ArchivedLogs:More Where That Came From

More Where That Came From
Dramatis Personae Toru, Joe	2014-05-01 warning: illegal activity!!
Location <NYC> Joe's Apartment - Gramercy Park
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK Joe opens the door wearing a long, brown tatty bathrobe, with a hood drooping down the back. Is that... a jedi bathrobe? Underneath is a white t-shirt and white grandpa style boxer shorts. He's also got on gray slippers. Hey, it's late on a Tuesday night, what can you expect? The door opens a smidge, and stops when it reaches the length of the chain holding it shut. "Yeah?" Probably surprisingly, Toru is at the door, looking -- slightly better-dressed, but definitely more sketchy than Joe, purely by his being there at all. The teen is wearing jeans, a stupid t-shirt, a light hoodie over that - the hood down, even - and a messenger bag over his shoulder. Hands crammed into his pockets, shoulders hitched up, he looks at Joe with some measure of disbelief from behind dissheveled bangs. "...you're kiddin' me, right?" Sigh. "You gotta minute to talk business?" Joe looks down at his state of dress and shrugs. "Fuck you, I can't be comfortable in my own house?" He doesn't sound all that hostile about it though. He closes the door without comment, but then the sound of the chain sliding back precedes the door opening properly. The living room, just to the left of the door, looks like it was ordered right out of an IKEA catalogue, complete with how things are arranged. The TV is muted but is apparently on the Game Show network. He stands back to let the teenager enter, and sniffs twice as he goes by. "What the fuck are you even doing here- Hey man, you holding? I haven't smoked a joint in /ages/. Goddamn clinic wouldn't prescribe any." "Fair enough, man, fair enough," Toru replies, holding his hands up, palms spread. As he strides into the apartment, he goes to fold his hands up behind his head, raising an eyebrow at the decor though, this time, opting not to mention it. "Bro, you got any idea how hard you are to track down?" In 'business' mode, Toru affects an accent that's somewhere between his light Bronx and an unconvincing faux-Chicano tone. "And I ain't holdin' /shit/, man, what the hell you talkin' about?" He whirls around to face Joe after that question, the lie almost completely unconvincing even to someone without cold reading skills. "You're telling me a shady-ass 19-year old who'll show up at my house in the middle of the night /isn't/ carrying a little weed on him? Like, at all times?" Joe just shrugs and shuts the door behind him. "Whatever man. What're you doing here, anyway?" "What the hell ever, man," Toru replies, attempting to deflect the accusation. He does slide his shoes off at the door, working each one off with the opposite foot, and drops his bag next to an armchair that he just plops himself into unceremoniously. Doesn't even ask. "Look, man, I know it's been a while, but you remember that skrilla you brought by back in like December?" He makes a 'cash' gesture with one hand as he asks, rubbing his thumb along his fingertips. "I was wonderin' if there's any more where that came from." "I guess?" Joe says, turning at Toru's question, instantly suspicious. "But I paid for that job in full. You talking about doing something new?" Joe pulls his robe closed and sits himself on the couch across from Toru. "I can't think of anything needs doing just now." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Toru just shakes his head for a moment, eventually mumbling, "I dunno which one of us is the bigger idiot here. Yes, somethin' fuckin' new, dude." He shakes his head a few times, tapping his hand against the side of his foot, and eventually lets out an irritated breath of air. "You're tellin' me some sketchy-ass 50-year-old who'll show up at my goddamn apartment in the middle of whatever time it was doesn't have shit lined up?" A pause, and he flicks his gaze up to Joe's eyes. "Like, at all times?" He emphasizes the mocking tone, there, though doesn't seem to care as much that the question doesn't make as much sense in this context. Joe watches Toru play out his retort, apparently content to let the youth have his jab without any further sparring from him. His expression doesn't even flicker at the mention of his age. Gone is the snivelling little weasel who was at their apartment all those months ago. Joe is tired, but seems to be cool, cold even, and calculating Toru's every movement. "Your big bad boyfriend didn't /like/ the shit I got lined up. Didn't like my friends. But if you don't have those hangups, then yeah. I always got shit needs doing. Or I can hook you up with someone who does." He reaches into the pocket of his robe, and pulls out one of Toru's joints which ended up in there somehow. Joe's lighter was already in his other pocket. He puffs to light the joint and says, "But of course I'll need some way to know you're trustworthy. I don't just go around introducing /everyone/ to my friends. You can understand." Toru, bless his heart, doesn't seem to make the connection that the joint in Joe's hand came out of his bag. He'll certainly notice later if he doesn't make the connection by then, of course, but for now he just gives Joe a disbelieving sort of look. Eventually he shrugs it off, though, and shakes his head a few times, dismissively. "Yeah, well, he an' I got different ways of lookin' at things. Me, I figure cash is cash, yeah? Spends the same wherever you get it from, and if some ways work out better'n others I ain't gonna say no to it, y'know?" He leans back in his seat a bit, touselling his hair, then looking Joe over briefly. "I dunno what you want me to do show I'm ‘trustworthy' or whatever, though. Aside from sayin' I am, which I am. Yeah?" "Well, aside from the fact that I can /tell/ you're not a cop," Joe says with half a sneer, taking a toke on his blunt, holding the smoke in a moment before letting it out slow. "You have to prove you're not a cop. Easiest way to do that, is to take out someone who's been irritating the boss. Take him out of the picture, you know what I mean?" There's a bit of a long pause there as Toru's expression fades from confidence to a distinct lack thereof, the teen struggling for a minute to regain the bravado - but eventually he just gives up and shakes his head, as casually as he can manage (which isn't very). "I think there mighta been some miscommunication somewhere, I ain't lookin' for that kinda work." There's a half-breath's pause before he starts to reach