2019-09-05 - Tape 'Em Up

On a cooling afternoon, the sun beginning to set quicker as the year draws closer to equinox, Itzhak shows up at Kelly's Gym. With a gym bag, even. He's anxious although he doesn't want to admit it even to himself as he rolls through the open bay door on that unique half-saunter of his. He lifts his sunglasses, looking around.

Joey comes out of that back hall behind where the sign reads: STAFF ONLY. It's hard to tell what mood he's in because when he rolls out of a room it could just be that someone's about to eat a brick... or he casually misplaced his keys. Behind him the back room door pulls shut in his wake and the lock falls into place. The look lifts to Itzhak but the word aren't business but casual. "Sup, Z. Business or personal?" The gym bag really means little but the answer does mean talk here or talk in the back.

Itzhak jerks his chin at Joey in a upnod. "Sup. Personal." The sound of the lock clunking home makes him swallow. He can do that too, but to see Joey do it so casually is awful in its way. "You got a minute or two?"

Joey doesn't make it or even seem to notice it fucking happened. For some people shit falls into place, right? How he can seriously not even notice...well, that's JL for you. Looking around and down at his hands still with rosin in his knuckles he nods slowly. "Yeah I can make a minute. Sup?"

Itzhak clips his sunglasses into the neck of his tank top. "Wanted to ask you about training. I hear you're a good coach. Well, I only been trained so far by the method of some guy kicking my ass and then me trying to figure out later what I did wrong. So," he shrugs, uncomfortable, "thought we could maybe talk about it, or, something."

Joey asks bluntly, "Your dad?" Curious not a judgement. Okay everything looks judgy but it's hard not to when your resting face is an emoticon. >:|

"Coachin?" Business is booming but what else as he got to do? Oh yeah, mind the Boss' business. "Yeah I mean you wanna talk shop, let's talk shop man. I got some time right now. What kinda schedule you looking to do, Z? What's your end goal?"

Itzhak snorts, surprised by the question. "Not Pop." Then again, given who's asking, maybe he shouldn't be surprised. Anyway. He shrugs again, raking through his hair. A bunch of nervous tells going off at once. "You want the honest truth? I don't get to hit people nearly enough anymore. Hitting a heavy bag, it ain't bad, but it gets old. I wanna work it out on a real opponent without, yannow. Causing a ton of trouble, for myself or someone else, or for the boss. And if I can learn something so much the better, right?"

Joey tries to sum this all up in his head, "Sooo you need to get your beef on but you don't want to jack up the Man's business?" He squints looking to Itzhak and the shoulders drop with his hands swinging out. The bulldog of a boxer stands down, "Yeah a'ight. I'm all in for what makes his your and my life easier. I'm a fuckin people person like that. You tell me what you're lookin for and we'll get to workin on that just," His fingers lift light but hover right therewith pause control and that notable practice of just crushing things. For now it hovers there like a subliminal reminder. "Respect the rules of my space and someone says stop? It stops. It's not that I don't trust you, it's that I don't trust a lotta them who ain't lookin to become the next Chavez. Yeah? Good." There it's officially fucking said. Es spiritu sancti or whatever.

Maybe, just maybe, Itzhak's a guy not unlike Joey himself. A guy who finds it way too easy to give in to his temper when the fists start flying. Joey can surely smell his own, if the prison ink wasn't enough of a hint. Hence the warning. Itzhak makes the connection that way, at least. "Hey, your roof, your rules, pal. I got nothin' to say against that." He's looking at Joey, sizing him up without pretending otherwise. "Probably shouldn't trust me."

Joey tilts his head to the side in silent indication of It's how it is. He agrees in reiteration, "My yard, my rules." Sure it's a little prison Old Testament but it's a common language and in a common language comes the harmony of clarity. Sometimes percussivly. The words are simple and for all he bites, he is a stickler for his rukles and keeping his peopel safe, even if it's from their own dumb ass. "I trust you because I told you and I trust you to do that. You want to go ham lemme tell you work your way up to it. You run face first into a train that ain't satisfyin, that's just losing your damn face to a train. Know what you're willin to risk. That said I think if you're lookin for a challenge? That we can give you."

