DawnsLight & DisreputableCharles

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For a brief moment Annick felt the urge to punch the air in victory, though the realist in her soon brought forth the reminder that there was a long, long way to go before achieving her goals. Still, she'd snagged an informant, which was more than she'd been able to accomplish for quite a while.

"Little Russia it is." She followed suit in pulling on her slightly damp hoodie, and equipped the leather jacket on top of that. Opening the door, she glanced back at James. "Hope you're ready to give me directions to his place." With that, she flipped up her hood and strode down the alley to where her bike was still parked.
 
Shaking his head, James followed the woman. She was a spitfire, he had to give her that.

"Her place. Old Nat has the information hub of the area; there's not anything going on that that woman doesn't know about. She runs the Russian deli on East Sixth." He climbed onto the back of the bike behind Annick and gripped his seat firmly. There was no way he was going to risk being accused of getting fresh with this one- she looked like she hit hard. With a groan he pleaded, "And can you take it easy on your poor injured passenger this time? I don't want to tear these stitches."

The deli looked like any other in the city, bright awning over the door advertising delicacies from the old country in Russian, the only discernable English on the building being 'deli'. Inside was no different, a glass case showcasing the goodies that needed refrigeration while other sundries were arrayed behind the counter. A long lunch counter with stools lined the opposite wall and the air smelled of vinegar and beets. A bell rang above the door as they entered. The place was empty.

James peeked behind the counter, trying to see into the doorway that led to the little kitchen in the back. Standing in front of the glass case he yelled: "Hey Mama! You open today?"

Shortly after, an elderly woman hobbled out of the kitchen. Her face was drawn and lined with a crooked hooked nose and bright green eyes. Wiry grey hair sat atop her head in a bun. She waved a hand at James and spoke in rapid Russian, her voice high and clear despite her apparent age.

"Mama, why you gotta cuss me up one side and curse me down the other?" James grinned at the old woman, leaning on the glass.

She glared for a moment before answering, "Because you s'posed to be dead Jimmy. Dead men don't smudge glass, though." She smiled wryly.
 
Annick followed behind him into the shop and stayed there once they were greeted. Obviously gossip traveled fast and these two had something to catch up on, so she locked one leg and leaned back a little, hands in the pockets of her jacket. It felt as though she should speak up, but there wasn't any guarantee she wouldn't just be disregarded as hostile and not worth helping. Needless to say, several years of solitude left her people skills a bit lax, though James apparently had no problem sweet-talking anyone. Only a day and she'd seen two completely different sides of this man, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that.


​
 
James' grin faltered for just a split second and he backed off the glass, shoving his hands in his pockets like a chastised child. It made sense that Old Nat knew already; the old bird seemed to have her pulse on all the underground rumors of the city. And she knew just how to use the information that came filtering to her. When it came to gossip, Old Nat was a grand high master. And she was about the only person who could get away with calling him that distasteful nickname.

"Heard that one, did you? Then maybe I'm just here to give my Mama Natalia my love and say my goodbyes?" At this the old woman threw back her head and laughed so hard that she shook.

"Bullshit!" she answered. "But you make me laugh, Jimmy. I won't tell nobody I saw you for a least a week, maybe two if you keep being sweet to Mama." James winced, but it was probably the best he was going to get; she had no allegiances. "Who is woman there, Jimmy?" Nat pointed an arthritic finger at Annicka. "Not your usual taste for girlfriend. Pretty face though."

James smiled his best, going through with the old routine. "She's just a friend, Mama; you're the only girl for me." The old woman chuckled and waved for Annicka to come forward. "You girl! Come say hello to Mama!"
 
Shit. Annick as a rule didn't put herself out in the open any more than was absolutely necessary, but this time it seemed unavoidable. Making her best effort to warp her expression into something like a friendly smile, she stepped forward and nodded politely to the woman, whose sociable nature seemed as far from Annick's as one could get.

"Yeah, just a friend." She took a moment of the woman's distraction to shoot a look at James in which she furrowed her brow. It was likely ambiguous to him, but her thoughts mostly lingered on not your usual taste. It was already obvious that he was that kind of man, but it made her skin crawl to be assumed as such, even by a complete stranger.
 
