2019-12-21 - Motivated self-starter, looking to advance.
Rhys has work to do.
IC Date: 2019-12-21
OOC Date: 2019-08-29
Location: Firefly Club - Back Room
Related Scenes: 2020-01-19 - Middle Management 2020-01-20 - Men of Repute
Plot: None
Scene Number: 3345
The snow is an issue, true, but it would take a lot more than a few fucking flakes to prevent Felix from staying on top of his business. Which means it better take more than a few fucking flakes to prevent the people who work for him from being here when they need to be. Even though the club is pretty much dead tonight, Andre is still here right on time, guarding the back door like the meat-shield that he is.
And blowing big pink bubbles. This one gets impressively large before he pokes it with the end of his index finger, letting it pop and attach sticky pink gum residue to his face. Behind the popped bubble, his teeth flash in a big grin. This is how he passes the time, waiting for the appointment that Felix set with Rhys to 'go over a few things.'
Rhys is here right on time as well... snow and all. Actually, he's early, because the snow's deep and still coming down, and that means he has to bring a change of clothes. There's at least 8 inches of snow he's walking through to get here, today, and he's not doing that in decent shoes. Or trousers. The snow's up to his shins! It's a day he's glad he has an office, so he has somewhere handy to switch out of boots and jeans and coat and gloves and hat and scarf and into black trousers, black turtleneck, nicer black shoes, and a black-on-black velvet jacquard blazer. 'Nightclub manager' is its own weird little dress code, even on days 'meeting with the boss' isn't factored in.
He's a few minutes early still when he strolls up to Andre, giving the guy a bright grin as the bubbles get blown. "Getting some impressive size on those bubbles, man. Practicing to break the world record?"
Bless his heart, Andre makes enormous eyes at Rhys and asks, "Is there a world record for bubbles?!" He starts picking at the stuff stuck to his face, and the gears are already turning (grindingly slowly) behind those wide eyes of his. The idea of Andre DeMarco Johnson, World Champion Bubble-Blower, will keep him happily occupied the entire time he's down here, having waved Rhys on up the narrow flight of stairs to the boss's office.
It's not like Felix needs security in the room for a meeting with Rhys, after all. "He's waiting for ya," Andre assures, back to chew-chew-chewing on his gum.
In the office, all is as it normally is: Felix is working at his desk, with the nearly-dead club in the one-way window behind him. "Come in, sit down," he directs with a lifted hand.
"There absolutely is," Rhys replies, punctuated with a single finger-gun, "It's in the Guinness Book." It definitely was when he was twelve, anyway. And who couldn't use a good goal? The waving through gets a "Thanks," as he heads on up.
"Evening," he greets Felix as he crosses chairward to settle into one as instructed. "Slow night, but better than I thought it might be." Okay, maybe most people in the building tonight are being paid to be, but the fact that there are any paying for the privilege in this weather is impressive. He's making note of the dedicated few. It's probably not a long enough list to need writing down.
Small-talk and Felix have never been on good terms. He just nods at the slowness of the night, passing a glance over his shoulder to the half-dark window behind him. His attention returns to Rhys a moment later, tandem to his turning the laptop enough that Rhys can see the Excel Spreadsheet open. Yes, even crime-lords gotta use MS Office sometimes. "I need this much more in liquid assets immediately."
It's not a small number. Like, it's the kind of number that might be big enough to... oh... let's go with... purchase a sizable chunk of a Casino that's currently under the control of the Gray Harbor PD.
Rhys and small talk are buds. It's part of what makes him pretty decent at the nightclub managing thing. It has nothing to do with what makes him good at juggling numbers, though, and he doesn't seem to have expected anything more than that minor acknowledgement of the remark. He leans in a bit to scan the spreadsheet. That's a fair-sized number, but he doesn't blink. He does looks thoughtful, though, and there's a second of shuffling files in his head before he gives a small nod. "Should be doable. Might be some delay on the processing side, what with the weekend and the holiday, but I'll get it started now."
Rhys usually adheres to 'no questions asked' outside of the necessary ones for doing what's asked of him, like, "Any restrictions on how I do it?" but it's particularly tempting right now. After a beat, he compromises: "I've been thinking about the situation with that casino. Struck me as an interesting opportunity. If you're thinking of doing something about it, I'd like to be involved."
