2019-11-14 - The Fat and the Curious up in this.

Alexander rubs lightly at his temple as he walks down the bridge. He's holding that illusion as long as he can, and it takes up some mental space, so he doesn't even think about someone else being let in behind him. He comes to a stop at the end of the bridge to survey the territory and see where he's likely to be able to get in. A quick look around the gloom for anything -- oh, a janitor. He's about to move away like someone who TOTALLY knows where he's going, when something catches his eyes. He blinks. "Mister Sumpter?" His voice is pitched low, but now he's moving closer to the younger man.

Greg has allowed his patchy, scraggly beard to grow out specially for this occasion, and in his nondescript gray janitor's coveralls with the patch that declares 'Hello, my name is Pedro', he is trying to blend in.

"Si, gracias amigo," he tells the guard, and marches on past. He indulges in a satisfied grin, pleased and encouraged by the ease with which he's carrying off his brilliant and masterful plan so far. He notices another person walking the same course as him and lags back, avoiding eye contact. That is, until it becomes plain that they're going to the same place, and the other turns and says his name. Greg jumps, then glares at Alexander. "You?!" he hisses quietly, darting an anxious glance backs towards the guards. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Regretting my life choices," Alexander mutters. He doesn't glare back. Just looks sort of resigned. When the guy swings around, he raises a hand, and smiles. "Thanks, man." And reaches out to try and soothe any suspicions the guy might have. They totally belong here. Really. He mutters to Greg, "What are YOU doing here?"

Greg shifts his eyes, suddenly avoiding Alexander's gaze, and pushes his hair back from his face. "Uhh..." He shrugs lightly. "Just thought I'd have a little peek around." He snorts and shakes his head. "The same as you, I guess. Well." He grins and shrugs, resigned. "Fuck it. I guess we might as well help each other. You looking for anything in particular?" He starts to step casually over towards the guy helpfully holding the door, aiming a friendly wave towards him, and calls out, "Uno momento, por favor!"

Alexander shoots Greg a skeptical look at just having a look around, but it's not like he can deny it, so he just shrugs and follows the guard around. Everything is going well, so he starts to move towards the opened door, when suddenly...

Alexander turns an indignant look on Wallace. "Obviously, he's not Mexican. Jesus. You want him to call HR? You want that writeup, man?" He shakes his head like he can't even believe that question was asked, and mutters to Greg, "Ignore him," in Spanish. Not good Spanish, but Spanish nonetheless. Another look at Wallace. That 'you farted in Church' look. He nods to Big John, although can't quite hide his wince at the question's update.

"Spanish," Greg tells Wallace, affecting an affronted look. "Like from Spain? In Europe," he clarifies in a tone that also says 'you stupid American'. He shakes his head at Alexander ruefully. "Always with the Mexican shit," he tells him in Spanish. To Wallace, he shifts a grin. "Hey don't worry about it man. So what happened with the heat?" Greg leans into his promotion from janitor to HVAC technician willingly.

"Fucking liberals," Alexander agrees with a shrug. "Whatcha gonna do, man?" He steps inside as soon as Big John waves them through, following along behind Wallace. He listens and just gives an agreeable sort of nod to the racist bullshit. "Must be bored as hell if they're trying to play cowboys with their pieces," he suggests, while his gaze slips back and forth, looking around at the places they're passing for anything interesting. "Hate that you have to put up with that kinda shit, man."

Greg likewise keeps a keen eye out as they're led through the back ways of the casino. Got to inspect that duct work, after all, and that provides a great excuse to look for vulnerabilities. Like idiot guards who let two strangers stroll in and give them the tour, for example.

"You guys should call OSHA about that shit or something," Pedro Greg chimes in helpfully, his tone sympathetic. "Or fuckin' just shoot the guy. That works too."

"It's better than being rained on all fucking day, at least," Alexander says. He's only paying attention to Big John with half an ear, really, although he's not greatly pleased with having the big man behind him. "But I bet Bayside has AC, with all the fancy ass--" and then there's that friendly thwap on the shoulder, and he wasn't expecting it. He lets out a yelp of surprise, and skitters sideways. "DON'T touch me." It is not chill. he is not chill.

