2021-11-19 - Parcel Delivery, or, Who Ordered the Thug From Spokane

Forget shoddy motels in Spokane. Forget pretending to be Mr and Mrs Darrow, newlyweds, scoping out a suburbian area in Spokane. Forget being nice. Think about those trafficked girls on the Mercantic -- and think about how many others like them ended up shipped through Gray Harbor before anyone noticed. Think about who orders them -- and what for. Think about what's going to happen to them, that makes it worthwhile shipping them to disappear, all the way from Europe. Ask yourself, do American girls disappear in the other direction?

Not all monsters come out of the Veil.

And here's a little monster -- barely a blip on the scale of awful to Cthulhu: His name is John Callahan, his subordinates back in Spokane know him as Big John, and he runs a motel full of prostitutes and crack dealers on the outskirts of Spokane. Although, saying that Big John runs anything at all may be a thing of the past; his kneecaps certainly aren't great after a bit of Monaghan tenderness. He'll need a wash too -- while barely pricked by Seth's knife, the man still somehow managed to bleed like a pig all over his own throat, chest, and face.

It's not Big John's finest day. He's probably thinking about it as the car makes its way back to Gray Harbor. Thinking, maybe, of what's going to happen to him now. Thinking, probably, that if he's lucky, they'll skip pretty much straight to cement shoes, and skip the beating first.

Driving the car back into Gray Harbor from Spokane, Seth stifles a yawn. "I'm still not sure I'm comfortable with the 'coincidence' that de la Vega just happened to be at the same place the same time we were making a move, hun. I'd maybe expect that kind of shit in Gray Harbor, but out in the outskirts of Spokane of all places? The odds of that are so infinitesimal that even C3PO would have trouble calculation them."

The enforcer glances over his shoulder towards the trunk where the package is before looking ahead again. "Did you call Joey and let him know we were on the way? I don't want to show up at the Gym with the package in tow and then have to wait around while we run out the clients."

Vic looks amused. “I’m not surprised Javier was tracing Reyes’ people. I am surprised that org would be mixed up with this Yutz and the Serbians. Mexican cartels don’t usually play well with others.” She fiddles with the radio, using her Glimmer to check on John’s bonds. “I texted the boss while you were loading him up. He knows we’re en route with our unfortunate package.”

"Am I surprised he was tracing them? No. Am I surprised he shows upright as we are about to make a move? Yes, yes I am. I mean, seriously, that was some premonition type shit there. Like he knew we were going to be going right at that time. Fuck, I wouldn't have been shocked if he had just gotten out of the car, turned, and waved to use before you called out to him." Seth says as he makes the turn to head down the surface streets towards Kelly's Gym. "If I didn't know better I would swear we were bugged or something."

“I’d know it if we were I think. I’ll feel out the house later though, just in case,” Vic promises. As they near the gym, her eyes sweep the area for cops or other lookie-loos they may not want seeing the moving of Callahan into the back door of the gym.

"I guess at least the silver lining is that de la Vega hasn't totally gone over to the side of the angels," expresses Seth as he pulls into the gym parking lot, pulling the car around to the back doors and lining up the back of the car with the doors so any transition between the trunk and the door is as quick as it possibly can be. "He might not be on Felix's payroll anymore, but at least his halo is still tarnished. Still, makes me uneasy. I know you and he have history, and you know I trust your judgment, but it still puts a knot in my gut."

Joey's there finishing up his Philly cheesesteak sandwich when they roll in. Two of his lieutenants that Vic and Seth both recognize as Taylor and Johnny Z (As opposed to Johnny Davis. Gotta keep one's Johnnys sorted) open the back door enough for them to come in and then take a step outsideto have a smoke so people can 'talk' and leave the situation 'undisturbed'. The truth is Joey misses Neil and is still pissed at that asshole upstate waxing his door dude. Such is life. It's how Joey got promoted too. Shit happens. When they enter he's chewing and points to that folding chair that's sitting by the storm drain. Put him in the guest of honour chair. Those dark green eyes scan Seth and Vic. No holes. Cool cool.

"So... the fuck'd you bring me?"

One might marvel as Vic lifts Callahan like he's a helium balloon and not a schlub of a Spokane criminal. He has zip tied hands and feet courtesy of Seth, and she has a grip on his wrists with one hand as she carries the package effortlessly. Those zip ties may look like they're straining a bit upwards to those who understand Physical Glimmer, but she'll just let the boss be impressed. "One Big John Callahan, one of the lieutenants of the operation in Spokane," she replies, as she sets him into the chair, none too gently, then pats him on top of the head. "He's going to need knee surgery, but otherwise he's healthy. He refused to tell us who his boss is but," she looks over at Joey with an arched brow and a grimace, "besides importing the girls with the Serbians, he was in a meeting with one of Reyes guys. De la Vega showed up to chat with that one, and sent him back with a message."