Itzhak's cheek flinches. Those words make things move inside him, things he tries to live with and around, like a tree growing around a boulder. 'My yard, my rules'; the boulder shifts.

"Fair," he says, though, after a moment. "Challenge me, chief. I could use it."

It might be missed, what with all the talk of yards and rules, and losing faces to trains, but a cop car rolls up outside nice and chill. It doesn't immediately scream cop car, mind; no markings, no obvious lights or sirens. But if the aggressive looking push bars on the front weren't enough indication, the guy that climbs out is most definitely a cop. And a regular patron of this here little establishment. But mostly, a cop. He shoulders the door open as he ducks inside; 190 pounds or so of Mexican in a suit. It's a nice enough suit, fits well, but off the rack. Taxpayer dime? You bet.

Those words slam home in Itzhak and Joey knows it. Z knows Joey knows it too innately. That's how you know who the real big swinging dick in the yard is: it's the one that doesn't have to tell you. You already just fucking know. Quietly he agrees, "Well alright then. We can help you out." And then there's de la Vega rolling in like discount Hawaii 5-0. His eyes stay locked on Ruiz moving in and his weight shifts to square up even between both shoulders, feet planted. It's to Itzhak he murmurs, "Anythin I should know about?"The eyebrow goes slightly higher. "Hey." There's a greeting. So fucking eloquent. Where's Erin again with her cheerful hullos and coffee? Oh yeah, not here.

The other gym was severely lacking in what Bianca was interested in. This one had come with high recommendation from those of Felix' crew that she'd asked. No matter the time, when she'd found some time in her day it was here she'd finally come. Her attire of choice wasn't anything high dollar or anything. Yoga pants that appeared a little too tight because they are yoga pants along with a loose fitting teeshirt. Red hair pulled back in a ponytail just to keep it out of the way. "Hey!" The greeting echoes a little when she enters, recognizing a few if not all of the people in here from one place or another.

Itzhak sniffs, rubs his nose, eyes Joey. Yeah they both know those words hit him like an arrow between the ribs. Something changes in the way he stands, something indefinable but troubling. (He wasn't a swinging dick. He was the guy the swinging dick paid for contraband.) Catching the sound of Ruiz's car before it actually appears, Itzhak looks around waiting for it. "...He can cuss in Yiddish, or something kinda like Yiddish anyway," he mutters back to Joey when Ruiz appears, absolutely deadpan. Bianca he doesn't recognize, and he looks at her a little blankly.

The cop in a suit ambles on in a short way, hands shoved into the pockets of his pants. A critical eye might spot that his tie is ever so slightly askew. Mostly because he doesn't give a fuck, and because suits are not his jam. But his job requires that he wear one, so here he is. Dark eyes are cast about the place slowly as he prowls for the front desk, or whatever passes for one. The redhead is spotted first, coming in hot on his heels, and he eyes her up and down with a look on his face that conveys very little. His gaze slides toward the proprietor then, and he happens to catch sight of Itzhak nearby. A smile, brief, for the former, though it's more like a baring of teeth than an expression of warmth. "Kelly. Got a minute?" He waits for the man to come to him, already digging something out of an inner pocket of his jacket. He's armed, of course. Ugly looking sig sauer P220 that he likes to carry in a shoulder holster. "Rosencrantz," is also greeted, low-voiced.

Why not Kelly's Gym? Felix is getting his cut off of it and 80% of the business that passes through his safehouse in the back room. Joey's his collector for a reason. Joey's the closest thing he's got to an armored truck that bites. Itzhak's contribution though damn well gets that expression to break into one of paused amusement. "Thanks, Z. That's a real game changer." Bianca gets a glance. He knows her to the point of 'business' like he tries to keep track. "Sup, girly." There's enough familiarity in the tone there to categorize her as Not a Problem(tm).

