House Hunting (Attn: Jack Bennett)

jack carefully watched the building from across the street, his Duffle and canvas bags proped up against another house. He had several options for taking this place. But whatever the hell happened narrowed down those choices.

From the looks of things, I'll need to start getting creative.

Jack continued to watch the place, waiting for some signs of life in and outside.

Narration:

Jack sees a lot of the same people coming and going. The people most associated with the place are the members of a black street gang. There appear to be around a dozen gang members - tough-looking men ranging in age from around 30 down to about 15 - plus some younger kids that seem to serve mostly as mules and messengers. Aside from that, there are a variety of crack whores and customers who come in and out of the place night after night.

As far as Jack has been able to tell, the leader of the gang seems to be a tall, strong-looking, dark-skinned black man from somewhere in the Caribbean. He appears to be around 30 years old. He's the best-dressed of the bunch - he always wears nice suits and lots of stylish jewelry (as opposed to garish bling). He usually travels with one or two women, also nicely dressed.

Jack has noticed that the police don't seem to bother with the place. This would suggest someone is probably being paid off, though he's observed no such interactions.

Jack can also tell the place is pretty secure. It has several cameras, for one thing.

Which brings to mind the question: Jack has been paying attention to them, but have they noticed Jack?

((ST Note: Jack: Go ahead and roll Intelligence + Subterfuge and Wits + Stealth))

As Jack observed the place , he kept himself crouched in the shadows of the building. While he wasn't well versed in technology, he was faily certain that at this distance, he would only appear to be some sort of smug on the lens or a minor malfunction.
And thats why human sentries are superior to cameras. He though with a slight smirk creeping across his withered lips.

Spoiler:

Narration:

As far as Jack can tell, those he's observing are none the wiser of his presence. If they are aware of him, they certainly haven't done anything to show it, nor has there been any notable change of traffic or activity in/out of the house.

On this particular night, Jack observes an event that does stand out. There are three men - some of the gang regulars he recognizes - and two women outside. He recognizes one of the women as a regular customer, a prostitute that plies her trade a few blocks away. The other one he's seen around a few times, and he thinks she might be the girlfriend of one of the gang guys.

None of that is unusual... but then Jack sees a long, dark sedan approach the house slowly. One of the men in front of the house notices this and seems concerned... he points and shouts a warning as he reaches behind his back to draw a weapon. Before he can finish the motion, gunfire erupts from the windows on the passenger side of the car, opposite from Jack's vantage point across the street. He hears the loud boom of some high-caliber firearm, as well as burst fire. As far as he can tell, there are at least three shooters. Jack can tell they bear colors different from the gang running the crack house; they prominently wear black bandanas, while the gang running the house of interest to Jack mostly wear red ones.

The shooting continues for just a couple seconds before the car speeds off. Some people carrying automatic weapons and shotguns rush out of the house, but the car is already well down the street by then. Jack sees that two of the men and both of the women who were in front of the house at the time are down. There is a lot of screaming and cursing in front of the house.

A couple minutes later, the large Caribbean man comes out of the house, flanked by two men with shotguns and the two women who usually travel with him. Jack sees him look at the bodies, then point to some men and to the bodies. He and his entourage go back inside as two men bring the bodies inside one by one.

Jack notices that nobody comes outside from any of the nearby homes to look at what happened, though a few windows do light up, and a couple times he sees cautious viewers silhoutted by the lights as they look outside.

Jack just watched the events unfold from his vantage point. The sound of bullets and gunfire brought back memories, one of them he wanted to visit at this moment. So, its war between two gangs.... Jack let that thought swin in his mind for a few minutes, long enough for the gang to pick up their fallen and go back inside.
I think I have an Idea.
Pulling his hat down and proping the collar of his jacket up, Jack stood up and made his way over to the house. He forced his will to make him visable to the cameras, he didn't want to put more fear and paranoia into them. As soon as he was there, he gave the door a knock.

Spoiler:

Several seconds go by, then a small panel in the door slides open. " What's your name and what you want?" asks a rough voice from inside.

"Names Jack. Interested in buying...Maybe helping you guys out with those shit-heads that just blew past." As he said that, he tried to turn on whatever charm he had left after the disease on. He was sure the guard could see him through the panel.

