2019-11-07 - Scavenger Hunt

It's a little before closing if one were a banker, which means it's early in the evening before the 'happy hour' crowd starts to wander in, pretending that they're here for just one drink before they head home for the night. Surely the titties have nothing to do with it. Before Cristobal has to go into full bouncer mode, he's taking care of a little side business in back in the VIP room, firing off some texts from his secondary phone to move some minor things around for the Bossman. Dressed in black on black, he might be hard to spot at first in the more 'private' room, if not for the glow from a cigarette that occasionally travels from mouth to ashtray.

Most of the bouncers know Tor Lockhart to see him. His father, Christian left town a few years, but he still works under his uncle Mitchell - both in all things pizza and in crime. That's what brings him to the Cabaret tonight. The bouncers at the entrance to the VIP area know he only comes up into this area with a good reason if he's unescorted. He enters, all scruffy delinquent in a leather jacket, torn skinny jeans and an untucked plaid shirt. He looks around, then spots his target. He walks over to Cristobal, upnods. "Hey."

At the greeting, Cris reaches over and stubs out his cigarette, his chin lifting with the exhale of smoke that's pointed generally away from Tor's face. "Hey Legacy. How's it hanging? You come for a lap polish? The prime timers are still in the dressing room but I'm sure I can scare one out." His eyes flash in the low lighting, doing a quick up/down appraisal of Tor.

"Here on business, man. My uncle said to give you the drop this week." Tor scruffs his fingers back through his knotty mass of wavy red-brown hair. "I hang around up here too much, people start thinking I'm somebody. And that doesn't really help with my line of work." The edge of his lip curls up into a half-smile.

"Smart man, not mixing business with pleasure." Cris leans forward and makes a little gimme motion to indicate he'll take the hand-off. "Job and amount?" He asks, with eyebrows lofted with the question, matching that bit of a smile with his own but those blue eyes are sharp and assessing.

"Couple car stereos. Vintage ones. Few of those fancy fast quick chargers." Tor squints and half looks up at the ceiling as he digs through his mental memory bank. "Three high end vapes grabbed from some douches from out of town. Oh, and a specialty job. This lady hired me to rip off a thumb drive from her ex that had nudie photos on it." Tor reaches into his jacket for an envelope that he passes over with the ease of someone used to doing that without drawing attention. "Twenty-two hundred. Halloween's always good 'cause people are distracted. And drunk."

Cris nods along to the laundry list, as if committing it at least to his short term memory. He takes the envelope but instead of tucking it away immediately, his index finger fiddles with the flap, "You take your cut already?"

"Naw man. Not my call." Someone trained Tor well. Legacy kids know what's up. "Usually I get a bigger cut of the jobs I bring in myself than the ones where people were told to come to me. That'd be the nudie drive and the vapes. I got five hundred for the drive and forty bucks each for the vapes." He digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. There's a slight tearing sound as he does. He comes by the tears in his jeans honestly and not through design, it seems.

"Mmhmm." Cris makes the single sound that's more of a vibration in his throat than anything voiced. He's shifting his weight then, to stuff the money in his back pocket and roll his weight to his feet. "I'll be right back. Take a seat, take a load off. Can I send you something from the bar?" The question is asked as he's on his way to the curtains, already firing off a text with his thumb.

Tor knows better than to ask questions, but that doesn't mean he doesn't give Cris a curious look. He sits as instructed, shrugging back his leather jacket. He rakes fingers through his hair to push it off his face. "Uh. Vodka soda?" Not the most grown up drink, but nor is it something that just tastes like sugar.

Cris doesn't acknowledge the order, yet a few moments later one of the waitresses slips through the curtains with a vodka soda dressed with a wedge of lime on a tray. She drops it off with a wink, but doesn't wait around for payment or even a tip before she's back off to the main floor. It takes about another five minutes for Cris to return, a fold of bills tucked between his fingers and concealed in his palm. It's probably slightly more than Tor normally would expect as it's passed off. "Gotta few more things for you."