James gave a little shrug, as if to ask what? about the nasty look. He didn't do anything.

Natalia grinned at the young lady, her eyes piercing. "I know you. You're not just a nothing. You've got hard eyes, and wear your anger like good perfume. Not apparent, but it's there. Jimmy brought you here for more than my borscht. What do you want, red-haired-girl? You can talk to Mama."

The crone turned her eyes on the man and once again broke into Russian, waving her hand dismissively. With a lingering look at Annick, he went to go sit at the far end of the lunch counter. The message was clear: piss off, the women are talking now.

Natalia leaned over the counter conspiratorially. "I deal in information; equal value to equal value. You trade me something good, and I do same. Start talking girl."
 
Strange though it had been at first, Annick found herself more at ease talking to this woman than anyone previously. She even allowed herself to let slip a smile; hardly more than the Mona Lisa, but natural, unlike the one she'd forced out before. The old lady was sharp, she understood things just by looking.

"Well, advise me on what you'd like most to hear." It wasn't as if Annick didn't pick up anything. On the contrary; her hunt had led her to many places, some more unsavory than others, and she'd heard quite a bit. What she didn't know was what Old Nat would consider valuable.
 
The old woman grinned and scratched her chin absently, looking thoughtful.

"Sharp girl. There is a rumor going around bridge club; that good, honest Russian boys were getting bad drugs. Good boys don't want to sell shit like that and got mad at supplier. What could they do with such things? Could not sell, already paid lots money for them. A bad situation." Nat shook her head sadly, her eyes never leaving Annick's. "So the supplier goes to see some family. Old family, understand me? But is not the end- turns out supplier didn't supply that one. There was a switch because someone wanted supplier dead." she raised her eyebrows. "Bad business all around, and making good Russian boys look bad." Nat tsked. "The poor babushkas at bridge club don't know who to blame and ask Mama to help..." The woman trailed off, a wry smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
 
"Heard something about suppliers a while back, though I'm not sure if it's a related incident..." Annick slipped her hands out of her pockets and leaned forward with her arms crossed, of course taking care not to smudge the glass. "There's been an increase in drug dealings within the past month, because some asshat at the top of the ladder dropped the hint that this was the city for business." She aimed a puff of air upward to push a strand of hair away from her face before continuing. "Of course all the cartels send in representatives, and little do they know the hint was just a ploy to get them to knock each other out of the competition. So now we've got murder plots and backstabbings right and left, and the quality of the product coming second to who's got the best thugs."

Finishing her speech, Annick couldn't help but feel a nagging sense of inadequacy concerning the information she'd proposed. There wasn't much to lose, though, so what the hell?

"Have I gotten close?"
 
Old Nat nodded her wizened head, that wry smile still curling the corners of her mouth. "Boys needed vacation time anyhow. I let them know." Her bright and piercing eyes drilled into Annick's. "Close? Maybe. Hard to tell if you don't tell Mama what it is you need." Finally dropping her laser-like gaze, Natalia hobbled over to the space of counter beside the ancient cash register and lifted it. She crossed over to stand beside Annick.

The old woman didn't have the usual scent of the elderly. She smelled like vodka and gunpowder and flowery perfume in a strange mix. Natalia patted the red-haired woman on the back. "Is man troubles?" The tone of voice spoke of double entendre, and a dark one at that. "It's okay, Mama knows."
 
Though some part of her knew that the old woman didn't intend it that way, Annick couldn't help the little flare of anger that was habitual at hearing the whole thing boiled down to such a mundane concept. The man had ruined her life, and those of hundreds of others. It wasn't a simple "trouble."

"In a manner of speaking," she said through gritted teeth. "I'm looking for someone,"---her voice was low now, and gave off a dangerous air---"so I can give him hell." Exhaling heavily through her nose, like a bull preparing to charge, Annick turned to look at Old Nat. "Augustus Lamont; I'm sure a wise lady like yourself recognizes the name. I need to find out where he is, or where he's going."
 
