2020-01-19 - Middle Management

Sunday, late-afternoon, and there's a Rhys! Which is not that unusual, since he comes to work out fairly regularly. He's got his bag with him, suggesting he intends to do that today, too. But he's also got a slightly sharper eye out for the owner of the place than usual today -- not just the general check-for-to-give-greeting, but a more definite intention to find him than to just inevitably run across him at some point while he's here.

Joey looks up, from his office, as it's winter the thermals and sweat shirt are on and the hood is up because the heater really only works on half of the building so it might as well be the half the public is using. For the office there's a tiny space heater that's paid not nearly enough running on electric wiring that is absolutely questionable. He murmurs to himself, "I swear f the building wasn't fucking haunted it'd have burned down already." Catching Rhys he asks, "Yo, got a minute?" A wave of his notepad bids Rhys to follow him as he heads not to the office but the back room.

"For you, I got at least five," Rhys replies, giving Joey a grin, "Maybe even fifteen if you promise I don't have to spend them praying that space heater doesn't spontaneously combust." He strolls on after, not bothering to go drop the bag anywhere. It's a tough bag. It can handle some back room time. Plus, what the temperature is like in there is an open question right now. He might end up glad of access to extra layers.

Joey walks over the open concrete floor down two steps to the steel fire door in the back and shoulders it open. Back there it a utility room; the old boiler that hasn't been switched on that may work. Who wants team heat in a gym though? There's also that metal cot of a twin bed and a night stand made from a couple milk crates on their side and a credenza, and two cement utility showers: one working and the other... well behind the curtain that's pulled back is the other safe. The one Felix is interested in.

For all the boxer is a compact block of meat his fingers spin that dial fast and nimble enough. Starting out Joey was a bit of a boxman though, so it's hardly surprising, even if he's used for more enterprising roles in the organization these days. "Got something for you to not lose." It's cold enough to see one's breath back here. the blankets are piled on he bed but it doesn't look slept in in a minute. Might be too cold for Joey o crash at the gym, or he might be incentivised to spend more time elsewhere.

It's his second home, but Rhys would also know what this room is also for being it has a sewer drain in it. "Discussions". as there's no chair and a roll of duct tape on hand it's safe to assume this is not one of those. Also? Joey would just ask. Rhys, like he, like Antonia, is in management and as so much there's a respect there.

Rhys watches with a quiet appreciation for the deft manipulation of the dial, and a somewhat less quiet, "Y'know they're not supposed to be literal frozen assets, right?" It comes with a grin, though. Not having actually changed yet is coming in handy, now; jacket and jeans are welcome in here, and he hangs the bag on his wrist so he can stick his hands in his pockets for the moment. And he's definitely in favour of sticking to more cordial discussions, in the event any were ever to prove necessary. From either side.

"Speaking of, though." A casual extra glance around, though if it's private enough to be getting into the safe, it's private enough to chat, right? "Things've been busy through here lately, and end of year's coming up." Only for an accountant. "Up for an extra hand with the books?"

No one comes into this back room. Not without his invite. The assumption is as safe as assuming no one goes upstairs in Firefly without good fucking reason. The dial spins... and stops. He looks up to RHys and if it was anyone else that asked him he might say it's not their fucking business. It's Rhys though and Joey knew him from when he came into the folks,a nd Felix trusts him enough to run the club and take care of double checking his own figures. This creates complications on two fronts.

Not one to dance around subtly he asks, "This you askin or this Felix askin you to ask me?" He turns, crouched in spot waiting for his pal to come clean on that offering with all casual patience, "Cuase if it's Felix askin me? This question is not so simple. If it's you askin me now I gotta wonder why? Tells me... you need something and As your friend, and someone inclined to watch my ass, I want to know." There's no accusation in it, but Joey pretty much operates like a bullet. You want charisma? That's Antonio. You want efficiency and business etiquette? Rhys is your guy. You want this done with 0 fanfare? Talk to Joey. He considers that it's the same tone he uses right before someone winds up with a hole they didn't intend and tries to ass that assurance, "I just like to be on the same page."