"Knee surgery and maybe some stitches to the ear, though at this point that is probably moot given how long it has been," Seth corrects as he walks by John and flicks the notch the enforcer cut in the bound man's ear. "Sorry boss, I went a little reservoir dogs on him to try and get him to spill. I'll give the guy credit, he has stones,.. and loyalty." Seth makes his way over to one wall, probing himself up against it casually. "Vega showing up was....surprising, but at least he didn't get in the way."

Joey never questions these things. The how is a distant concern after 'is it getting done?' and so watching Vic lift said motherfucker in need of a talking to his focus is firmly affixed on the conversation about to take place. This is why Vic is paid quite nicely. She gets a nod as he murmurs, "Too bad we don't offer health care." The mention of De la Vega gets an eyebrow raised, "Tell me what De wants later." He is forever in refute that his first name is 'Javier'.

Attention drifting slowly to Seth that tidbit of information gets a slightly more quizzical look but things seem to be adding up neatly to a number Joey recognizes. "Shoulda tried buying him a drink first." Drunks fucking love boasting. "John...sit." He is. "You...and we are going to have a talk. I'd apologize for what happened to your warm welcome, but we don't take kindly to people breaking into our home. Why are you in my fucking Harbor?"

"I tried to convince Big John here to talk. I really don't want someone to have to explain to his little niece why her uncle is gone forever. We made sure to chat with him away from home, in case she and his brother got home from their trip early," Vic notes. She tends to remind Callahan he has family to think about every discussion. The tall blonde moves to lean against Joey's desk, folding her arms over her chest and looking casual.

Pushing off the wall once John is sat down in the chair, Seth uses a couple of more zip ties to tie the man to the piece of furniture. "Look, John, we don't care about you. You are just a means to an end. There is every chance you can walk out of here and head back to Spokane, maybe even with a little scratch in your pocket for the inconveniences that brought you here in the first place, but in order for that to happen, you have to start talking man. "

Seth pauses for a sec as he checks the bonds before he makes his way over towards the small mini-fridge that is in the office, "How about a beer? Do you want a beer? I can guarantee this is better than the swill you had at your place. Or a smoke? I mean, don't get me wrong I am not going to free your hands or anything, I'm not an idiot, but I will help you enjoy either. I'm really not that bad of a guy."

'Big' John Callahan really is a mess to behold. He had to cling to Seth to even get in there in the first place, and he actually looks grateful to be plonked down on the chair of very questionable honour -- because doing so takes his considerable weight off his crushed knees. He's blood stained and looks like he took the trip from Spokane in someone's trunk; also quite accurate. He's spent part of that trip snotting all over himself because it's hard to wipe your nose with your wrists ziploc'ed behind your back. There is very little intimidating about the man now.

And now there's this little guy, built like a brick wall, whose name he is unfortunately all too aware of. Big John may not have managed to update his mental Rolodex card on Seth from 'Darrow' to 'Monaghan' but he's definitely heard about Joey Kelly. Felix Monaghan's man, the guy who somehow managed to get declared coach of the year and have a plaque put up at the high school. The guy who must have his hands on several pairs of balls in town hall, to achieve something like that (and not in the fun way either, John suspects, looking at the man).

"They took me here," he answers Joey's question. "They fucking put me in a trunk and drove me here."

Okay, so John is the literal sort.

It dawns on him, after a minute or two, that this may not have been the actual question that somebody wants answered. "Fuck you guys," he murmurs. "I'm not telling you shit about my boss 'cause you think I wanna go home to my family? I tell you shit, I ain't gonna have a family to go home to. Look, man, all I know is, we got paid to move some chicks through this dump. Told us you guys don't use the harbour, wouldn't give a fuck. So why are you busting my balls over this, man? We done nothing to you."

Well, maybe he can tell them little bits of shit.

And here Joey risked being the only literal ass in the room. Lucky for this weasel in the chair he speaks literal answering, "Then hard part done. " He moves his chair over; it moves to hand, by 6" and he drags it the rest of the way and sits. Elbows fall to knees, fingers lace between there and Joey stares at him but doesn't lay a hand on him. He doesn't need to as their guest is pretty certain he knows what he can do and will do if he needs to. Right now he has the opportunity to talk.

