mk robinson wants to be a star. (hitjackpot) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-04-05 19:30:00 |
|
|||
Roger sent Maddie K a simple text to meet him at the Luxor in ten hours. That was charitable in his eyes. Something she couldn’t get used to if she wanted to keep bounty hunting. When he worked in Arizona, right after his mother passed away, Roger used to be shaken out of bed at the crack of dawn, handed a rifle and sent on his way into the desert. Sure, he grew up in New York, but the southwest sand had seeped into his veins. It taught him to be unmeasurably durable, to want for nothing and never believe anyone could be the same way. That’s why he was going easy on Maddie K. He didn’t know much about her besides the party girl thing, but that was all the information Roger needed. Party girls were emotional boxers with something to prove. They hit too hard, danced too much and made sure everyone watched them whether they were on their feet or down for the count. Either way was a victory. That was something Roger could never understand. He waited in the Atrium of the Luxor, one of his favorite places on the strip. It was an older hotel, but entrance was just far away from the slot machines and gambling tables that it gave the illusion of breathing room. Their man, a Mr. Freddy Randall was upstairs playing the slots and looking for some company. Roger had watched him from a distance for about two days now. Just long enough for the cat to feel like he found somewhere safe. Good, scaring the shit out of targets was always fun. He liked the look in their eyes like someone had smashed a brick against their chest. That surprise they thought stopped lurking around the corners of their eyes. Dressed in a very old dark brown leather jacket with a couple round, bullet shaped holes pierced through it, cowboy jeans, boots and a white t-shirt with the name of some old Diner on it, Roger clearly wasn’t trying to hide the tough guy thing. In fact, he looked like someone who was raised only on Bruce Willis movies. There were a lot of guys in Vegas who tried that act to get girls, but Roger looked a little too dangerous for it to actually come off as a good thing. Honestly, looking at it, MK had no idea why she had agreed to help Roger Darman. His line of work didn’t necessarily gel well with her or her lifestyle, and that idea came before she even knew about the late mornings and the little time of warning. Oh, that was not going to fly well at all in the future. Thankfully she wasn’t aware and was given more than enough time to prepare during the day. To not psyche herself out. Okay, maybe she had a shot or three to calm her nerves. That was totally normal, and she was sober (enough) when she arrived at the designated location of the Luxor. MK hadn’t stepped foot in the hotel before, spending most of her time either in Caesar’s, Passages, or various modelling gigs for work, but she had an okay sense of direction and found the Atrium fairly quickly. Roger had given her an overview of the person they were targeting, and from the moment she had left Caesar’s, she was in character. The sweet little girl who had come to Las Vegas with her family on vacation. Oh, she had terrible luck with the slots, and their guy would just have to help her out! She found one of her less ostentatious outfits, a sleeveless creme-colored dress with thick straps and a belt wrapped around it, and a sensible pair of flats on her feet. She played down her make-up and acquired a wig that made MK a temporary brunette with a plait swinging over her shoulder. She tried her best to fit the part, to fit the role of girl-next-door, even if that was what MK had rallied against her entire life. Girls-next-door were boring, but those girls were the ones their guy liked most, so she had to roll with the punches. Strolling over to Roger, she smiled sweetly, burying her innate sauciness as best she could, and asked, “Do you know where I can find a good slot game around here? This place is just so big.” Her voice reached an octave higher to try to sound as down-to-earth as possible, much different than MK’s usual tone. It was to give them a reason to talk,the question, in case others were looking to eavesdrop at all. Roger looked up at the large empty space above them. “The rooms are all slanted, but they’re built so no one really notices. That’s your weekly Darman metaphor for Vegas.” He looked down at her with a smile, but it was uneasy. He was sure he could predict little Maddie K’s life almost to the tee and it ended in a trailer park in the middle of Arizona like his mother. He remembered that confident look that dulled over the years with