ᴄʟᴇᴀɴᴇʀ (garcian) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2017-07-03 12:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, dan smith, garcian smith |
Who: Dan Smith & Garcian Smith
What: Reuniting after some time
When: Recent~
Where: The Double Tap
Rating/Warnings: Mostly low - shady dudes in a shady bar, the usual
Status: Complete
Not like he fucking tried to be, or wanted to be, but Garcian was a fairly social creature. Even the wild dogs tended to run in packs, yeah? He’d moved to Orange County for his work (and his ‘work’) and he heard Dan Smith was here too - or whatever the motherfucker was calling himself these days. Name changes weren’t uncommon in their line of work (and that was definitely still ‘work,’ if you get the drift). So, despite whatever misgivings he had and could dredge up from the ugly-ass pit of his soul, he went to The Double Tap. Because it seemed like his kinda place. The kinda place he could relax in, rather than get a migraine from loud music and lights that flashed all bright like cop colors and shit. He’d fill up his belly with booze, cash in the till, as long as it meant emptying his head - people drank around here, didn’t they? Dan could probably afford gold teeth by now. He wore a long-sleeved t-shirt despite the heat that had rolled into this part of the country, those sleeves pushed up. Into the bar he went, settling at a stool looking bulky and intimidating - that was how it went; he’d been used to people crossing the street to get away from him, and being stopped by the police just for breathing. Garcian didn’t look friendly (he looked like a big black dude who would punch your lights out) but that was just at first glance. Talking to people was fine. If they had something interesting to say. Now he’d just wait here, arms folded on the bar top. Yeah. Real cozy place. Dan’s place was a dive and he fucking loved it. If it wasn’t for the fact that he enjoyed his actual job so much, he could easily see himself running the Double Tap full time and as something more than a simple front and easy cover story. Maybe someday when he was old and feeling flush with cash, he’d retire and run this place until the day he died. If he lived long enough to get old, that is. Ezio had run the place like a well-oiled machine while Dan had been convalescing from his gut shot. The regulars had taken a real shine to the suave Italian too. “You should hire that hunky I-talian man full time, Danny. Ooo, I could look at him ~all day~” One particular barfly by the name of Agnes had told Dan in her raspy 4-pack-a-day voice. Agnes was also old enough to be Ezio’s (and Dan’s for that matter) grandmother, but she was harmless, if fond of pinching cheeks of both the face and rear variety. Speaking of getting shot in the gut, Dan had come away with that surprisingly lucky. The bullet had chipped a rib, which in turn had done minor damage to one of his lungs, but no other major organs had been damaged. Damn lucky. That being said, he was currently up and about against doctor’s orders. Tending bar in his usual button down dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark colored tie loose around his neck. Moving a bit slower than he would have liked. And he was glad he was up and about because there, sitting at the end of his bar, was a person Dan had not seen in years. “Well, well,” he grinned as he came up to Garcian. “Lookit what we got ‘ere. The hell ya doin’ in my bar, Garcian?” “Drinkin,’” Garcian responded, none of that how the hell you been, you look great, how’re the kids!! type of bullshit. They hadn’t seen each other in years, but the artist formerly known as Emir (don’t call him that, unless you wanted to get shot in the kneecaps) was always a man of few words. Though it could be argued that you look great didn’t apply to Dan. He looked rundown; the old lady gait was telling. He glanced at the selections behind the bar - there was a good selection too, and some bottles appeared to be dusty, probably the ones that were like melon liqueur and shit. The type of thing he’d probably pass on. “Or I’m about to be drinkin.’ Whatever gin you’ve got.” Gin was hot weather booze, everyone knew that. Bloodthirsty fingers scratched above one eyebrow, and he studied Dan. “Who shot you?” Huh. Interesting conversation starter. Not entirely unexpected though. Dan grunted and reached for a bottle of gin. Not top shelf. Garcian would just have to deal. “That obvious, eh?” He asked. He cast a quick glance up the bar and then down as he poured Garcian his drink. The bar wasn’t very busy. Just Agnes sitting all by her lonesome there at the corner, staring off into space as she sometimes did when things were slow. The hell did she think about with that thousand-yard stare? Another grunt and Dan turned his attention back to the drink, halting the pour at just the right spot. “‘Member ol’ Vic Montoya?” He asked. “Ol’ bastard decided t’ send ‘is regards.” He slid the tumbler towards the other man. It was kind