Those sharp green eyes remain on Ruiz though. The answer comes easy as the question, "Oh I got a lot of minutes. Whadda ya want with them? I should tell ya since you got all dressed up just t'see me I don't do field trips without a signed permission slip from the teacher. Safety first." Which is Joey Lee for if you wanna poke around you'd better be packin a damn warrant.

Whether Itzhak recognizes her or not, Bianca remember him from the Two if by Sea bar. He hadn't been there long, but she rarely forgets a face. Ruiz, on the other hand, she knew a little better. "We keep meeting at all of these places. Looks like a friendly bunch." At least Joey was decent. He gets a half smile for his efforts. "I just came to use the bags. What do you charge for that? I'd be open for a spar if anyone were interested too." Her eyes graze over Ruiz then, pretty curious herself what he wanted with the owner.

Itzhak, on the other hand, forgets faces so much that it's a real problem for him, especially seeing as how distinctive his own is. Bianca's a stunningly gorgeous redhead, which you'd think would help, but he keeps staring at her in a way that can easily be construed as creepy. Tall rough looking dude, staring at stunningly gorgeous redhead. He realizes he's doing it and deliberately looks away. "Gunny," he says, to Ruiz, all neutral, yeah look at him he's so neutral.

Ruiz meets that green-eyed gaze pound for pound, looking at Joey not at all the way he had a few days ago, when he showed up for a friendly fight. This time, it's all business, and there isn't a smile in sight. Just that brutish look he tends to sport, all dark slanted eyes and big shoulders set at a slight slouch. The folded slip of paper from his suit jacket is given a waggle between two fingers. "Come here." He does, in fact, smile a little bit there; his voice is almost warm. To Bianca, "It's been a while. I'm afraid I'm here for business today, not pleasure." Is he? Afraid? Not terribly. He does let his eyes slide over her briefly though, while he's waiting for Joey to decide what he's doing.

There's one person who makes that gesture that he answers to and de la Vega ain't Felix... okay two but Joey ain't off the clock and that ain't no promise of a good time. So only one person with the occasional exception and Ruiz ain't it. He doesn't move his eyes from the cop but does tell Bianca, "We'll work it out later. No worries." Briefly to Itzhak he answers, "Roz,...gimme a minute." He side nods his head refusing to walk over there as if to make a point but does move laterally towards the bleachers in some acceptable halfway for both of them knowing Ruiz ain't gonna walk over to him either. Is there some invisible neutral ground? Eh sort of. His eyes move from the Captain to the paper in hand patiently, but with an even professionalism, "What's the issue?"

There's a small toss of her head, her ponytail flicked back behind her. Bianca can feel that gaze from Itzhak. Absolutely she can feel it. It didn't bother her, she was too interested in the business end of the Captain's visit. Idly, she lifts a hand to rub her jaw. The same jaw that had sported the livid bruise not too long ago at the aforementioned bar by the sea. "I would like to see your business if that was your pleasure before." Dropping her hand, she reaches into her bag and starts sifting through things, a glance towards the others now and then. "You betcha," she tells Joey then with nothing else to do she approaches Itzhak. "Bianca." Her eyes flicker over Ruiz in what can only be called a glower. "Bianca Ortega.." hesitating as if she were going to tack one more last name on there. Just before she does, she gives the cop a sly smile. "Bianca Ortega Monaghan."

Itzhak smirks appreciatively, watching Joey maneuver. Will it work? He's dying to see Ruiz's response. He glances at Bianca, expressive eyebrows popping up as she approaches him. "Rosencrantz. Itzhak. How's by ya." Then she drops the dime of her last name and his eyebrows really go up.