Alexander is the worst criminal.

Greg, also the worst criminal, bangs on the window and flips the guy with the gun off when he pretends to shoot him. "Fuck you buddy!" he says. "That is some ignorant bullshit," he also tells Wallace. "I don't know how you deal with that shit every day, "

He looks over as Alexander starts to tweak out and clears his throat quietly. "It is hot as fuck in here guys," he says loudly. "The quicker we get to work the quicker everyone can chill the fuck out, literally."

Alexander raises his hands in immediate apology. "Sorry. Sorry. We're cool. Don't call my supervisor, man. I'll get laid off for sure," he mutters, ducking his head in a show of abject pleading. "The holidays are coming up. I don't need that shit, you know? We'll just get our work done and get out of your hair." A look towards Greg. "Right?"

Greg takes a look at John and puffs himself up. "Hey, or here's an idea. Why don't we just fuck right off back to the shop and file a report about having gun pointed at us? We'll have this goddamn casino blacklisted so fast it'll make your fucking head spin, amigo. You'll never get another technician in this building again and you can sit here and cook your balls off." He shrugs. "Si? Or do you want us to do our job and fix the goddamn thing? I'm getting paid either way, my friend."

Alexander gives Greg a look. "Will you fucking knock it off?" he hisses, in Spanish. But it's bad Spanish so he probably just told Greg to get the guards pregnant. He throws a lousy excuse for a smile at the guards and closes the door as soon as he can. Nevermind that it's going to get VERY hot in here very quickly, he's just giving the guards a chance to run off in pursuit of bundt cake.

"Alright. Now what?" Greg wonders out loud, beginning to make an inspection of the equipment. "I'm really just here to check shit out and see what I can see, so if you've got something less random in mind, this would be a good time to spell it out."

He scratches at his beard while he inspects the equipment. "This shit itches," he complains. "Man, if we broke the fuck out of this thing right now, it would be a great excuse to get back in later with a crew." He glances over at Alexander sidelong, still trying to figure out where this guy stands on the crime and morality spectrum.

"....you suppose they got anything in the vaults yet?" he asks lightly.

"Don't break it further. We can just say we need to order some ridiculously obscure part to fix it," Alexander says. "I was going to look for signs of illegal activity. If you were a drug dealer," his voice is very dry, "planning to use a casino for a distribution hub, where would you look for signs of that?" His eyebrow comes up. "Why do you even care, Mister Sumpter?"

Greg turns and gives Alexander a flat, ineffable look. Slowly it dissolves into a grin. "Some dudes that work for Foster put a shotgun slug through my arm, for one thing. That sort of soured my disposition a little bit. Then I found out some other stuff about him, and now I really don't like him. In fact I feel like I owe him a thing or two."

He hesitates, considering Alexander. Weighing the dryness of tone in the man's first question. "You telling me that's his plan? To deal drugs out of this casino?" Greg shakes his head, frowning darkly. "Nope. This is my turf."

"That would be when you and, who - Joseph Kelly - hit that pharmaceutical distribution place?" Alexander's voice is mild, although his stare has a weight to it as he studies the man. "And he deals out of his other casino, apparently, so it's likely he plans to do the same here." He frowns. "What other things did you find out about him? And, if you were going to ship drugs into this place, where would you? I assume it has a loading bay of some sort...maybe we should look there."

Greg's dark eyes weigh Alexander carefully again, and he tilts his head to the side, thinking. "Well, fuck it. We're in this together now, like it or not." His tone suggests the latter, and he places his hands on his hips, grimacing.

"The Krugers," he tells the other man, and doesn't elaborate further. "He would be shipping the shit in from his distribution hub, so it would have to come in at a loading dock, sure. But then he's got to keep it somewhere safe, but also handy enough to get at it to vend it. It could be the vault, or any fuckin' room in the place, but if he doesn't have customers in here to sell to he might not have the product on hand yet either."

