[log]Grimmjow Jaggerjack, Hiyori Sarugaki
Title: Friends in Arms
Characters: Grimmjow (gogodgene), Hiyori (shinebunny)
Timeline: February 08, 1949
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hiyori tracks down an interesting lead. She finds Grimmjow instead.
=======
Hiyori clutched her coat more tightly around her - this February was bitterly cold. Bad month all over, she thought darkly, as she stepped to the warehouse door. She checked for a number, a logo, a company, anything. It was almost hard to tell in the dim light. Nope, it wasn't marked. This was it.
With a great heaving motion, she managed to open the door. She was actually surprised it wasn't locked, but whatever. It was fine for her if this cat conducted business sloppily. It wasn't like she was here to bust him or anything. Maybe a couple months ago, yes. But now? She was just a dame in need of some heat. And information. There was a rumor floating around, just barely a murmur: not only were his goods impressive, he was in the books. A member of the Mafia, maybe even a pretty special one.
She stepped into the near-blackness, glad to be out of the wind. She wasn't really any better off here. In fact, 'here' was where things really got, as a more pretentious speaker might call it, interesting. As Hiyori would say, the shit was about to go down.
"I had to go all 'round Brooklyn t' find you, an' then I had to yap about 'car parts' and 'scrap heaps'," she spat out into the dark. Let him think she as tactless and loud, even brash. But she wasn't afraid, and she damn well wasn't about to let him think she was. "You'd better be here. An' your beanshooters better be damn good. 'Else you're gonna find out subtlety's not really my thing."
Grimmjow, surprisingly, conducted his business very carefully. Potential buyers had to go through a lot of questions and jump a lot of hurdles before they ever finally got to talk to him. The reward was no one in the city, or even the next five states over, had as much firepower as he did. The blue-haired arms dealer was one of the best, if not THE best, when it came to things that exploded and killed with superb efficiency.
Jaggerjack was also good about getting his hands on things that were otherwise foreign to the states and never heard of. Of course, he made sure to get a small amount of foreign guns and sell them as fast as he could. And only to people he trusted with the things. Didn't need all of New York running around with his hardware and pointing back to him.
Although, that was sometimes how things worked out.
In any case, he was choosey and cautious about whom to sell to, and was serious about staying organized. So, when a small firecracker of a bim busted through his door, he wasn't surprised in the least. He knew the dame would be heading his way today, so he didn't even bother to lock down his door. Grimmjow had heard things from his contacts around the city. Girl was a tough broad with an explosive temper. There were, of course, some rumors that the midget had belonged to the boys in blue, but nothing was confirmed. Even if she was somehow undercover, she was doing a damn good job of acting the part.
The blue-haired man just smirked, brandishing a roscoe from the back of his jeans, and sneaking up next to the girl before training the barrel of the gun to her raggedy-blonde head.
"There's always a reason why ya gotta jump thru' so many hoops for good things, girlie. Don't forget that." The Bruno withdrew the rod, holstering it in the back of his jeans. "Patience ain't usually my thing, so don't take advantage of it and start tryin' to shoot the shit. What'd ya come for, kid?"
Her first reaction was to reach for her gun, but she stifled it almost as automatically as it came. She cussed under her breath. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
No use letting him get ahead by two steps. It had been dark, fine, made sense that, since she was on his turf, he would already be ahead of her. She did a mental check. She had just one rod - simple, old, her typical arm of choice - which was tucked into a holster at her side, covered partially by the long coat she wore. He'd find it quickly if he looked, hell, he might even ask for it. She had no idea how this one did business. It was why she hadn't bothered to hide more heat.
Then he backed off, even put his gun away. His words finally hit her - kid? - and she had to bite her tongue to keep the retort from coming out. He'd put away his gun, but he'd be quick to bring it out again if she irritated him. She crossed her eyes and made a face, which he probably didn't see in the darkness. Too bad.
"Traps," she finally answered, "Somethin' small that could guard a building real good, but could be shut off and put on again easy." This guy was more a firearms dealer - most of the murmurs had focused on the shiny, fancy-ass guns he sold - but she wouldn't be surprised if he had other things that went boom. The question might have caught him a little off-guard, considering. "If you dont' have those specifically, I'll take some explosives, whatever you've got." She smiled crookedly. "An' I'll see what I can do with 'em."