Well, the business end of de la Vega's fist, Bianca's already well acquainted with, it would seem. The particulars of his visit, on the other hand, appear to be for Joey's ears only. He waits patiently, letting the little posturing between he and the gym owner play out. Jab, feint, stalemate. His tongue slides across his lower lip like he's sizing up the situation, and then with a look askance to Itzhak and the redhead who's approaching him, he prowls on over to meet Joey halfway. Because he's a reasonable man, right?

Whatever's on that folded slip of paper is handed over, and quiet conversation ensues. His chin is jerked to indicate the ring, and his hands are shoved back into his pants pockets. That really is a mean motherfucker of a gun. Look on his face is none too happy, either.

Joey takes the piece of paper in his fingers and as bellicose as he is something murmured to JL has the fight going out of him. "Chriiiiiist. Yeah. Gimme a second." His body language conveys just what one would expect: being slightly annoyed and put out. He folds the piece of paper and hands it back and then proceeds to head to his office which has no only his, but his uncle's and still his grandfather's shit all still in there. It takes a moment but he digs out a piece of paper and turns on teh copier and...

...

....

... Loook this thing takes a minute to warm up.

...

Okay and now he makes a copy of whatever it is that gets put back in a 3 ring binder and put away. He folds the three sheets on half and hands them to the police Captain and arches an eyebrow. "I trust you'll keep me posted."

Bianca gets the red hair from her father. "Would you like to spar?" Since Itzhak seemed the one not so terribly busy. "I have to tape up first if so, but I can do that now." Her bag is dropped by their feet and she squats down to remove a small roll of cloth tape. "I have these new piercings, see, and I'd hate to mess them up." She straightens, standing immediately by the bigger man while wearing a lazy smile. "Would you mind helping me?" Offering the tape to him. Maybe just going for the distraction. Or maybe not. There's a glance over her shoulder at the others, definitely curious but none of her business.

Itzhak is indeed suitably distracted by Bianca asking him to spar. Now there's a problem and he's stuck in it. If he actually hits Monaghan's daughter his future might be strictly curtailed. "Uh," he says. "I'm...not actually a boxer. That's the whole reason I came over," he adds, inspired. "So's as to get Kelly to teach me to throw a punch." He accepts the roll of tape. "But I'll tape ya up." She's standing really, REALLY close to him and he oonches back half a step. "What'd you get pierced?"

For all Ruiz's surly appearance, his irritation at the moment doesn't actually seem directed at Joey. It's just business. He nods slightly at some assertion made by the other man, and rubs at his nose briefly with his knuckles. "Si. Esperaré." And he does wait, dark eyes tracking Itzhak and Bianca as the latter sidles on up and asks for help taping her hands. Something about the interaction seems to amuse him, and it's a moment before he shifts his attention back to the returning Kelly. Something's slid out of his suit jacket, followed by a pen used to scrawl something down, and it's passed over for the other man to keep in exchange for the photocopied pages. "I'll try my best to keep the heat off you." The subtext there being, cooperate and maybe I can make this go away.

Joey takes the piece of paper and glances at it briefly but it stays folded with an amicable enough nod. "Yeah, I appreciate that." Not with the acerbic tone of confrontation, but business as usual. Further subtext but, You convinced me with your reasonably logical argument. He glances up to Bianca, If you wanna hop on bags and warm up a bit i'm gonna take care of him gettin em squared away and I got ya."

Hit a girl? Fucking hard no. Sparring though? Well that's a matter of mutual engagement, and though he's got an easy thirty-forty pounds on her he knows how to tap and not TKO or bust like a fucking amateur. Looking to Bianca he asks curiously, "I never did ask you, Ortega, that like Spanish or Mexican ooor like Ecuador?" Looking to de la Vega he sighs getting his head back in his business with a very casual stride, "We mighta invented this but Mexico fucking perfected it." He looks over at Ms. Ortega-Managhan and blinks confiding to the cop, "I might be fucked o this one two ways to Tuesday. You know how to find me. I'll be here."

