tampered | I've got 500 in twenties and I've got a ton of great ideas...

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I've got 500 in twenties and I've got a ton of great ideas...

When; August 24, late afternoon
Where; Somewhere sketchy
Rating; Could definitely be R, for violence and language at least!
Characters; Meyer Lansky & Al Capone
Summary; Al sees a side of Meyer he's never seen before, and has no idea what to do with it.
Log;

He doesn't much enjoy these places -- questionable bars with even more questionable back rooms, the narrow alleys outside of them, the places people go to do the kind of business that shouldn't see the light of day; the City might not be much like New York, but it has its fair share of dangerous places, too. Sure, he does just fine in places like that, knows how to handle himself, knows how to conduct himself in an appropriate manner, but that doesn't mean he spends more time than he needs to in these seedy areas. The casino's a legitimate business, as far as anyone is concerned, and he'd like to keep it that way. But there're other businesses he's involved in, businesses that necessitate meeting in odd places, businesses that involve meeting with unpleasant people.

That's where he is now. Behind some nondescript building in the Underground, having what would appear to be a polite conversation with another man, were it observed from afar. If someone was listening intently, though, if they could get close enough to the two men to hear what they were really saying, it would quickly become obvious that, although the conversation is hushed, it's anything but pleasant. Polite, perhaps, since Meyer's almost always polite, but there's something threatening in his voice, too. He doesn't like it when business doesn't go his way. And he really doesn't like it when someone tries to cheat him.

As far as he knows, there's nobody listening. He'd be wrong about that.

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Unlike his business associate, Al has no problem with the more questionable places in the City, including the Underground. It's not that he has a preference to his business dealings per se, but he knows he never has to worry about anyone contesting his business endeavors. Even the bravest of critics could be put in their place quickly.

After finalizing some collections, he's had a few drinks before he decides to head home. It's not the time of day that dictates these things, but the work you do to earn it. When he passes the alleyway, Al hears the familiar voice and begins to wonder about his sobriety, but there's no mistaking that face. Meyer is having a private discussion and that's enough to get him curious. He settles against the brick of the building, shielded by the wall and continues to listen in hoping the shady section of the City can stay quiet long enough for him to hear just a bit of the conversation.

Meyer has a pretty big personal space bubble, and he's not leaned in as close to the guy as he could be, which means that his voice is just audible enough for someone standing close by to be able to overhear some of the words. Al might not get the entire conversation, but he'll hear enough to know what it's about.

"We had an agreement," Meyer says quietly, voice terse and taut with anger. There's a reply from the other guy, but it's just another excuse, something meaningless and facile, one of the kind of things someone says to get out of trouble. It's not a promise, it's not even a goddamned apology. It's just an attempt at getting out of trouble. Meyer hates excuses -- if you're going to fuck up, you'd better own up to it when you do. Otherwise, it'd be better to just save the hassle and do things right the first time.

"We also had an agreement as to what might happen should the terms of our initial agreement not be met, and they haven't been."

This might be where it starts to get interesting for Al, because the last time he heard that tone of voice from his business associate was probably in the casino, the night it had gotten all busted up from the altercation Al and Theo had been involved in. And that had meant he was pissed.

The words might not be crystal clear, but the tones speak volumes themselves. It's surprising to see the two men alone, neither thinking to surround themselves with company to make their operations appear larger or to guarantee no underhanded tactics. Their methods of business and negotiations may be different, but it's clear there's something sour in the air.

He steals the occasional peek down the alley, pretending to be lost in a far-off stare. This situation has the potential to go downhill and fast. While he feels no real duty to involve himself physically, Al's already drawn in enough to excuse himself now.

There's a few more moments of back and forth debate, of protests and of attempts to weasel out of the situation, but Meyer doesn't have time for this; he came here for business, not for an argument, and he expects others to behave just as professionally as he does. There's money involved, and it rankles him when other people don't respect that. The drug business isn't a glamorous one, but that doesn't excuse a lack of respect.

