2020-06-02 - Smuggler's Run

It only takes a moment. A moment when their eyes, wherever they are, are not on where they're going...and then, when that moment passes, they are somewhere else.

Wherever they were, it probably wasn't on the Harbor, but that seems to be where they are now. Some sort of large shipping barge, the deck under their feet pitching just a bit with the rolling waves. It's a starless night; the clouds hang heavy and the rain is a steady beat on the ship and water. More, the ship itself is running under minimal lights. Never a great sign when you've just materialized out of thin air as Joey and Alexander have just done.

They're in a small alcove, dressed in dark clothes, gloves, and wool caps that can easily be pulled down to obscure their face. Joey has a gun. So does Alexander, but the absolute first thing he does when he comes to himself is stick it on the top of a barrel and wipe his hands on his heavy denims, like he touched something dirty. "What the fuck is going on--Kelly, is that you?" His voice is hushed and harsh.

Joey doesn't remember when he got here or where he is other than like all dreams this is just an accepted reality. The pistol is natural in his hand as is the situation. He doesn't look over his shoulder but responds, "We talked about this. No names." He sighs. Looking back to Alexander he says quietly, patiently in that way that also suggests that making him repeat himself is not exactly optimal, "What's going on is these guys shouldn't be hwere nad we... are going to rock their feeble clerk world." Wahat the plan is specifically? No idea but it all makes sense...right? Isn't gettum always the plan or something?

"Pretty sure we didn't talk about this," Alexander mutters mutinously. Hell, they're on a boat. There has to be a mutiny at some point. Alexander is just getting it started early. "Pretty sure I have never had this conversation with you. And we're not 'rocking anyone's world', either because I'm pretty sure that's a cri--"

Alexander shuts up, because he and Joey can both hear the sounds of a door down the deck opening. Footsteps, at least four pairs, tread heavy, approaching them, and Alexander goes very quiet and very still. They can both hear snatches of the approaching men's conversation.

"--gonna have the money?"

"Of course---"

"--Jake handles the case--"

"--I ought to--"

Slightly louder, "Knock it off, all of you. We have the plan. We stick to the fucking plan, or there'll a couple fewer guys to split the cabbage between at the end of this. You dig?"

Murmurs of agreement as the four come closer. Their shapes can be seen through the rain, large and ominous, one man carrying what, by its oversized drum, can only be a Thompson submachine gun. Two of the other three have big, nasty looking revolvers, and only the lead man seems unarmed.

Joey looks to Alexander and uses his mental- who are we kidding. He gives a hard green look and very subtly indicates the group with a circle of his finger and then pointing to the far left. The conversation gets a frown. He thumbs to the people over his should and shakes his head giving Alexander a look, concerned making another gesture get inand then get over there to better cover. Apparently they came for the case... or a mark. Hard to tell. One thing they do agree on and that's doing bad things to bad people does. not. count.

Alexander, for all his many flaws, is a clever man. And one strongly motivated to survive. He doesn't bother trying to argue with Joey; he follows his gestures, marks the man that the Kelly points out, nods. He glances around for cover, then gestures - there are some shipping crates that they could hide in the shadow of. It'd be a tight squeeze, but if they're careful and quiet, the group shouldn't hear them. Alexander points out a couple of gaps, then makes for one, moving as quietly as he can.

Joey trusts him. Alexander is by no means an idiot, he's just weird. He's also professional at being nosy, determined, and resourceful so when he points out a path the yard boss takes itkeeping his eyes on the targets and covering Alexander's forward move. At the very least he's rained to be light on his feet at least even if he's not the most subtle guy.

When it comes down to it, it's just sheer bad luck that reveals Joey. He's just moving towards the shadowed gap between crates, as light on his feet as a ballet dancer, when there's a strong gust of wind. Up above, one of the few lights still lit on the boat sways harder than it has before, and a single beam pierces through the haze of rain and falls on Joey, putting him under an impromptu spotlight.