Grimmjow didn't even care if the small broad had a Roscoe tucked away, he had no beef with her. It wouldn't be conducive to her safety if she shot him, anyway, for numerous reasons. The arms dealer had a feeling that Raggedy-Anne here wasn't a bunny.
The blue-maned tomcat sauntered over to his filing cabinet. Traps and things that went boom; hopefully, they were all in the same place. He had to smile at the fact that Miss Blondie seemed pretty confident in handling explosives. The Bruno might just have something that suited her nicely.
"So, how big is this place ya wanna guard? We talkin' a buildin' with stories, somethin' big, or just a fuckin' house? I got plenty of shit that'll keep ya safe in 'ur little fortress, but ya wouldn't want somethin' too big or you'll just end up hurtin' urself."
Grimmjow headed over to a corner of the warehouse to check out some one of the crates that housed gas bombs, mines, C2, and even classic fucking caltrops. He had tons of things that could trip up a whole army of people if one was so inclined. The marksman pulled out the hidden drawer, looking over the various "traps."
"I got knockout gas, grenade canisters, regular explodin' pineapples, mines, barbed wire, garrote wire, caltrops, and even some new C2. That'll cost ya a pretty penny, but it's a really nice fuckin' bomb. Mold it ta any shape 'n stick anywhere. Ya can even set a timer on it or turn it on and off. Stuff is rare, so I only got a little of it. Wouldn't be good for layered buildings. Anythin' tickle 'ur fancy so far?"
She screwed her nose up in thought. Better than she’d expected. Real good, actually. He was definitely well-connected and well-armed. He had her so impressed that she’d almost forgotten half of why she was here: to see if this guy was Mafia.
To be honest, Hiyori hadn’t been playing in the big leagues too long. You do some petty crime, you bust a few cases. Toward the end the cases had started getting bigger, but she’d never met someone with as much heat this guy. Yeah, he was big. Was his name written at the top of the books? She had no clue. Wild cards weren’t appreciated in any kind of establishment, Mafia included.
Anyway, it was better not to give details.“A buildin’,” she said, “not huge, but it needs some protectin’. Don’t have to be gentle, either.” She screwed up her nose even more, and bared her teeth. It would have to be gentle. The others would probably prefer most of the intruders alive and relatively unharmed for questioning, which nixed the grenades. And C2? What was he doing, taking her for stupid? That shit was pricey. But…
“Barbed wire and knockout gas. And gimme a little of the C2,” she added spitefully, trying not to sound too gleeful. Her comrades were such boobs they’d probably pop in and blow themselves up. Deactivation was a must. It might blow a little hole in one of the warehouse walls, but they could afford part of a wall. It was the price to be paid for the silence of any Jane, Bruno, or Dick who was desperate and prepared enough to break the shallower barriers. That was trouble right there. Bruno tries to break in, he gets blown to bits; she comes back to find a half-blown-up wall and nothing left of the bastard. Sounded perfect to her.
She was reckless to ask for it, but she wasn’t in the habit of caring. If this cat was reporting to anyone, he would probably deliver news of such an odd purchase. Hiyori wasn’t good at discreet; she hadn’t been lying. She just couldn’t see him passing this news on. Unless he had a really, really good reason, she didn’t see him answering to any authority. And, fuck it all, she couldn’t lie: she wanted that C2 shit. Bad. Not every Bruno had that kind of thing. Almost enough that it was worth blowing her cover just to get her hands on it.
Grimmjow brightened considerably when he heard C2 tumble from the broad's lips. This sale couldn't get any better; he had been waiting for a while to part with the shit. It was a little hot, even for him. When he was first given the stuff by a guy who knew a guy who killed a guy that had the bomb, he couldn't resist such a great opportunity to own something so damn kickass. 30 pounds of the stuff; 15 blocks of explosive in all.
It had been the hardest thing to get rid of in his life. If he were some kinda demolitions patsy, the blue-haired Bruno would've been glad to use it up himself. But how often did the Concavos go around blowing shit up? Hardly, if at all. Luckily, the military fanatics and buffs had flocked to him once word had gotten out. Now there were only 4 blocks left.
The arms dealer grabbed a pair of gloves and cutter pliers sitting next to the barbed wire. He always wore gloves when handling anything that was being shipped out or sold, made him harder to track if he wasn't spreading his prints everywhere. The tough-as-nails button man snipped off a couple feet off the wire.