Whether or not Al's looking a few seconds later isn't going to matter, because the distinct sound of someone being slammed against a wall and having the breath knocked out of them is a pretty noticeable one. It'd probably be a reasonable assumption that it's Meyer being slammed against the wall -- he's the smaller one, after all, the non-threatening one, the polite one -- but if Al glances their way again, he'll find exactly the opposite. Meyer's got the guy by the lapels, and he's got him pressed up against the wall, and he doesn't look exactly pleased.

A wince and a short laugh at Meyer's expense follow the thud. It's like listening in on a boxing match-- heated and involved but still distant. He's not entirely without sympathy, but the school of hard knocks is a lesson one must learn on their own from time to time.

The next glance around the corner lingers longer than he wishes, but he has to confirm what he's seeing. It's Meyer throwing his weight around and that's unexpected. His viewing habits are more conspicuous now, though he still has the cover of the wall. It's always good to learn about people and their capabilities. This is proving to be a fountain of new information.

Meyer should probably be paying closer attention to what's going on around him, but this is the Underground, the shady part of the City where fights are commonplace, and nobody's going to bother to call the cops or try to break up a fight between two guys who are mostly keeping to themselves. Maybe in other parts of the City, where people actually care, but not here, and certainly not in an alleyway behind a building that does more questionable business than legal business. No, he has the freedom to fight as he chooses, here, and so he doesn't notice Al glancing around the corner.

The guy he's got up against the wall isn't exactly taking it well, either. Obviously, he hadn't expected someone so small in stature to be quite so ferocious, either, and he's immediately shoving at Meyer, cursing at him, trying to push him away. Meyer doesn't take too kindly to that. The guy could have tried to reason with him, could have tried to alter the terms of the agreement, could have just given him the money he owed him, but he chose to argue, and now he apparently wants to turn this into a full-fledged fight. Well, fine. Meyer can oblige.

He doesn't pull his punch when he aims straight for the guy's nose, and the hit is hard, making the guy's head recoil back against the wall with a too-audible thud. He's still got one hand holding the guy's lapel, pressing him against the wall, and from the blood that's suddenly on the guy's face, it looks like his nose might be broken. Too bad.

"Please, ow," the guy gurgles behind the flood that was previously his nose, "listen-- just listen! I can fix it. I can talk to some people soon, real soon, and get this fixed. Just let me go find them. Just let me go right now."

His excuses seem to have run dry, but there is some negotiation skills left in him, anything to spare himself another punch to the face. The man assumes Meyer will be willing to abide by these terms and, mixed with pain and fear, he begins to try and wriggle free from where he's pinned.

There's definitely a sense of overall approval from Al in these methods of business, but he wonders how far Meyer is willing to go with them. How extensive is his temper?

"I said no more fucking excuses."

The swearing only emerges when he's really angry, and this guy's made him pretty damn angry. It's not a hot anger, though, not the kind of anger that he's seen from Al, from Charlie, the kind that flares up quickly and vanishes quickly; it's cold, and spiteful, and strangely businesslike, even as he shakes the guy by his lapels again, trying to drive the point home.

"As far as I'm concerned," Meyer says, and his tone is oddly flat in its inflection, lacking much detectable sentiment, though obviously some kind of rage is driving his actions, "our business contract is effectively terminated."

The guy's not exactly huge, but he's got some height on Meyer, and after awhile of pinning him to the wall, the wriggling becomes irritating. Irritating enough that he drops his grip from the guy entirely, turns like he's going to leave, like he's going to drop the conversation. The guy obviously sees this as his chance to get some kind of sneak attack in, to avenge his broken nose and his broken dignity, and he charges at Meyer's turned back, all panic and humiliation at this point.