for his messenger bag, not /quite/ standing up, but definitely making moves to do so if he finds it necessary. "Maybe I'm barkin' up the wrong tree, man, I dunno." "Too rough for ya?" Joe nods to himself, and puffs on the joint, blowing little smoke rings up towards the ceiling. "That's alright. I can make an exception since I already know you're not a cop. How about this: you tell me what you think you'd be good at, in a self-employed, work-for-hire kinda situation. And then I'll tell you what might work best." "Too rough my ass, I just don't do that kinda shit." There's another brisk shake of Toru's head, but the teen settles back in his seat again, picking idly at fingernails as he considers the question. "Guess I didn't really have anything in mind, I kinda just sorta figured you'd throw somethin' out that's less goddamn dire." He sighs with some exaggeration thrown into it, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling, and lets out another sigh before finally coming out with, "In my day job I'm a fuggin' bike courier so I figured somethin' like that. Low profile and shit, y'know? I don't need my ass gettin' thrown in jail." "Well look, kid" Joe says, his tone surprisingly gentle. "Just about anything you get mixed up in with me? It /might/ land you in jail. Unless you wanna come and be the new assistant on stage with me. But I don't think you'd look as good in Holly's outfit. And she'd be crushed." He shrugs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We always got room for delivery boys. But what you're toting ain't exactly kosher. Can you handle that?" Toru rolls his eyes a little, splaying his fingers out as if looking his nails over, and shaking his head a few times. "I wasn't exactly suggestin' that I'd put you on the top of my list for lo mein deliveries. That's what I mean, yeah. Low fuckin' liability, and I don't wanna know what the fuck I'm packin'. Plausible deniability or whatever, right?" "Well, 'plausible deniability' don't mean shit when the cops catch you with the wrong stuff, just so you know," Joe says with a shrug. "But we'll give it a shot, I guess." Joe frowns slightly and then jams his hand down into the couch cushions. Weirdly, he comes up with a small post-it note pad, /and/ a pen. "Here, gimme your number. You'll get a text from a blocked number tomorrow with an address. Get there fuckin' fast. The thing'll have another address on it. Get it /there/ even faster. You'll get paid on that end. Ok?" Toru side-eyes the post-it and pen, but again just accepts their presence without questioning, though when he takes it he hesitates before actually writing anything down. Starting to look somewhat more concerned than he already had been, he once again feigns a bad attempt at looking casual, gesturing idly with his empty hand. "Look, y'know, it's possible I mighta jumped into this without thinkin' it through proper." He's fidgeting with his hands, gnawing on his lower lip a little, and over all entirely subconsciously betraying his attempts at looking cool. "Maybe I oughtta like, get a burner phone and shit so I'm not doin' this all… I mighta jumped the gun a little." "Hey, kid, take a breath," Joe says, holding up both hands in what is probably meant as a calming gesture. "You caught me in a good mood. I'm not trying to wreck your world here, or get you in trouble at home. That first job I mentioned? There's a guy selling dirty coke down by the docks. You wanna talk about 'bad guys'? It's getting people killed, and that shit's bad for business. People oughta know their blow is clean, you know? Who the fuck am I to judge what people want." He shrugs. "The people I work for ain't /evil/ or whatever else is cooking around in that head of yours. But the stupid shit that's illegal in this town? Man, we're just getting people the stuff they want." He leans over to reach the Swedish side table at the end of the couch and pull out the little drawer in front. Inside are at least half a dozen prepaid mobile phones, still in the plastic packaging. He picks one out and /tosses/ it to Toru in an easy underhand. "Take the fuckin' delivery gig. You already know how to do it, and it's good fuckin' money." He puffs on the joint again, and says, "Or don't. Whatever. Family Feud is coming on." He reaches out and unmutes the TV, though the volume is barely up at all when it becomes audible. Oddly enough, this announcement doesn't really come with the #gtfo it might have. His tone is even and matter of fact. In fact, Toru is probably welcome to hang out and get high if he wants to. Besides, who doesn't love Family Feud? "Right, nice sob story about the coke guy, but I still ain't stickin' my neck out for that kinda thing. I got scruples," Toru notes. Then, after a pause, "Plus I don't do that shit so it don't make a difference to me." He fumbles when catching the phone, but manages to grab it before it hits the ground, and even looks just a bit sheepish at the blunder. "Fine, whatever, it's a gig. If I don't like it I don't gotta do it again, yeah?" He does stress that point, and while he still sounds nervous, he's at least trying to play himself off as casual. Running a hand over his hair, he looks over to the TV, giving a sharp upward nod of his chin. "Ma used to watch that shit. She was into the British guy. I don't really do TV, but whatever." The teen does linger for a few minutes, unwrapping that phone and collecting the packaging in his lap, but once he's done with that he crams the phone in his pocket, collects the trash, and stands up. "So, uh, yeah, I'm gonna... head out. I'll keep my eyes open, yeah?" And with that established, Toru, with an uncomfortable air in his bearing, heads back out the way he came. "Yeah," Joe says with a distracted nod. "Don't like the work, toss the phone in the river. Just don't quit mid-delivery. You'll bring down some scary shit." Joe double checks that he got the prepaid's number on his pad, and then shrugs when Toru gets up to leave. "Hey, what do I even call you, kid?" Toru pauses at the door, apparently taken slightly aback by that question. Either he assumed Joe already knew his name, or it just never occurred to him to offer it. He hesitates for a moment, then eventually just inwardly sighs, giving a brisk shake of his head. "Thought I fuckin' told you before. Toru, man." He lingers at the door for a minute, smacking the frame a few times to let off some nervous energy. "That all or you want my social, too?" "Heh," Joe says with a chuckle. "Like Saruman. Nah we're good. See ya later, Saruman."