It's only for a second, but it's enough. "Who the fuck is this," the leader of the four goons starts to say.

Joey is found out and there's one place to hide. He tucks the gun behind him and dives over the back of the railing. Unfortunately it's too hasty and the gun goes dropping into the inky black water. His arms slow his descent trying to hold onto a good grip. Toes of his shoes pull up to make for a quiet 'land'. Well... this is suboptimal. With any luck he can move to a better place and get a gun from one of these other goons. Hey it worked for Steven Segal and he was just a cook.

As it turns out, Joey is very good at this. Sure, he loses the gun, but he's able to easily find a foot hold, then swing himself rapidly away from the place he went over the railing. The leader snaps at one of the goons (sadly, not the twitchy one on the left), "Find that fucking guy. Now." The goon, the one with the Tommy gun, runs to the railing, pointing the gun over it first, and then says, back to the others, "Think he went overboard. Can't see shit down here."

"Keep looking. You either show me a body or you get to become one."

The Tommy gun guy swallows. "Yes, boss," he says, and starts moving along the rail, leaning over to try and peer down into the murky water. Under his breath, where no one else can hear, he mutters, "Prick." His movements take him close to where Joey is lying in wait. It would only take a well-timed yank to snatch the guy over the railing and grab the submachine gun on the way down.

Meanwhile, Alexander has seen Joey go over, and the goons start looking for him. He could just sit tight. Wait for them to get bored. But four to one odds aren't great, even for Joey Kelly, so he creeps up on the second pistol wielder from behind and without any hesitation at all, grabs his hair to yank him backward by his hair, and slams his other fist directly into the vulnerable part of his throat with all his strength. The guy goes down with a THUMP, and there's a moment when everyone just turns and stares.

Parkour and ballet bitches. Not just for tiny women in dystopia Chicago. The trick is to stay agile, stay loose, and stay moving. Momentum is your friend and the bellicose boxer is more than happy to prove this through applied demonstration to the guy with the automatic weapon. He hasn't heard a gun go off or Aleander start swearing which is a good sign. Sliding into position Kelly gets up close which is where he favors being and moves to spin the guy in a circle to alleviate him of that handy weapon, and shove him back up and over the railing.

Alexander isn't swearing, it's true. His expression is entirely blank, as a matter of fact. Everything that isn't needed for staying alive has been discarded, and that includes things like emoting. The leader of the goons is swearing, and he says, "Fucking cap that asshole," to the nervous goon, who swings the pistol around while his buddy writhes on the deck, making these rattling breathing sounds that suggest that he has tapped out for the evening. Alexander ducks around in a circle, staying one step ahead of the gun's aim while sliding forward to get within grapple range. This would be easier if he had a gun.

As Joey is about to find out, because his opponent barely has time to let out a startled curse before Joey has him spinning around. He grabs the Tommy gun, and checks the goon into the railing in one smooth motion. Over he goes, and down, flailing all the way to hit the water with a flat, painful sound.

Joey cannot get a clean shot on the guy fighting with Alexander, but he does manage to hit his target with a rat-tat-tat-tat and not Alexander which is really the important part in all of this. He's the wrong twin to be called 'gunslinger', but he can put a bullet where it counts: in the other fucking guy. He stands there, both hands on the weapon, feet planted like some OG Chicago style hitman . If only he was wearing his red and black pinstripe suit and not break-in clothes. Ah well.

Throwing a sharp look to Alexander he says, "Case ain't here. We keep moving." Though there is with a squint of green eyes like a liquor bottle, concern and assessment punctuated with a nod of approval. He doesn't question dreams either, he reacts. How the universe arrived at now is not as important as survival and achieving ones goals. Not to Joey. Now's all they got.

