some stolen change machines. I need him to tell a different story to the police, one where he doesn't know who sold them to him. We just need to jog his memory."
Joey arches his eyebrow. OooOOoooh that dumb fuck. Drugs, man, they make the brain have holes where common sense goes. A simple nod follows and he assures, "You called the right coach if his memory needs to go for a jog." Hopefully it'll still be a short night. He does promise with calm assurance, "I'll keep an eye on it and follow up on it if need be." It's family, or enough so to him, this is one of those annoying little leaks that needs to stay fixed. .. or rip out the fucking plumbing and replace it wholesale. He listens to see if there's anything else to take care of besides.
Like there was never a doubt in his mind, Felix nods succinctly about having called the right person. As to the rest: "If Mister Johnson gives you any trouble, let me know." Basically, if this crackhead don't wanna listen to Joey, Felix has no problems sending in the big guns - but let's start with this guy and see how things go.
Besides, how else will he find out how reliable Joey is at this kinda schtick?
"See Dahlia when you've finished the job. She'll have your bonus." Sounds like 'dismissed.'
Joey nods "Sure thing." Which is to say thanks. He swings by to get his belongings from the doorman. He does take a look around to see if his personal interests are even around, but that's what phones are for. He doesn't like to get personally but how the fuck hard is it to keep one's fuckin mouth shut?!
Evan Johnson is about to get a house guest whether he's home or not. Joey's got few compunctions about letting himself in either way.
Evan's place is way out on the highway, beyond the turn-off to Hoquiam. It looks like one would expect from a crackhead trailer: run-down, with a bunch of half-finished projects scattered around what passes for a yard - cars, dirt-bikes, a shed, just all kinds of detritus. There's a very fat, very old mutt that sleeps on the porch, which is itself half fallen-down. She's not even good for a bark when people roll up at this point, though that's probably unnecessary. All the shades are drawn on the windows, but there's a peek through the blinds at the front window any time someone pulls up.
Tweakers are the worst.
Joey gets the layout of the place as the kickstand goes down. He's got family in places like this. Rough hand rubs his face and the first thing he does is check for all possible exits. Given the structural integrity of the trailer he decides the tally is 'many'.
Next is o check on the condition of that doggo. Is it tethered. Is she okay? People he generally gives two shits about but dogs are generally pretty cool as a rule unless their human is an asshole. His hand goes out for her to sniff, and even give her a scritch if she stays chill. Last thing he wants is for her to play hero mutt.
She's not abused or anything. Just old and fat and lazy. She's not even chained up, and her tail wags lazily where she drowses contentedly, lifting her nose enough to Joey a contemplative sniff, then lowering it to resume snoozing. Chill might be an understatement when it comes to this dog.
Her owner, though, throws open the door of the trailer suddenly, letting a wash of blue television-light stream out onto the patio. It positively reeks of smoke in there - incense, pot, meth, burned toast, electrical wiring. Evan Johnson is in his late-30s, the kind of guy that's never had a real job in his life, skinny from too much dope, and aiming a tazer at Joey. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" he demands immediately.
Joey categorizes the dog as: less than a threat, and probably likes pizza. He murmurs to the dog, "There ya go." The dog gets two pats. However then Evan's stepping up on him. Neither in prison, nor on the street is he about to deal with any fuck up greeting him like this. Food chain 101. He doesn't say anything, but in one smooth motion stands, turns and punches him right to the bridge of the nose, and if he can, back inside the goddamn door so he doesn't have to carry him there to have their 'discussion'.
Yeah. That should answer his question though. This is what Joey's doing here. Conveying a lot by saying a little.
And they say he's shit at public speaking!
<FS3> Joey rolls Athletics (8 4 4 3 3 2 2 1 1) vs Twitchy Trigger Finger (a NPC)'s 2 (7 4 2 1)
<FS3> DRAW!
<FS3> Joey rolls Athletics (8 6 4 4 3 3 3 3 2) vs Twitchy Trigger Finger (a NPC)'s 2 (8 8 5 2)
<FS3> DRAW!
<FS3> Joey rolls Athletics (5 5 3 3 3 2 2 1 1) vs Twitchy Trigger Finger (a NPC)'s 2 (7 5 5 2)
<FS3> Marginal Victory for Twitchy Trigger Finger.
