ArchivedLogs:Job Interview

Job Interview
Dramatis Personae Cage, Trib
In Absentia	2013-05-28 Trib gets a job.
Location <NYC> Heroes for Hire - Midtown East
The front room has the secretary's desk, a small filing cabinet, a computer, and a ceiling fan. Janice, the aforementioned secretary is a sixty-something woman who's accent clearly marks her as being from Eastern European descent, though probably one generation removed judging by how well she speaks English. Janice was almost certainly selected by some busy-body lawyer on Luke's behalf, probably to keep him free of any more accidental law suits. The paint is faded, but everything pretty much works. Off to one side is the bathroom, and the other door leads back to Luke's office. There's isn't much in Luke's actual office but a small desk and a swivel chair pushed into one corner, with a pair of straight backed chairs on the other side of it. A couch is by the window that looks out over Times Square. All things considered, its actually a pretty decent little spot. The voicemail comes the day after the robbery, after the papers and the news media have sunk their teeth into it. The background sounds like a subway station, with the dull, echoey buzz of the underground. Trib's voice is barely recognizable through the din, but his words are clear enough. "Cage. Shit, I fuckin' hate these things. Look. Before shit happened, you were sayin' somethin' about a job." There's a pause, and Trib's muffled voice can be heard growling at someone nearby before it returns. "Anyway. I got to train, an' I got to eat, an' that shit ain't free. You don't seem like no asshole. So I'm gonna come by your office this week an' you can tell me some more about it. Later. Oh, yeah, shit. This is Trib. /Fuck/." There's a slamming sort of sound, and half a second of an old-fashioned dial tone before the message clicks into silence. It's almost 2 in the afternoon at this point, and the HfH office is quiet. Janice is working (playing solitaire) at the computer in the front room, horn-rimmed glasses on her face with dangling shiny chains reflecting the cards a little. In the back room, SNOOORE. It's actually not a ridiculous noise, but /somebody/ is definitely sleeping back there. And since his office door is open, its pretty easy to see Cage sprawled on the couch that faces his big window in there. The big screen bolted to the wall is showing a muted news program. Wadded on the floor is something that /probably/ used to be a pizza box, but most people don't or can't wad them up like a piece of scratch paper. The person coming in the door of the office isn't as big as the man in the back, but he's pretty close. Trib's also only slightly more animated than the people currently on the clock, pushing the door open with his half-hand and shuffling inside. He's dressed pretty much the same way he was the last time Cage saw him -- jeans that barely fit, a too-small t-shirt stretched over the expanse of his chest. Flip-flops. He closes the door a bit firmly, making a bit of a sharp noise as the latch catches. Shuffling up to Janice's desk, The big man leans in and watches the computer screen carefully for a long moment, turning his face to regard the woman for a long moment. Then he stands again, and moves towards the office, scratching idly at his jaw as he goes. "Oh, hello," Janice says, her accent only slightly hinting at her eastern European heritage. "You must be Trib. Go on in, he's expecting you." He is? There's a snort from the back room when people start talking and Cage sits up on the couch. He blinks his eyes a little from the nap, and then smiles when Trib comes into focus for him. "Oh hey man, I got your message. Come on in!" He rises up and crosses to the little bar cabinet in the corner. "You wanna beer? Or a job? Or both?" If Trib hears Janice's permission, he doesn't indicate it; instead pushing his way into Luke's office, and staring at the other man as he comes around. "Looks like business is jumpin'," he grunts, shifting his attention to study the office itself, his golden gaze flicking over each piece of furniture like someone persuing a menu. Then he's moving to plunk himself down in a chair hard enough to make it creak. He then takes the bottom of the chair and shifts himself around to look at Cage once more. "Don't drink," he says, rubbing a finger along his jaw. "Need a job, though." Luke continues rummaging in the mini-fridge and comes up with two bottles of water instead. He tosses one to Trib whether he wants it or not, and cracks his own open. "Well look, what we do here is inherently dangerous. I've been talking with my lawyer, and the PR guy and we're tightening up what our image is." Luke takes a long swig of water, and continues. "What we do is dangerous, but we have to do our best to trade like a regular bodyguard or PI firm, right? Everyone /knows/ I'm a big ol' mutie, right? They don't have to know about you, or anyone else we bring on. Let them assume we're just another mutie-friendly shop. But /we/ have to take care of business with a minimal display of powers, or book it like you were smart enough to last week. Think you can make that work?" Trib catches the water bottle, snagging it out of the air with his half-hand and looping it into his lap, where he pins it between his thighs. His brow furrows as he listens to the explanation, and his mouth is an expressionless line. When Cage finishes speaking, he takes a long moment to answer, twisting the cap off his water bottle before he picks it up. "So, what? You wanna hire me on as muscle? Or some sort of fuckin' detective?" The big man seems almost amused by this -- his eyes even crinkle at the corners. "You know I'm just a fuckin' boxer, right?" "Muscle," Cage says nodding, "Is exactly right. It turns out, according to New York