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Geoffrey's declaration looked like a bluff and a bid for protection. We figured the Enforcer would protect him after that and leave the coast clear for us to hit others. Harold was kind of a guess, but he got very quiet after roles were assigned, so thought he might be a special. Of course, sometimes people get quiet because they are busy, so counting on posting frequency is unreliable. ^^Using the royal "we" in that paragraph. ^^ Why did you suspect Kitty (& Jimmy), DSX?
Apologies to everyone I backstabbed. :/ PMs were sparse. 2-3 people besides my partner in crime fighting crime, and only 1-2 for each. No real coordination or strategization.
Kitty sighs as Geoffrey and Marlene slump to the floor, foaming at the mouth. "You know, Jimmy, Tony'll collect protection money all day, but ask him for a fair cut for us? He welches on it, and his people pay - our friends. Selfish rat. I think it's time we return his shiv." She taps the slim blade on her bloody palm. "Whaddya say?"
Kitty regards Marlene with confusion. "What? Marlene, I love ya, hon, but I never understand what you mean. What do you think we should do?"
Kitty sighs. "I know it's not me, which Marlene seems to think now, so I'm betting Rick is clean, too. Marlene's information seems unreliable. I never trusted Corbyn; he was too eager for the kill. Just like a dirty copper."
"Shoot, I don't know."
"Marlene, I can't believe you'd side with this stranger instead of a regular, a guy who's done some good work for the boss, too! But I don't think you're a cop, Marlene. Just confused."
Kitty's plucked eyebrows draw togther as she tries to understand the canny waitress's logic. "I don't know, Marlene. I think Corbyn is, too. He was all het up to spill Jeremy's blood. Geoff is armed to the teeth, but he wasn't eager to kill like our absinthe-sipping friend." She sinks unhappily onto a chair, crossing her legs and kicking one foot nervously. "Tony's been a great boss, but I have to say, I don't like this little game of his very much."
"I'd like a live band, Kitty, if we get requests. And I don't want to tango, not knowing that two of you are dirty cops. Don't wanna get a shiv in the kidney," Kitty moans, hugging herself. "If you think Corbyn is a copper, why do you want to, uh, "search" Rick for a badge, Marlene? I don't get it."
"You are the server here, Marlene..." Kitty points out, with a nod at Corbyn, "So what are you trying to say?"
Kitty trots to Marlene to grab the waitress's towel. Scrubbing the blood from her face (and smearing her makeup), she turns on Corbyn, furious. "I trusted you! I told you... I thought your absinthe-sipping lunacy was cover from the coppers. You rat!" She turns to Geoffrey. "Tell me you weren't in it with him. We've worked together so long... He misled you, right?"
"He better be right, Rick. If he's not..."
"I don't know. I trust Geoffrey to protect us, though. He and Corbyn must know something the rest of us don't." Kitty looks sadly at the recipient of her recent stitching job, regretting that so much work would be for nothing.
Kitty droops onto a bar stool, looking unhappy but resigned, as if nothing could shock her further. "Poor Mikey. He talked a lot, but he was a good egg. Wasn't he, Marlene? Kept the riff-raff out, for the most part. Wish he'd done a little better job, though. Then we wouldn't be in this fix," she confides in the other distaff member of the survivors. "Wish the band were playing tonight so we could at least dance until we die. They had a band on the Titanic, even. One here seems fitting." She crosses her arms and shivers, despite the heat in the small, stuffy room.
"And when "our boys" finger someone, how do we know they're really "our boy"? How do we know "our boy" ain't a cop trying to get us to take out an honest mook for them?" Kitty's carefully cultivated educated accent slips a bit just as her mind slips further into general paranoia.
Kitty takes a glass of whatever Jimmy serves in response to Corbyn's round on the house. "Thanks, Corbyn. But I don't think a dirty copper - or anyone who would do that to the poor accountant - would hesitate at taking you up on a shot." She sets down the empty glass and sighs, looking around at the group. "So now what? We just sit around and wait for them to pick the next one off?"
Kitty backs away from Willard's table, eyes wide and one hand at her throat, as if checking for stray piano wire. "My God, they killed the bookkeeper. He seemed so harmless. I guess... I guess that's why. They haven't got the guts to go after a guy with a knife. Marlene, hon, we gotta be careful here."
Kitty looks at the glistening hemisphere of white stuffed with yellow goo in her hand. "I can't... no... here, you take it." She sets it on the bar in front of Harold.
Kitty watches the men eat in some confusion. Finally, she reaches across in front of Geoff to snag one of the two deviled egg halves left. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em," she mutters, settling onto a bar stool and holding the half-egg, not quite able to nibble it yet.
Kitty finishes her stitching and cleans up her needle and bloody hands. She passes her purse back to Marlene to stash behind the bar with a nod of thanks. "Hope you're right, hon. I'da sworn on my mother's grave that Dominic wasn't a copper, same as I'd swear about Geoff. Rick's a gumshoe, but not the heat. Heck, anybody here could have me fooled. Being a peeper must be hard." She shakes her head at Geoffrey's offer of food. "No way I can eat with that lying there." Her finger points in the general direction of the pile of blood and offal that was, moments before, Dominick the Lying Bootlegger, though her eyes are directed away from the gory sight.