Blood starts gooshing from Evan's nose immediately. It's an almost comical amount of the stuff that comes pouring out of his face, splattering down his shirt, leaving him sobbing, "WHAT THE FUCK, MAN!" He shoots the tazer without really meaning to, squeezing the trigger at the same time he brings both hands up to his bloody nose.
The little electrical dart-thingies go flying out and attach themselves squarely to Joey. ZAP!
Tweakers are the worst!
Joey was about to answer exactly the sort of 'fuck' this is when "NURNNNGHHHHRGGGHHH!!!"
His muscles seize and this... is relay just getting chalked to to the shit week he's had where his already shitty AC up and died on him. He waits for the klak-klak-klak-klak sound to stop and goes to grab the wires and yank.
OH the look Evan's getting. "Evan... now... is a great time... to shut the fuck up and listen." Ow ow ow ow ow...
The TV is on but the volume is down, and music pumps into the dark trailer. Evan does a very ungroovy dance to that music when he watches Joey get zapped, twitching around in the open doorway. His thousand-year-old-dog thumps her tail appreciatively for all these antics, sighs a dog-sigh, yawns, and goes back to being asleep/half-dead. "Yeah? Is it?! Maybe it's time for YOU to shut the fuck up and listen!"
Watch while Evan Johnson learns the hard way that tazers aren't fully automatic weapons.
He points it at Joey and shoots it again. Since he's already fired it... nothing happens. He starts shaking it frantically, like that will make it work, banging the butt of it on the door-frame.
Joey rallies and just walks over to Evan and punches him once more for good measure. "THAT... is for the fuckin tazer, dickwipe. But now that I have your attention I'm going to make this short... unless you want to keep dragging this out." The fact of the matter is if Evan has any hope of survival in this business he likely, with no guarantee, has a firearm somewhere and Joey doesn't feel the particular need to find it, nor have it go off where it can hit the neighbors. "I'm told you have a bad habit of runnin your mouth when you shouldn't... which I see to be true. Now why do YOU think I'm here?" If he has to grab him and plant his ass back in front of the tv he will.
God his leg stings. What the fuck is wrong with this week?!
All bleeding and with a tazer that he now believes is broken, Evan plops down onto the sofa with sad eyes, sniffing and then spitting out a big, bloody goober into an ash tray next to the ten thousand other gross and weird things that litter a crackhead's coffee table. Seriously, there's not even time to inventory the amount of aluminum foil and random pieces of wiring and Aim-a-Flames this guy has laying around his trailer. "I don't even know what you're talking about, man! You showed up here and kicked in my door and attacked my dog and broke my fucking tazer, and now you're talking about it like I'M the crazy one!" The tears start flowing immediately. This guy is just all over the place.
Joey looks around and finds a box of kleenex and looks inside, rattles it. Yeaaaah he's not entirely sure what that is but it ain't Kleenex and it can stay in there. Ah, a roll of paper towel. This gets lobbed at the guy. "Your dog's fine. I'm here, Evan, because you went and lied. You lied to the cops and now a bunch of people you don't want getting hurt by that lie... are hurt and pretty not happy about it... Deep breaths there." Looking up and around and back he informs, "They asked me... to talk to you about it. And then you got all up in my face. So... this gonna be a friendly visit or not? I'm a let you choose here because this is my nice face, guy."
Tearing off a towel, twisting it up, Evan shoves a horn up one nose, then repeats this and shoves some up the other. He watches Evan through this process, now with 100% more paper towel sticking out his nose! "I didn't lie about nothing! What're you even talking about, man?!" Crying and crying, he wipes his eyes with the untorn pieces of papertowel, smearing nose-blood all up onto his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah, this is friendly," he promises between his sniffles.
"Just tell me what you want, man. I dunno what you're talking about, I didn't tell no lies." Blubber blubber, he's about a half-second away from flat-out sobbing.
Joey shrugs still calm and offering, "Hey, I can be a lot less friendly." And that's God's own truth. He looks around and shrugs, "You wanna come home and find your trailer a pile of ashes it can be a-fucking-ranged. So..." He waits for the guy go get this shit out of his system and stares. Quiet? Good. "You talk to the cops? Are you stupid or fucking insane? Either way I don't care. You want this bad week to go the fuck away I'm gonna tell you exactly what you need to do. You listenin up, Evan?"
