2019-09-18 - siempre separa las drogas

Andre is super excited to be here tonight with the three of you guys. Everyone knows this, because Andre has said it multiple times. Along with how sorry he is about Graham's baby's mama's parents dying, he's really sorry about that, G. But here he is in the back of the truck with Joey. "I think my shirt's too small," he was telling Joey, frowning down at the buttons. One of them have popped. They don't sell shirts in size XXXXXXXL, apparently.

OOoh yeah, sorry about your Baby mama-in-...law? Mama-out-law? Look sorry the broad's dead. That sounds like a real pisser for your lady, bro. Joey tries his damndest to not say anything but Andre's plight gets a small snicker from him as he consoles, "Well after this you can buy a company and have em tailor that fine ass shit to you." He fishes around in his pocket and luckily he's got some junk in his pockets and hands the man a safety pin. That pin ain't long for this world. As Graham pulls them up Joey works on becoming like unto the furniture which... so far they're not shot? That's usually a good sign.

Greg keeps responding every time Andre calls Graham 'G', which slightly dampens his ardor for the heist. But only slightly! With his shiny new illicitly-obtained sidearm tucked neatly away in a concealed shoulder holster, he expresses his eagerness to "bust a cap" multiple times, along with his regret at not having brought a skateboard, of all things. "Andre, they don't make a fuckin' shirt that ain't too small for you." He cranes his neck around to look back. "I mean damn dude, me and Graham could get in that together. We could build a fuckin' life together in there." He turns back around to act right as the group approaches the guard shack, turning on his best 'sure my stuff is uncut, you can trust me' smile. "Here we go boys," he says quietly. "Time to get paid."

Yes, yes. Graham weathered the sympathy. It's been a rough week at the Kruger-Stewart house, so he might be eager to NOT dwell on that and instead do some stealing. (Don't judge him. There are worse coping mechanisms.)

Anyway, right now Graham is flashing his best 'totally a driver for Acme' smile at the guards (while Greg is doing something similar in the passenger seat, LOOK HOW TRUSTWORTHY THESE TWO ARE). He tilts the rearview to see the big guy in the back seat, promises, "We'll name all our kids Andre, buddy," when he and Greg live in the shirt together.

"Nah, nah, I can't have no safety pins, those things are lies," Andre pushes the pin away and back to Joey as though he were warding off the devil. "Ain't nothing safe about 'em. The pin part's right, you get that away from me!" He'll just be over here with his chesticles sticking out of his shirt. Well, sort of, anyway, it's just the top button. The part about Graham and Greg making a life together in Andre's shirt flies right over his head, 'cuz Andre's clapping his big meaty hands excitedly once they pass the guard stand. "Elise is pregnant? You gonna be a daddy?!?!?! Oh she'll be real happy about that when she finds out, betcha that'll cheer her right up!"

Then the big man plasters himself against the window to squint out into the darkness. "I want a hamburger," he sighs. "I betchu if you turn right, we can get a hamburger." Andre's not wrong. Down the road to the right? There's totally a food truck.

Joey just watches this shit with his head dropping back on the headrest. His hand rubs his face, "Chriiiist. Okay, bud, where those are.. We can get the food truck after." He points away from teh food truck. "There's the warehouse... unless they got like them hot dogs withthe pretzels on top and the onions and mustard. God I'm fuckin hungry. G, left. GG? What looks viable." He looks to Andre and stares very seriously adding, "Plan him a bachelor party or whatever."

Greg looks around the van with an exasperated expression. "Nobody remembered to remember which damn bay we were supposed to go to?" he complains loudly. "Andre my dude, you can buy the whole damn truck full of burgers after we boost our shit." He shifts a look towards Graham as he turns back forward. "We'll be out of place as hell if we just try to stroll into that warehouse too. We're supposed to be at a place..." He reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, shutting his eyes tightly. "Shit. I lost my loading dock," he tells himself. His concentration seems to turn inward as he repeats it again, like a mantra. "Lost my fucking loading dock... got to find my loading dock. Just wheeeeeere the shit is that goddamn loading dock?" he asks himself, and then points in the direction he thinks is right. "It's that one."