The chatter of the Thompson splits the air - and the leader of the thug team. It's not pretty, and he collapses to the deck with a wet and meaty sort for sound, a spreading black pool forming under him. "Jesus Christ," the last thug goes, and Alexander takes the opportunity to just slam into him, bum rushing him with a complete lack of elegance to the railing, and then over the side. The thug flails and screams on his way down, his hand catching Alexander's sleeve and nearly pulling him over as well. The investigator yanks himself back with a grunt of effort, staggering away from the railing.

"Fuck," he mutters, looking from the railing, to Joey, to the dead criminal, and back to Joey. "There's gotta be a more subtle way of going about this than getting all Valentine's Day Massacre on everyone. Gimme a sec." He walks over to the thug leader's body, turns him over so he can study his face. He closes his eyes for a moment, and if Joey was paying attention, he might feel the stir of Glimmer. If he acknowledged Glimmer existed. Either way, to people who aren't them, the two now look like Thug Leader and Tommy Gun Thug, both of which are hopefully too dead to contradict them. "Okay. Now we can go. Just don't shoot /first/."

"Not everyone, that was one fuckin guy. Sides. They started it. Don't start none, won't be none. Nice guys don't carry this shit sooo I dunno. Brought it on himself. Whatta ya want me to tell you. You ok?" There's a pause and he admits with a mumble, "Was aiming for his leg. and just... not you." Shit happens. Does Joey acknowledge glimmer? That'd be like marveling at radio signal every time a phone rings. He has never done enough drugs to be fascinated by physics. Now he's trying to figure out where the case went to and points out "Someone's piloting this craft and they're bringing it somewhere so these guys ain't alone. Eyes sharp."

"I'm fine," Alexander says, absently. "I'm not the one who dove off the side of the fucking ship," he says, concern reflected more in the sudden grumpiness than anything else. He pats down the corpse, trying to avoid the worst of the blood as he looks for anything that might be a decent clue. Alexander may not be a licensed anything, but he's very good at doing a thorough search of a corpse. He comes out with a roll of bills thick enough to choke a horse, a hold-out pistol (which is ignored), a hold-out switchblade (which is pocketed), and a notebook hidden in a concealed pocket of the thug's suit. He pulls it out, squints as he looks through it. "...these guys are meeting to pick up this case, whatever it is. Forward deck. Contact's name is - I shit you not - 'Juicy'. The fuck do they get these names?" He nods towards the prow of the boat. "Here." He turns and shoves the money and the bills at Joey. "Pretty sure the wad's the exchange for it. You're now," he jerks a thumb at the corpse, "/that/ guy, and you're in charge. We had a...personnel dispute, and that's why there's gunfire. If anyone asks. Get the case, and maybe we can see what the hell is going on."

"Juicy, Option, Two-Bit, Jellybean... Makes them harder to track for one, and second? A lot of names exist to start some shit. Who the fuck knows but he sounds like a goddamn dealer. Like you said, names is important. Maybe he's protecting his." Joey actually, turns out, does pay attention. The plan though is a good plan and not one too far off his normal job all things considered, but far be it for him to highlight what exactly he's been known to do for Felix. In all cases it's always better to let speculation go.

He grabs the case and takes his mask off and runs his fingers through his hair. The guy they're looking to meet doesn't look like a damn burglar. Sucking on an eyetooth he scopes the place for his bearings and takes the pistol, checks to see what it's holding, and tucks it into his belt, safety on, and pulls his jacket back down. Correction: Now he's ready to go. He murmurs to Alexander "Never bring a stabby stick to a yeet-canon boogaloo. Let's meet with our buyer."

"Those aren't names," Alexander mutters, but at least he keeps it under his breath, because he IS aware that a guy or gal who willingly chooses to be called "Juicy" does not give a shit what Alexander or anyone else thinks. He also scoops off his hat, shoving it in the pocket of the scratchy wool coat he's wearing. The gloves stay on, and he gives Joey a sidelong look as the man picks up the gun. It's fairly standard in load-out; no surprises there. "I prefer knives," he says, defensively. "And do you have any idea the kind of damage that can happen if a gun goes off in your pants? Isn't pretty."