To be fair, if it was anyone else that asked him, it probably wouldn't be their fucking business. But business is, alas, fucking business. Rhys gives a small tilt of the head to one side and back, the expression more wry for a breath, and answers, "I do sometimes do shit just 'cause I like people and happen to be good at it. But this specific time? Felix suggested I offer." That last sentence's wording's intentional and likely even accurate: this is not an IRS-style we-think-you're-up-to-something audit, it says. Even if some peoples' suggestions and offers are inherently more persuasive to accept than others. Is there a hint of apology in it? Maybe, but if so, it's subtle. He is, sometimes. "Truthfully? I do also need something, though. Not a direct relation, but they're both true."

On one level it stings a bit, but realisticly if he wanted to stop thinking like a thug and started thinking like a businessman? Well, truthfully, things were expanding and it's hard to do everything himself. Flinty green eyes watch Rhys for a long moment. There's silence and assessment of a hundred variables and factoring out how this is going to go. He assesses, "Got some projects coming up. I think I can come up with some work for you."Hell, even Felix relies on them. It's that odd shift in having assets and learning to rely on them. There's a nod that follows. His weight shifts even between both feet squaring up and he tells the smaller man, "I can use someone fast on the books to adjust the odds where I need em on go time while I'm watching the floor, and to make sure Felix gets his shit." If there's anything Ruiz was right about it's Joey's a threat not because he works for Felix, and certainly not because he's a brawler, but becuase he doesn't question Felix's directive and makes sure it's carried out out of loyalty. There's always that risk when someone's not in it for the paycheck first. He's entirely comfortable being clear on that.

Everyone's got their particular specialties and talents, after all. Someone needs to get thoroughly hit or learn how to do the hitting? You probably want Joey on the case. Accounting need to come out both accurate and looking innocuous? Rhys is a pretty good choice. Sure, Rhys is a wholly reasonable fighter these days and Joey's keeping his business running just fine, but... assets, right?

The redhead manages to do a pretty good job of looking perfectly comfortable with being watched like that, or at least as comfortable as he was already. The temperature doesn't do a lot for comfy unless you're a polar bear. "I can do that for you," he says, giving a nod in return, "and just let me know. ...okay, I say that, but I'm intrigued about these projects, so I'm probably gonna end up asking." A grin, there. "Meanwhile... you up for a field trip sometime soon? 'cause I got a thing I could use some back-up on." Details presumably pending general interest.

Joey heel taps the safe and it pops open with the faintest bit of glimmer settling like disturbed dust. The door falls open a bit and he catches it with his toe and heel turning to pull a locked canvas bag out and then pulls a key with i. A side tilt of his head motions Rhys over. inside there's a couple sealed bags, another pistol. and ...well who would have guessed the scrub, Joey Kelly, would be sitting on stacks of cash? This isn't new. Firefly pulls mad bank, but this isn't from boxers paying their dues. This is from that other thing Rhys caught wind of and does not discuss.

He hands Rhys a key and one of the bags. There are a couple others buy you get a few to a set. "This is for you to count up from the last round of collections we did. Receipt's in the bag. Names. I got." This was the one that was supposed to get to Rhys anyways. He confides, "I wanted to move up before too. And really? Felix takes care of people who take care of him." He tacks on letting go of the drop. "As you know." He turns to fish out two notebooks, but leaving the pistol where it lay in the safe, "People who get too fucking entitled without talking to em and see what he wants?" That stare just watches the Manager-who-wants-More and jsut holds that look there, not accusing, not trying to threaten him, but with a calm matter-of-factness that leaves the room slightly still and slightly colder. "Then he sends me. And for formality's sake? I don't like those calls Rhys. I like it when He's happy. I get really unhappy when he's not."

He flips the books open to what he's lining up for next Fight Club. The tone is casual, and offhand in conversation but there's that healthy edge of professional concern that is the fine print. "Rhys... you dick me over and I will come at you like thunder without a god damned second thought. I consider you a friend, so I'm gonna help you make smart decisions here. So. This works out? I'll take care of you. If it goes really bad?" he slides a look over as that friendly forewarning that is not friendly because working in Monaghan's empire is not a friendly place, "I'm a take care of you. We got two weeks to shape up next fight. DO NOT bring anyone on board without talking to me. I don't like liabilities." He might have grown up without a whole lot, but he gained a shit ton in underworld survival skills.

"I think this could be good." Well it's a positive note.