You know what's not even worth explaining? That Elise isn't pregnant. Graham lets that go completely, sticking to the plan here. "We'll get hamburgers after. I'm not buying anybody any hot dog pretzels, so just don't start with that shit." Andre wants to go right, and yet Graham defers to Greg-the-stoner instead, steering them down the narrow and dimly-lit road between the warehouses with their big painted numbers.

Brake-dust squeaks when he stops the truck outside the appropriate warehouse, with its one camera aimed at the truck. It takes a minute, but he backs the truck up to the loading dock in such a way as to mostly obscure the camera from seeing anything. Now it's time for everyone to pile out; Graham chin-tosses toward the roll-down door with the padlock at the bottom of it. "You said you got the locks." He's talking to Greg. "Joey, open the door on the truck?" He tosses the keys that way. Andre's job will be to do all the heavy lifting in a minute. Graham will... uh... light a cigarette and walk around smoking it and waiting for people who have more useful skills than him to use them.

A small, white car with FOSTER SECURITY painted on it is currently driving away from that guard shack and toward this particular bay. Let's see who notices first!

Greg sees that car coming before they even turn it on, apparently.

"You think Felix'll let me buy a truck full of burgers?" Andre seems happy about this! He nods agreeably to Joey. "We can throw him a big party. With a cake! Did you know there are girls that jump out of cakes?" This is not something that Andre seems pleased about, he frowns at Joey. "I think that ruins a perfectly good cake." But hey, they are here now and he's ready to go lift some stuff. "Do I gotta wear the mask now?" It's stashed under the seat, and he leans to pull it out and show everybody. "It was the only one they had left at the store." It is a giant unicorn mask. With a glitter horn. And a rainbow mane.

Joey lifts a hand snagging the keys out of the air. "On it." Whether he's got to pick, force, or tear the lock off it's coming off. Can he focus? HELL NO! Andre's talking and with that smooth voice and ham hands? yeah he's not telling him stop unless he has to. He pauses at the mask. "Really? Did you bring the rest of it so they can be convinced your'e a real unicorn?" He sighs and acts damn casual, trying the keys and if it's not the first one that lock is getting nudged. "Tell you what, Dre, you let me focus on this I'll take you out for ribs. Deal?"

At Graham's direction, Greg gives a cheeky grin. "Locks?" he says. "Locks?! We don't need no steenkin' locks!" He flashes his best dimple. "Fuck yeah I got the locks." He pops the van door open and hustles on back to the rollup, pulling a lockpick from his pocket and beginning to work on the padlock. While he works, he can't help but notice the car starting over by the guard shack. "Yo, heads up, we got company coming!" he warns loudly, trying to hurry his work.

Graham to Andre: "You should probably just get a plain black mask, man." [insert 'why's it gotta be a BLACK mask' jokes here] And then insert him attending Greg's warning and uttering a string of profanity into a cloud of cigarette smoke, fucking fuckity fuck fuck fuck. He climbs up onto the loading dock next to Greg, so very ready to try to talk his way out of this, but he also reaches for his pistol because crime.

"Like that sword fighting guy from the old-time movies? Fuck yeah!" Andre means Zorro, you guys. And Graham, you'll regret this moment on the next heist. He gives the unicorn one last look, breathing out a big ol' sigh when he shoves it back under the seat, and then he's hopping out of the car. His boots make a big THUD onto the pavement, and he kicks a couple of rocks. "Yo, Other G, how you gonna break those locks with that little stick? You should hit it with a BIG stick," he has other advice, but the po-po has just rolled up, and that means it's go time. He cracks his knuckles and shrugs over to the lead-cop. "I'unno. Mister Walgreens?"

Joey arches an eyebrow and looks over to them and answers simply, "Yeah. You." But does he stop? Newp! Time is precious. God he really hates problems. However at the time, this is not his problem. Lock on the truck is. There's no posturing, not yet. He looks to Greg and and with a glance of eyes notes Get ready to duck back.

Likewise, Greg continues to work on his lock, a thing done mostly by listening and feeling. So he has enough spare attention to turn his very best full-wattage dimple grin on the probably-not-really-security bros. "Oh hey guys, your mothers told us we could help ourselves for fuckin' 'em out so good last night." I mean, what would be the point of diplomacy now, really?

