Cristobal Rodriguez ♦ Coyote (coyoti) wrote in paxletalelogs, @ 2017-04-13 09:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | coyote, hades |
i'm tired of backstabbing ass snakes with friendly grins
Who: Chris & Obed.
What: Chris approaches Obed for some assistance in distancing himself from his current business.
Where: Back Bay Bistro.
When: April 11, afternoon.
Chris drained his second glass of scotch, waving to the waiter for a refill. The man was trained well enough to not make a face, and once Chris' hand was emptied of the solely ice-filled glass, it went to the knot of his tie at his throat to loosen it once more.
Needless to say, it'd been awhile. He was so removed from the majority of his father's face to face dealings that he wasn't sure he'd know exactly what to say, much less how little to give up in return. The restaurant did not at all soothe his nerves; he was seated near a large window looking out over the interior of Newport Bay. Blue waters rollicked softly in the midday sunshine, and Chris felt too exposed. At the same time, he wanted to do nothing to jeopardize this potential business deal. Mentally, he thanked Daniel for the idea; he'd never actually verbally thank the man sharing his bed, but Chris was so wound up inside his own head that he never would have thought to reach out to Obed Brandt.
But he had. And now he was sitting here, waiting. As he looked out the windows, he noted an approaching figure and swung his head, edging on paranoia. It was only the waiter with his refreshed drink. Chris nodded dimly, taking it and at least having the good sense to put it down instead of guzzling it. The conversations with Nish and Kal still reverberated in his head, and quickly removed him from the situation at hand, until an unfamiliar voice broke his mental silence.
"Off to an early start," Obed observed. "Good. Now I can have a glass of wine and not feel guilty." The beginning of a soft smile curved one corner of his mouth. He extended a hand to Chris. "Obed Brandt. I believe I saw you very briefly at the first tenant event." Chris rose quickly and somewhat awkwardly after being caught off guard, shaking his guest's proffered appendage with a simple, firm grip. He then reseated himself, albeit more slowly than he had in rising.
Obed slipped into the seat across from Chris, settling in and flagging their waiter down once more. He ordered a glass of Chardonnay and sent the man on his way. "So. To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Chris pulled his glass closer to himself, ice tinkling against the edges.
"I was hoping to pick your brain, actually," he replied, tracking his gaze up from the tabletop to meet Obed's. "I've got a number of real estate properties I was hoping to liquidate, and I've been told that you're familiar with the sort of situation I'm finding myself in." He stopped, helping himself to a drink. He was going to be an alcoholic before all of this was through. "To put it simply, I've got some hangers on who would be very upset to see their storefronts go away. They'd make problems for me."
Obed's brow rose. "I see. I'd ask who told you this, but I imagine that's a question you won't answer. I have a few ideas, anyway." He fell silent as the waiter returned with his glass. The man paused, perhaps to take their order, but the expression on Obed's face brooked no interruption. He left, and Obed began again.
"These days I try not to get involved in such arrangements, but I understand that's not always possible. I have to ask… just how completely, and for how long, do you intend to distance yourself from these hangers-on?"
"Permanently." Chris' glass spun minutely under his fingertips, a visible sign of his anxiety. He chewed on the inside of his lip, having not broken eye contact with Obed since the other man sat down.
"The liquidation is mostly my own, personal assets, though they're not completely unknown. Others will take notice that I'm cashing out, as it were, so if it's at all possible to make those funds disappear..." Chris shrugged lightly. "Let's just say it would help me immensely.
"I can certainly make this worth your while, in more ways than just money. Which I'm sure you have more than enough of anyway. Instead, I can give you information on an issue I know you've been trying to keep quiet." This was where things could get sticky, if Obed didn't get up and walk away from the table entirely. He took a sip of his scotch. "I can tell you who's the source of yeyo that keeps cropping up in all of your East Los Angeles holdings."
Obed's curiosity was immediately piqued. The only outward sign of this was a slight lowering of his arched brow and the long, slow sip he took from his wine glass. When he set it down again, he cleared the sheen of red from his lips with a swipe of his tongue.
"I can respect your situation," Obed said, "and I do have the resources to help you out of it. It won't be cheap or simple, but then, neither was getting in, was it?" His fingertips drummed against the bottom of his wine glass, short nails clicking sharply. "How could I be sure the name you give me is legitimate, and not just some nuisance you don't want to dirty your hands with?"
"I have photos," he replied, almost too quickly. "Texts, emails. Not enough to bury him with, but enough for you to have a positive ID. What you do with it after that is your business.
"I know you've been trying to stop them. I know it seems like they go away only to return. It's cause you're only treating the symptoms, and not the source. You deal with that -- however you do, I don't care -- and it's over." Chris spoke with far more certainty than he actually felt, but Rodrigo had chosen his battle lines. If this was how the dice fell, the guy couldn't fault anyone but himself. Chris helped himself to another sip of his scotch, finding it emptying far too quickly once again. The bright sunshine outside did little to warm the chill running through his limbs, though now he was uncertain if it was his own anxiety or the man sitting across from him.
After a long moment of deliberation, Obed answered with a single curt nod. "Before we do anything," he said, "I want to independently verify your information and its sources. That is non negotiable. That said, I can promise you I will deal with it entirely in-house. Your name will not be associated with any of it. When and if I find out it's accurate, I'll provide a point of contact for you." He smiled, and there was nothing pleasant in it. "And the rest, as you say, is my business. Do you agree to those terms?"
"No honor among thieves, eh jefe?" Chris tipped his glass in Obed's direction. "I can promise you it's authentic. Real, live, flesh and blood person. But you do what you gotta to make sure you can sleep at night. I know what that's like." The ice and liquor in the glass swirled with his movements, tinkling against the edges. "To who and where am I taking my stuff, because I ain't just handing it over to you. No offense; I got copies, but I'm not letting my call a friend walk out the door without keeping a close eye on it."
A slight crease appeared between Obed's brows, but he offered no rebuttal. Instead he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, withdrawing a business card from his wallet. He handed it to Chris, face down. "My legal team," he said. He flashed a sharp grin. "If you like you can even wait there while they verify the information. If you'd rather not go through -- or to -- my office, you have the option of speaking to my right hand man, Ray Carver. You may have seen him around Pax. You might find my legal team more… tractable. Your call."
Chris' eyes followed that little white square, waiting until Obed had fully retracted his hand before he reached out to take it himself. He took a long moment to examine it, considering the other man's words before bobbing his head. Straightening in his seat, he filed the card away into an inner pocket of his suit jacket.
"I'll think about it; I like a man who presents me with options," he replied, cracking a slightly truer smile than anything else he'd said thus far that night. The possibility of a light at the end of the tunnel seemed too unreal to truly consider, and it was far too early to start counting his chickens, but between the liquor and the fact that Obed seemed mostly amenable to his offer put him in far better spirits than he'd felt in awhile.
"It's different than the people I usually do business with. Now, since I dragged you out here, I think I at least owe you a nice lunch. The calamari steak is highly recommended."
"I won't say no to that," Obed said, raising his glass in toast. The waiter, lingering at the fringes of the restaurant, began to make his way over, a fresh scotch and a glass of the same red already in his hands. "I hope we have cause for another drink together very soon, Mr. Rodriguez."
"Ídem, jefe," Chris replied, raising his glass in turn. He turned his attention back to the menu, his brain scrounging for other topics of conversation. He might as well make good use of Mr. Brandt's time while he had him.