Battered and bruised (mechanic!verse RP)
He'd entered the business when he was young. Come out of army training early because he had a problem with authority and following orders, but had learned enough in the ranks as a fresh-out-of-highschool kid that he knew he wasn't ever going to be able to go back to a nine-to-five in some cubicle. So he'd gone looking for those in need of his certain set of skills, those looking for someone who was quick, smart and deadly, and he'd found a mentor of a man in Christopher Pike, who'd taken him into the world of the Mechanics, where he'd found a bit of a calling.
Of course, he did not always work with his mentor, and as he came into his own he moved further and further away, taking more and more jobs, though he always circled back to his secluded home, on the outskirts of the bad side of New Orleans, where someone could blend right into the underground and not be noticed.
As a rule, Jim tended to avoid jobs in his hometown. There were other mechanics that could take them, after all, and he didn't want to do anything that tied him to one place or another. But this one was an exception, someone that needed to be taken down, someone that needed to be done quietly and with expertise. And, had everything worked the way it was supposed to, the way to company had said it would, the entire job would have gone down without a hitch. Of course, like most things in Jim's world, it did not go as planned.
Someone had tipped the Mark, and it was probably the man's hubris that had eventually resulted in his death instead of Jim's. He'd thought with warning he could take on his would-be assassin, and had come at Jim with a gun and his fists. Of course, Jim had better training than a drug dealer - no matter how fast he was moving up in the underworld - and in the end it was a boot to the trachea that killed the mark, though it was well after he'd taken a damn bullet the shoulder and been pistol whipped across the face a few times. He was almost positive his nose was broken, and he had a nasty gash above his eye that kept bleeding despite the stolen towel he'd pressed there. He supposed, in the end, it was better than what would have happened if the man had just hired someone to wait for Jim. A fellow professional probably could have killed him before he even knew what he'd been had.
And he knew a damn bullet out of his shoulder was probably something he shouldn't be doing on his own, not to mention he was over setting his own nose. It was already scarred and crooked a bit from the last time he'd broken it, so he found his way back into his car, and headed for a clinic he thought might just be the ticket. He remembered when it opened - a month or so ago - because he kept tabs on what was going on in his neighborhood as part of his self preservation, and he'd heard from a few people that the doctor didn't ask questions, didn't make a fuss and was good at what he did. That was exactly what Jim needed.
Of course, he didn't exactly realize it was just past eleven thirty seven when he stumbled out and knocked on the closed door - the doctor was probably out, but Jim was going to make his presence known just in case the man hadn't left. And he'd do it loudly.
Of course, he did not always work with his mentor, and as he came into his own he moved further and further away, taking more and more jobs, though he always circled back to his secluded home, on the outskirts of the bad side of New Orleans, where someone could blend right into the underground and not be noticed.
As a rule, Jim tended to avoid jobs in his hometown. There were other mechanics that could take them, after all, and he didn't want to do anything that tied him to one place or another. But this one was an exception, someone that needed to be taken down, someone that needed to be done quietly and with expertise. And, had everything worked the way it was supposed to, the way to company had said it would, the entire job would have gone down without a hitch. Of course, like most things in Jim's world, it did not go as planned.
Someone had tipped the Mark, and it was probably the man's hubris that had eventually resulted in his death instead of Jim's. He'd thought with warning he could take on his would-be assassin, and had come at Jim with a gun and his fists. Of course, Jim had better training than a drug dealer - no matter how fast he was moving up in the underworld - and in the end it was a boot to the trachea that killed the mark, though it was well after he'd taken a damn bullet the shoulder and been pistol whipped across the face a few times. He was almost positive his nose was broken, and he had a nasty gash above his eye that kept bleeding despite the stolen towel he'd pressed there. He supposed, in the end, it was better than what would have happened if the man had just hired someone to wait for Jim. A fellow professional probably could have killed him before he even knew what he'd been had.
And he knew a damn bullet out of his shoulder was probably something he shouldn't be doing on his own, not to mention he was over setting his own nose. It was already scarred and crooked a bit from the last time he'd broken it, so he found his way back into his car, and headed for a clinic he thought might just be the ticket. He remembered when it opened - a month or so ago - because he kept tabs on what was going on in his neighborhood as part of his self preservation, and he'd heard from a few people that the doctor didn't ask questions, didn't make a fuss and was good at what he did. That was exactly what Jim needed.
Of course, he didn't exactly realize it was just past eleven thirty seven when he stumbled out and knocked on the closed door - the doctor was probably out, but Jim was going to make his presence known just in case the man hadn't left. And he'd do it loudly.