"So, Raggedy Anne, you must belong ta some pretty important group if 'ur lookin' into defense, especially for a buildin'. Alotta groups, they just get the standard, legal security stuff. Ya know, cameras and muscle." Grimmjow fit the wire inside of a long, black tube--something that looked like it would come off a gutter spigot. He winded up the tube, and set it on the floor. "Some underground types, though, I guess they're startin' to work outta warehouses and investin' in their own means of protection." The knockout gas was next to be lifted out of the drawer; CS gas. Nonlethal, but nasty stuff in its own right. Enough of it could cause a bo to vomit for 10 minutes. Standard quantities cause irritation of the eyes and skin, as well as shortness of breath. Enough damage to stop a man in his tracks. Grimmjow packed away 6 cans into a box.
"I heard of this group, dunno, Murder somethin'. Go around killin' whoever for the right price. I heard they work like that, but fuck if I know. Not my interest. Some of the gangs 'round these parts don't like 'em cause they're killin' off their buddies." Two small blocks of C2 were the last thing to be picked up. From a far, they looked like clay blocks wrapped in black wax paper, which they pretty much were. A small box holding a timer and detonator was placed out, as well. "I only care cause that means less customers for me. Otherwise, I don't give a shit." Finally, Grimmjow fit all of the bim's items in an attache case, and snapped it shut. Should anybody try to poke around, she couldn't exactly be incriminated by how the things were packed. The marksmen put the case on his desk and looked at the girl with a smirk.
"I don't think my boss would want me sellin' ta them, anyhow. But you don't have to worry 'bout that, since 'ur just one girl. Anyway, here ya go, princess. Quick couple of warnin's: you use those gas canisters, it better be somewhere ventilated. And invest in some masks. All, less is more with that C2. You can take any ol' knife to it and cut yourself a chunk, but too big, an' ya might find 'urself blowin' up a city block. Detonator's pretty easy to use too; just stick it in the clay, watch the magic."
Hiyori observed, all sharp eyes and twitchy limbs, as the arms dealer went about his work. She admired his touch with the stuff. She found herself coolly nodding in approval as he directed her on proper usage of her highly dangerous explosives. Nice of him to give her the tip, if not annoying. She would have gotten the handle of it, figured it out. She learned through trial and error. But she had to remind herself that this wasn’t the kind of shit you played around with.
She examined the box. As she sifted gently, almost lovingly, through it's contents, her gaze melted to something that was almost loving. She heaved it up, only to put it back down again. Damn heavy box. But she'd get it out of here, somehow.
He was flapping gums some more, and she caught one pharse clear, like a radio shifting from fuzzy channel to fuzzy channel to crisp voices: Murder, Inc. Her twitching stopped, and she leaned forward stiffly, all ears. Boss. He had a boss. So he was working for someone, although his very tone seemed to be giving that someone the bird. He kept talking, the dial kept twisting: just a girl. Just a girl. Dickhead. She was used to it, but still. Bastard. At least he was giving her the goods.
“I never heard of any Murder anybodies,” she said, maybe a little too fiercely. Damn. She was trying to keep her cool, here. “Who the hell would call themselves that? That’s just plain dumb." Suddenly, her signiture smile, sticky as sin, appeared on her small, sharp, freckled face. "Maybe some renegades are good now an' then. After someone fucked up that hit a couple'a years ago ya can't really trust crime to do its job."
Never heard of them? Everybody who was worth their salt had heard about them. Well, people who lived in the night life of New York; the resident grifters and bosses. Maybe this girl had a run-in with them, a bad run-in, and didn't like talking about it. Or maybe she was doing business with them.
Either way, saying she had never heard of something that was akin to the Boogeyman was odd in itself. Of course, Grimmjow was more surprised when the girl actually said something about the fucked up shooting from four years ago. Yeah, what a mess. The blue-haired bruno sighed, leaning on the desk in front of him and unconsciously scratched at his stomach.
Yeah...
"Well princess, just make sure ya keep yourself blind, deaf, 'n dumb. They ain't people ta tango with, even for the likes of you." Grimmjow ignored the comment about the shooting.
"Anyway, you got money or not? I don't take I.O.U.'s."