"But there's something here," Alexander muses. "I think. The Krugers saw something. And this is a fairly robust security crew for an empty casino that there's no guarantee is even going to open. If he doesn't give these poor bastards health insurance, why not just keep a skeleton crew?" He frowns. "I may be able to let us dodge people. Can you, uh, open locks, shit like that?" A woeful sigh. "I can't."

Greg grins slowly. "Yeah," he says, "I can." Quiet confidence fills his tone, and he turns to look back towards the door. "I might be able to point the way towards his stash too, but I don't know what we might have to walk through to get from A to B." He looks around the room speculatively. "How big would you say this whole place is?" He shrugs dismissively. "It doesn't matter really. I should be able to find where the stash is." A beat. "I hope there's hella cash."

"Don't steal from the crime boss, Mister Sumpter," Alexander chides, absently. He holds up a hand and closes his eyes for a moment, expanding his senses to try to pick up on other people in the vicinity, and see if he can use that information to give them a route to explore the casino that doesn't involve running into every yokel with a gun in the place.

"Too late," Greg cuts in, and does his part, reaching out with his Glimmer to seek the sacred stash. "I'm telling you right now family, if I trip over some loose cash, I'm having that."

"Mister Sumpter, don't be an idiot," Alexander says, but it's more resigned than angry. "Come on, they're all eating cake and not giving a shit about us." Even so, he's the one to step first into the hallway, scanning it, before waving for Greg to come out. "Lead the way, if you've got an idea. I'll give you a heads up if I feel anyone."

Greg follows Alexander out into the hallway and lets his sense of that which is, by strictest technicality, 'lost' guide him onward. He sets his gait and posture as that of a guy with a place to go and a right to be there -- brisk. "If this goes to shit, are you packing heat?" he asks Alexander quietly. "I'm not. I expected to get searched." He doesn't sound happy about it at all.

"I don't use guns. Particularly not to shoot people." Alexander's voice is bland, pitched low. He matches Greg's pace through the halls, keeping all senses open as they walk, and, if he can, trying to guide them out of the direct sidelines of any cameras he spots.

Greg nods sagely to Alexander. "That's a really nice philosophy," he says in a carefully neutral tone. "I should've brought a goddamn gun," he mutters, and it soon becomes apparent that they'll have to pass by the break room full of guards. He turns to Alexander with a grin. "Any big ideas for sneaking past the dipshit convention? We could try to create a diversion while we sneak by, I suppose."

He gives a slow, distinctly evil grin as an idea dawns on him. "You know my friend, you have a point. Firearms can be very dangerous. " And he extends his sense of the physical towards that room, and the nice old-fashioned mechanical object that is a pistol. "You tell me when you're ready and I can give those boys something more pressing to think about. They really shouldn't play with guns."

Alexander stares at Greg. "You're a menace." He gives his head a hard shake. "Look. Let me try to get into their heads; they're already distracted by the cake, it shouldn't take much. If I screw it up, then you can discharge a firearm in a crowded room and I guess we can run like hell from all the shit that brings down on our heads," he mutters. Then he upnods towards the camera at the end of the hall. "Can you nudge that to one side so we can avoid it? Just enough to give us some clearance."

Greg sighs heavily and rolls his eyes. "I guess we could do it that way," he submits. "Pretty boring though. And gun-waving dumbfuck misses out on a valuable life lesson. But if you insist." Shrugging, he does his part, reaching out with his Glimmer to nudge the camera aside.

"I'd like to not get shot. Not getting shot, getting information I need, and getting out of here without getting arrested or...shot. Those are my life goals at the moment," Alexander mutters. "Continued living isn't boring. It's efficient." Grump grump mutter...and then a quiet groan when the camera tears out of the wall. He just shoots Greg a look. Like really? And then gestures for them to try and sneak forward.