"You got a niece? Me too. How old? Cause I will admit keeping up with a six year old is a full time job there." Yeah. This is where it's starting out. He shifts a look to Vic and Seth and back. "See that's the thing, The first thing people assume is the worst of the person across from them is what they, themselves, would do, see?" An eyebrow arches as Joey gets into philosophy, also no doubt Alexander's fault. "Unlike you I'm not a human piece of shit that hurts children. So help me out here because *your8 boss is and is clearly who you should be concerned with around your fam, bruh."

Vic gives John a canine-bearing smile, feral, but it fades quickly and she resumes holding up that desk for now.

Seth likewise, the offer of a beer or a smoke seemingly ignored by their guest, shrugs his shoulder and moves back behind John's chair, casually flipping open and closed his newly acquired butterfly knife.

A man simpering out of fear for his family you can respect on the level that at least he cares about his family and collateral damage. A man who refuses to talk because he knows people will get hurt -- there's some respect earned by that, even if he is on his knees begging to spare people who haven't done anything to you. One might even have some kind of grudging respect for a man who's all out in business for himself and trying to save his own arse -- at least he's got some kind of survival instinct and a proper level in Assholery.

There aren't many things on this planet harder to respect, though, than a big beefy man who can't make up his mind even to save his own arse.

Big John sweating bricks; there's a nervous tic at his eye every time Seth slams the butterfly knife shut. "Nine years old," he mutters. "She's fucking nine. And you're leaving her alone, she got nothing to do with this."

He twitches at another snap behind him. Glances at his knee. Possibly tries to calculate the hospital bill that's going to earn. Possibly tries to calculate the odds of living long enough to get the surgery to fix that knee. It's entirely possible that at this point Big John Callahan is mentally lining up the body count from when the Mercantic burned, and coming to the astounding realisation that the people he's 'visiting' actually don't have a lot of qualms about dropping a body or two extra -- not when those bodies belong to human traffickers or worse.

"Miles," the Spokane lieutenant grunts. "Miles Obilick . Don't tell me it's a fucking made-up name, I know it is. It's what the asshole goes by, I don't know his real name. My wallet, there's a card. 'Cause I can't fucking spell that name."

Of course he can't. Not a lot of Americans with a non-Serbian background can spell Miloš Obilić.

Joey watches for a long time and there's that put upon sigh there the other two know means he's either going to ask... one more fucking time or just punch him. He does, though, need the guy's head attached to his body so he goes for the former. "I told yo WE DO NOT fucking hurt kids." Nine huh? There's a slight nod, "You ever think what'd happen if your 'boss' stuffed her in an envelope and shipped her off somewhere. Maybe I'm not your biggest problem today."

He reaches into the guy's coat and digs out the card. He also takes it and leaves the rest handing the twenty to Seth, "This man would like to apologize for being difficult by buying you two lunch for the inconvenience." He digs out the card that has the name Mee-losh on it though it comes out, "My-loss? Yeah buddy i about to be." That is handed to Vic. "Let's try to make contact. Use your phone voice." The one that's not starting 'listen up fucker' when she greets on the phone. "There anything else important you'd like to share with the class?"

Vic takes the card and scans it, the name registering as Serbian. She can pronounce it at least. She passes Joey back a different card, one for the HOPE community center. "HIs brother and niece can bring a nice Thanksgiving donation down from Spokane to this place, and we can pick them up and move them and John here somewhere out of state for their safety, if John is amicable to that." She gives Seth a small quirk of a smile at involving Ravn yet again, before her attention goes back to the boss. "What would you like me to say to Milos? Arrange a face to face? Or just have him hold for you to talk to him?"

Letting out a chuff as Vic volunteers Ravn's charity as a 'safehouse' of sorts, Seth shakes his head in amusement.

Laying his hand on the bound man's shoulder, Seth explains, "See, John. The Mrs. and I aren't all that bad if you are reasonable. We didn't want to go this route, but you kind of forced our hand. Trust me, you are getting a better deal from us than you would be from your own folks. You play nice with us, we play nice with you. If we had wanted you dead, we would have just killed you over beers at your place and nobody would have been any wiser."

"Fuck you, Darrow," Big John grunts -- but it's the kind of defeated sigh that's addressed at either 'Darrow' and their boss too. "You fucking broke my knee, man. Just let me go home, right. Tell the people up the fucking ladder shit doesn't go through this place or there's gonna be mad psychos coming to town and busting balls. That good enough? Think I'm stupid, Darrow? My folks back home, they don't got the pigs helpin' them bust balls."