Her sticky smile screwed up into a sour expression of distaste. She was relieved he hadn’t thought much of it. But there were a million reasons that she might be skittish about that kinda thing, she reckoned.
Boss she replayed inside her head, triumphant in her mind's voice, Murder, Inc.
He had slipped up, just for a moment, probably didn't realize it, the idiot, and Hiyori was going to cling to it (with her sharp little claws). Too bad he hadn't slipped any other tidbits. But she was proud - word was getting around. Maybe it was that lowlife she pumped with lead last week. She'd done the deed herself, a perfect, messy job. Left him lying in a garbage can for the cops to find. H'e'd been stupid enough to beg. Hiyori hated when they did that.
She snorted, and reached into a deep inner pocket of her coat. She pulled out a clump of cash, and some loose change, and let it fall to the floor before her.
“That enough for you?”
A quick flip through the wad of greenbacks proved that it was, indeed, enough. Probably a bit more, but he wasn't going to say anything about that. Grimmjow stashed the C's in his desk drawer, not really trusting anybody to see where he really put it. The safe the blue-maned tomcat had now was certainly more secret than the place he put all his dough when he first started this gig; under his mattress.
Jaggerjack smirked at his very interesting customer.
"Thanks a million, Raggedy Anne. Maybe next time you'll bring friends. Hope ya enjoy makin' things go boom. Now get the hell out."
It was time to lock this place up for some eats, after all.
Hiyori gave him a last defiant look before heaving the box up. Even the smallest burdens were trouble for her, if only for how unwieldy they proved to her small frame. She turned - not giving him her back; she never gave her back on principle of survival - and exited the warehouse. All this proved to be more, as she only had one hand free and the other was occupied holding the damn heavy box.
When she slid the door behind her, she could feel the sticky smile rising. The February wind bit her once again; cold and sharp like needles. In spite of the cold, her blood was hot and she was twitching in anticipation. She stood still for a minute and let the thoughts process through the whir of excitement, excitement which had grown as the scent of discovery had grown more keen. Now, in the sharp, cold air again, she knew: she had found something. Like a hound who'd smelled blood, Hiyori knew innately.
She had been insulted and treated like a ten-year-old girl. Bastard didn't have any manners. Aside from that, he had been good business, got her some real good stuff. "Nice doin' business with ya," she said under her breath, struggling a bit under the weight of the box.
The words, like her footsteps, were swallowed by the outdoors as she walked away, still stumbling over the box.
Characters: Grimmjow (gogodgene), Hiyori (shinebunny)
Timeline: February 08, 1949
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Hiyori tracks down an interesting lead. She finds Grimmjow instead.
=======
Hiyori clutched her coat more tightly around her - this February was bitterly cold. Bad month all over, she thought darkly, as she stepped to the warehouse door. She checked for a number, a logo, a company, anything. It was almost hard to tell in the dim light. Nope, it wasn't marked. This was it.
With a great heaving motion, she managed to open the door. She was actually surprised it wasn't locked, but whatever. It was fine for her if this cat conducted business sloppily. It wasn't like she was here to bust him or anything. Maybe a couple months ago, yes. But now? She was just a dame in need of some heat. And information. There was a rumor floating around, just barely a murmur: not only were his goods impressive, he was in the books. A member of the Mafia, maybe even a pretty special one.
She stepped into the near-blackness, glad to be out of the wind. She wasn't really any better off here. In fact, 'here' was where things really got, as a more pretentious speaker might call it, interesting. As Hiyori would say, the shit was about to go down.
"I had to go all 'round Brooklyn t' find you, an' then I had to yap about 'car parts' and 'scrap heaps'," she spat out into the dark. Let him think she as tactless and loud, even brash. But she wasn't afraid, and she damn well wasn't about to let him think she was. "You'd better be here. An' your beanshooters better be damn good. 'Else you're gonna find out subtlety's not really my thing."
Grimmjow, surprisingly, conducted his business very carefully. Potential buyers had to go through a lot of questions and jump a lot of hurdles before they ever finally got to talk to him. The reward was no one in the city, or even the next five states over, had as much firepower as he did. The blue-haired arms dealer was one of the best, if not THE best, when it came to things that exploded and killed with superb efficiency.
Jaggerjack was also good about getting his hands on things that were otherwise foreign to the states and never heard of. Of course, he made sure to get a small amount of foreign guns and sell them as fast as he could. And only to people he trusted with the things. Didn't need all of New York running around with his hardware and pointing back to him.
