Aidan Walsh (moonhowl) wrote in thatjazz, @ 2008-09-25 20:14:00 |
|
|||
Current mood: | annoyed |
Entry tags: | aidan, club closed, complete, nathan |
The Fury - In the pinch - Closed to Nathan
Aidan's looking at the inside of his glass of whiskey. Almost empty. Then up at the stage, where the pretty lady that reminds him of someone he used to know is singing. Pretty, understatement; doll's outright beautiful and she damn well knows it. They all do, girls that work here.
There's a commotion at the door and rather than turning around Aidan leans his head backward, tipping his chair back so he can get a clear view. A clear, upside down view of his colleagues trooping down the stairs. Hang on a tick, what? He gets the payments, he should damn well know if they're supposed to be coming down here.
He snaps his chair back on its four legs and slams his (now empty) glass down on the table. "Fella can't enjoy a drink in peace these days," he mutters to himself, and rises from his chair.
"Hello, boys," he greets his colleagues, smiles an empty smile, and lets them do their thing, going to sit himself up on the counter, legs swinging idly.
They're making a mess of the place and he does try to stop them, but they're like bulls (ha!) when their minds are set on something. He does have to do something when one of them seems to be heading for the whiskey; every man's gotta have principles, after all.
"No. Touching. The whiskey," he tells the uniformed officer, who seems to see something in his eyes and decides to go for another crate of booze. Smart boy, and Aidan smiles to himself. The whiskey is safe, and he's not even going to confiscate it. He likes it being here.
"Well well well," he says out loud once they've done their thing and people have been rounded up. "This is a mess, boys."
"You're not in charge here, Walsh," the officer who is, in fact, in charge, snaps angrily.
"Tic, tac, toe, let's see who's made detective here," he singsongs, and the officer glowers. Utterly unattractive, those wrinkles on his forehead. "You keep going down that road, you're gonna get worry lines," Aidan tells him, concerned for the state of his brow. "Now where were we? Yes. Detective, me. Now you listen up, all of ya." He looks at how many of them there are; it's a proper squad. Who'll all want their booze, and he certainly doesn't want them turning on him. "You can keep the alcohol. But you leave all these nice people here, right? They ain't done nothing."
"We have orders to bring the staff in," Officer Soontobewrinkled retorts. "Orders from a detective."
Oh. That complicates matters. But it's nothing Aidan can't deal with and he knows for a fact (or hopes with all his heart, anyway) that there will be a lot of gratitude down the line for the hushed conversation he's now having with the officer. Well, there will be a lot of gratitude if Roth doesn't just decide to cut off his hands for having let this happen in the first place. Could go either way.
He finally talks the officer around and looks at the people that have been rounded up. That one, the bartender, in conversation with the pretty singer and the funny kid, but the barkeep's probably the most trustworthy one and Aidan heads for him, gait relaxed. "Word in private." Not a question, but a statement.