law, a private detective can have whatever assistants helping him, and only /he/ has to have a license." Cage cocks his chin up to indicate the framed piece of paper on the wall behind his desk. "Besides, I did ok on the boxing circuit when I was Inside. I got big respect for boxers." Trib snorts a bit as he raises the bottle to his lips, taking a long draught before he pulls it away with a popping smacking sound. "I ain't pretty," he says. "Some of your clients might not like lookin' at my ugly mug." He doesn't sound bothered by this fact. No, he seems oddly okay with not being pretty. His two fingers drum along the plastic wall of the bottle thoughtfully. "But fuck 'em, right? I need the work." He lifts his eyebrows. "But I don't deal with no fuckin' cops," he says. "Ever. I mean, I don't even want to fuckin' /see/ a cop, dig?" Luke laughs out loud at the 'fuck em' comment. He likes that one. "Yeah man, people want body guards to look fuckin' scary. Check. No problem." Luke glances out the window for a moment after that though. "The cops thing can be tricky though. Trust me - I am /not/ a fan of cops." Wrongfully imprisoned, probably not a big fan, no. "But we're gonna wind up, uh... whats the word? Cop /adjacent/. Plenty. We're gonna show up to the same parties, that kind of shit. Now, obviously you can just tell me to fuck right off, but are you actually /wanted/ for something right now? Because maybe I can help clear that up. My lawyers are fucking off the hook, man." Trib listens with a small knit of his brow, and he chews at his lip for a moment as he considers the idea of being cop-adjacent. "I ain't wanted for nothin'," he says with a shake of his head. "But there's a whole bunch of cops who'd probably be happy to put two in the back of my head to keep me quiet." He lifts his eyebrows, and raises his left hand to cover his mouth and lower jaw meaningfully. "Now, I can handle myself, but that kind of shit is gonna give you some heartburn." His mouth twitches, and he lifts a shoulder. "They're likely to give you all kinds of shit, once they figure out I work for you." His eyes crinkle again. "Can your lawyers handle /that/?" "I fuckin' hate bullies..." Luke aims a kick at the corner of his couch and pulls up just short. That.. would have shattered it. "It's complicated man. You're talking about that shit in Chinatown, right? We got legal actually /working/ on that. So that could actually go somewhere. But for now, I get where you're coming from. Let me find out the details on how I can deploy you, but I know we can use you one way or another. Just cash the checks. Let me work out the rest." "Yeah. Chinatown." Trib says it like it's a swear word. The worst one in the whole world, with the bitterest of aftertastes. "That's gonna be a pain in my ass for a long time, I can tell." He frowns, and leans forward, suddenly, STARING at Cage intently. "Why you doin' this for me?" he asks. "I appreciate it and all, but there's nicer fuckin' guys in the world." He raises his half-hand, and gestures vaguely. "Hell, you don't know anything about me." He narrows his eyes. "I could kick puppies or somethin'. For fun." "Hey," Cage says quietly. "I don't think that's funny. I /like/ dogs." It's a fair question though, and he knows the answer. That much is clear. But he's not a 'learned' man, and its hard to express. He thinks, and finally plows ahead. "You ever been to prison, Trib?" Luke nods when Trib shakes his head 'no'. "We'll try to keep it that way." A wry grin and he continues. "It's just, on the inside, you have to pick up on some things fast. REAL fuckin fast. Like who's a real killer. Who just got busted for selling dope. You know? You handle those two people differently. And then there's the guys - you can see it on 'em. They ain't supposed to even /BE/ there." Luke sighs and downs the other half of his water bottle in a long glug. "You look clean to me. I got a nose for this. And if you're not, you should walk. Because if I find out later, I'll clean your clock." Luke grins, it's not really a threat, because he honestly believes Trib is the real deal. Trib's mouth is a flat line as Cage explains, and he simply stares at the other man. Reaching up to scratch his chin, he studies the detective's face, and he nods. "They made me kill two guys in there," he says without emotion. "One was name Jay somethin'. I don't know the other one's name. I don't know what happened to the bodies." His expression doesn't shift as he states this, but there's a momentary flash of regret in his eyes. "Figure you ought to know that." Luke lets a long, slow breath sigh out of him, nodding and looking down. "Look, I've got shit I'm not proud of too. Bad shit. Like that. But you had a gun to your head man. For real." Luke shakes his head. "Honest advice, you wanna talk to a professional. Like soldiers when they get home from the war you know? You don't get out of that without taking home some serious baggage. I'll even cover if you wanna go. But that's your business, of course." He stands, and extends his hand to the man, "And that right there - that honesty - thats why I'm hiring you. Anything else I need to know at this point? Crazy ex hunting for you? Shit like that?" Trib shakes his head. "Maybe," he says. "It was some fucked up shit, but I ain't got time to sit around and cry about it. I got to get my shit in order, first." The corner of his mouth curls slightly, and he pushes to his feet when Luke stands. He takes the offered hand, and nods as he shakes it. "I got no reason to fuck around with anyone, Cage. I figure they ask, they want the answer." He snorts at the question, releasing Cage's hand before the other man can attempt some fancy-assed handshake. "Naw, I ain't got no crazy exes," he promises. "You're safe enough. Well, on /my/ end, anyway."