Was-- that-- Rhys's eyes narrow and brow furrows just slightly at the heel tap, like something about it niggles just slightly at something, something-- he should pay attention to? His head cocks just slightly before the moment passes, brushed off. If anyone can intimidate a safe into finishing opening up by giving it a little kick, it's probably Joey Kelly, right?

He approaches when beckoned, scanning the content of the safe like someone used to keeping track of his surroundings rather than, say, someone making notes for future attempts at burglary or the like, and accepts the bag and key. No immediate comment as he listens; he just gives the taller man his say, doing a reasonable job of maintaining a calm regard in return. And waits.

It's only once he's done that there's a half-smile, brows lifting a bit. "I'm a lot of things, Joey, and yeah, ambitious is one of 'em, but stupid? Usually ain't. I like breathing. It's one of my favourite hobbies. Do it pretty much all the time. If you gotta lay it out to be sure we're on the same page, that's fine, but you know I'm not new here." It's at least as much assurance as protest, almost as matter-of-fact as the enforcer's, albeit with a decidedly stronger vein of humour through it. "Not a single thing I'm asking that hasn't come from or gone by our Uncle Felix." Light touch on the nickname, but the implication of shared family's no accident.

If there's any insult taken from the threats and the instruction given -- well, it's hard to be sure. He was already holding himself the way he usually does, that casually confident aura that tends to give the impression of someone slightly larger, and if the tilt of his chin shades just a fraction further toward cocky or defiant, it's a subtle thing, not a challenge. They do come from fairly similar backgrounds, even if the trajectories might have split somewhat with the difference in social institutions they headed off to spend a handful of years inhabiting. Less than some might guess, though. "I know my loyalties. I know your loyalties. No one's gonna fuck anyone else over." No change in the tone, which remains matter-of-fact assurance; it's only the phrasing that adds the barest suggestion the warnings could perhaps go both ways, and even that could be coincidental.

About half a beat, and he grins suddenly, a bright and genuine thing. "It could definitely be good. I think we can work well together, benefit everyone. So does Felix, or you wouldn't be the one he wants me bringing in on a couple things. So. You feel better if I count this here and now, or can I do it in my office?" Brows up, head tilted, the smile much smaller and a little wry.

"Either way, Felix has two other requests of us -- well, one for us, one for me, but that one, you were half his shortlist for helping me out. And if I get to pick..."

Joey is apparently the Arthur Fonzarelli of safe cracking. Also it's his, so why shouldn't he know the weight of the door, or the lean of the floor? He hears Rhys out and counters, "The guy I took over this job from wasn't new to it either and that... was the problem." Oh the conspicuously absent Lukas Collins. Where the warnings are concerned? Well with the comprehension reflected the matter seems any further dropped.

He points to the desk that's by the bed and motions for him to have at with the counting so that he is inclined. He makes his way to teh space heater though. The admission gets an easy enough gesture, hands floating wide apart like hit me "Well you know i'm a fan of seeing the man have less shit to worry about, and opportunity so if I can be of help I'm down. What's the gig?" If there'sat least anything the lead brick has going for him it's staying cool under pressure and being reliable. e

Well, hey, if you can be the Fonz...

Rhys half-smiles again at the counter, and quirks a brow. "And how's he doing on the international pro breathing circuit these days?" he inquires, a question that neither requires nor expects an answer, rhetorical as it gets. Either he already knows or he knows all he wants to.

The half-smile very briefly hits smirk when Joey decides that yes in fact he would prefer here and now, with a small shake of the head as he strolls over to plop himself down beside the desk and get to work. The bag's opened, paper of both sorts extracted and set out neatly, the movements deft enough to suggest a well-practiced method.

"Item number one," he says as he counts, apparently able to talk and keep track at the same time, or at least confident he is, "the Sea View. It just sold, finally." It may or may not actually have taken long as finding buyers for motels go, but it's taken longer than Felix wanted it to. "Buyer's not in the fold. Not yet, anyway. For now, Felix wants us to find someone trustworthy to keep an eye on the place. They don't need to get themselves a job there or anything, no interaction with the new owner, just watching to make sure no one's getting overly snoopy over there." You know. Running luminol tests. Digging around in unnecessary places. That sort of thing.

"Not as well as he'd like to considering they found him in a couple dumpsters." Judicious answer considering someone made a statement putting him in the dumpsters (possibly plural) at the strip mall.