Spoiler:

"Mine letting me in so I can have a chat with him?"

The door panel closes, and nothing happens for perhaps 20 seconds, then he hears the sounds of multiple locks or latches being unlocked or unlatched. Finally the door opens. Two black men stand there. One holds a pistol, the other a shotgun, though neither aims the weapon at Jack.

"Whatcha lookin' at buyin'?" the guy with the pistol asks. "An' what can you do to help wi' those muthafuckers?"

Jack crossed his arms, but kept himself looking as relaxed as he could."Depend on what ya got. As for them... A small smlie creeped onto his lips. "Well, lets just say I'm good at making problems disapear, if you know what I mean."

The guy with the shotgun nods, and both step out of the way so Jack can enter. After shutting the door behind Jack and locking it, the guy with the pistol steps toward Jack, his empty hand out. "Gotta search you," he explains, simply. The guy with the shotgun stands a pace back, and while the shotgun is not raised at Jack, that could easily change with a moment's notice.

"You carrying?" asks the guy with the pistol.

"Go ahead and check if you have to." Jack let his arms fall to the sides. "Not packing heat mate. Not a smart thing to do here." Of course his rifle was outside, hidden from view.

Narration:

The guy with the gun searches Jack very thoroughly, even pulling up his shirt to look for wires or recording equipment. Finally he steps back.

"We got crack, we got snow, we got ice, we got X, we got weed, we jus' got in some good hash, an' we got H," he rattles off. "This makin' problems disappear... you a solo, or you 'sociated wi' someone?"

"Used to be with other guys, but now I'm Solo." Jack said after they finished thir search. He seemed to think about the choice for a few seconds before saying. "Weed will do. It helps take the edge off."

Narration:

Jack and the guy with the pistol haggle and come up with a price for a bag of weed. While they do that, someone comes from another room and stands by the door. After the guy with the pistol has Jack's cash and Jack has the bag of pot, the guy with the pistol waves it toward the stairs. "This other business, you have to talk to the Doctor about. He's busy right now, but we can take you upstairs to wait, give you a chance to enjoy our find product."

He starts up the stairs, while the guy with the shotgun moves behind Jack. Meanwhile, the guy by the door slides open the thin panel and asks someone outside what they want.

"Sure Mate. Though I think I'll save this for a little later. Got shit planned for it." He said with a smile as he shoved the bag into his pocket and followed the man upstairs. Things were going good so far, lets just hope they stay that way.

Narration:

They lead Jack upstairs to a room. It's reasonably clean, the furniture is well-worn but looks comfortable, and it includes a refrigeration, a well-stocked bar and a big-screen TV. The door to the room looks quite sturdy, and the windows are covered with heavy security bars, the view blocked by venetian blinds. Another door opens into a small bathroom.

"The Doctor may be awhile, so make yourself comfortable," pistol-guy says. "You need anything, Hakim here will be right outside." He gestures to the guy with the shotgun.

"Sure." Jack said as he took a seat and tried to relax. The pain in his body was now starting to be a little more obvious. He tried to take his mind off it by having a look around the room. Seems secure... Stocked to help Kine survive...Yeah, if this works, it will serve The Movement well. He turned his head to Hakim and nods to him. What kind of name is Hakim? Kids these days...

Narratiion:

Hakim nods in reply, leaves the room and locks the door. Jack waits uneventually for some time, at least an hour. He remembers to keep up the appearance of breathing.

Finally, he hears a key, and tumblers turning, and the door opens. Hakim enters first, holding the shotgun across his chest with both hands. Behind him is the tall, Caribbean man he'd noticed before, the apparent leader of this operation.

This man has a barrel chest, thick arms and thighs and huge hands. His head is shaved. Up close, Jack can see the man has several small pockmark scars on the left side of his face, from cheekbone to chin. He's impeccably dressed, in the sort of suit Jack associates with the very wealthy, or the Invictus, and perfectly-shined aligator shoes. He wears several rings on his thick fingers - gold, some with rubies - along with gold and ruby cufflinks and tie clip. The man turns and nods to the two women - statuesque, stylishly and expensively dressed - then walks into the room. He picks up a chair in one large hand and sits it opposite Jack. He seats himself, leaning back, his fingers steepled. He says nothing for a few moments, studying Jack, then says, in a deep voice with island accent.