uneasiness and age. Besides, the last thing the world needed was another Roger mad at the world and himself because his mother was a party girl. Damian made a passing comment about eccentric mothers and Roger agreed. Like someone flipped a switch in his head, Roger went into bounty hunter mode. “You know that stupid fish slot machine? The one with bubbles and shit like that? Okay, there’s one next to the texas hold ‘em tables. You’ll notice a man in a nice blazer, some shit he got from the mall I’m sure, black hair and a chin like he’s Jay Leno’s son. Slide up next to him. Make chit chat.” He took out a tablet thing that was much too high tech for their time. It was technically Damian’s, but it worked so well for planning shit out that he used it, too. “See this secluded bar here?” He held the tablet out so she could see a floor plan of the casino. “I’ve bought it out. I’m going to play bartender. You bring him over, I’ll pull him into the back room and we’ll rough him up for some answers and then call my contact.” Roger received a lifted eyebrow as a response to his metaphor. If things were going to be like this, MK knew she would definitely be entertained working with Roger at the very least. She almost felt like he was a cop from one of those edgy crime dramas, the one with the foul language and good sense of humor and a penchant for messing with his rookie partner in an affectionate way. Wren wasn’t totally wrong; he was okay. He just needed to play down the concerned older brother part with her. MK didn’t do well with that at all. Nodding, she leaned over to look at the floor plan, fighting the urge to tease him about the fancy technology. The floor plan was basic enough, and she picked up on the key places quickly. She’d make a scene of it all, definitely, until she could get him away from the slots and to the designated area Roger had put off. She laughed at the idea of roughing someone up because look at her. Barely 5’4”, tiny as hell, and now she was playing the role of delicate flower. It was a funny image. “Oh, goody, we get to play good cop, bad cop? Can I be the bad cop? And he seems like a real goddamn charmer, Daddy Darman. All class. Anything I should be looking out for?” She had looked over the report he sent her before that ridiculous party, but the subsequent time that past she didn’t remember tiny details. “I’d personally love to see you play bad cop. I’m a sad, old man. I need a laugh once and a while.” Roger was barely thirty and he talked like he was some senior citizen. To be fair, he had regarded himself as an old geezer since the age of seventeen. He grinned at her, loosening up just an inch. “He’s one of those guys who says he loves sports, but doesn’t know shit about any of them. Just smile and nod. Same with his shitty pronunciation of French cuisine. I know a chef that would have a fucking heart attack if he heard how this motherfucker says Velouté de mousseron.” Roger’s pronunciation was chillingly perfect like a Frenchman just jumped down his throat. “Just smile, laugh and nod.” Roger obviously regarded this guy as one stupid jerk. The kind who liked yachts and dreamed of having a study with dusty books he never actually read but kept around to impress shareholders. Only, this guy wasn’t smart enough to succeed the normal way. He had to con some nerd into stealing from a company to get what he wanted. He headed towards the escalator, stashing his tablet away while he scanned the area, sometimes nodding at passing employees. Guys like him needed to know everyone from cocktail waitresses to floor security guards. It was the worker ants that saw everything. That were happy to give information for the right price. Once they reached the casino, Roger pointed towards the row of machines their guy was sitting at. “Work your magic, sweetheart. I’ll see you at the bar in fifteen tops.” Roger gave her a thumbs with a wink before edging around the casino towards the bar. It was clear as day to her that she needed to spark up Roger’s life with a little MK Robinson magic. Obviously. He didn’t look much older than her, and she knew for a fact that he wasn’t, but Daddy Darman was definitely a fitting nickname. He was more of a father to her in the month that she’d known him than her father had really ever been, and oh man, that wasn’t good for someone her age, in her opinion. The twenties and early thirties were for living life. But that wasn’t the point now. She’d have to bring it up later. Maybe Luke or Wren could help her. With his final words of encouragement, she winked right back before turning and switching into ‘America’s Sweetheart-mode.’ She hoped no one would recognize her, but her most distinguishable characteristic -- the flaming red hair -- was tucked safely underneath the wig, which looked real, thankfully, and instead of her usual confidence and smirk, she tried her best to draw herself in, just a little, and had the sweetest smile she could muster when she sat down at a slot machine one over from the target. It was all just a play, she tried to remember; it was a show that no one was watching. She sat there for a minute or two, playing the slots but praying and hoping she wouldn’t hit a good number. Thankfully, she was only hitting low numbers or nothing at all, and when Freddy, their guy, hit the fifth time, she turned her chair in his direction and said, “Wow, you’ve got some lucky streak. You’re really good.” Her voice was sweet and her smile was wide and Freddy melted like butter in her hands. They spoke for a while, for what seemed like ages to MK honestly, and Freddy was every bit the tool that Roger warned. He tried to seem smart, but even MK knew that the guy was dumb as dirt. Like, seriously dumb. It only took a few minutes of torture and innocent flirting to convince him to get a drink. He was Freddy, the idiot, and she wasn’t MK, not to him. Freddy knew the brunette he was walking over to the bar with as Diana, and he easily made the comparison to the late princess, even though ‘Diana’ wasn’t blond. Or British. MK nearly exploded trying not to roll her eyes. She gave him all the attention he desired and more, feigning the greatest interest in his stories about travelling, even though she knew he really didn’t travel in the way she had. Nodding and smiling as he talked about some butchered French cuisine he would love for her to try. It wasn’t hard, the faking, just annoying, but she kept the act up even as they walked to the bar area. It was empty, as planned, and when MK spotted Roger, she shot him a subtle look before following Freddy to one of the bar stools and waited for Freddy to order drinks for both of them. He seemed like that kind of guy. A massive asshole, pretty much. Roger had changed out of the leather jacket into a black button down shirt one of the other bartenders let him borrow. He even had a name tag that read Sandy. Clearly, it was a girl’s name, but Roger looked like the kind of guy who woke up every morning wishing some pencil neck asshole asked him about his girly name just to teach him a lesson. Freddy got that impression right off the bat despite being a complete dipshit and politely ordered his drinks without making too much eye contact. If they had more time, Roger would have knocked this guy out and woke him up a couple hours later tied to a chair in a dimly lit room. Theatrics like that were fun, but not always cost efficient. Bounty hunters, the good slightly illegal kind, got things done fast so they could move onto the next case. Once in Florida, Roger managed to take out three different targets in one day. To be fair, there was more gunfire involved in those cases, but sometimes shooting a guy made bringing him in to be booked a lot harder. No, instead of drugging this guy, Roger would have to just move quickly and hope he didn’t squeal too loudly over the casino noise. He gave MK a fleeting look like she should stand back and instead of reaching for a glass, went straight for Freddy’s throat. With a quick chop to the windpipe followed by a half upper cut to the lip, Freddy didn’t have time to scream. His face started to pool with blood onto the counter which smeared when Roger grabbed the man by the shirt collar and pulled him over the bar. Dragging the man like a child drags a toy doll, Roger opened the back room and motioned for MK to follow. The whole exchange took a little under ten minutes. Violence in the movies always seemed so drawn out, but in real life it moved so fast it was hard to understand why Freddy was bleeding. Freddy squirmed as Roger threw him on the ground and put a boot to his back, reaching for handcuffs and slapping them on the man’s wrist before he could break free. “Don’t run, Freddy. I’ll break your fucking kneecaps before you get to the door.” Freddy tried to scream, but it only came out as a hoarse moan. “Okay girlie.” Roger turned to MK. “See this point right here? Right above the waist on the right and left sides of the back. That’s the fucking kidneys. Being punched there does permanent damage and causes a fuck ton of pain. It’s even worse when you get stomped.” Roger grinned down at Freddy, who had his face pressed to the cold storage room floor. “Give it a quick try and ask him where the money is. Freddy won’t mind.” The whole exchange seemed like a blur, and before MK knew it, Roger was dragging Freddy