More swiftly than one might think imaginable, for such a cautious, staid individual, Meyer's turning back, like he'd been expecting this all along. The two men collide, and they grapple for a moment, both of them trying to get the upper hand. But Meyer doesn't fight politely, he doesn't follow any rules, and he delivers a vicious knee to the guy's groin, then, as soon as the guy goes down with a grunt, is on top of him, scuffling with him on the dirty ground of the alleyway, slamming the guy's head against the pavement hard.

Fighting dirty, while effective, can only be a spectacle for so long. Al takes one last glance at the street to ensure privacy before stepping into the nook himself. He watches the tussle up close for a second, gauging where to intervene before the guy's head meets the ground. It's then he steps back just once, realizing the situation is pretty well resolved.

Al watches Meyer carefully, inspecting him as if the two were of an entirely different species rather than strangers.

"What the fuck was that?"

The guy's not entirely finished off yet -- unconscious or dead, Meyer doesn't care which he's aiming for, as long as he's taken care of for the time being -- and he reaches up to grab weakly at anything he can get ahold of, to try to tug Meyer off of him. It's only after Meyer's sunk his teeth into the guy's hand as hard as he can, after he's slammed the guy's head against the ground once more and felt him go limp, that he hears Al's voice.

When he looks up, there's something almost animalistic on his face, and the fact that he'd just bitten this guy's hand as hard as he possibly could probably only reinforces that. He wonders how much Al had seen, and then decides that, however much it had been, it was enough for him to be alarmed. No sense in being coy about it, then.

He's still crouched on top of the guy as he responds. "Settling a conflict of interest," he replies.

There's a degree of uncertainty that he doesn't care much to display, but it shows through accompanied with the shock. Between the crazed look in Meyer's eyes and the slightest trace of blood left on his teeth, the very same teeth that smile through a plethora of bullshitting, shit-eating and otherwise jawing on a daily basis, Al is not inclined to offer him a hand up.

Instead he crouches where he can still keep an eye on Meyer, inspecting the damage as if to validate it for himself. After a wrinkle of his nose, a laugh follows. It's a bit choked, but otherwise pleasant.

"Looks more like you were trying to rearrange his face and chew off his hand. Jesus."

His breathing is a little quick from the adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he eyes Al almost suspiciously, like he's going to be the next one to attack. His grimace becomes more of a smile at Al's comment, but not a particularly pleasant smile. It's still all teeth and sharp edges, though his eyes are a little less crazed than they had been moments before, as he'd been slamming the guy's head into the pavement.

"I was trying to get my money," he says, reaching into the guy's jacket even as he speaks and feeling for a wallet. When he doesn't find it there, he moves methodically to the guy's pants pockets, finally finding what he's looking for and opening it up. As expected, there's quite a bit of cash in there, and he takes it all.

It's amazing, how much damage a hard bite can do. Had the guy been slightly more lucid when he'd been bitten, he probably would've been horrified at how deep the puncture really is. There's blood on Meyer's face, and on his knuckles, and some splattered across the front of his shirt. He knows he likely looks insane. He doesn't particularly care.

He stands, dusting himself off for good measure, and watches the procedure at work. It's methodical, much like Meyer's usual methods, and too familiar to attribute to simply good sense. For a guy that previously struck him as someone who doesn't like to dirty their hands personally, he knows his way around pickpocketing.

A thought is given to indicating to what looks like a good chunk of flesh near Meyer's chin and he starts to raise his hand to his own face to oblige, but given the state of the rest of his upper body, Al doesn't find much sense in following through.

"Whatever it was, he definitely won't be giving you any more problems."

Al's statement gives him pause for a minute -- he really should check to see if the guy is unconscious or dead; it's the reasonable thing to do, after all -- and before he stands up, he turns the guy's head to the side, checking for a pulse on his neck. There is one, but it's weak. Stands to reason, he guesses, since he hadn't gone easy on slamming the guy against things. That amount of head trauma isn't easy to recover from.

"I don't think he'll be giving anymore any more problems for awhile."