Graham looks at the car, looks at the five guys piling out of it - they are not little guys; they do not look like nice guys, either - and starts to have an awesome quip in response... but Joey's was better than whatever he was gonna say, so he just snorts a laugh through his nose and leaves it unsaid. There's a nudge of his foot to Greg while he works on the lock, and he crushes his cigarette out under his heel. "Yanno, we probably could've at least tried to talk to these guys."

It was all good until Mikey tried to shoot Graham. "YOU CANT DO THAT HE'S GONNA BE A DADDY!" Andre shouts, and then reaches into the truck to pull out the baseball bat that he brought along. In his hamfists, it looks like a toy, but he wields it with deadly intention as he eyeballs Mikey and swings the bat through the air. "You're gonna say you're sorry RIGHT NOW!" He demands, while making his way over to Mikey in hopes of hitting a home run with Mikey's head.

Joey flexes his fingers. "Ya missed. That was your second mistake." Seeing the two assholes...doing their very seemingly legit job they unfortunately showed up to today. "WOOOo looks like we're dancing." Those dance lessions are paying off. He's never telling Cole he's practed offensive ballet. Fuck the blowback on that!

Greg looks a lot less brave after Mikey touches that trigger off, yelling "Gah, shit!" and waving his hands in a sort of useless, helpless gesture of panic near his ears for a moment. "Holy fuck!" he swears, spitting, and his face is beet red as he fumbles to rip his shirt open. "You fuckin' shot at me!" he informs Mikey, a little psychotically, as he reaches for his piece to return fire.

"Fuck fuck fuck," Graham continues helpfully. Assuming that door finally got unlocked, he rolls it up post-haste, revealing all the neatly stacked boxes that are probably full of pill-bottles. (Listen, I have no idea how pharmaceuticals get shipped. #handwave) He sort of blind-fires in the general direction of the asshole with the shotgun, but he really really needs these pills, guys, so he's also going to be trying to load their truck. Thus, recounting the story later, it won't just be that he's a shitty shot; it's that he was distracted.

WHACK! goes the baseball bat into Mikey's head. CRACK! goes Mikey's skull. "SORRY!" goes Andre as the blood starts to spill. "Guys, guys, I think I hit him too hard..." But there's no time to stop. He's gotta protect the crew, it's his JOB! Plus if he does a good job, he'll get cheeseburgers later~

Oh also Andre got shot apparently but he's in PROTECTIVE mode, he barely even feels it, but he's totally bleeding from the head.

Joey does what he's used to do; he closes the distance. He deals with teh world in shapes and movement. Something comes by the side of his head and that deft lil fucker leans wide and pulls the piece from the back of his belt and levels the guy shooting at him with a headshot that spins him around. Number two is up trying to keep the side of the truck as some cover lining up number two.

"Damn it!" Greg swears, and also, "I'm hit!" As it would tend to do, the flesh wound pierced into his left arm compels Greg to adopt a more cautious and survival-oriented approach to gun night with the boys. As such he scrambles to get behind the cover of the van. Swearing, he pops up over the hood to take at a shot at the clearest target: one Bobert, Bobby to his friends.

From inside the bay full of drugs, Graham calls an echoey, "Stop shooting the pills, goddammit!" Followed by a lot more 'fuck fuck fuck,' followed by, "Dude, me too!" There is no way he's going to hit anything, so any bullets that fly out of his gun are just for show. He's one-armed trying to load this truck, guys, it's THAT IMPORTANT to him. "Could you guys finish up out there and fucking help me already!"

There's a lot of blood in Andre's eyes from his head wound so he doesn't hit Bobby as effectively. He whacks him on the arm though, and then Greg blows a hole through his chest. "Whoop,s was that me?" because he really doesn't know. FRANKY, you're next. Batter up!

Joey has their attention and while he can throws the safety on and tucks the pistol back in his belt. Andre gets hit again. Fuck! FuckFuckFuckFukkityFuck! Ducking down he leaps off the crate, and avoids the wall because ricochet shots. What he can do is close that gap because they won't want to fire into their own guys.

...

...It only occurs to Joey that Greg or Graham might not think of that. Daaaaaamn!