"I'm rounding up the boys," which, in Felix-speak, means everyone who can shoot or punch, "to call in debts and pull money out of a few places where it's been stashed." Rhys surely knows about all the places Felix's money lives: Bayside Apartments, the pawnshop, Two if By Sea, various and sundry places around town. "And talk to Joey about what he's bringing in, if he's interested in an investment."
There's a pause to let Rhys's questions land, and Felix leans back in his chair, asking simply, "What kind of involved?"
A nod to the plans as related; it doesn't seem to immediately require more. Calling in debts is likely to make it easier to arrange, so that's nice. For him. Maybe not so much the people who owe them.
"What kind's available?" Equally simple, though he doesn't leave it at that. "In an ideal world I'd want to invest myself, but unless your consortium," he's assuming, but he's got at least some idea how much more even than he's been asked to assemble is likely necessary to purchase not just a sizable chunk but the whole shebang, not to mention noting the bit about Joey, "is interested in small investors," no pun intended, "I don't have the personal resources." Yet. "If it is? Then I am. I do have ideas, mostly of a post-acquisitional nature, but in the meantime, aside from the obvious," a slight gesture toward the spreadsheet, "if there are other ways I can assist in making it happen -- to invest in the process -- I'm interested."
"No," is the answer for small investors. Plain and simple. Felix stays leaning back, hands laced loosely across his middle now, contemplating Rhys across the desk from him without interrupting. "Talk to Marshall or Thorne if you want to come in as a drop in their buckets," but Felix's bucket... well, it doesn't overfloweth, obviously, or this conversation wouldn't be happening. But the man is not a fan of sharing.
Then there's quiet for a spell, while Felix thinks. "You want something to do, start getting the paperwork in order for the purchase. Go out there and look around if you can, figure out how bad the damage is. Take Joey Kelly or Cristobal or one of the other guys with you for muscle, someone that can talk you in with the cops."
Rhys gives a small tilt of his head in acknowledgement of the 'no'. Didn't figure the odds of a yes there were good, after all; just better than the zero of not trying. But he's definitely making a note of the other buckets involved.
He's quiet too, of course, while Felix thinks, just regarding the older man. No leaning back for him; he sits with good but not stiff posture, no fidgeting. And when the answer comes, he smiles a little. "All right," he says, with a nod slightly less subtle than the smile, "I'll do that. Thank you for speaking with me about it." His gaze flicks toward the spreadsheet, then back to the man. "And I'll get to work on the assets, of course. Is there anything else you need from me?" There's no shift as though he's already anticipating standing again; the question's genuine.
"Elise Kruger wants to sell the motel. Money will be coming from that, so make sure it gets added to the pile. And find out whatever you can about whoever buys it." That would be the 'anything else' that Felix needs from Rhys, put with a last nod. "Don't mention the word Casino in front of anyone but Thorne and Marshall. My name stays out of it."
A nod of acknowledgement on the matter of the motel, and Rhys pauses briefly as he considers last set of instructions. "All right. So I'll get that together," a slight tilt of his head toward the laptop, "including the money that comes in from the motel sale, and look into whoever the new owner turns out to be. I'll start getting the paperwork in order for buying the casino, draft Joey or Cristobal to come along with me to check out the current condition if possible, and aside from what's necessary to accomplish that, nothing said about the casino to anyone but Thorne or Marshall. If there's anything else you need, let me know." Not that the invitation is the slightest bit necessary, of course.
A nod answers that last comment, and Felix puts a look toward the door in a mute suggestion that the meeting is done, thx for coming by!!! He's already moving on to other things in his mind, turning slightly to glance out the dark window at the club-lights before he fastens his attention back on the computer.
Leaving Andre to chime, "Hey! Check this one out!" He sucks in a huge breath...
...and blows a tiny, sad little bubble that pops almost immediately. It makes him laugh and laugh, pounding his leg and everything. There's no way he knows the term anti-climactic, but he totally gets the joke.
A nod's all Rhys needed. He stands, pausing just briefly to scan the view of the floor out that window, and then he's turning to walk back out and down the stairs. The expression's thoughtful as he goes, until Andre's comment draws the majority of his attention back and to the big guy. He lifts his brows expectantly as Andre sucks in that breath...
...and laughs as well at the results, giving the man a grin that might owe at least a hint of its brightness to non-gum-related relief. "Well, practice makes perfect," he says. "Nice to know we might not lose you to the bubble-blowing scouts just yet, though."
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