Post by Enrico Vivenzia on Oct 20, 2016 21:20:23 GMT
@malika
“People go missing all the time. Runaways, kidnappings, murders. People can sometimes just be unnecessary characters in a grossly long sentence, where you can get the same point across with fewer words. Its better to make sure people get just the right idea so no one really notices if you cut a bit out. But its when people get sloppy, pulling bits that make for piss poor transitions, disrupting the flow of the message that even an illiterate chump like me notices that things are messed up. And then it becomes my problem, to give these poor bastards a stern grammar lesson they didn't ask for. See, I'm not scared about the things that go bump in the night. Because someone like me, I bump back. Hard.”
---
Five minutes ago, Enrico strolled into the dancer's club like he owned the place. Ten years ago, he probably did. And perhaps it was just from looking the part of the resident bad-ass that he received only weak protests at the door, mere rebuttals back-handed by a portrait of attitude and swagger. See, even bouncers have families they want to go back too, where no amount of payroll is enough to silence the inner megaphone of fight or flight. So these men stepped aside, letting this sloppy suited cat strut in to the stage of hard bass and topless dancers.
Of course it could have been the gun.
In fact, it was very likely the gun.
All eyes were on him as Enrico moved like water on glass to the bar. It was only the barkeep who seemed nonchalant about him whilst he stalked his way to her, slinging drinks to on edge patrons that made the motions look as thoughtless as breathing. She acknowledged him with a gesture so shallow Enrico wasn't certain it was even a nod before sending glasses across the polished bar. “You buying anything? Because you're bad for business.”
Enrico flashed his 'award winning smile', pointing to the ornate bottle behind her. “Double shot of tequila. Keep it coming.”
She did just that, gliding away in a scene of daisy dukes and a blouse that was too small for her three sizes ago. Enrico gave her a once over that was far from subtle before the drinks came back to him. And as quickly as they arrived on his table, he inhaled them. “Where's Bradly?”
“This personal beef or police business?” she asked, putting another shot of liquor at his table before he even thought to ask.
Enrico rummaged through his jacket and left a few notes by his empty glass that would have paid her wages many times over. “Both.”
This procedure seemed routine for her, stuffing the lose bills between a bust that threatened to escape her blouse with every unmeasured breath. “Front stage, by the V.I.P booth. His favorite girl is about to go on...”
“Thanks babydoll.”
“Don't go shooting up the place. I need this job.”
Enrico gave a non-committal salute before pushing off the bar, the shot of tequila in his hand whilst strolling down the smoke laden room of bass, boobs, and cheap booze. Despite his penchant for women, he rarely enjoyed strip clubs. Though nothing against the dancers themselves, it was hard to become excited by a woman who's performance was just that, an act. And being the only sober fellow, disenchanted of the spell of dizzying hips and a false sense of sensuality did more to kill his libido than whatever well shots of tequila could muster.
And of course, there was the clientele.
Clubs like these were to fortify one thing. Wish fulfillment. Whether it be power, attention, a desire unrequited. Some came for the experience, a thrill fortified with a rushed makeup job, drink, and an ass falling out of lace. A awkward epicenter, where the person to your left was the lonely sop who just finished rubbing himself underneath his khakis because the girl in the office rejected him and the guy to your right was the coked out showoff who couldn't win a heart with personality so he flaunted checks instead.
Enrico found his mark. A Grey suit and with hair so abused with gel it reflected light more than the half empty cocktail glass in his hand, a hand fitted with enough rings that they likely signed leases in order to find a section of real-estate. He stared ravenously at the girls leaving the stage, the music fading out while the DJ shouted something unintelligible about the next misses coming up. Apparently that made him smile, showing off a set of teeth far too white to be natural and curl of lips that seemed to fit a crocodile better than a man.
Enrico planted himself right next to him, a overly plush cushion sinking both men uncomfortably close in a sea of leather. “Hey Bradly. Seen Nicole lately?”
Bradly darted a look over. “Hey man, what the hell.”
“Ayup. No hold on a moment Brad-ster.” The cop placed his hand beneath his jacket, hand tightening around the cross-hatched finish of the grip. “I got a girl who went missing and word is on the street is she isn't chopped up and she's not in a river, so I'm guessing you know who's got her.”
“I don't know what the fu-”
The click of the hammer thundered louder than any bass thump.
“You know Bradly? I told that hot little thing over at the bar that I wouldn't shoot this place up. And I aim to keep that promise. You want to know why? Because when I'm this close--” he leaned in, taking his free hand to push Bradly's cocktail to the lounge table in front of them. “It's really hard for me to miss. Really. Damn. Hard.”
There was a silence, a lingering one set in the space where anticipation poured into the room like a titled sieze. Curves shifted in both of their peripheries, but for that moment, both men were far more engaged in reading each other. An odd sense of intimacy when one has your life in their hands.
Enrico should have known he would put up a fight. Still, no one prepares for getting punched in the face.
The straight jab to his jaw was stunning, but not quite disabling. Instinct and ego demanded that he pull out his gun and empty enough rounds to play his corpse like a flute. He repressed that for now, reaching for a scrambling thug and caught the tail end of his suit jacket before he got enough momentum.
Bradly turned, punched Enrico again, the cop didn't let go. He brought his hand back for another hammering blow-
Bradly's world shattered like glass upon stone, the flash of noir black the last thing he saw for that moment with Enrico whipping the muzzle of his pistol across his brow.
“Why did you want to run huh?” Enrico spat, ripping his target from his feet with one mechanically juiced up arm. “I just wanted to talk.” In a fluid motion, against the curious mixture of panicing dancers and gawking patrons, Enrico slammed Bradly on the stage floor, the impact lacing spider web cracks through the mirrored titles. He heard something crack, maybe a rib, though Enrico was past the point of empathy. “Blow for blow. Now we're even.”