One could get the impression Big John thinks de la Vega is on the Monaghan payroll too. Or maybe he thinks Monaghan is on the de la Vega payroll. Maybe he thinks police and mob alike in Gray Harbor is so intertwined you can't tell where one begins and the other ends, and in this, at least, he'd not be as wrong as one might expect. It's easy to make friends in unusual places when Cthulhu is your neighbour.

"I disappear," he says, in a moment of clarity (the kind brought on by the realisation that it's either think fast or go into witness protection for the rest of your life), "there ain't no one taking the word back. You fuckers let the wetback go so he could tell his people to back off. Do the same fucking thing for me, man."

He's not gonna beg. But he's totally begging.

And it's right there that Joey snaps his fingers in front of Big John's face. There's no intention of controlling anything but where the attention is focusing where the present need for attention ought to be. It's really a suggestion in John's best interests here. Joey sits with that 'I'm 33 and too tired for this shit' mood about his patience. "Darrow ain't your issue, John. I run this room. So. We can work something out... or I'm gonna improvise." There is calm, no threat, as if this guy can't make a dent in his Saturday. Not with his ass tied to a chair.

Will big John ever know he's actually right about De la Vega? Not from Joey. And then there's a sigh, "First off, grievances with the fuzz as it is? Ain't no reason to get racist in my house. It's disrespectful. So... let's try... that request... again." An eyebrow arches, and his palms rub back, and then forth against one another as he waits. To Vic he asks, "You got that number? Perf." He takes the Hope card and shoves it in John's shirt pocket. "If this is something we agree to let's make certain all parties are on board. You can arrange that?"

To 'Mr. Darrow. he asks, "Now... how generous am I right now and is the 'cargo' liberated?"

"It's not our fault your pal in that room was so sloppy a cop tracked him down, John," Vic points out. Sowing a little dissension in the ranks of the Mexicans and the Serbs can't hurt. She pulls out a burner phone, glances at the card, and dials the number for Milos. She holds it up, preparing to hit send, looking at Callahan.

Seth pats John on the shoulder again, "I only broke your knee after you tried to shoot me and the wife, John. If you and your friend had just not moved like we asked, then there wouldn't have been any need for that."

Turning to Joey, 'Darrow' nods. "Yeah, boss. the cargo is liberated and taken care of. A mutual friend took care of the merchandise, we can go into details later..but it is all accounted for and safe."

A penny seems to have dropped at last. Needs more grovelling. This, at least, Big John Callahan seems to understand; maybe he likes to play a similar game when roles are reversed. After all, what mob ringleader does not like the feeling of having an enemy on his knees, showing proper respect? "Look, man, you gotta send me back. You let Zapatero go, so he could tell his people to leave Gray Harbor alone. You gotta do the same for me, man. They're gonna send no end of shit your way if I just vanish. You don't fuck with the Serbians, man, they're crazy. You seen The Usual Suspects? That's Keyser Sozë, man, except they're not Hungry." Hungry, Hungarian, tough choice. He pronounces Sozë like sauce.

A pleading look goes Vic's way, even; the man bears a sudden resemblance to a big, ugly dog rolling over to display its belly and throat in a gesture of submission and surrender. "You gotta let me go home, tell 'em this town is off limits. Cut down on the damage, man, don't let people get hurt." Here's appealing to the soft and tender female heart present. Big John Callahan may not be the best people reader, either.

The big man slumps. "If you gonna send me away, I ain't fightin'. But there's gonna be blood, man. You don't know these people. They don't give a shit. They're like, European mountain savages. Ever heard of places like Kosovo, ex-Yugoslavia? They're fucking insane, man, they don't think nothing of turning an entire village into a mass grave but they freak out if you threaten their profit. Let me go back, tell 'em we just ship goods in through Hoquiam. Or Raymond. Whatever works for you guys, man."

Vic turns the phone towards herself, swaps to the texting app, and begins typing while Callahan is begging.

(TXT to Seth) Vic : Can you make it look like there is fire in my hands? I know you have a lighter on you somewhere. I'm going to go all Dark Phoenix and scare the shit out of this guy so he really impresses on them to stay away.

Seth glances at his phone as it chimes, then looks over to Vic with a quizzical expression on his face as he taps out a reply.

(TXT to Vic) Seth : I'm not sure? I mean I can light your hands on fire, but I don't think that is what you are asking for. I've never tried control or the manipulation of fire to that level before...

(TXT to Seth) Vic : I trust you. When I start levitating, go for it. Just above my hands if you can.