Greg's shot finds center mass to deadly effect as Bobert gurgles his last. Greg takes a moment to gawp at this result, impressed with himself. He snaps out of it when Graham's plight falls on precisely the correct ears, because who cares more about drugs than Greg? He leaves Andre and Joey to deal with the remaining goon, holstering his piece and yanking the door of the van open to hurriedly climb in and place himself in position to help Graham get the loot loaded. "We got to hurry!" he shouts, for the benefit of anyone who may not sense the urgency on their own.

They got to hurry! "You fucking think?" Graham flails his gun around (again, irresponsibly) and then shoves it into his belt or something cool. He's nursing that hurt arm, but damned if he doesn't keep pushing these boxes into their truck. "Get all those, man." Not Percocet. They say something else (whatever other drugs kids are buying these days). He's very into this Percocet, so don't come over or probably more irresponsible shots will go off. <.<

"I'm sorry!" Andre can be heard saying over and over even as he whacks the crap out of Franky. And then Franky drops, and it's all over. He's bleeding from the head and stomach, so he staggers a little now that it's all over, stumbling towards the truck and the drugs. "Guys... G...." he trips, hobbles to Graham. "G, I don't feel so good."

Franky turns and gets off one good shot into Joey's chest as that heavy left hook connects. His teeth set as Andre maes the man limp like a rag doll. Next step look for the threats. Threats are down. Step two check self? Okay this... is going to suck. Not the worst. Andre? He winces and look Andre over. "Shit dude," He cracks a fleeting grin, "Don't throw up on my shoes. We gotta go get a burger truck still."

He calls back, "We're coming, how we coming with that?" Yeah, ANdre's in shit shape but he can patch him in teh truck. "This is gonna suck. Let's get out of here. We're gonna get you patched man." This is the quick look over to see if he can even move. Joey's strong, but Dre's big and ungainly.

Greg jumps over into the warehouse and starts throwing boxes into the truck, babying his left arm and getting blood just everywhere. He has a shopping list though, and he'll take anything he recognizes as sellable -- speed, painkillers, benzos, anything but trash. He concerns himself more with throwing as many boxes as he can into the van than with being too very picky.

"Thanks, man," from Graham to Greg. The truck isn't exactly full, but the yard isn't exactly empty, either. All those gunshots made noise. Actual truckers probably heard those noises. All those thoughts occur to Graham while he stubbornly drags more boxes. "Here." He foists a box off on Joey. It has some kind of painkillers in it. "Put Andre in the truck and give him, like..."

"...four of those." (It was going to be eleven if that roll failed, fyi.) Between his arm throbbing, fear that the actual cops will roll up any minute, and that one guy who got gut-shot so might still be alive, "We need to go." He climbs out of the bay and into the truck.

"I'm gonna go take a nap now," Andre tells everybody, "I'm sorry." He's a very polite giant. He waits until he's in the truck to actually pass out.

Joey apologizes in brief as he throws a shoulder into the beefcake golem to get him up, half carry him and get him into the truck grunting something to the effect of Think of cheeseburgers, pal He snags the box out of the air and starts cracking it open to start trying to apply what he can. The goal is don't bleed out not this is great for healing. "Double-G," Says he to Greg, "gimme a hand when you're done?"

Greg grabs onto a case of Aderall like he doesn't mean to let go of it before jumping out of the warehouse and back into the truck. "Fuck," he swears, taking a look at Andre. "This ain't good, man. He ain't doing good." He drops to his knees beside the giant, reluctantly letting go of his prize for a moment to really examine the big guy's wounds. "Shit, man... this ain't really my area of medicine." He looks up at Joey. "This fuckin' guy needs an actual doctor. Or a goddamn miracle healer."

Graham climbs into the driver's seat, left arm held to his chest 'cause it's all shot and bleeding, right hand extended toward Joey for some of those pills. Which he doesn't immediately take, just for everyone's peace of mind: he won't be driving them back to Gray Harbor with a gunshot wound while high, at least. The drive back will be uneventful, though Graham is high-strung the whole way - a nice counter-point to Andre, who is unconscious the whole way.

When they get there, Graham assures everyone that Elise will make sure Andre doesn't die, at least. And he'll meet up with Joey and Greg to sort out the distribution of drugs and/or cash tomorrow. The truck will be safely parked behind the club for the night, with some bouncer who is not Andre given a few bills to keep an eye on it for them.