Greg doesn't move, his eyes widening. "Oh man," he says, looking at Alexander. "I don't think there is a stash. It's the gun... I'm taking us to the gun." He frowns, tilting his head to the side. "Does that mean the gun is your proof of a crime? I think it does, dude." He slowly grins. "I can probably get it, but we're going to have to run. And I ain't fucking touching it if you're planning to take it to the cops -- Pedro the janitor helped you find it."

Alexander's eyes gleam. "That would help a great deal, Mister Sumpter." He grins, and looks ten years younger and a lot less haggard. "Please, lead the way. And yes. I can see your very helpful nametag." He rocks back and forth on his toes in brief excitement.

"Oh hey," Greg says happily when he sees the gun sitting in an empty room. "That's easier than, uh..." he shifts his eyes, "...whatever I had in mind." He steps up to the door, glancing up and down the hall, and rifles around inside his coveralls until he produces a slim lockpick and sets to work on the door.

While Greg works on the door, Alexander reaches out to feel the flows of electricity in the room, to see if he can quietly shut off the camera for long enough for them to get in and grab the gun. His hands go to his pockets to pull out a couple of baggies neatly folded there for the occasion of finding useful evidence.

Greg walks into the room, going nowhere near the gun, but he does stroll around in the hopes of finding something more interesting and less damning to steal. "There's your prize," he tells Alexander in a disinterested tone, but he grins. "We probably ought to go ahead and get it and get the fuck out of here. I got what I needed -- it's a bunch of fucking morons in here, and I'll be back when there's something worth stealing to roll the place." He flashes a charming grin.

Alexander, in contrast, goes straight to the gun. He uses one bag to pick it up, and put it in the other bag to avoid getting his prints on it. He seals it up immediately. He gives Greg a look. "Because you've genuinely been a help, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you declaring intent to commit a further crime. Let's get out of here before someone has to take a leak or get ice cream for their cake or something." He starts retreating.

Greg glances at the gun. "You know what, I don't mind helping just this once. I think this guy's worse than anything else we got in this town. Bad for everyone." He moves to head out of the room, and on his way he reaches down quickly to relock the door from the inside of the handle, lest anything seem out of place and alert their 'hosts'.

Alexander does not scream and fall backwards, which is really sort of forward progress for him. He does stagger in place, though, as if he HAD been shot for a moment. His face goes stark white, and although he does manage to put the gun in the bag, his hands are shaking visibly. He turns towards Greg with wide and haunted eyes, not seeing the man for a moment. Eventually, he focuses on him again. "Let's get out of here." His voice is visibly strained.

Greg closes the locked door behind himself and looks at Alexander. He pitches his voice quietly. "I think we just stroll right back out of here my dude. If our buddies stop us, we need to go get tools to work on the HVAC equipment." He shrugs. "Seems reasonable, right?"

"Sure," Alexander says. "Just be prepared to run." He tucks the gun away where it won't be easily seen. He's still having trouble focusing, and fighting the urge to go to his knees and beg for mercy in a language not his own. "Just in case they're not reasonable."

Greg doesn't seem to want any cake, instead remaining focused on getting out of the building. He just walks along like he owns the place, and he even turns to make casual conversation with Alexander. "What do you think about grabbing some takeout on the way back? I could really go for a burger."

Alexander gives Greg a look. It's a look that says, I'm carrying a stolen murder weapon shoved down my pants and you want to go for takeout. Then he sighs, and shrugs. "Sure. If you have a car. I don't. And I need to make a delivery fairly quickly," of said stolen murder weapon, "but I will buy you a burger as thanks for the help. Sorry you didn't find anything you wanted." To steal. And he doesn't sound all THAT sorry.

Greg squints. "Time to go, my dude. I think shit's about to get stupid." He picks up the pace, but will have to walk all the way back across the bridge to get to his super discrete van.

Alexander notes the cop. And which cop it is. "Oh, that's not good," he mutters, but hey - they were clearly waved INTO the building, and they were waved OUT of the building, so he can't say a crime was clearly committed. Right? Right? He still picks up the pace.