of weird, seeing Garcian here. He hadn’t changed much since the last time Dan had seen him. Still the same scary-as-fuck dude that made people want to cross the street rather than pass him shoulder-to-shoulder. He wore a white suit in the Dreams. A white suit and a no-nonsense expression that straddled the line between disdain and boredom. Same scary-ass expression Dan had always seen in the waking world. Back before Dan had started down this weird as fuck road. The actual fuck was he doing here?! Before Garcian had a chance to pick up the glass, Dan set his hand over the rim and leaned forward to look him in the eye. “Ya kin ‘ave yer drink, Garcie,” he said in a voice low enough for only Garcian’s ears, “but if yer ‘ere t’ finish the job --‘Clean up’, as it were -- ya better enjoy it, ‘cause it’s gonna be yer last.” The distinct sound of a safety being clicked off came from under the bar. Not top shelf was fine with good ol’ Garcie, he gave no fucks. He just wanted something cool, refreshing, and that tasted like pine trees. This fit the bill. He was just sittin’ there, you know, being calm and shit, listening to the tale of Dan and the romance with the bullet - when all of a sudden paranoia sunk in hard for the mofo. Though he guessed he could see why Dan felt compelled to subtly threaten him - they weren’t in the line of work that led way to friends easily. Everyone was an enemy, trust no one. It got to be some tired-ass crap though, Garcian would admit. Maybe he just wanted a fucking friend for once, you know? What did friends do? Probably go bowling or something. “You know I don’t come ‘til after the body’s cold, Smith,” he spoke casually. They had the same surname, what a goddamn coincidence - Smith was common though, yeah, and just look at the two of ‘em. Clearly related. They were brothers, identical twins. “So it ain’t why I’m fucking here. ‘Sides, Montoya ain’t gonna last much longer. He’s always been fuckin’ with the wrong people. The thing is - “ He really needed a drink, come on, man. “I got assigned here thanks to the crime scene tech company I work for. There’s been a spike in the area, it’s been on an incline for a couple years. That being said, you need me for a job? One more off the books? You call me.” They went way back, some special kind of camaraderie. Dan’s eyes narrowed slightly and he studied Garcian. Even he would readily admit that the dude was scary as fuck, and Dan usually had no fucks to give about that kind of thing. Everyone, no matter how big or tough they looked, could be reduced to their knees. Looks weren’t everything. Looks were worth shit. Garcian, though. The dude was different. He was one of those rare ones that didn’t just look scary. He straight up was. No joke. It had been a few years since the last time he and Dan had crossed paths. An entire lifetime’s worth of change could happen in a few years. Dan knew better than anyone. He didn’t fear death, but again, he was in no rush to feel its cold embrace. Though, if anyone was going to be putting him down, chances were it was Garcian Smith. Dan had accepted that long ago. Garcian’s voice though. It was smooth like cool glass. Low and rhythmic. The kind that could put infants to a calm sleep. The kind that could even put to ease a paranoid bartender still recovering from a gutshot. Dan’s face broke into a smile. “Yea, ‘course ye are.” He pulled back and took his hand from the glass. “On tha ‘ouse,” he said giving it a tap with the backs of his fingers. The noise covered the sound of a safety catching back on under the bar. “fer ol’ times sakes.” Agnes was watching them. Lowered voices in a bar weren’t anything new, but she’d heard the distinct sound of a gun. She wasn’t even trying to hide the fact she was staring, either. Dan looked at her and flashed her a charming smile. “Heya, Aggie,” he said. “This ‘ere be an’ ol’ friend o’ mine.” He reached across the bar to clap Garcian on the shoulder. “ ‘Aven’t seen each other inna long while. We just be catchin’ up is all.” Agnes nodded and smiled thinly at Garcian, her usual borderline flirting was noticeably absent. “Hullo,” she drawled lazily before she returned to staring off into space. Dan regarded her wearily a moment before turning his attention back to Garcian and nodding his head indicating they move further down the bar to continue their “catching up”. Yeah, smooth like a freshwater stream or dark, rich cocoa - that was Garcian. But he was stone cold silent when he looked at ‘Aggie,’ and even cock-hungry cougars probably knew better than to flirt with the likes of him. That was a dangerous gamble but he’d sure as shit commend anyone who would try. He just nodded vaguely in Agnes’ general direction as a greeting, then slid away to the relative privacy of the other end of the bar. And he took a grateful pull from his glass too, because rude to pour it and then your damn hands all over it to cover it up, Smith. “He did a number on you, the motherfucker, didn’t he?” Garcian spoke