It's a short trip to the forward deck, where four figures are set up around a table. One woman, judging by the jawline and facial profile under the inconsistent lights, but she's dressed the same as the rest, and three men. One is holding a square leather case with a single handle and double brass locks. Everyone else has guns. When Joey and Alexander appear, the case-holder's eyes narrow, and he up nods to the nearest henchperson, the woman. She steps forward, gun drawn but not yet pointing at them. "We heard gunfire. What happened?"

The fact that no one came to check it out perhaps indicates just how few fucks the case-holder has about whether anyone showed up tonight, or not. He certainly looks like he has better places to be, with his slicked back hair under the hat, a suit that's notably more expensive than anyone else is wearing, and the gleam of gold in the ring on his hand holding the case.

Joey nods slowly and admits, eyes on the deck and their approach. "Yeah, man. Me too." While not smirking he makes the bad joke, "Yeah, I been 14." The walk there is with his usual plod. IN theory he absolutely belongs there and this sort of environment is all but unfamiliar to him. They arrive and he takes inventory of people, build, if there's anyone else in the room, if they are out in the open for the drop, and where possible ambush points are and even tries to get, in this terrible light, an idea of who's packing based on silhouette.

He stops, not close and squares up, head up a bit while all the alpha dogs in the yard proverbially play a game of sniff-ass. That they don't recognize him tells him what kind of bluff they can play by the virtue that they didn't sound like they're expecting a specific person by face. The very Joey answer comes from the 30 year old that wounds like he gargles with gravel. It's not exactly nonplussed, but it is a tone that wants to get on with business. "Let's just go with what was my problem didn't become your problem." Sure, personnel issues.

Alexander doesn't want to laugh at a bad joke by Joey Kelly. He just doesn't. But he really can't help himself, and so out comes the most reluctant, gravelly chuckle in the history of amused noises. "Christ, Kelly," he mutters, with a shake of his head, and tries to pretend he wasn't amused at all. He's really bad at pretending.

He slouches along behind Joey as they reach the meeting point, his eyes darting back and forth. He might be chagrined to realize that he's sizing the group up for the same sorts of things as Joey. They're all armed, in some way. Even Mr. Slick with his suit stands like a man who has a hold-out tucked under his jacket, although the other three are more obvious about the guns they're carrying. The meeting spot is largely barren - the deck is a flat, triangle-shape, unmarked by cargo. Standing where Mr. Slick is, you can see most of the surrounding water. Or you could, if it wasn't so damned dark.

At Joey's answer, the woman frowns, and seems about to snap back, but 'Juicy' raises a hand and she shuts up with a snap. He steps forward, just a little - not enough to interfere with the sight or firing lines of his people - and looks over the two of them, skeptically. "As long as it doesn't become my problem at some point in the future." He's got a drawl that feels more like the South than the Pacific Northwest. "You got the asking price, or are you wasting my time tonight?"

The way the goons shift suggest that 'wasting his time' is not a thing that ends well.

Hey, having Alexander laugh means having him relax enough to focus without turning into a stick of dynamite. Right. Onward to these assholes. And then they have the audacity to ask him if he's wasting their time? There's something in his stance that shifts that is an on switch there that silently asks them to inquire...one more time. Instead of moving he gives the goons a flat look, also keeping track of where Alexander's scholarly self is in his perimeter. "

"Now why would I waste my own goddamn time walking up here to deal with you if I didn't. Do you have what I came here for is what I want to know. So, let's be grownups and stop waving our dicks around and get this done, shall we?" And that done he tries to get a quick feel on the case to see if he can figure out what IS the hell inside of it. Cash has a certain feel, guns another, drugs, obviously. Heavy and slide just a bit in the container. Diamonds won't rattle because they should be packed between cloth and wouldn't be in a big fucking case sooooo what IS this deal about? Well he's about to find out bringing the case to mid field to set it down.