At the name Natalia nearly snarled, exposing yellowed teeth. All trace of mirth was gone. "Oh I know a sonuvabitch when I hear the name," she said in a low growl. At that, she actually spat. "Apologies. I did not know it was his kind of man troubles." It was clear that the woman knew what Lamont did and perhaps how he did it. However, her face held none of the pity one might expect. Old Nat respected this fierce woman, liked her anger.

Old Nat produced a pad for taking orders and started to jot things in a sharp script. She tore the page and pressed it into Annick's hand. "I don't know where he is now. But there's his places. You look there first." She leaned in and held the younger woman's hand for what was longer than necessary, her grip cold and bony and much stronger than one might imagine. "You kill him. You do what you got to do. But you come back and tell Mama all about it."

Letting go at last, the grandmotherly expression was back. Calling over her shoulder, she waved at James to rejoin them. "Jimmy! You take this one where she wants to go. No dicking around." The last words she spoke in almost a growl; it was almost comical the way that James stiffened, face pale.

Making his assurances, he ushered Annick out of the little deli.
 
Despite her chronic aura of suppressed rage, Annick grinned a bit at Nat's encouragement. She hadn't been like James, thinking Annick was delusional and waffling about risking his own neck; no, the old bat had some fire to her as well, and Miss London was grateful for it. She took the paper and nodded in assent, "Thank you for your help. And don't worry: I'll be back soon as there's a bullet through his head."

As they walked out, Annick felt a bit more of a strut develop in her stride. Her eyes flitted to James for a moment, then she opened her hand to read what was on the paper she'd been given. "Christ, but she's a firebrand, that one." A bit of a smirk crossed her face. "Never thought I'd see you get knocked down a few."
 
James glowered at Annick, almost sulking. "Yeah, Old Nat's definitely a force of nature. And she likes you. I dunno what you told her, but geeze." He scratched his wheaten hair in wonder, a low whistle escaping him. "Had to be something really interesting."

Making his way back over to the Yamaha, James turned to look at Annick. Something about that cocky strut just made him crazy, but if the tone of Nat's voice was any indication, he had better get used to it real quick. The old woman had taken an interest and had told James that she wanted him to see to it personally. He was less than thrilled.

"Say, think you could run me by my place? I'd love to not smell like wet dog for the rest of the day."
 
At his question, Annick looked up and her grin widened. James was obviously irritated now, and something about that was just amusing to her. That she shouldn't get too pleased with herself occurred as a vague notion; for now, things were going well. "Maybe I just have a way with people." She made a very tongue-in-cheek expression, then walked up to her bike and picked up her helmet, when his next question came.

"Not a problem. You got me more than I needed, I can return the favor." Climbing onto her bike, she fastened the helmet and flipped up the visor. "Mind giving me directions to your abode?"
 
James explained the route to his place of residence, but even so he found that he had to guide Annick a bit from the back of the motorcycle as they traversed the twisted maze of alleys and back streets. It was a rough part of town, detritus littering the streets and sidewalks, the burned-out wreck of a car sitting abandoned by a curb and not far off from the dirty brick three-storey they stopped in front of, a man in rags sat in a drugged stupor. James actually rose a hand in greeting; the man did not return the gesture.

"My castle. Don't let the grandeur of it go to your head or anything." He intoned dryly while he walked up the chipped and stained concrete stoop, leading the way inside. He couldn't recall when he'd last actually had a woman come to his home; as a general rule he stayed unattached no matter what Old Nat's comments might lead one to believe. It was simpler that way. James liked simple.

Annick, to his great annoyance, was not simple. In fact, now that he had been made to further help this woman he found the added complication in his life incredibly irksome; he just wanted to grab what funds he could, skip town and start a new life. Maybe he would finally look into legit employment. The thought quirked his mouth into a half-smile as he unlocked his door; or tried to. It seemed that it was unlocked already.