Kitty shakes her head in bewilderment. "Marlene, hon, could you hand me my purse from behind the bar? Thanks, doll." She digs in her purse, sauntering over to Jeremy, then pulls a little book out of the bottom with a little coo of triumph. She pours the pine spirits in a glass and drops in a needle and coil of thread. "Don't worry, I used to stitch Daddy up when he came home bloody after a bar fight. Mama's hands usually shook too much. Pour some of this over the cut, then I'll stitch you up." With a humorless laugh, she explains, "Need something to keep my hands and mind busy with all this ruckus, and you're the second-worse-cut-up person here. Can't help Dom with this emergency sewing kit, and he doesn't deserve it, the rat. Lucky these kits come with a curved needle. Hold still, now." If Jeremy allows it, Kitty deftly puts a row of neat stitches in his arm to keep the skin closed.
Kitty cringes back as Tony's wrath explodes across the room, clinging to Geoffrey for support, one manicured hand across her mouth. When the boss leaves, she watches Rick take charge, still stunned by the sudden violence. "I thought Dominick was an honest bootlegger," she breathes, "He's a cop? And he was one of Tony's best friends! No wonder the boss is furious." She leans across the bar to whisper to Jimmy and Marlene. to bar staff: "Do you know who these newcomers are? I see three that aren't regulars. Mike didn't toss 'em out, though. Guess he knows 'em? How'd they get in if the door was locked, anyway? Maybe the boss wants them here special?"
Kitty's arched eyebrows rise even higher at the sight of the wad of cash the newcomer flashes. "I was gonna work that guy, but it doesn't look like Jimmy needs any help from me," she whispers to the private dick.
Seeing the poetic pauper's attention distracted by newcomers, Kitty saunters over to an open spot near Rick. Flicking the PI's tie, she favors him with a tiny half-smile. "'Lo, Rick," she purrs in her smokiest voice, "Surprised to see you here tonight." Her eyes flick to the locked door, the odd strangers, and the accountant who--weirdly--uses a typewriter to keep the books. "Strange night, isn't it?" she whispers to Rick, then continues more loudly. "Just sayin' hi, there's no point my spending time with you. You're either broke or planning to spend all your dough on hooch anyway, as usual. Besides," she taps the glass the poet left the PI, "Looks like you're doing a better job tonight for Tony than I am. I gotta watch out. You might replace me." She drops a quick wink at Jimmy to let him know she's working the room and see if he's spotted any prospects for her, then watches the antics of Corbyn, blue eyes wide. What the heck do they cut the drinks at MacGuffins with, gasoline?
I'd like to take the role of Harold the wannabe poet. (This is mr meowgi btw, changed my name). I believe I shine through my speak in rhyme, although I receive a lot of sass because I just look like a jackass. I want to be sure you know that I'm not being unfriendly OOC, Harold. Kitty's job is to sell drinks, and somebody with no money is just interfering with her work. B-girls are an old-timey, speakeasy classic to pry more money out of the customers. So please don't take it personally and don't give up on RP!
Kitty sighs in her turn as the poet ambles away. "You know, Geoff, sometimes this job is really bleak," she observes quietly (and a bit wistfully) to the cook.
No business here, and if he sticks like glue, I won't do business with anyone else. Kitty regards the poet for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "True love's sweet, and I won't knock it,
She quirks a half-smile at Geoffrey. "Majored in English Lit, for all the good it did me."
Kitty squints at Harold while her brain attempts to parse his... offer? request? accusation? She isn't sure, and a glance at Geoffrey doesn't help. In situations like this, there is only one surefire, Tiger-approved answer. "Maybe, but I'm a little dry. And a little short. Join me in a drink, your treat? It might be... worth your while." She hopes that Willard approves, if he is listening, and might report her good work to the boss. Of course, all the boss really cares about is what's in the till at the end of the night. She smiles brightly at the poet, hoping he is richer than he looks.
Kitty sinks onto a bar stool with a sigh, nodding a hello to Geoffrey. She checks the seam on the back of her aching calves with practiced ease, then slips the high heels from her feet, glancing around to be sure none of the bosses are watching. "'Lo, Geoffrey. Slow night, isn't it? Plenty of people, but things seem... I dunno...off. Might pick up in a bit. Guess I could go work the floor, but it's early. No point bothering Books, there... if ever there was an all work, no play kinda guy, he's it. And that guy in the corner, writing? Writers. Faugh. Notorious cheapskates. Never buy a girl a drink." She sighs again, then notices the appetizer plate ready for the wait staff. "Hey, Geoff, pass me a couple of them goodies, wouldja? We can tell the boss they're to keep me from getting tipsy - not that my drinks ever have much more than water in 'em. But I'm starvin'. C'mon, don't let a girl go hungry, Geoff." She bats big, blue eyes at the cook in a practiced plea.
Well, hello there. Come here often? Would you like to? |