Maybe ever. It's not like he's going to call for help. The guy can lie here in the alley until he either regains consciousness and crawls back into the building, or just up and dies. Either way is fine with him. He's done what he came here to do. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his face briskly, managing to get most of the blood off, then wipes his bloody hand on the guy's shirt. There's too much blood on his own clothes to do anything about, so he doesn't even try, just tucks the handkerchief back into his pocket and stands.

"Were you following me?"

Now that the adrenaline's wearing off, the questions are springing to mind.

"I got my own business down here," that's a negative, Meyer. Al is a busy man, after all, and doesn't have any reason to have you followed-- yet. There's certainly, as this encounter has proven, something to look out for should their business relationship ever take a sour turn. The way things have been, Al hopes this is not the case any time soon.

"Seeing the show? That was just an unexpected surprise. I didn't know you had it in you."

"What'd you think, I couldn't handle myself?"

That's probably exactly what Al thought, or perhaps more accurately, Al thought that he wasn't the type of guy to get his hands dirty when he could have someone else do it for him. He's pretty sure that, back home, at least, people assume that Charlie does all the dirty work. In truth, he cultivates that image. Better to be the polite, well-spoken, non-threatening guy than the one everyone immediately pins as a danger and treats accordingly.

That's why, even though there's amusement in his voice, there's no malice or disbelief. Of course Al didn't think he had it in him. He'd have no reason to. As far as he's concerned, it would have been better off staying that way. As to what Al's business is down here, he can only imagine, but as long as it doesn't conflict with the casino, it's not his business -- or at least, he won't ask about it directly. That doesn't mean he's not curious.

The short sniff of a laugh and silence are more of an answer than any long-winded explanation could give. Al is aware of the presentation of the businessman, the reasonable and cool-headed one that is both well-crafted and maintained, but to see the other side? Needless to say, his assumption was wrong and that too can remain unspoken.

"Not to part ways with the great company you're keeping here, but it might be in our best interest to move on. You probably smell like a snack to some of the things down here."

"You're right."

He gives the guy on the pavement another glance, making sure there's nothing he's forgotten, nothing he's left behind. Guys like this get dumped in alleyways all the time back home, and he's pretty sure that, while the crime rate in the City is generally lower than it is in New York, it isn't out of the ordinary for someone to be the victim of a beating and a robbery, which is what this looks like. No need for anyone to know who was behind it. No need for anyone to know it was drug related.

"You have more business down here, or are you headed back?"

What he needs is a shower, and a change of clothes, but he wants to check on the casino first. What can he say: he gets nervous leaving the place alone for too long, what with the giant stash of drugs in the back room.

Not that it's his mess to clean up, but the decision to leave the man to his own devices and his fate in the hands of the out-of-the-way alley is a welcome one.

"Long day. I'm headed back."

He indicates to the back alleyways, familiar enough with them to know the path and finding it a reasonable solution to drawing too much attention to themselves.

"Mind the company? I could use some protection."

"I don't mind the company."

He's not going to say anything about the protection comment, because he's pretty sure Al is poking fun at him. He wonders, for a moment, if what Al's witnessed is going to change anything about the way they interact, and then he shrugs off the thought. Maybe it will, maybe it won't. It hadn't been intended for Al's eyes, but then, it's Al's decision how he wants to handle it. It's not like Meyer spends the majority of his time beating people up in alleys, anyway.

"So this is what you do with the rest of your time? Spend time down here?"

He's content to follow Al on whatever path they're taking to get out of here. Admittedly, he's curious as to what Al does when he's not working at the casino -- the two of them don't exactly socialize much outside of work.

What he has witnessed is certainly something to consider-and while he can exploit the humor of his surprise, it does leave an impression. He can respect a man that can hold his own, even if it boils down to scrapping. It's fortunate he himself doesn't have the urge to shortchange Meyer for any better offers or a better profit for himself. Not here, not now.