He doesn't watch Rhys count it. He knows how much is there and should be and has never in his life had an issue with the business accountant in the tenure of their mutual employment. Joey wanders over to the safe to put the books back and nudge it closed with a tow letting the dial spin itself. They do that because the dial is super well oiled and not because Gray Harbor and some people are a little off. Clearly.

"He wants ups to look in on it and not Greg and his goonies?" Would almost be easier finding someone way way down the food chain there. It's on Rhys' directive though. "We can look into that. Wonder if it's cause his last informant moved out." He doesn't elaborate or expect an answer, but it's curious.

Eyebrow arching he says, "We could get someone in there into housekeeping. No one looks at the housekeepers."

"Might've heard something to that effect, yeah." So definitely heard something to that effect, at the least. Rhys isn't about to get any clearer on what he does or doesn't know there; judiciousness is the in thing these days, right?

The counting continues apace, said pace being 'swiftly'. Handily he's not watching the safe, but that whole oiling thing would definitely explain it if he were, sure. "He wants us to arrange someone else doing it. Greg and the Gregettes are an option, or..." He tilts his head, the counting pausing just half a second. "Maybe Emma Landis." A little younger than Rhys is, busking saxophonist on the boardwalk, and more relevantly, fairly accomplished pickpocket. "She's generally in the area. But a couple pairs of eyes wouldn't hurt. It's not entirely necessary we have someone on the inside at the moment, but that was my first thought as well -- housekeeping. As long as it's someone who can follow directions and not take any clever risks." In other words: just an eye out, not their own investigating, right now.

Joey considers this and in the meantime goes over his checklist. It's not like he's the biggest collector for the biggest swinging dick in Chicago circa 27, but he takes his job as a knockaround guy like a religion. "I like it. We can do both. Waitstaff ain't cowboys. Trained not to be. So cool. We'll go auditioning someone that can just use the income and our appreciation. Honestly I like little grandmas for this shit cause they don't give a damn anymore. They want to get out of there and go play bingo." Looking up he arches an eyebrow making a couple notes. "What else Bossman need us to look into? That it?"

The cash in its neatly-counted stacks is moved back to the other side for a second count; Rhys doesn't look at all concerned, so either he's hiding it well or the first count came out the way he expected it to. "Pretty sure we must know a suitable little grandma between us," he agrees, though the details can apparently be worked out slightly later.

"So, yeah, that brings me to item number two. This one he wants quiet as possible." Since the accountant knows perfectly well Joey's not inclined to go running his mouth, there must have been a little emphasis on the point for it to be specified. "That casino out there?" one hand pauses in counting long enough to point in the correct direction, or at least probably correct, despite the fact that it can't in anyway be seen from in here, "He said to go out there and take a look around if I can, assess the damage. Bring someone trustworthy along for backup and if we need talking in with the cops." He's not a bad talker, generally, but being a quieter (and more recently returned) presence in the organization has its plusses and minuses. "You if you're up for it and we can find ourselves a nice unobtrusive chance."

Joey watches Rhys and listens, arms folding across his chest listening. He's the one that went to jail for not talking so when teh emphasis is there it means something to him. He tunes in and the lead brick thinks through what's being asked and replies, "Dead of night might be good. But yeah. call me. I'll put you on ring through. Let's get him answers sooner than later."

Rhys gives Joey a bright grin for the agreement, finishing off that second count and starting to move everything neatly back into the bag, and that bag into his own. "Might," he agrees, "though it's harder to get a good look, then, and whoever's watching might be more certain we shouldn't be there... if they notice us, and haven't just let us in." Slighter smile. "Evening's an option too. Benefits and drawbacks to 'em both, but." Details will be determined. Calls will be made. Casinos will (probably) be explored. "Which really just leaves me going back out and hitting things a while. Feel like telling me I'm doing it all wrong?"

Joey considers this and objectively agrees, "Can do this evening. I can move some stuff around." There's a pause and the man that can tell the world to fuck off says "Don't like making Him wait. He can't run a business without usable information." This is his business. It's Joey's career and his life and the life debt he's paying out of willing service. Take the cash away and he'd still agree to go. There's a pause and the grin goes wry, "Rhys, you know I love yelling at you. "

"Who doesn't? Just one of the many fine services I provide," Rhys replies, grinning back, and stands, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "Lemme just go change, and I'll give you first crack at breaking my spirit today."