The relief in the air is palpable as the last of the fuzz exit the joint, swells bringing up the rear as a bouncer, Rob, follows them to lock up and return, awaiting further instructions.
The joint's a mess. Busted up chairs, overturned tables, and candles litter the dance floor. It's a wonder the place didn't catch fire in the chaos. The stage curtain's ripped off its rails, drooping like a plastered piker, and the floor's sticky with drying booze.
So much to be done, but the first thing is to get word to Scott about what's gone down. Then the clean up can begin.
Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Good news travels fast. Bad news travels faster. Word of the raid on The Fury hits the streets running.
It reaches James just as Stellan reports that all bodies have been 'disposed of' and he turns his attention to his two prisoners, bound and gagged in the back of one of the trucks, unmindful of their wounds.
A few quiet words to Stellan, and their trucks have new drivers as they head away from the pier in opposite directions. One to a safe holding area where the booze can be stored until delivery is approved, and the other to a place few know of. A place where James can do what's necessary to get some answers.
Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
It's early evening, the sun has barely set, but it's night time. Time for everything to start.
Vitale's office is a small room with a desk at the end of a long dark hall in the back of his antiques shop, crowded with papers and two chairs that don't quite fit on the other side of his desk. On his way down the hall - the only way in- Marco passes frightened looking bald accounting type, wiping his sweating brow as he moves pass Marco down the hall without ever meeting his eyes.
Giuseppe's pouring over papers on his desk, smoking his cigarette like he has a grudge against it. He doesn't t look up when he hears someone else at the door to his office. "Tell me you have something I want to hear."
23 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
( Tic, tac, toe, let's see who's made detective here. )
"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.
14 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
This week was just going from bad to worse, and it was only Tricia's instincts that prevented her from getting nailed. The police, in the Fury? She'd never seen that or heard of that before. It was mayhem inside, and she ran with the crowd, only much less blindly.
She was almost forced to deck a bull standing in her way, but then someone else did it for her, which was all well and good. She wanted out, but she wasn't sure it was worth the risk of knocking out one of the fuzz. Or trying, at least, her right hook wasn't that good.
She made it outside and stood still for a second, people running away in all directions. This was the oldest question in the world, but where had she put her bike? She remembered and set herself into motion, hardly breaking into a run that she'd collided into someone. Please, not a copper.
26 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Zeta's done what any self-respecting girl would do when the coppers raid a joint: She's hidden herself neatly away in a broom closet down by the dressing rooms.
She waits until the sounds of chaos have drifted away and sneaks a peek through the barely-opened door just as she hears footsteps. She's about to pull it shut again when she recognizes who it is.
"Pssst. John!" she whispers to get his attention.
15 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
John's busy, sure, but that doesn't mean that he's not aware of the sudden noise of movement outside in the corridor - and neither's his guest. Twisting free, he grabs for the key, unlocks the door, sees the commotion - and yeah, there's not many things to cause that scale of panic.
He makes sure the client's dressed and safely out, then heads back - stupid, maybe, but Scott's probably still in there and he wants to know what the hell's going on - so grabs for the nearest person, catching them by the arm, and pulling them against the wall out of the path of folk running by.
"What's the story?" he demands, without preamble, and completely ignoring the fact that he's only wearing pants, suspenders hanging loose around his hips. No shoes, no shirt. It's not a time to hang around worrying about modesty.
9 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Bren's a high strung person at the best of times. These are not the best of times. He's all but jittering, hands wrung together. He still has on his stage makeup, of course, he hadn't even gone on yet, but he's taken off his tie, his hat is long gone and he's pacing like he can't sit still. He can't. Brendon's balled out and scared.
He'd been on his own for a while, but dealing with the fuzz in a business way was new to him and he wasn't dealing well.
He was actually quiet.
57 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Just a normal Friday night in The Fury. The band's playing, the dancefloor's jumping, the hooch is flowing. Cards are shuffled, dealt, exchanged, laid down as challenges met and lost.
Katherine's on stage singing, Nathan's behind the bar, Scott's in his office. Brendon's act is due on as soon as Katherine's set finishes, and John's disappeared somewhere backstage with one of the patron's - that ain't exactly unusual.
What's unusual is the commotion working its way along the corridor to the top of the stairs to end as cops pouring through the doorway and down into the club. On duty cops.
The Fury pays its fees, and pays them well. Trouble is, this time, it looks like someone else has paid them better.
Half the crowd's ossified already, takes a while for them to work out what's happening. The cops in there to drink turn their coats fast enough, forming up with the squad and turning guns on their tablemates, dance partners, whoever's close by. Tables break, Janes are screaming, bullets fly. There's a crowd at the back of the stage seeking another way out. Any way out.
Too many people, there's no way clear, no clear view. People sheltering behind the bar, behind downed tables. Broken glass and booze spilling across the floor from shattered bottles, and it's fast. Within minutes, the club's empty of anyone but cops and the few unfortunates they've managed to pinch.
Among them: Brendon. Katherine. Nathan.
Holed up securely backstage: Scott. John and his guest.
Anyone else? Take a wild guess. There's enough chaos that no one's quite sure where anyone is, and most of The Fury's firepower's down at the docks.
Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
The docks are dark, deserted, lit by nothing but a half-clouded moon. It's why it's useful for the kind of deliveries that the customs officials shouldn't know about - or can be bribed to pretend not to know about.
It also means that every delivery's vulnerable.