"Not a lot, no." Truth of the matter is, while there's plenty of business to be capitalized on in the underground, the City atmosphere is more lively and pleasant for him.

"They've got boxing matches down here on the weekends. The real deal, not those powderpuffs that barely slap each other around."

"And I imagine you've found some way to profit from those boxing matches?"

It's as though he genuinely can't imagine why someone might do something that didn't involve profit, but perhaps that's simply perceptive of him -- he can't imagine Al willingly spending much time in the underground when there's more fun and less danger in the City.

He could go into the reasons he's good at fighting, as well as the reasons he doesn't do it too often, but that doesn't matter. The guy he'd left in the alley won't be bothering him, and he's pretty sure he doesn't have a whole lot to worry about from Al, either. Not in this situation. Maybe back home, he'd be more suspicious. That doesn't mean he trusts Al entirely, but they have similar interests, and what differences had been so apparent at home seem to be less important now.

Meyer isn't wrong, but there's more to the matches. Even Al understands that profit keeps the world turning, but without a little fun in the mix the ride isn't worth a damn thing. Things are different here from their own world and it's easy to recognize. While there is a looming, dictating presence in the City, overall everyone gets by and restrictions are lax. There's still supply and demand, but the business isn't cutthroat-- not yet anyway.

"If someone catches my eye, I help 'em out."

Witnessing this, Al sees a crack in the well put-together exterior of another poor kid from a shit neighborhood. He wonders what it takes to push Meyer to his limit, but isn't eager to find out first-hand.

"It's one guy against another guy. There's tricks, sure, but it all rides off how hard one can push the other before it's lights out. You can't always predict that."

"Seems like wherever I look, you're involved in some kind of business."

Meyer's casino, now his drug business, whatever various and questionably legal productions Al is involved in down here in the underground, the horse racing -- which he won't even discuss again, because he thinks it's patently ridiculous, and likely to lose Al and all of his partners a tidy sum of money -- it seems that Al has an interest in just about everything. It doesn't escape him that that's a pretty accurate description of himself, too. Always involved in something. Always cooking up something else. They're similar in ways he hadn't imagined, but then, he'd never had reason to think about it, not until getting stuck here. Despite that, he doesn't exactly view Al as a rival.

"Anyone asks why there's blood on my shirt, I got a nosebleed."

It's useful to have some kind of story. It's not the kind of story that'd hold up under careful inspection, but he's not too worried about that. He just knows that there's always some concerned citizen or another looking to talk to him; he's managed to ingratiate himself into the lives of quite a few residents of the City, and those're the kind of people that'd take notice of the blood spatter on his shirt. Good thing there's a change of clothes back at the casino.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Sure, he likes to keep himself busy. He doesn't particularly care for sticking to one line of business-- he's seen family members whittle at one thing for their entire lives and have nothing to show for it. This way he can cover all his bases.

"I wouldn't answer if they asked," he replies with nonchalance. Two guys babbling on about a nosebleed? If anyone gives them any trouble over it, it's almost worth dishing the nosebleed out and dismissing the concern entirely.

"It means you keep yourself busy, that's all."

He can appreciate that. It's what he does, too. Ever curious, ever wanting to know more, he's interested as to why Al wants to keep himself so busy. Is it simply the desire for profit? Is it desire for fame? It it the simple enjoyment of doing many things and being good at all of them? It's not like he can see directly into Al's head, figure out what goes on in there, solve him like he'd solve any other kind of equation, but he'd sure like to be able to.

"You feel up to doing another job later tonight?"

He always has something in mind. There's the casino to attend to, of course, but there's also the far less legal side of business. The drug market isn't as big here as it is in New York, but he does alright. Alright enough that he can't run the operation himself.

There's a nod. It's hard to distinguish where he should go into detail and what he likes to keep to himself. He wouldn't go so far as to say he's comfortable with Meyer, but it's nice to have a focused associate readily available in the City.

"My evening's free."