towards the storage room. She looked around for a moment wondering if anyone had seen what just went down. But the bar was empty, of course, and her fear unfounded, so she skirted along after them as quickly as she could. She knew this was when the real fun would start, and she took a moment to ready herself, to take a steadying breath, before she walked into the storage room and closed the door. Walking in, she was all confidence, all bravado, but she was nothing compared to Roger. He was good, he was forceful, and he was almost heartless. It was impressive, and a little scary at the same time, but MK kept a good poker face, she always did. She found herself incredibly glad that she would never be on the receiving side of an ass-kicking from Roger Darman because it looked like anything but pleasant. She stepped close to the body wriggling on the floor and looked at Roger for a moment. “Oh, yeah?” she asked all playful and saucy, her sweet little voice dropping back to the usual husky, MK tone. “I guess we’ll have to test that one out. Won’t we, Freddy?” She wondered briefly what he would say, what her vigilante would have thought of her taking down some jackass of a criminal. He might have teased her about how she was going about it and definitely would have worried about her, but all MK hoped was that he would be happy and kinda proud. She lifted her foot and pressed it down on the right side of the man’s back, just below his ribcage, with enough pressure to make him uncomfortable but nothing too painful. She was testing, you see. Toeing the line at the moment. “So, where is it, hmm?” Removing her foot, she crouched down and lowered herself to the ground to be at level with Freddy’s face. His cheek was pressed down on the ground in the most pathetic way, and MK had to bite her lip not to laugh. “Where’s the money, sweetheart? I know you want to answer us.” But Freddy’s face contoured, and before MK could react, he spat in face and then at the ground just an inch or so where she was kneeling. She was pissed now and wiped the spit from her cheek with a slow hand. “Oh, okay. You want to play that game.” Bouncing back up, she shot up and plowed a foot into where it rested just a moment before. It wasn’t as forceful as it could have been, both because MK still tentative and because she wore flat shoes, but it was strong enough to make Freddy groan in pain and rock back and forth to try to find an escape. “Where’s the money?” she asked again, voice still sultry but with a hint of venom behind it. Roger was proud. Like he took MK on a fishing trip and she didn’t let some big ass trout tell her what to do. No, sir. He smiled like a cat over a bowl of milk. “Good keep the pressure on.” He said like she was a boxer training in the ring. Freddy groaned, barely getting his voice back as he spent it cussing the both of them out. Roger wasn’t impressed, but didn’t get between MK and Freddy. She was doing just fine and there was nothing more humiliating for a guy like this to get beat by a girl he thought was harmless. He blocked the entrance as Freddy tried to worm away and the man flopped back on the floor like a dying fish on a deck. The poor man looked up at the both of them, spite in his eyes and gave the location of a locker. Roger reached down and fished for keys in the man’s pockets. Pulling out a round key that looked like it belonged to a locker, he waggled it in the air and smiled. “Good boy!” Roger took out his phone and texted his contact who was waiting patiently in the lobby downstairs. “Okay, we’re done here. Let’s get out before Freddy stinks up the place.” Roger opened the door for her and stepped back into the bar, grabbing a cloth to wipe up the blood spilt on the bar. A man half his size in a suit stepped past them into the back room with a nod towards Roger. “We’re going to make two k each for that. Not the best, but it’s something.” He said to MK, reaching under the bar to change back into his tough guy outfit. MK stood for a milisecond longer than Roger to watch Roger’s contact close in on Freddy. She had seen plenty of masks take some thugs down, but she had never really seen it done this way. Snapping out of it a moment later, she followed him out and swung around on the opposite side to sit on one of the stools. “Two grand for kicking some asshole in the kidneys? Definitely something.” MK was hardly hurting for money -- her modelling gigs paid a wide and ridiculous range of money -- but the idea that she could dress up, kick some guy in the balls, and stroll away with a couple of grand in her pocket was pretty amusing. Scrubbing at the spot where Freddy’s spit landed, she made a disgusted