“Okay okay man...just...take it easy.”
“Your favorite girl was on right? Make sure you give her a nice tip before you go.” Enrico wasn't gentle when wrapping the cuffs around Bradly's wrists. Because a little extra pettiness never hurt anyone.
---
Five minutes ago, Enrico strolled into the dancer's club like he owned the place. Ten years ago, he probably did. And perhaps it was just from looking the part of the resident bad-ass that he received only weak protests at the door, mere rebuttals back-handed by a portrait of attitude and swagger. See, even bouncers have families they want to go back too, where no amount of payroll is enough to silence the inner megaphone of fight or flight. So these men stepped aside, letting this sloppy suited cat strut in to the stage of hard bass and topless dancers.
Of course it could have been the gun.
In fact, it was very likely the gun.
All eyes were on him as Enrico moved like water on glass to the bar. It was only the barkeep who seemed nonchalant about him whilst he stalked his way to her, slinging drinks to on edge patrons that made the motions look as thoughtless as breathing. She acknowledged him with a gesture so shallow Enrico wasn't certain it was even a nod before sending glasses across the polished bar. “You buying anything? Because you're bad for business.”
Enrico flashed his 'award winning smile', pointing to the ornate bottle behind her. “Double shot of tequila. Keep it coming.”
She did just that, gliding away in a scene of daisy dukes and a blouse that was too small for her three sizes ago. Enrico gave her a once over that was far from subtle before the drinks came back to him. And as quickly as they arrived on his table, he inhaled them. “Where's Bradly?”
“This personal beef or police business?” she asked, putting another shot of liquor at his table before he even thought to ask.
Enrico rummaged through his jacket and left a few notes by his empty glass that would have paid her wages many times over. “Both.”
This procedure seemed routine for her, stuffing the lose bills between a bust that threatened to escape her blouse with every unmeasured breath. “Front stage, by the V.I.P booth. His favorite girl is about to go on...”
“Thanks babydoll.”
“Don't go shooting up the place. I need this job.”
Enrico gave a non-committal salute before pushing off the bar, the shot of tequila in his hand whilst strolling down the smoke laden room of bass, boobs, and cheap booze. Despite his penchant for women, he rarely enjoyed strip clubs. Though nothing against the dancers themselves, it was hard to become excited by a woman who's performance was just that, an act. And being the only sober fellow, disenchanted of the spell of dizzying hips and a false sense of sensuality did more to kill his libido than whatever well shots of tequila could muster.
And of course, there was the clientele.
Clubs like these were to fortify one thing. Wish fulfillment. Whether it be power, attention, a desire unrequited. Some came for the experience, a thrill fortified with a rushed makeup job, drink, and an ass falling out of lace. A awkward epicenter, where the person to your left was the lonely sop who just finished rubbing himself underneath his khakis because the girl in the office rejected him and the guy to your right was the coked out showoff who couldn't win a heart with personality so he flaunted checks instead.
Enrico found his mark. A Grey suit and with hair so abused with gel it reflected light more than the half empty cocktail glass in his hand, a hand fitted with enough rings that they likely signed leases in order to find a section of real-estate. He stared ravenously at the girls leaving the stage, the music fading out while the DJ shouted something unintelligible about the next misses coming up. Apparently that made him smile, showing off a set of teeth far too white to be natural and curl of lips that seemed to fit a crocodile better than a man.
Enrico planted himself right next to him, a overly plush cushion sinking both men uncomfortably close in a sea of leather. “Hey Bradly. Seen Nicole lately?”
Bradly darted a look over. “Hey man, what the hell.”
“Ayup. No hold on a moment Brad-ster.” The cop placed his hand beneath his jacket, hand tightening around the cross-hatched finish of the grip. “I got a girl who went missing and word is on the street is she isn't chopped up and she's not in a river, so I'm guessing you know who's got her.”
“I don't know what the fu-”
The click of the hammer thundered louder than any bass thump.
“You know Bradly? I told that hot little thing over at the bar that I wouldn't shoot this place up. And I aim to keep that promise. You want to know why? Because when I'm this close--” he leaned in, taking his free hand to push Bradly's cocktail to the lounge table in front of them. “It's really hard for me to miss. Really. Damn. Hard.”
There was a silence, a lingering one set in the space where anticipation poured into the room like a titled sieze. Curves shifted in both of their peripheries, but for that moment, both men were far more engaged in reading each other. An odd sense of intimacy when one has your life in their hands.
Enrico should have known he would put up a fight. Still, no one prepares for getting punched in the face.
The straight jab to his jaw was stunning, but not quite disabling. Instinct and ego demanded that he pull out his gun and empty enough rounds to play his corpse like a flute. He repressed that for now, reaching for a scrambling thug and caught the tail end of his suit jacket before he got enough momentum.
Bradly turned, punched Enrico again, the cop didn't let go. He brought his hand back for another hammering blow-
Bradly's world shattered like glass upon stone, the flash of noir black the last thing he saw for that moment with Enrico whipping the muzzle of his pistol across his brow.
“Why did you want to run huh?” Enrico spat, ripping his target from his feet with one mechanically juiced up arm. “I just wanted to talk.” In a fluid motion, against the curious mixture of panicing dancers and gawking patrons, Enrico slammed Bradly on the stage floor, the impact lacing spider web cracks through the mirrored titles. He heard something crack, maybe a rib, though Enrico was past the point of empathy. “Blow for blow. Now we're even.”
“Okay okay man...just...take it easy.”
“Your favorite girl was on right? Make sure you give her a nice tip before you go.” Enrico wasn't gentle when wrapping the cuffs around Bradly's wrists. Because a little extra pettiness never hurt anyone.
♠