"I'm making a couple of deliveries. I'd appreciate it if you'd come along."

Does he need backup? He's not sure. Would he feel better having Al there? Absolutely, and he's not afraid to admit it. The City may not be as overtly dangerous as New York, but it's dangerous in different ways, and he likes to be as protected as possible.

There's a benefit to having someone who already knows how to play this game as one of your associates -- if he'd've tried to get someone new, someone who'd never been involved in the questionably legal world, he'd've had to teach them from the ground up. Al understands discretion, as boisterous as he can be.

"You sure you're gonna need the help?" The conversation comes full circle and he can't help but grin at the idea of it again.

"I'd hate to see what that bastard back there did to get you riled up like that."

He shakes his head, but there's just the slightest bit of amusement on his face, too, maybe to mirror Al's own grin, maybe because he finds the situation kind of funny himself. It's not something he'd admit to, but he's not entirely displeased with how it had gone, either. Sometimes, a little force is needed.

"He didn't pay me."

It's as simple as that, really. "Kept saying he wanted to make a deal, kept wanting to buy product, and then never gave me the money. That's not responsible business."

He's familiar with the sort himself. Somehow they get the notion that squirming or dressing up conversation will buy them some time or slack when it just ends up wasting time.

"Let's hope this trip goes over smoother."

Meyer's client-base isn't one that he's familiar with yet, but he imagines being as high-strung as the casino owner is, they must have someone willing to vouch for them.

"It'll go just fine. Most of my clients aren't the type to cause any trouble."

With the exception, of course, of people like the guy he'd just left to die in the alley, but he's an exception. Thus far, neither of his businesses -- the casino or the drug business -- have necessitated a great deal of violence, and he's glad for it. Unlike some people, he doesn't relish the chance to beat the shit out of someone, but sometimes, it just has to be done.

Say what you may about forceful business tactics, Meyer, but even you can't deny that it feels good to lay one down on someone that deserves it.

"How far's your reach?"

If he's going to be involved in the business, Al figures he might as well get to know it. For just discovering the product in the back, he only knows its quantity dissipates over time before it is miraculously replenished. Who it goes to, when and how he has no mind of nor how hands on Meyer himself is in the endeavor.

"Not far enough."

It's an oblique answer, but it's partially true: he hopes that by getting Al involved, he can extend his reach a little farther, but he's in no hurry to do so. The way he sees it, they're either going to be stuck here for the long haul or they're not, and he's willing to put in a little extra work to make sure this goes slowly and smoothly. After all, the competition here isn't anywhere as stiff as it is back in New York -- he can afford to take things more slowly, to corner the market at his own pace.

"I prefer to avoid dealing with the underground as much as I can."

And not just because the people who hung around down there inspired evident rage in him. If he can do most of his business in the more legit side of the City, that'll arouse less suspicions. "I have a fair number of customers," he continues, "but it's never going to be a market like it was back home."

Part of that's the sheer population of the place. It's a lot smaller than New York or Chicago. Another part of that has seemed to be, thus far, that proportionally less people are interested in drugs. He takes what business he can, though, and he does fine. A lot of that's down to the lack of competition.

Figures as much. The answer lacks satisfaction, an endeavor that interests Al. It's true, the City is nothing like back home, but it's a fair challenge to speculate how lucrative the trade could be in a purgatory between worlds.

"Who doesn't? Still, it's always got people dropping in for one thing or another."

It's rough around the edges for a reason-- nobody worth much seems to want to stick around for long.

"Selling your goods in a place that turns on its head on a weekly basis-- it's either guaranteed to be a hard sell or a genuine enhancement to the experience."

No matter where one ends up, the world will inevitably always be a crazy place. In that, there will always be people looking for some adventure or to drown their sorrows.

There was far less danger of getting caught here, too. While the City technically had a police force, technically had authority figures, he'd never run afoul of them, and he didn't expect to anytime soon. They were busy dealing with more important things, and their control was relatively lax. He liked it that way. That was, of course, no reason to be sloppy, but it made things a little easier to deal with.