"I am told you are the sort of person that fixes problems, and that you may have a proposition for me. I will listen, but first tell me about yourself, and what you would like me to call you."

Jack smiles slightly, his eyes mostly shadowed by the baseball cap. You really couldn't see him taking a nice long look a the girls. As soon as they were gone and the man Jack figered was the leader started speaking, he turned his full attention to him.
"Well mate, you can me Jack. I'v been around for awhile and a do a few...jobs here and there for people." He said simply. He left the rest to the mans imagination. "Anway, we both have problems. I need a place to say that won't draw too much attention and you have guys shooting up the place. You let me crash here for awhile and those guys...Well, I'll make sure they Bugger off for good."

"Hmmmm, yes," he replies, before falling silently for a time. He closes his eyes, apparently deep in thought, and when he opens them again, he leans forward, his hands on his knees, and locks eyes with Jack.

"So, let me be certain I understand your offer. You are offering to take care of my problem with these hoodlums in exchange for a place to stay. Is this all you seek, and if so, why do you offer so much for so low a cost? Are you attempting to hide from someone? Do you have powerful enemies that you would bring to my door?"

Jack can nosently say he didn't expect this guy to speak much better than the other gansters here. Must have went to a better school or something. "Well, it works a little like this. Say if I want to stay here but not get rid of those guys, I sure as hell won't live long if the place is under constant gunfire." Jack tired to supress a laugh at the last part, at best he couldn't help by smirk. "I'm hiding from no-one Mate and any enemies I have are most likely not around anymore."

The dark-skinned man nods his head. "Very well, but none of this answers my first question: Why do you offer so much at so low a cost? You seem an intelligent man, Jack, and one would expect that an intelligent man possessing the talents you profess would be able to easily arrange for acceptable lodging without worry of frequent gunfire. So, you no doubt understand why this causes me some suspicion. "

His dark eyes are almost hypnotic, and Jack gets the impression they do not miss much.

Jack arched an eyebrow, though you really couldn't see it.This one really is smarter than the dumb asses downstairs...Could be useful later on.
Jack relaxed his face again and continued smiling. "Think of it as me being generous for a change. I could find my own place, but there isn't much in the housing market that suits what I prefer. Besides, one less gang to cause trouble on these streets so this deal benefits you, me and the city as a whole."
He was sure that sounded convincing. If not, he would have to pull more Majesty and hope for the best. I hate working on the fly sometimes...

"Hm," is all he says, clearly not entirely satisfied by Jack's answer. The man sits back in his chair, his fingers templed again. His face is motionless, not even blinking, as he studies Jack's face. After a minute or two, he replies.

"My life experience has taught me to be wary of generosity. Too often the hand offering something serves to distract one from the other hand, which holds the machete. But, there is also that saying regarding gift horses.

"As it happens, those responsible for tonight's disturbance...well, let it just be said I have plans for dealing with them. But there are always other jobs needing done.

"Tell me, Jack, are there limits on the sorts of jobs you will accept?"

Perhaps a little too smart. Jack though as he listened to the man. He had forgoten how difficult negotiations could be. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was kicking himself for not listening to his Sires advice about this sort of thing.
He seemed to think about this for a moment. "Depends on the job. Just so long as it's not during the day, I'm usually too tired to do anything usefull at that time."

The man nods. "Such work as I am talking about is best done by night, to draw upon the fear most have of the dark." He grins, showing even, very white teeth. "I have no such fear, but I am willing to use others' weaknesses against them."

He lifts his left hand to head level and snaps his fingers. The woman behind and to the left of his chair steps forward and hands him a red folder. He opens it, takes out a photo and holds it up to show it to Jack.

The photo depicts a very pretty African-American girl, probably around 12 years old. She is dressed in a dance outfit and has her hair done in two neat braids.

"I want this girl hurt very badly, in a specific way, and severely enough that she will never completely recover. Would you have a problem doing this, Jack?" His dark eyes lock with Jack's as he asks this question.

Jack looked at the photo for a few seconds. She didn't appear to be very important, nor did he see much reason to do so.
But Jack made it this far, there was really no way of turning back without getting slaughtered or at least get shot up badly. Not with his body so weak.
"What do you have in mind?"