(TXT to Vic) Seth : Ok...but I am going to say sorry in advance in case I char your fingers.

(TXT to Seth) Vic : you text that like I've never been singed before. 😉

(TXT to Vic) Seth : Hey, just doing the classic CYA move, JIC. :heart:

Joey arches an eyebrow, fingers still loosely laced together. He side glances to Seth and back to john as if helping him figure this out, "Guy... I don't it's like hard to tell sometimes when she cusses more than I fuckin do, but she is a lady. You can't just go around shooting lady-people and absolutely don't ever shoot the wife unless you're ready for the whole place to burn down. That's like... Bad Guy 101. I knew that at 15. It's important to read the handbook." So disappointed.

Joey listens though. Unfortunately, his answer is ambiguous enough to remain very uncomfortable sounding. "Oh, I will be sending you home, Johnny." he didn't say in what capacity. Joey's about to agree when John says something and Joey's head turns and the look gets sharp in his green flinty eyes. "See, the problem is that there's 'business' being done. These young people... are not...fuckin...cattle to be traded like pokemon."

Standing up he looks to John, "So I'm gonna ask you once. How I contact your boss?"

Big John slumps. He obviously doesn't know what Seth and Vic are exchanging texts about -- but gut feeling tells him they're probably not setting up for pizza and beer and watching the game, later; and if it is, Joey's tone suggests that the game might be taking bets on how many gallons of concrete to sink a man Big John's size.

"You fuckin' tell me to go home and tell him you want to see him," he suggests, not really believing it. "That's all I'm askin', man. Or you roll up Sid's Bowl-o-Rama, and ask for Miles Obilick. Number's on the yellow pages too. They'll give you a lotta shit about how they don't know no fucking Miles Obituary. Somehow don't get the feeling that's gonna stop you guys. And his name isn't Miles, I told you that. But he hasn't told me what it fucking is." It seems important for him to get that last bit on record. Maybe he wants it on record that he tried. Maybe he's still hoping to somehow, somehow get out of this with just a crushed kneecap.

Life on crutches is preferable to no life at all.

"Look, I can take the message, man. Any message you want." If Big John could read minds, he'd be a lot more worried about the kind of show Vic and Seth are about to put on.

Vic is a mean woman. She really is. Big John is from Spokane. He doesn't Glimmer. He will eventually rationalize what he is about to see, but no matter what, it'll impress upon him that Gray Harbor and its denizens are NOT to be trifled with. The woman he thinks is named Beth Darrow maneuvers to be out of Joey Kelly's line of sight. The boss glimmers like WHOA, but he still seems to not actually grok the whole 'magic is real' thing.

Her hair lifts, like it's being blown by an unseen wind. Then SHE lifts, rising up off the floor several feet in the air, where Callahan can see her floating above Joey. Her hands raise to either side, like she's about to give a blessing, and flames leap from somewhere behind him to curl there, blazing, like twin braziers of doom. Her smile is positively feral, all teeth, tight of lip, and her eyes are cold, dead, like late winter ice.

The scariest part is it all happens in utter silence. Not a whisper of wind, not a hum of electronics or the whine of wires and pulleys. Not even the zzzzat of superhero powers. Just there, like Dark Phoenix made real and a blonde. It doesn't last more than a minute, just enough to impress upon the man, just WHAT awaits anyone who comes to Gray Harbor uninvited. Then she drifts like a feather back to earth, the flames snuff out, and her hair finally settles again around her shoulders like a tousled nimbus.

Note to self: Hair styling is WAY easier like this.

What's the sound of one hand clapping?

We may never know. But now we know the sound of one thug going sheet white, pissing his sweat pants to make a delightful mess with the drying blood from his knee, and passing out at Joey's feet. Somebody really should get a picture.

Seth totally takes a picture. Or twenty.

After watching the display Vic gives, and the subsequent passing out of John, Seth chuckles to himself and takes out his phone, aiming it towards John and snapping a couple of photos of the large passed out man with the wet sweat pants.

"That was hot," he mentions over to Vic even as he kneels down over the passed out man, pulling a sharpie from one of the pockets on his BDUs. The enforcer uncaps the pen and starts to draw on John's face where he draws a giant penis on the guy's face. Circles for balls over his eyes, the shaft down the nose, where the tip of John's nose becomes the head. It's crude, but it isn't supposed to be art.

"So," Seth says as he finishes his artwork and snaps more pictures with his phone, "what do we do with him now, Boss? Please tell me I don't have to go back to Spokane?"