Although, that was sometimes how things worked out.
In any case, he was choosey and cautious about whom to sell to, and was serious about staying organized. So, when a small firecracker of a bim busted through his door, he wasn't surprised in the least. He knew the dame would be heading his way today, so he didn't even bother to lock down his door. Grimmjow had heard things from his contacts around the city. Girl was a tough broad with an explosive temper. There were, of course, some rumors that the midget had belonged to the boys in blue, but nothing was confirmed. Even if she was somehow undercover, she was doing a damn good job of acting the part.
The blue-haired man just smirked, brandishing a roscoe from the back of his jeans, and sneaking up next to the girl before training the barrel of the gun to her raggedy-blonde head.
"There's always a reason why ya gotta jump thru' so many hoops for good things, girlie. Don't forget that." The Bruno withdrew the rod, holstering it in the back of his jeans. "Patience ain't usually my thing, so don't take advantage of it and start tryin' to shoot the shit. What'd ya come for, kid?"
Her first reaction was to reach for her gun, but she stifled it almost as automatically as it came. She cussed under her breath. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
No use letting him get ahead by two steps. It had been dark, fine, made sense that, since she was on his turf, he would already be ahead of her. She did a mental check. She had just one rod - simple, old, her typical arm of choice - which was tucked into a holster at her side, covered partially by the long coat she wore. He'd find it quickly if he looked, hell, he might even ask for it. She had no idea how this one did business. It was why she hadn't bothered to hide more heat.
Then he backed off, even put his gun away. His words finally hit her - kid? - and she had to bite her tongue to keep the retort from coming out. He'd put away his gun, but he'd be quick to bring it out again if she irritated him. She crossed her eyes and made a face, which he probably didn't see in the darkness. Too bad.
"Traps," she finally answered, "Somethin' small that could guard a building real good, but could be shut off and put on again easy." This guy was more a firearms dealer - most of the murmurs had focused on the shiny, fancy-ass guns he sold - but she wouldn't be surprised if he had other things that went boom. The question might have caught him a little off-guard, considering. "If you dont' have those specifically, I'll take some explosives, whatever you've got." She smiled crookedly. "An' I'll see what I can do with 'em."
Grimmjow didn't even care if the small broad had a Roscoe tucked away, he had no beef with her. It wouldn't be conducive to her safety if she shot him, anyway, for numerous reasons. The arms dealer had a feeling that Raggedy-Anne here wasn't a bunny.
The blue-maned tomcat sauntered over to his filing cabinet. Traps and things that went boom; hopefully, they were all in the same place. He had to smile at the fact that Miss Blondie seemed pretty confident in handling explosives. The Bruno might just have something that suited her nicely.
"So, how big is this place ya wanna guard? We talkin' a buildin' with stories, somethin' big, or just a fuckin' house? I got plenty of shit that'll keep ya safe in 'ur little fortress, but ya wouldn't want somethin' too big or you'll just end up hurtin' urself."
Grimmjow headed over to a corner of the warehouse to check out some one of the crates that housed gas bombs, mines, C2, and even classic fucking caltrops. He had tons of things that could trip up a whole army of people if one was so inclined. The marksman pulled out the hidden drawer, looking over the various "traps."
"I got knockout gas, grenade canisters, regular explodin' pineapples, mines, barbed wire, garrote wire, caltrops, and even some new C2. That'll cost ya a pretty penny, but it's a really nice fuckin' bomb. Mold it ta any shape 'n stick anywhere. Ya can even set a timer on it or turn it on and off. Stuff is rare, so I only got a little of it. Wouldn't be good for layered buildings. Anythin' tickle 'ur fancy so far?"
She screwed her nose up in thought. Better than she’d expected. Real good, actually. He was definitely well-connected and well-armed. He had her so impressed that she’d almost forgotten half of why she was here: to see if this guy was Mafia.
To be honest, Hiyori hadn’t been playing in the big leagues too long. You do some petty crime, you bust a few cases. Toward the end the cases had started getting bigger, but she’d never met someone with as much heat this guy. Yeah, he was big. Was his name written at the top of the books? She had no clue. Wild cards weren’t appreciated in any kind of establishment, Mafia included.