"Thing is, the customers I do have are... dedicated, I'd say."

Extremely addicted, more like.

"I don't have that many customers who try it once and never come back for more. You get someone once, you've often got a customer for life."

Or until they vanish from the City, but they're always replaceable.

Anything to make a few bucks and leave a reasonably happy customer. It's certainly one way to secure business and he's not opposed to that.

"You usually make the deliveries yourself?"

From Meyer's description of the trade seems to be a small racket, how small he still doesn't fully know. Even so, a confirmation of this speculation would surprise him. Meyer doesn't strike him as a hands-on type of guy or one that gets too involved with his base of customers. After obsessively running a casino-- really, how would he have the time anyway?

"At this juncture, yes, although it makes me... uncomfortable."

He doesn't like being the one to deliver the drugs. Back home, they'd had Benny to do it for them. He'd never been the guy whose face anyone could connect to the illegal drug trade. Sure, people assumed he was doing something illegal, especially with the card game, but nobody had had much to pin on him. Around here, if there were cops, he's pretty sure he'd be investigated in a hot second.

"Often I don't make the deliveries so much as I leave them some place, wait around to make sure the guy picks it up and leaves the money."

He still doesn't like having his face out there. It's a relatively small city, as far as this kind of thing goes, and he can't hope for the anonymity he'd had back in New York. People had always focused on Charlie, anyway.

"Good tactic until the guy with as much zip as a cheetah or some kid with a good sniffer finds the drop first."

There's more of a twist to the City than the law. Al's constantly coming across new information, whether from another time or world entirely. He retains as much as he can, turning a handicap into an advantage-- it's adapt or become obsolete. Some of the learning has been more painful than others, but he passes up no opportunity to show it off.

"But you're still finding your footing."

And along the way he'll be more than happy to pitch in his share of suggestions, solicited or not.

"I'm aware that it isn't ideal," he says, shaking his head as he walks back towards the City, "but it is a bit of a challenge, to find people who're willing to get involved in the industry. Are you?

As in: is Al willing to make the deliveries? Is Al willing to make his face known as the face of the drug business in the City? Meyer doesn't kid himself that he's the biggest drug business in the City, but he's pretty sure he has staying power, assuming he sticks around long enough to see his plans out. Nobody intends on disappearing, but him least of all; he's got longterm business plans, and like anyone else, he's trying to find his niche in the City. The casino is something, but it's not challenging enough, and it certainly doesn't bring in enough money.

There's plenty of things he's willing to do, most because he knows that he's capable but some, perhaps the boldest, because it's something to do. A wicked impulse that is the ultimate high. It just feels right: purposeful, and if he can make a buck off of it then even better.

"I'll make the deliveries with you tonight-- see what you've got going on. If you're willing to part with a little product after that, I can see how it takes off in the spots I'm thinking of."

The casino is one place of business he might regard Meyer as of more authority, but this? This business is the kind he takes seriously, the kind that he demands more liberties. It's easier to be crafty on his terms than anyone else's.

There's a moment of consideration as he walks, but ultimately, he knows -- and Al probably knows -- that he's going to agree. He needs a partner, after all. This isn't doable alone, as much as doing it alone would sometimes seem ideal. He's used to working with Charlie, and Al's no Charlie (he tries not think about Charlie too much; dwelling on the past and the people who aren't here isn't productive), but Al's capable enough. He knows that. He's seen that.

"All right," he nods, "You come along with me tonight, and we'll see what you think."

He doesn't think Al's going to screw him over. Not when they work at the casino, too. Not when it's a small market and they have to take what they can get. They may never be friends, exactly, but he's found Al to be a reliable business partner. And now that Al's seen him in a situation like this? He doesn't imagine he'll be in a hurry to get on his bad side.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I've got 500 in twenties and I've got a ton of great ideas...

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