Daniel's usual team wait for the ship to come in, hidden in shadows, James, Stellan and reinforcements behind them closer to the shore, by the warehouse as the trucks pull up, engines loud in the silence. The ships arrive without fanfare, gliding silent and unlit through dark waters, and all proceeds as it should. Smooth and efficient, crates swung down the side of the ship and stacked into the back of trucks.
And that's when they strike.
Swarming from the shore, not to the men, not to the ships, not to the supplies - to the trucks, ready loaded. This time, Daniel's men aren't caught by surprise. This time, they're ready, this time, blades catch moonlight and Daniel's warnings take second place to securing the shipment.
Blood stains the pier, and men fall on both sides, curses hissed under breath, in faces, into the water as feet slip, tangle in ropes, catch. Eternity in a few vicious minutes until the strangers break, run, melt back into shadows. All that remains is the shipment loaded into two trucks, two drivers with slit throats, slumped over steering wheels. Three unidentified bodies, a couple of men injured too badly to run - and James and his men to clear up the mess.
Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Tonight, Tricia is determined to leave her curiosity at the door. It's a professional weakness not to want to incriminate the Fury in her investigation, but she can't help it.
Tonight, she's going to relax. She dances to a few tunes, then joins a card game. You rarely get sharped on at the Fury, and when you do you can be sure that the unfortunate soul won't be doing it again, not here.
The game progresses nicely until the hick that's been losing since the beginning decides that it's her fault rather than that of his bad luck and poor decisions. Alcohol makes him much louder than necessary and she starts to wonder, during a particularly loud and insulting tirade of his, whether he'll be stupid enough to raise a hand against her. That would be sure to get him the Broderick from a bouncer.
She's not afraid; the Fury looks out for its customers. She's annoyed, though, quickly growing into irritated and then plain angry, and she stands up, leans close to the palooka, and quietly hisses, "The only reason you've been losing is because you're a fool, and a drunken fool at that. I don't sharp, and nobody would need to cheat to beat you at cards."
The guy obviously doesn't take that kindly and shoots to his feet, nearly foaming at the mouth. "Ain't nobody calls me drunk, roundheels."
That's when somebody steps in.
22 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
It was early in the day, enough that the Fury was mostly empty.
Early enough that Bren was practicing on stage, tap dancing across the stage absently.
31 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Chris walks down the street, a small bounce to his step. He's got enough money in his pocket tonight for a couple of drinks at the Fury; those suckers at the place before hadn't even known what hit them. He's likely to drop by there again.
But, well, the drinks were less than par - maybe too watered down or something, Chris doesn't really know - and the company even less appealing. Besides, you never slept with the people you sharped. First rule of the game. There wasn't anything to regret, though, because The Fury always offered a better time anyway - and life was just too short to go for anything less than the most fun. Maybe The Fury just spoiled him for anywhere else.
Whatever the reason, he finds himself sliding through the doors and making his way through the bar with a smile on his face. Once he's got a drink in his hands, the night starts to look up even more. He relaxes back into his chair and turns his attention to the dance floor, eyes scanning the crowd for someone or something interesting - dancing, talking...whatever really. And if it leads to something else then, well, all the better for him.
14 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
James waits. This is highly dull, but he's used to it. Sitting very still in the dark, waiting to move, it's a familiar feeling. The consequences are never certain, that too, is familiar, as is Stellan's regular breathing by his side.
There are many things he never quite left behind in France.
The boat's in, and he's signaled to his men that they are allowed to go collect the goods. He knows the crew won't be surprised by this, as they were the ones who 'lost' the previous shipment. So this time there are men, not his regulars, but men that he trusts enough, with hats pulled low on their foreheads and gruff accents.
All that remains is to watch for any other unexpected movement, and he peers at the shadows of the pier, a small frown crossing his features. Shadows lengthening is surely an impossibility....
2 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Tim hasn't had time to come into The Fury in a while, his boss has been keeping him busy playing messenger boy, which although Tim does it. It's not his favorite job. Too many pissing contests which require him to keep his temper and use words instead of bullets or fists.
Despite the fact that he threatened Daniel, Tim knows that there's almost no chance he'll ever get an order to take the man down. Daniel's good and it would create waves and disrupt business and in this case? Waves were bad.
He's looking forward to a relaxing night off, gets a drink and finds an empty table. Tim lights a cigarette and exhales slowly, eyes gazing around the room checking for trouble before he relaxes a little.
85 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Brendon's early; it's Sunday and it's barely noon. He's not in costume; his jacket's off and he's just in his shirt and trousers, though at least he's wearing shoes. He'd stiffened himself up for this with a drink before coming around to Scott's office and knocking on the door, waiting for an answer and not quite sure if he's hoping Scott's there or hoping he isn't.
18 Comments | Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
Where: Daniel's office
What: Discuss Saturday night and engage in a pissing contest
Rating: PGish
Warnings: none
This is my sector.
Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
It's been a great night. No, it's been a swell night, Summer corrects herself, with a tiny frown. Texas was way behind her now. Chicago, and Chicago's idioms, are her present and her future.
The gala night went off swell, and she's not ready to go back to her rooms yet. A brief glance through the fellows waiting at the stage door dismisses half of them as spiffy, but without the greenbacks to support, and of the rest...most are stuck on the singers. There'd been a promising party in one of the boxes, but no sign of him or them.
She pushes through the small crowd with a practised smile, hails a cab, and has it drop her off a few blocks away from her destination. It's been a few weeks since she's been to the club, busy with rehearsals, but tonight she's checking her coat with that same smile, smoothing her hair, and collecting her own drink before settling on a bar stool to see who's in.
Post A Comment | Add to Memories | Tell a Friend | Link
|
|
|
|
|
![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
mod_thatjazz
annoyed