Anyway, it was better not to give details.“A buildin’,” she said, “not huge, but it needs some protectin’. Don’t have to be gentle, either.” She screwed up her nose even more, and bared her teeth. It would have to be gentle. The others would probably prefer most of the intruders alive and relatively unharmed for questioning, which nixed the grenades. And C2? What was he doing, taking her for stupid? That shit was pricey. But…
“Barbed wire and knockout gas. And gimme a little of the C2,” she added spitefully, trying not to sound too gleeful. Her comrades were such boobs they’d probably pop in and blow themselves up. Deactivation was a must. It might blow a little hole in one of the warehouse walls, but they could afford part of a wall. It was the price to be paid for the silence of any Jane, Bruno, or Dick who was desperate and prepared enough to break the shallower barriers. That was trouble right there. Bruno tries to break in, he gets blown to bits; she comes back to find a half-blown-up wall and nothing left of the bastard. Sounded perfect to her.
She was reckless to ask for it, but she wasn’t in the habit of caring. If this cat was reporting to anyone, he would probably deliver news of such an odd purchase. Hiyori wasn’t good at discreet; she hadn’t been lying. She just couldn’t see him passing this news on. Unless he had a really, really good reason, she didn’t see him answering to any authority. And, fuck it all, she couldn’t lie: she wanted that C2 shit. Bad. Not every Bruno had that kind of thing. Almost enough that it was worth blowing her cover just to get her hands on it.
Grimmjow brightened considerably when he heard C2 tumble from the broad's lips. This sale couldn't get any better; he had been waiting for a while to part with the shit. It was a little hot, even for him. When he was first given the stuff by a guy who knew a guy who killed a guy that had the bomb, he couldn't resist such a great opportunity to own something so damn kickass. 30 pounds of the stuff; 15 blocks of explosive in all.
It had been the hardest thing to get rid of in his life. If he were some kinda demolitions patsy, the blue-haired Bruno would've been glad to use it up himself. But how often did the Concavos go around blowing shit up? Hardly, if at all. Luckily, the military fanatics and buffs had flocked to him once word had gotten out. Now there were only 4 blocks left.
The arms dealer grabbed a pair of gloves and cutter pliers sitting next to the barbed wire. He always wore gloves when handling anything that was being shipped out or sold, made him harder to track if he wasn't spreading his prints everywhere. The tough-as-nails button man snipped off a couple feet off the wire.
"So, Raggedy Anne, you must belong ta some pretty important group if 'ur lookin' into defense, especially for a buildin'. Alotta groups, they just get the standard, legal security stuff. Ya know, cameras and muscle." Grimmjow fit the wire inside of a long, black tube--something that looked like it would come off a gutter spigot. He winded up the tube, and set it on the floor. "Some underground types, though, I guess they're startin' to work outta warehouses and investin' in their own means of protection." The knockout gas was next to be lifted out of the drawer; CS gas. Nonlethal, but nasty stuff in its own right. Enough of it could cause a bo to vomit for 10 minutes. Standard quantities cause irritation of the eyes and skin, as well as shortness of breath. Enough damage to stop a man in his tracks. Grimmjow packed away 6 cans into a box.
"I heard of this group, dunno, Murder somethin'. Go around killin' whoever for the right price. I heard they work like that, but fuck if I know. Not my interest. Some of the gangs 'round these parts don't like 'em cause they're killin' off their buddies." Two small blocks of C2 were the last thing to be picked up. From a far, they looked like clay blocks wrapped in black wax paper, which they pretty much were. A small box holding a timer and detonator was placed out, as well. "I only care cause that means less customers for me. Otherwise, I don't give a shit." Finally, Grimmjow fit all of the bim's items in an attache case, and snapped it shut. Should anybody try to poke around, she couldn't exactly be incriminated by how the things were packed. The marksmen put the case on his desk and looked at the girl with a smirk.
"I don't think my boss would want me sellin' ta them, anyhow. But you don't have to worry 'bout that, since 'ur just one girl. Anyway, here ya go, princess. Quick couple of warnin's: you use those gas canisters, it better be somewhere ventilated. And invest in some masks. All, less is more with that C2. You can take any ol' knife to it and cut yourself a chunk, but too big, an' ya might find 'urself blowin' up a city block. Detonator's pretty easy to use too; just stick it in the clay, watch the magic."