"She is a dancer. Quite talented, I am told, very promising. I want her to be shot through both knees in some manner from which she will not be able to recover fully. If she can eventually walk, but not dance, all the better. Even better yet would be if it can be arranged for this to occur in view of one or both of her parents, though that is not absolutely necessary."

The man's voice is as even and calm as if he were ordering appetizers at a restaurant.

"Hm..." Curiousity was starting to plauge Jacks mind. He had little idea why this man would want a simple girl like this to have her legs shot through and destroyed.
"I'm sure that what I'm about to ask doesn't matter, but why this girl?"

The man turns the picture to look at it, smiles, then places it back inside the red folder. Then, still smiling, he explains his motives.

"Her father owes me a substantial amount of money, and has for some time now, yet he has made no significant progress toward paying what is owed. He believes his position within society makes him immune to the consequences of his dishonesty and puts him beyond my reach. It is my desire that he learn otherwise. I am told the thing he treasures most in all the world is his daughter. Thus will he learn that by withholding what is owed to me, he risks that which he treasures."

Very much a screwed up invictus metality. Jack thought with disdain, though he didn't show it.
"So, the basics is that I find her, Break or shoot her legs and let dad know the consequences for not paying up?" Thinking back on it, it sounded a lot like old chicago as well. Some things never change as far Jack can tell.
"Is there a place she shows up frequently that I can take advangate of?"

"Yes. You will find that information in this briefing folder." He hands Jack the red folder. "I would prefer her knees be shot out, but if you would prefer to work in a more up-close manner, that is acceptable, so long as you make certain the damage is such that she never regains full mobility and strength in her legs."

Inside the folder, Jack sees pictures of a handsome black man and his family, and listings of each by name, address and frequent locations. He notices the girl's name is Jada, and that information is included for her school, her dance studio (including evening lesson times) and the names and addresses of her best friends. He also notes that the man is named Tyrone Franklin, and works as a publicist in the Mayor's office.

"So, Jack, let us talk terms. If you handle this for me, I will provide you with accommodations here within my operation, and we can talk from there about other arrangements. Is this agreeable to you?"

Jack Reads as much of the file he can, trying to remember every little bit of information as possible. Mayors office? Hm, just as corrupt as chicargo. He though as he closed the folder.

"Yeah mate. That sounds alright."

"We have a deal, then," he says, leaning forward and offering his large, strong-looking hand to shake. With the hand extended, Jack can make out a ring that hadn't previously caught his attention: Gold, large and thick, shaped in the likeness of a skull with small rubies in the eye sockets.

Huh, Thats not morbid at all. Jack pushed the though out of his head and shook the mans hand. It didn't seem to have much of a grip, but then again his body was weaker than normal.
"Sure this will work out well for both of us." He said with a smile.

Narration:

The man says "I look forward to your results." His grip is firm, but not crushing. Jack gets a sense this man is comfortable in his power and does not feel the need to engage in petty displays, prefering to utilize it in ways that matter.

He stands. "Hakim will show you out, as I have business elsewhere in the house. I will look forward to your reporting back when you have completed the task we discussed." With that he turns and leaves, the two women falling in behind him. Hakim stands behind them, and when the coast is clear, he gestures to the door, the shotgun still held across his chest in his other hand.

"Later then." Jack said just before he left. He got up and reajusted his hat. He was sure he didn't managed to see enough detail just yet. He walked over to the door and gave Hakim a nod before opening the door. "Got a number to call your boss?"

Hakim speaks for the first time since Jack came into the house. "He got no phone, don' take no calls. Says dey can be traced and listened in on. Business come to the door, not over no phone."

Hakim steps to the door and pulls back numerous long, thick latches and bars. Jack notices the door frame is steel-reinforced, and the door itself steel-cored, and that with all these bars, a police ram isn't getting through.

Hakim opens the door for Jack.

"Sounds fair." Jack said nonchantly as he shoved the folder into his jacket. He had a slight smile on his face as he noticed the door for the first time. Picked the right place, even if its a crackhouse. He though as he gave Hakim another nod before stepping outside and made his way across the street.