Tor looks a bit confused when the waitress moves off before he has a chance to go for his wallet. But he shrugs, and is on his third sip of his drink when Cris reappears. As is custom, he doesn't sit there and count how much he gets, but when you handle wads of cash, you get a feel for it. He's got good hands, because it's hard to tell where he stashed it after it touches his palm. "Yeah?"

Cris flops back down on the couch, a kick of his heels as he stretches out his legs and slings an arm across the back. "You're good at pinching stuff, how good are you at getting info? I need someone I can trust, that won't blab about who's asking the questions, claro?" Even if the kid doesn't speak a lick of Spanish it's obvious that the bouncer is just asking if he understands.

Not one lick. Well, maybe enough to order a drink, but not much else. Tor shrugs. "Info's not something I've done much of. I mean, other than just keeping an ear out for the word on the street. I mean, people don't really talk to me. So I guess it depends on what kind of info." A beat, then a gesture, "I don't mean I don't wanna do it. You guys know me. I'm up for anything. I just wanna make sure I'm the guy for the job."

"Honesty is good. Honesty will get you far." At least to the people you're working with/for. Cris considers this a moment, gaze down to his knee as he casually asks, "You know an outsider by the name of Itzhak Rosencrantz? Tall guy, dark hair, unforgettable nose?"

"The mechanic? Yeah, I know him. Not personally, but I know who he is." Tor scratches the side of his neck and gestures, "Doesn't he work for the bossman? Thought I heard that." He takes a bigger sip of his drink, draining the glass relatively quickly.

"Yeah. That's the one. Where does he work?" Cris sits forward slightly, and if body language is any indication, Tor's on the right track with this whole information thing.

"Can't remember the name of it, but I know where it is." Tor shrugs. He's straightforward, honest as criminals go. Not overeager like some of the young ones can be. Then again, he's been in the business since he was old enough to drive. "You want me to get some info from him? I got reason. I mean, people want me to fence car stuff all the time, but I only deal in what I can carry."

"Mm." There's that noise again before Cris is waving off the offer to get info from Itzhak. "Just find out the name of the shop, and text me that and the location. I'll handle the rest. Easy enough right? Now for the scavenger hunt." Cris pulls out his phone again, checking something so that he doesn't forget anything off the list. He starts naming off some mundane things, at least mundane when it comes to Tor and it's nothing particularly dangerous or unusual, there must just be a particular customer that doesn't want to pay retail. And then, "There is an old lady on Oak that considers herself somewhat of an amateur photographer, still uses film. She clicked a picture that she shouldn't have. That roll needs to disappear before it gets developed. I'll forward you what info I have on her."

Tor pulls out a small notepad when Cris starts to speak. He makes notations that look to be in a personal shorthand. Probably smart, given that a list of merchandise to be stolen or fenced would be a bad thing to get caught with if the cops happened to take him in. The last bit does get his attention though. "Shouldn't be too hard. Can't be many places locally that develop film. And if she's an old lady, she probably won't think to use an online service."

"That's what I like to hear. Make it happen, and if I need to be your point of contact for the drops let me know and I'll get the switch up approved. Any questions?" Cris asks before he shakes out his cuff until a rather run-of-the-mill affordable watch jingles out as he checks the time.

Tor can read the signal well enough. He stands up. "Nah, I'm good. If I do have any questions, what's the best way to reach you? I know some of the guys don't like texting." Or rather, some of the old school guys are really bad at texting and stuck in their ways. His eyes do dart to the watch, but only for a moment. Force of habit. Cris would never be a mark, but imagining he might be keeps the mind sharp.

"Nah, I got an encrypted burner." Cris rattles off the number, and hopefully Tor's fast enough to log it to memory or sketch it down that little pad of his. "Shoot me a message so I can get you the info on the bird with the camera." He leans back again, his smile suddenly becoming wide and Cheshire. Nothing good can come out of a smile like that. "And drop off a pepperoni pizza around two. I missed lunch."

Tor clicks his pen and exhales a soft chuckle. "You got it. Though I recommend the Iron Worker. Pepperoni, bacon, ham and sausage." The little pad disappears into a pocket and he shrugs his leather jacket back on. "Thanks for the drink. I'll be in touch."