Alexander's scholarly self is covering Joey's right side, in exactly the right position for an alert henchman. His hands are empty while everyone else has guns, it's true, but he stands like a man who is well acquainted with violence and not particularly worried about the people with guns. He's not intimidating, he doesn't loom, or try to posture against the goons on his side, both of which are watching him with that half-taunting assessment of social dominance. He's not, in any way, dominant in this gathering, and he doesn't try to pretend he is. But anyone who knows violence can recognize from the way that he stands and the way that he watches the other members of this 'trade' that he's not going to be the first one to break and run if things get dangerous.

The case in Joey's hand is almost certainly filled with cash. It has that slight rustle of cloth paper in stacks, and it's the right weight. Might also be bearer bonds or other forms of paper assets - but if Joey had to guess, he'd guess cash. And unless his ability to weigh cash has gone downhill, it's probably about ten thousand. Not a massive deal in modern times. but this looks to be somewhere in the 30s, so...whatever deal is going down, it's for some serious value. Everyone tenses up when Joey walks the case to the space between them. Juicy takes a breath, the only sign of any nervousness he might be feeling, then saunters up with his own case. He sets it down beside Joey's, then straightens up. His smile is brief and empty. "Nice doin' business with you." Then he reaches for the case Joey set down, his eyes on the yard boss the whole time.

Joey is really kind of glad Alexander's not intimidating. It means no one's paying attention to the other hand while the primary is waving around. It offers great flexibility that is a great commodity. Cash. Cash though in the case is good.

Now what he doesn't do is ask the guy how he got the damn name Juicy. He might break the ruse, an d at worst he might get an answer. Not that he would admit it to Alexander, but he, too, is curious as hell. This is not something you take voluntarily... maybe to provoke a fight or if he has aspirations as a snitch. Were it the latter they'd definitely not be doing business.

Joey doesn't smile back. He can mean mug for business all day long. It's a hard won survival skill. He did five years without smiling once. That's easy. Talking about feelings and shit? Naw. That's hell, but this situation? Oddly and comfortably normal. The gun stays pointed at the ground. "Yeah, you too." He waits for him to open the case and confirm. "So we good?"

Juicy takes the case. He opens it. Neat stacks of old tens and twenties are in paper sheathes, and he's done this enough that he's able to count and estimate the stacks in his head pretty well. What he finds as the sum makes him nod in brief satisfaction. Meanwhile, Alexander's attention has strayed from the thugs on the deck. He's frowning at the ocean, dark and empty.

But not as empty as it should be. Joey hears it too, in the next moment - a subtle wrongness in the lapping of the waves at the side of the boat, the scraping of at least a couple of people very quietly trying to climb up the side of the ship. Juicy and his crew don't seem to have heard anything, but Alexander's stance shifts, becomes loose and ready. He doesn't shout a warning, though; his eyes flick back to Joey, ready to take a cue.

Joey watches Juicy He's got Alexander for the-- there is a brief pause to mentally remind himself that Clayton isn't actually on his paylist... ooooh yeah. Well that's awkward. Moving on, either way, there's a trust that the paranoid private investigator has their back right now. Now whether this is police raid or an ambush remains to be seen. What Joey's not doing is abandoning that 10K in the case and asks, "This isn't a charity, Juicy." Which is to say where's my half of this. He glances, partly to keep a look at the side of the boat to avoid surprise and part to keep Juicy's crew in periphery. Mostly that 10K is presently HIS dammit. "I like to see for quality. We are businessmen."

"You want to see them?" This is the first thing that has taken Juicy completely by surprise; his composure falters. "Here?" There's a murmur from the goons, and they all shift uneasily. Alexander, noting the change, takes a look at the case on the ground where he put it. Then swallows, before he nods, "Guess they were right. Heralds are cold sons of bitches." He reaches for the other case and gingerly picks it up. He flicks open the locks, but is quick to avert his eyes as he opens the case towards Joey.