about Montoya. It wasn’t so much a question, but a statement. Still, he’d meant what he said when he told Dan that Montoya was making himself some enemies real fast. They’d have to see how this unfolded. “But let’s catch up for real. Something good must of happened here, or else your ass would be elsewhere.” “Yea, ya could say that,” Dan nodded. A hand moved subconsciously to the spot just left of his stomach where his wound was still healing. Dan had made many, many enemies in his life who would have loved to have killed him and he was a lucky sonofabitch that this particular one hadn’t been successful. If not for Ezio, well, Heinz just may have been. But something good. Dan broke into a smile and spread his hands out as if to indicate the car. “Yer sittin’ in’er. I got it off an old dude I did work for. I was gonna sell it, but I kinda fell in love with tha place.” The Double Tap really did suit Dan. An interesting reflection of him, with it’s grimey windows, old wood floor and walls, exposed beams and over all dim interior. A hole in the wall most people would overlook, but as far as Dan was concerned was a real diamond in the rough. It kept him in Orange County even when he probably should have taken off a long time ago. As did a certain red-haired marine. Dan pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his pocket and lit up. Smoking laws could kiss his ass. “Also accidentally got married to a marine in Vegas this past February,” he went on. “We were gonna get it annulled, but that turned out t’ be a pain in the arse. So since we both lived in Cali, we came back ‘ere and tried to get a divorce. Woulda been final in August, but then she got recalled back to serve ol’ Uncle Sam an’ decided that maybe bein’ married wasn’ so bad. At least she’d ‘ave someone t’ inherit her bennies should shit go south.” Dan had a suspicion that may have been what tipped off Montoya. The FBI’s poking around in his life anyway. It was no small secret in the criminal underworld that the Montoya Family had moles everywhere. Say whaaaaaaaaaat? The news of Dan being married actually got an eyebrow quick from Garcian. It was difficult to surprise him, difficult to really shock him with news - felt like he’d seen and heard it all one some days. But really, what the fuck? “Two questions,” he started, after taking a long pull from his glass. That gin didn’t go down easy but that was why he liked the stuff. “How the shit do you ‘accidentally’ get married? It’s not like tripping and falling - ain’t like you trip and fall into a marriage license. Secondly, do you actually love this woman?” It Dan was keeping his ass firmly planted in a motherfucking crazy house, maybe he did. Garcian didn’t judge. That one eyebrow twitch may as well been an all out jaw-drop when it came to Garcian Smith. Getting any sort of reaction from the guy was a miracle. Dan smirked slightly. Scratch that one off the ol’ bucket list. “Lotta booze,” Dan explained as he took a drag off his cigarette. “Lotta booze and the promise of a honeymoon suite and a free spa at Treasure Island,” he tapped ash into a nearby ashtray. “Great room service at Treasure Island.” Which had included a few meals and a lot more alcohol. “Wasn’ my idea, though,” he went on. “I ran inta ‘er an’ an ol’ friend o’ mine at one o’ the casino bars. It was the friend’s brilliant fucking idea>” Come on guys! A free spa for newlyweds! They’re practically giving it away! The things that sounded like a good idea after three hours of non-stop drinking. At least Carolina was a beautiful woman, dangerous, and fucking great at, well, fucking. “D’I love ‘er?” Dan grunted and shook his head. He reached under the bar to help himself to a glass and fill it with whatever bottle was closest. “Psh. No. She’s a pain in my ass.” She did keep him on his toes though and was one of two people in his life who knew his dirty little secret. That wasn’t the reason why Dan stayed married to her. It was a little more than that. More complicated. No, Dan didn’t want to get into it. “It’s convenient,” he shrugged before taking a gulp from his glass. Ain’t no way any of that was still a damn accident (seemed pretty well thought out to Garcian - as in, everyone knew what they were getting into, drunk off their asses or not) but whatever helped Dan sleep at night. “Mmmmhmmmm,” he drawled, sloshing the liquid in his glass. It wasn’t a noise that signaled agreement or disagreement - it was a neutral noise, free to be interpreted how the listener wanted. Was he thinking you were full of shit? Did he believe you? Who knew? In this case, Garcian didn’t believe that Dan found his convenient Vegas-wife to be entirely intolerable. He woulda dumped her ass by now, cracked out ‘benefits’ excuse aside. “Well, I’ll take all that as a cautionary tale from a brother - to not be getting hitched in Vegas anytime soon.” Though he was also fucking certain any union, especially marriage or dissolving a marriage, involved paperwork. That shit didn’t