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 Posted: Tue Sep 26, 2017 11:34 am
>>> Ask not for whom the bell tolls
xx >> It tolls for thee
██████
▬ A closed Thread for tetsuuuooooo & LavvytheJackalope
▬ In which Rumi is blackmailed by Zach
▬ Setting: A quaint little uptown coffee joint
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Posted: Tue Sep 26, 2017 11:38 am
It had been a bit of a dilemma, deciding what to do with the photos.
He knew that he couldn't make a case out of it, officially. He was an off-duty cop at the time, sneaking photos around street corners and hunkering down behind half-boarded windows. Things had been rough since his old partner had been hospitalized. Lex was a tough old b***h, kept harassing him even from the hospital room. It had already come down the ladder, officially, that she was being pushed into retirement. Honestly, it was about damn time. But for the moment, it left Zach without a partner. He was too much of a nutcase loose cannon to give one of the impressionable rookies, so Zach was scoring a lot of time sitting around in speed traps and petty bullshit. It didn't suit the taser at all. So maybe it wasn't a shock when he started slinking around in the slums, looking for trouble. Literally.
Honestly, he hadn't really expected to find anything, except perhaps a fist fight with some puffed up wannabees looking to preen in front of their buddies, maybe pick out a spot or two to come back and sniff when he was on active duty again. The usual, bland stuff. No chasing weird dancers on rooftops or fighting metal-armed home invaders. He just wanted an escuse to work out some frustration. Yet another asswipe who he and Lex had worked their butts off to lock away had gotten out on a technicality. Apparently Crownless had beefed up their legal defense, because it felt like he was shoving criminals through a rotating door. As soon as he got them off the streets, they were back again, but more careful, more sneaky, more dangerous than before. More and more it felt like he was fighting a losing battle, a paper tiger in front of a storm. He couldn't keep it up forever. Even Zach's motivation had limits. What was even the point of trying, when the entire system was working against him? Maybe it was sheer spite and stubbornness that was keeping him going. It would have to be enough, he supposed. Spite could keep a man going like him indefinitely. So he'd spent three days wandering, slinking through the sketchier parts of the slums, and areas that were known to be used frequently by Crownless. The taser was antsy, and just itching to accomplish something. ANYTHING that would make even a teeny difference, some little dent in the ever turning cogs of the machine intent on leveling the city. So when he'd stumbled across an operation that was actually in progress, he couldn't believe his luck. Zach NEVER had good luck. He'd had to struggle and fight his entire life to accomplish anything (unlike SOME PEOPLE). It was incredibly rare for him to actually catch a break, so he didn't want to waste it. Fortunately, luck favors the well prepared, and oh man, Zach was prepared. He'd just been WAITING for something like this. He'd ducked into one of the tilting, abandoned old buildings that littered the slums like leaning tombstones, relics of a time passed, and peered out through the second story window, inched around until he'd gotten a perfect view of the transactions going on below. He couldn't have asked for more perfect shots is he tried. Images of the products being moved, money being handed off... even a few good shots of the faces of the men involved, including one mean-looking mofo who seemed to be handling the exchange. Zach had to keep glancing over his shoulder to make sure that he wasn't being set up. But no mysterious thugs ever appeared behind him, no one shaved a blade or a gun to his back, no one looked up and pointed him out in his little window. The transaction went along smoothly, they dispersed, and Zach still waited for a half hour before he finally snuck out of the building. He'd gone home at once to back up copies of the photos three times, and was then faced with the dilemma of exactly what to do with them. He considered sending them to the station as an 'anonymous tip' but he knew what would happen then. If an investigation was even sanctioned, someone would be paid off and it would come up as another 'dead end.' Zach was frustrated to no end with the damn station. He'd become a cop to try and make a difference, to help people. Instead he got bitched at by drunk drivers and pushed aside whenever any real s**t was going on. Damn, he needed to finish his course to become a detective. That aside, Zach was painfully aware of how little the SCPD would actually help. So, naturally, that left himself. Zach might not have been able to throw the guy in prison without him getting right back out again, BUT, a guy like that could certainly be put to other uses.