sound. “Never gotten spit on, but there’s a first time for everything. Are they always such douchebags?” “Always.” Roger grinned. “That’s why I like my job so much.” He liked hunting, liked kicking a rabid dog until it decided to go tame, but he was no hero. This wasn’t about teaching some bad guy a lesson or having philosophical debates about the gun and drug trafficking across borders. This was about finding a target and taking it down as quickly and efficiently as possible. “Listen, Red, I got you a present. Wasn’t going to give it to you if you did a bad job, but you did good today.” Roger vanished under the bar for a second as he reached behind some glasses and bottles for a small, black box. “I don’t know how much trouble you get into, but if you keep working with me, there’s a chance some of these scumbags will try to fight back.” He placed the box on the table and popped it open. Inside, there was a pair of pink brass knuckles. “I’m pretty sure these are illegal as shit, but not a fuck is given about that as long as you don’t use them against cops.” Roger put his hands on his hips as he silently remembered all the great illegal weapons he had used over the years. “Oh boy,” MK said with overexaggerated glee as Roger disappeared for a moment. “I get to kick some guy’s ass and I get presents? Wren and Luke were right -- you aren’t so bad, Daddy Darman.” She leaned in slightly as he popped open the small black box and elicited a small burst of giggles at the sight of what it held inside. Thin fingers reached forward and picked up the new hardware. They were heavy, but MK had worn some ridiculous jewelry in the past. She’d just get used to it. “Are you shitting me?” she asked, the amusement and delight clear in her voice. She slipped the brass knuckles over the fingers of her right hand, and she held it up to inspect, wiggling and flexing her fingers as she did so. “I’ve got to test these out. Scout’s honor that I won’t use it against any cops though. Don’t think my agent’ll be too happy if I get thrown in the slammer for punching some cop in the face with these suckers.” She gave him a salute with her other hand and a cheeky grin. “Do you give this to all the girls, or am I just a special little redhead?” Roger smirked. “Don’t get cute.” He watched her slip the brass knuckles on and inspect them. “Most women I’ve worked with were hard nosed lesbians or tough chicks with an axe to grind. I ain’t saying you aren’t tough, but these will give you the edge you need. Over fucking anyone.” Roger had a sort of alpha wolf mentality that a lot of nice tough guys tended to develop. He cared about Wren and Luke, therefore anyone in their pack was in his pack, too. MK wasn’t what he normally liked to worry about, but she wasn’t a bad person. And, maybe, things wouldn’t turn out the way that he was convinced they would for her. She laughed again. “I’m always cute. That’s my thing, Roger. It’s why you got me to come out here, remember? Honey and all that bullshit.” She slipped the knuckles off of her small hand and placed them back in the box with more delicacy than necessary before resting her elbow on the clean bit of the bar. Her chin found her hand, and she grinned up at Roger. “I’m gonna have to invest in more disguises, aren’t I?” Because, she assumed, it went really well today. She could deal with this -- flirting with some jerks, bringing them into a secluded area, and watching Roger take care of the tougher ones. MK didn’t really consider a tougher situation, not now, not when she was pumping with a little bit of adrenaline. “Wouldn’t hurt. Good news is that there’s plenty of wig and costume shops in Vegas.” Roger’s smile turned into something genuine. “I tried to disguise myself once, but you can’t mess with perfection.” Roger gestured towards his face. It was less about messing with perfection and how impossible it was to hide that nose of his. Roger didn’t look like anyone except Roger. “I’m going to go blow my money on slot machines. I’m feeling lucky.” He gave a look towards the casino floor with a little bounce in his step. “I’ll wire your share to you in a couple days.” Rolling her eyes at the "perfection" comment, she jumped off the barstool and placed the box with the brass knuckles in the tiny shoulder bag she brought with her. "Aye, aye, captain." She saluted him again with another cheeky grin. "I'm gonna go look for some of my own fun. You know where to find me if you need." The bar, of course, was the next stop. She wondered how much fun she could get into as a brunette, and this was the perfect opportunity to test it out. She winked and smile at him again before turning in the opposite direction. |