"The cops? The COPS?!" The needle climbs up... and then suddenly dials way back. "Oh. Oh, yeah. The cops." He frowns and the tears spill out from his eyes, mixing with nose-blood and just sealing the deal on his ability to look like a totally wrecked human being.
"I told 'em the truth, man. That's all I did! The big black dude and his little Aryan buddy sold me the change machines. What was I supposed to do? Like to the police?" He's trying to listen-up, but the sobbing is getting in the way.
Joey can piece together enough of the jumbled puzzle to form the picture. He leans forward, knowing his unsmiling stern mug can look mean as hell, and non-plussed answers quietly, "...Yes." You're supposed to lie to the cops. He draws a breath gathering his patience to him, "You are so bad at this, how are you breathing? Yeah you're supposed to lie to the cops. They ain't your friends. They're gonna come back here and find all your shit and you're gonna go to jail for a long time and trust me, cupcake, they'd have fun with you." He leans over and adds the details of where and how that no one wants to hear in that manner of I'm doing you a favour warning you, jackass.
"So... how we gonna fix this, Evan? You do want to fix it right? Because really? I don't feel like doing a return visit because of this."
"That was the whole thing. I told them about the change machines, and they didn't send me to jail. We had a deal!" It's entirely possible - nay, probable! - that this sobbing SOB has no clue who he really crossed. He just blubbers like a child that stubbed his toe. "What do you need me to do, man? What can I do to fix it? What fixes it?"
LOOK AT ALL HIS TEARS, JOEY!
Joey isn't about to give a blabbermouth Felix's name. Fuuuuuck that! Having been a D student didn't mean he wasn't learning shit. Joey watches him and says very clearly, "The guy whose pocket you not only stole money out of by doing this? Yeah you kinda just set it on fire. Who you think controls your buyers? Lemme tell you their feelings are really fucking hurt that you'd do this. So. You's gonna go to the cops and tell em you were toned and scared and give em some other fuckin description of these people. You got that?" He waits to see how well the point is gotten across. "And you's gonna do it tomorrow fuckin morning."
With the stammering, "Y-Yes, I got it. I got it, man! Just quit hitting me!" He cowers on his sofa like this has been the beating of a lifetime, the poor crackhead. Tentatively, he pulls one of the stoppers of paper towel out of his nose, looks at the boogery blood on it, and bursts into even more tears. "I'm so sorry, man, so so sorry. I didn't mean to cause no problems. They were just on me, like - you know how cops can be, so I just told 'em about those two guys 'cause I figured they'd want a bigger fish to fry, y'know? PLEASE tell your boss," it's funny because stupid Evan has no idea who's behind all this, "that I'll take care of this, I promise. Okay? OKAY?!"
Joey watches the man have a near breakdown and offers, too damn casually, "Your boss, Evan. Ours really." Taking a deep breath he looks around and nods, "You seem a decent guy, Evan." For a rock slinger. "So I'm gonna tell you this. You got a chance to change this and do pretty good for yourself. Because, really, I don't like those return visits. I just detailed my trunk. Though, on the other hand guy? No one questions a meth lab blowin up in the middle of the night either." He nods slowly getting up offering objectively, "Also answering your door with hey, what's up? Better for business. So we're going o talk tomorrow and all of this will be cleared up by then yeah? " he's not even going to tell him when but he will return same damn time, or be waiting in the living room when he gets back. Goooood please don't be stupid.
Rubbing the back of his hand across his nose, despite the plugs he's stuffed up there, Evan nods slowly, the way a child that's just been chastised nods at a grown-up. "Tomorrow. For sure, everything will be fixed tomorrow, no worries about that. And I'll answer nicer when I open the door, I swear." Not least because his tazer is broken now, bro. 🙁 The dog on the porch continues to wag her tail in her sleep. She's a good dog. Her owner is just a spun-out moron.
Joey satisfied this guy just had the fear of Joey put into him he nods giving that approval parents should be giving children, but really, it's coaching. When you run a prison yard you pretty much are guaranteed fuck-ups to work with. It requires high patience, low expectations, and quick reprisal. Approval though is important. And if he has to come back tomorrow he'll just bring a damn match. After he relocates the dog. Ain't the dog's fault.
Here's to hoping learning has occurred. "Evan, I believe in you. Don't let me down. We make mistakes, we learn from them." He heads out and pauses looking back, "Learn. From. Them." He backs out and get back to his motorcycle.
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