Zach sat on the photos for about a week. He kept doing his patrols, going to work, beating the pavement. But when he came home in the mornings, he sat down and he did research. A quick search of the criminal database easily revealed who his target was: Rumi Blackwell. No major offenses (on record, at least), Lycan, only a few years younger than himself. They type who had a little too much cash on hand for the jobs he supposedly kept on paper. It always ground his gears to see assholes like him driving around in cars like damn corvettes. Teachers could hardly keep a classroom stocked, but lowlifes like Blackwell got to drive around in luxury cars. Utter tripe. But that was besides the point. The system didn't care much about the privacy of criminals, so Zach at least had that to his advantage. It was a simple matter to find the rest of Blackwells information after getting his name. Social media accounts, online footprint, the works. After that, it was simply a matter of deciding how to word his 'invitation.' Zach sent the email in the wee hours of the morning, and decided that for someone like Blackwell, simple, direct, and to the point was best. He attached two photos, one clearly showing Rumi with the cargo, and another of the exchange of funds. The read of the text was simple, sent from a sort of self-deleting faux email account. There was an app for everything these days.
To: xxxxxx@xxx.com
From: xxxtZ@xxx.com
Look familiar?
Come to 186 N. Broad
11/18/17 3:00
And that was it. There was no way that the lycan could really refuse, after all. Even if turning it in to the department would do no good, the photos being released anywhere could be terrible. Between other dealers, and retribution from his own group, ignoring Zachs demands could very well be signing off on his own death warrant. The email gave Blackwell two days to get himself together to meet Zach, and the cop had no doubts that he'd show up.
The venue the taser had chosen was oddly simple. A public coffee house, in a fairly nice neighborhood. The last thing he needed was the guy turning out to be an idiot who thought violence was the best solution to the issue. In a place like this one, it wouldn't be viable, even to a moron. So Zach sat back, lax and casual, sipping on his over-sweetened coffee, black hair tied back, gloves covering his hands as per usual, and a light jacket over his shoulders. Truth be told, he looked about as much delinquent as he did cop. Fortunately, the patio to the little cafe was empty save for himself. It was a plus, the place was usually pretty slow at that time of day. It wasn't long before the grumpy ******** appeared. Naturally, he would have no clue what the taser looked like. So, ever helpful, Zacked raised a black gloved hand to wave the lycan over, smiling as if the two were just old buddies meeting over coffee to catch up.
"Glad to see you got my message. How you holdin' up, Blackwell?" He waved a hand for the lycan to have a seat. "Order whatever you want. This place has killer espresso."
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Posted: Tue Sep 26, 2017 1:58 pm
█▄ r u m i b l a c k w e l l  The minute he laid eyes on his mystery man, black gloved, relaxed, enjoying his coffee like he was simply waiting for an old friend, Rumi felt the same, white hot anger envelope him like it did when checked his email two days prior. He felt his heart in his throat, his jaw clench, muscles tense. He breathed in through his noise, exhaled, counted to ten in his head. You see people getting black mailed in movies, on evening television. And it was such a strange, uncommon thing to experience in real life, when it happens to you, even hardened men like Rumi Blackwell feel fear wrapping its cold fingers around their hearts. He didn't know what this guy wanted, he sure as hell didn't recognize him, but this guy literally held Rumi's life in his hands. Everything was in jeopardy. Everything Rumi has worked for could crumble in an instant thanks to two pictures of him cutting a deal.
Jason Vance had three priorities. His wife, his money, and his drugs. He liked Rumi immediately. He could tell he really worked at what he did. Could tell he was a kid who came from nothing, like himself. Sure, the guy was a bit abrasive, kinda scary, but after a couple shots and a joint, he got Rumi real cozy and got to know him. Yeah, he liked him alright.
"How would you like to do some running for me on the side? Real easy stuff."
Yeah. Sure. No problem. What Jason didn't realize was that Rumi's loyalty lay with organizations. Things bigger than himself. Not individuals. Maybe that's why the guy couldn't keep a long term friend. Doesn't really matter, he doesn't need 'em. Stealing from Jason was easy, because Jason's problem was that he trusted to quckly and too fully. Rumi always says that trust needs to be earned, not through a chat over some whiskey, but through actions and time. Rumi made more money rerouting portions of Jason's product than he did running for the guy. But he got paid for both. At the moment, Rumi was rolling in it.
But thanks to this a*****e who thinks he knows s**t, it could all be for nothing.
Since Rumi isn't dead yet, the photos haven't been leaked. This guy wants something from him, that much is obvious. The Lycan took a seat across from him, a sour look creasing his features. A perky waitress came to take his order. He didn't need something that was going to make him more wired than he already was. He bit an order of water at her. She left the table a little faster than she normally would. He leaned back in his chair, looking the guy over, trying to figure him out. So far, he hasn't said a word to the guy. He wasn't really sure what to say. He had to be careful (duh) but he didn't know to what extent. The thought of asking his name crossed his mind, but he figured the guy would just give him an alias, so what's the point in that?
"Should I know you?"
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