The smile disappeared, replaced by the press of his mouth into a grim line across his face. Blue eyes hard, James raised a hand to stop Annick and went to draw his gun. It wasn't there. His face twisted in an angry grimace while he cursed himself silently. Resolving himself, he twisted the knob and entered as silently as he could his ruined apartment.
 
The state of the place was awful. Furniture was ripped apart and turned over; papers and belongings were scattered across the floor; a window or two had even been smashed in the wreckage. Annick didn't exactly frown, but any trace of smugness left her expression as she pulled her revolver from its place at her hip. No doubt this was the work of the other party involved in James' "meeting."

Though she kept her weapon at the ready, it was his apartment and his enemies, so she remained behind her informant.
 
Great. She has a gun and she's keeping behind you while you take point. Hi, I'm James. You can call me meat-shield. His thoughts ran to the irritatedly sarcastic as she eased the door open more fully. He spared a quick glance where the hinges joined it to the wall and was relieved to find no one standing behind it. The soles of his shoes silent on the thick rug just beyond, he moved into the room in a crouch, looking around quickly and listening for any trace of noise. Holding a finger up to pause Annick, and hearing no disturbances yet, James reached into a closet left ajar by the door and drew out a heavy aluminum bat. He stood no chance against a bullet, but it made him feel better.

The apartment was by no means large; it barely qualified as a one-bedroom rental versus a loft. After a thorough check of the bedroom- also in shambles- and the small bathroom, James' shoulders slumped and he cursed vehemently. God, he wanted a cigarette. He held on to the bat to hide the tremble in his hands. He couldn't even find the ability to joke it off like he typically could have. Instead, he sat on the ruined couch and just... stared.

"At least it won't be noticeable when I take a few things with me." he murmured and dropped his head into his hand.
 
Survival instinct---which basically boiled down to "grab gun, stay alert"---kicked in for Annick, meaning that she forgot entirely that James had been shot and kicked off a pier and probably lost his gun in the process. Was he irritated? Most likely. Did she care? Not particularly.

She followed quietly behind, attempting a move in front of him before she realized that he'd dropped his guard. Well, at least she could put the weapon away. Annick took a moment to survey her surroundings completely, and it wasn't as though it would've been easy for an assailant to hide from them. The place was rather small. Still, it seemed to be quite a blow to her informant.

"Do you smoke?" She made a point of not looking at him when she asked, but pulled a pack of Marlboros from her jacket and flipped it open, offering one to him. Though she didn't make a habit of it, a cigarette calmed her nerves when following a particularly dangerous lead.
 
The dejected-looking man looked up at his brusque companion and took the offered smoke without a word. He lit up with a beat-up old Zippo fliptop that he pulled from a nearby pile of broken ceramic, and had taken a few drags to calm his nerves before he whispered a word of gratitude. It sounded loud to him in the quiet room. After a moment or two, James stood and took in the wider scene once more; it wasn't the fact that he was attached to any of the things in the apartment. Everything he owned was crap that he found discarded on street corners and by dumpsters or that caught his eye in the pawn shops where he sometimes fenced goods. No, it was the feeling of intrusion.

"You know, even given my line of work I didn't think this would happen. I don't know what they were after, but I can't tell that anything is actually gone." He paused to take another deep lungful, blowing it out through his nose. "Let me pack a bag and get changed, then we'll go hunt out some of Old Nat's leads. Make yourself at home," James crunched his way over broken glass to the remains of his bedroom.

Keeping the door ajar while he shucked his clothing, he tried to make small talk. He tended to talk a lot when he was nervous. "So, now that you've seen my immaculate villa I guess that puts us on a new level. You from around here, or from outside the city?" A sharp hiss of pain followed the question; in the adrenaline he had forgotten about his new piercing and had pulled it as he changed. It was going to need a new dressing.

"You don't talk much. Since Nat's having me play escort though, I thought it might be nice to establish a little rapport. You seem like you can keep a smug sonuvabitch like me on my toes." Freshly dressed in worn jeans and a faded t-shirt that may have been black at some point, James made his way back to where he had left Annick, an army drab duffel slung over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here before the landlord comes looking for me."
 
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