Light spills out. It's a shimmering heavy sort of light, with a hypnotic quality that pulls Joey in. He can make out some sort of odd glass bottles, each one filled with a radiant, golden liquid. But for a moment he can't move, can't think. He wants the liquid in those bottles. He wants to draw it inside of him and drink deep of it, hide it away in the very core of him.

Somewhere, there's shouting and sudden panic, as a couple of cops pull themselves over the railing and call for surrender. The goons turn instantly, and there's a moment where Alexander tries to explain that this really isn't what it looks like -- and then one of the cops lays a rough hand on him, and the investigator's fist flashes out like a lightning crack, and the cop staggers back. But this is all distant for Joey, impossible to care about. All that matters is the liquid. It's so beautiful. It's everything he ever wanted to be, and isn't.

Then Alexander punches Joey in the lower back, just hard enough to REALLY hurt. "Kelly. We have to go!" He's not looking at the case. He's looking back at what has become a pitched gunfight between the cops and the other smugglers.

Joey just stares. "Yes." Short, terse, and to the point. Eyes dilate and his face settles into stone when amber light lights up the case like he's Joey "Marcellas Wallace" Kelly or something. Are there cops? Fuck em. This is all he needs right now. This and- aaaah kidneys! "The fuck is the donkey punch f- fuck." Well there goes that party. Case snaps closed and snaps to hand The first thing he does is turn and put Juicy's crew between they and the cops. That's step one. Step two is only if that works.

Because fuck these guys. Who is taking the fall on this? Well not he and Alexander. Case in hand he does make the effort, whistling it like a dog sharp, short, and shrill, to call the case of cash over to Alexander.

The two not-actually-Heralds-whatever-the-fuck-those-are run for it, and although the cops turn their guns on them, shouting for them to stop, put their hands up, and all that fun stuff, but Joey's instincts are good, and running behind the goon squad creates a bunch of human (or Dream figment) shields for them both. The bullets that flash their way go wide, or hit goons. The case soars through the air on Joey's whistle, and Alexander catches it by instinct.

Juicy's head pops out of cover in outrage. "You motherfuckers! That's my money!" A goon turns to mow them down and Alexander just spins in place, hardly even stopping, and flings the money case right back at the goon, hitting him full in the face and knocking him ass over teakettle. "A deal is a deal," he says, with a frown towards Joey.

Then they're at the railing. The sea is dark and churning. Bullets zip past their heads like angry hornets. There's more cops coming down the other side. "We have to jump. You can swim, right?"

Joey snaps an answer and might move to drop the gun and hit someone but growls in all of his Don't you dare step one inch into my territory tensed into every muscle. "NO, JUICY. THE DEAL WAS NO COPS." There is fury on demand and it is roiling right under the surface. Looking to Alexander he says, "We didn't make a deal with em." Quieter and with a sharp look at him.

And it's true. Whoever gets dicked over is not his problem in this. He didn't agreed to it, they have to deal with it. He's not going to get arrested though arguing about it. He doesn't answer, but takes a parkour catpass leap; up and through. that answers that!

Alexander meets the sharp look with a flat one of his own. "Then, technically, we have no right to either the case or the money. But I'm willing to allow the case." Because he's incredibly curious. A bullet goes ping off the railing right in front of him, and he flinches. Whatever philosophical differences the two might have about underground trade, Alexander shows no hesitation in following Joey up and over the side. His own movements are a lot less energetic and practiced than Joey's parkour; he just scrabbles up, looks over the railing at the dark water, then dives.

They fall into darkness. And then they find themselves back in their own beds, the smell of sea and gunpowder fading from their noses. Joey doesn't have the case, or the gun, and they're both back in the clothes they were in before they...left.

Weird Dream.