Who:TheThreeAmigos Where: The burnt out bar where Sparrow met Nina. What: Three of the six remaining Black Keys come together. There may be a search for oranges. There may also be some strangling. When: June 17th, mid afternoon
The problem with being the man in charge was that, invariably, you had to be patient. Patience was a thing some people had, other people learned, and Sparrow Peterson despised. It wasn't necessarily that he had to wait. Waiting wasn't a problem. He could wait, and wait, and wait. The problem was that he laid plans out carefully.
And he didn't fucking like it when the weather interfered.
Rain had been bad enough before. Sometimes, though not nearly as often as he liked to bitch about, it delayed shipments. (Before the switch from drugs to guns, that had made Sparrow's life a miserable existence; he'd lost quite a few relatively decent mules because of delayed shipments.) But now it was infectious bubbles of goop and Sparrow was so over the goopy infectious bubbles, because he no longer had enough followers to let them go in the rain and shrug if a few of them turned into the undead.
Disgusting.
So his plan to take over a government supply vehicle had been delayed. Fine. Half the junkies wouldn't even realise how long it had been. He could always play the safety card. And if that failed, there was the simple fact that smoke bombs wouldn't detonate right under a mixture of infectious gooey whateverthefuckitwas.
But his other plan was moving along better. In small, protected places, visible to those who cared to search for them, he planted two trails. One for Alejo, and one for Marina, tiny bird bones leading them to the burnt out bar. Where he was now pulling out all of the bottles in earnest, searching for oranges. He'd make them look through the back room with him, too. Six hands, always better than two.
When the door swung open with a creak, Sparrow froze. Brown eyes darted up to the reflective mirror, partially smoke-damaged but still reflective enough. Ah, good. Company he wanted.
He stood, holding up a bottle of vodka and one of tequila. "You made good time, for a girl," he said. Oh. That reminded him. Strangling lessons, and eyepatches. He needed to make a to-do list. No. He needed to make Alejo make a to-do list. Yes, much better. "Care for a drink?"