just disappear - mistakes in Vegas cost you. “As well ye should,” Dan nodded. He knew that non-committal noise all too well, had used it himself on several occasions when dealing with clients who felt as though they needed to justify what they were asking him to do by pouring out their sob stories. Boo hoo hoo. Like he cared. He took a drag off his cigarette and a pull off his newly filled glass. There wasn’t really anything more he could tell the guy that was new. Not unless he wanted to talk about these Dreams. How he was a hired killer for the government. How Garcian was a hired killer for the government. Their cleaner and handler, so to speak. Fucking weird was what it was. And that he was here now and in Dan’s bar? Yeah, no. No fucking coincidence there. Dan could have told him all about that, maybe gotten a little more than a simple eyebrow quirk and a deadpanned response. Then again, Garcian very well would have shrugged and written Dan off as a complete nutter. “So yer ‘ere fer work, are ye?” He said, shifting the conversation from himself to Garcian. They were catching up. “Ya plannin’ on stayin’ long or jus’ passin’ through an wanted to drop in on an’ ol’ friend?” “The second, mostly.” And what was that, a quirk of a smile? The corners of his mouth tilting upward? Sometimes it didn’t crack Garcian’s face. “Not sure how long I’ll be here but I figure may as well catch up, since I know someone in the area. I just go where the work takes me.” It wasn’t like he had a reason to stick around - he wasn’t particularly rooted. If he was needed for a job, he’d go. Simple as that. Didn’t matter where the job was neither. That was helpful, when you didn’t have a wife or kids to worry about. “But you’ve kinda settled here - it ain’t bad, is it?” He finished off his gin, making a satisfied noise. Oh yeah. That definitely burned his insides nicely. Gave him that cozy warm Christmas time feeling. “Who knows, I could decide to stick around.” Or not. Dan hadn’t been properly settled since he’d been frozen out of the Detroit Police Department. He’d sold all his worldly belongings so he could buy himself out of his old lease and set himself up in his father’s place as the grieving son and paid the rent as far in advance as he possible could. In cash. Once established, he’d reinvented himself as Sal and moved his ass with nothing more than the clothes on his back to Chicago to get his revenge. Garcian had helped with that, had helped cover his ass as he’d made his escape once he’d turned Pedro into a floater. And Dan had been moving ever since. Nothing had felt quite right since Detroit. Dan couldn’t say that Orange County felt right, or that it was home, but he was finding it hard to move on. He should. get the hell outta dodge. Victor Montoya may be on the fast track to ending up just like his son, but Dan knew that cornered animals were often the most dangerous. Sending one hitman to finish him off and then give up? Yeah, fat chance. And yet Dan stayed. He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t love the bar that much, and it wasn’t as though his marriage to Carolina tied a ball and chain around his ankle. The county itself had some kind of pull over him, a pull Dan could not explain. He took a thoughtful drag off his cigarette. Maybe Garcian would feel that same pull. Dan let out a soft cloud of acrid smoke. Or maybe he wouldn’t. “It’s different,” Dan said after another moment of sucking ash. Another plume of smoke surrounded his words. He grinned a moment, then the grin paused. “Semi-veiled threats ‘side , I’m glad t’ see ye again, Garcie. This place, though, it ain’t what it looks. Be careful, huh?” “Now that’s interesting,” the other man remarked - Garcie though, motherfucker, you’d have to be somewhat erring on the side of ‘friend’ to be calling him that and with limbs remaining intact. This place ain’t what it looks like. Not like that sounded ominous at all, right. “I didn’t think I’d get any cryptic warnings, but now I’m just all intrigued.” He’d guess he’d see what happened. There were no plans to vacate the premises and, well, if shit hit the fan? He usually hit back harder. A guy like him had to be good for something. Maybe Dan did fall just on this side of the friend line. The two of them had history, and Dan had given him a clear warning before. Not everyone got that. “Are ye now?” with something that may have been defined a smirk, but also looked a little like a grimace, Dan flicked his cigarette against the ashtray. “If’n ye got time t’ spare t’night, then jus’ sit tight an’ let me tell you what I’ve really been up to since movin’ ‘ere. Af’er that if ye choose t’ stay, that’s on you.” And once everything was said and done, if Garcian decided Dan was a proper lunatic, maybe he’d choose to do his job and leave the rest well enough alone. But if he chose to stay, well, then maybe there just was something to this weird pull the county had over all of them, after all. “Jus’ don’ say I didn’ warn ya.” |