He asked. Oh yes he did. The shirt is lifted and the sports bra follows and Bianca holds both up, exposing her breasts to him along with those twin barbells one right through each lovely nipple. "Just for a little added protection." A smirk follows, "I'm not exactly a boxer myself. I've been known to use any means necessary to pin my prey.. I mean my opponent." Carrying on a conversation as if her chest isn't on display to him right now. "It's more street fighting but safer within the confines of a gym and minus the edged weapons." Glancing down at the tape, she watches, "Two little x's. One over each one."

Joey distracts her well enough, "The Atlanta Ortega's." Like they're someone important or something but it's said in a self deprecating manner. "Like snuck over the border and got the hell out of that state as soon as possible, according to my Abuela."

Itzhak's ripping some tape off the roll--RRRRRNK! it goes--and working on that. When he looks up to see Bianca literally lifting her shirt up, he blinks. When she goes further and lifts her sports bra up, letting the fresh piercings have a little air, he goes brick effin' red. "What're you--!!" His voice goes to an alarmed squeak. "Are you friggin SERIOUS here lady?!" Itzhak hisses that in an undertone, shooting a glance at Joey and Ruiz like he needs them to confirm this is happening and he's not hallucinating.

Joey certainly knows how to butter up the irascible old cop. There isn't a smile in sight on Ruiz's face, until the guy goes and mentions Mexico perfecting the fine art of boxing. De la Vega, of course, is pure unsullied Mexican trash. You can take the man out of Tijuana's slums, but. "No te preocupes. It's fine." Then Joey's the lucky recipient of a devastating smile from the captain. All dimples and- wait, it falters a bit when he hears that noise from Itzhak. And jerks a quick glance over his shoulder at the man. Right in time to spot Bianca with her shirt up, showing off the goods. His eyebrows go up slightly. He's not touching that one with a ten foot pole, though. All yours, Joey.

Joey turns around and gives Bianca a look and points to the other side "Dressing area is over there if you want to play Barbie dress-up. It ain't in the middle of my fuckin gym floor. Love your titties, girly but they pay you there to see em, not here. This is my house, respect my fuckin rules o the damn clock." Looking to Itzhak he barks, "And you get tape all over my bleachers I'm a tape you to the fuckin thing." He takes that folded piece of paper and returns to his office with it. Whatever information Ruiz gave him it didn't go without having an impact. That look is both warning and promise. Calmly but resolute he says, "I got all love for you both, but respect my goddamned house or I'll bounce you." and with that he heads into his office to go make some calls kicking the door shut with his toe.

Bianca just looks at him with that reaction he'd given. All the drama. "All you had to do was say no." A light shrug between him and the boss man he'd tattled to her on. Lowering both, she holds out her hand for the tape. "It's anatomy. We all have them. They even vary in sizes. A man goes topless in here I bet no one says shit." Accepting the tape if it's handed over, she drops it into her bag and hoists the bag up by the strap. "I'll come back some other time." An eyeroll before she turns on her heel and walks for the door. Likely headed for the other gym. If something in her mutter was understood.

Itzhak is just standing there poleaxed, a length of tape run off the roll. He stares at Bianca as she talks him through her reasoning. After she leaves he's still just standing there. Eventually he looks at Ruiz and mouths what. The. FUCK.

His business concluded, the cop doesn't seem inclined to stick around and figure out what the fuck just happened there between Itzhak and Bianca. Joey's gym, Joey's rules. When the Jewish fellow mouths that question-not-a-question to him, he gives the man an overdramatic shrug to indicate that Itzhak's guess is as good as his. The keys to his car are fished out of his pocket as he turns for the door, and holds it for the redhead as she makes to leave as well. "Hasta pronto," he tells the guy standing there with the tape, flicker of a wolfish smile before he too disappears.