Hiyori observed, all sharp eyes and twitchy limbs, as the arms dealer went about his work. She admired his touch with the stuff. She found herself coolly nodding in approval as he directed her on proper usage of her highly dangerous explosives. Nice of him to give her the tip, if not annoying. She would have gotten the handle of it, figured it out. She learned through trial and error. But she had to remind herself that this wasn’t the kind of shit you played around with.
She examined the box. As she sifted gently, almost lovingly, through it's contents, her gaze melted to something that was almost loving. She heaved it up, only to put it back down again. Damn heavy box. But she'd get it out of here, somehow.
He was flapping gums some more, and she caught one pharse clear, like a radio shifting from fuzzy channel to fuzzy channel to crisp voices: Murder, Inc. Her twitching stopped, and she leaned forward stiffly, all ears. Boss. He had a boss. So he was working for someone, although his very tone seemed to be giving that someone the bird. He kept talking, the dial kept twisting: just a girl. Just a girl. Dickhead. She was used to it, but still. Bastard. At least he was giving her the goods.
“I never heard of any Murder anybodies,” she said, maybe a little too fiercely. Damn. She was trying to keep her cool, here. “Who the hell would call themselves that? That’s just plain dumb." Suddenly, her signiture smile, sticky as sin, appeared on her small, sharp, freckled face. "Maybe some renegades are good now an' then. After someone fucked up that hit a couple'a years ago ya can't really trust crime to do its job."
Never heard of them? Everybody who was worth their salt had heard about them. Well, people who lived in the night life of New York; the resident grifters and bosses. Maybe this girl had a run-in with them, a bad run-in, and didn't like talking about it. Or maybe she was doing business with them.
Either way, saying she had never heard of something that was akin to the Boogeyman was odd in itself. Of course, Grimmjow was more surprised when the girl actually said something about the fucked up shooting from four years ago. Yeah, what a mess. The blue-haired bruno sighed, leaning on the desk in front of him and unconsciously scratched at his stomach.
Yeah...
"Well princess, just make sure ya keep yourself blind, deaf, 'n dumb. They ain't people ta tango with, even for the likes of you." Grimmjow ignored the comment about the shooting.
"Anyway, you got money or not? I don't take I.O.U.'s."
Her sticky smile screwed up into a sour expression of distaste. She was relieved he hadn’t thought much of it. But there were a million reasons that she might be skittish about that kinda thing, she reckoned.
Boss she replayed inside her head, triumphant in her mind's voice, Murder, Inc.
He had slipped up, just for a moment, probably didn't realize it, the idiot, and Hiyori was going to cling to it (with her sharp little claws). Too bad he hadn't slipped any other tidbits. But she was proud - word was getting around. Maybe it was that lowlife she pumped with lead last week. She'd done the deed herself, a perfect, messy job. Left him lying in a garbage can for the cops to find. H'e'd been stupid enough to beg. Hiyori hated when they did that.
She snorted, and reached into a deep inner pocket of her coat. She pulled out a clump of cash, and some loose change, and let it fall to the floor before her.
“That enough for you?”
A quick flip through the wad of greenbacks proved that it was, indeed, enough. Probably a bit more, but he wasn't going to say anything about that. Grimmjow stashed the C's in his desk drawer, not really trusting anybody to see where he really put it. The safe the blue-maned tomcat had now was certainly more secret than the place he put all his dough when he first started this gig; under his mattress.
Jaggerjack smirked at his very interesting customer.
"Thanks a million, Raggedy Anne. Maybe next time you'll bring friends. Hope ya enjoy makin' things go boom. Now get the hell out."
It was time to lock this place up for some eats, after all.
Hiyori gave him a last defiant look before heaving the box up. Even the smallest burdens were trouble for her, if only for how unwieldy they proved to her small frame. She turned - not giving him her back; she never gave her back on principle of survival - and exited the warehouse. All this proved to be more, as she only had one hand free and the other was occupied holding the damn heavy box.
When she slid the door behind her, she could feel the sticky smile rising. The February wind bit her once again; cold and sharp like needles. In spite of the cold, her blood was hot and she was twitching in anticipation. She stood still for a minute and let the thoughts process through the whir of excitement, excitement which had grown as the scent of discovery had grown more keen. Now, in the sharp, cold air again, she knew: she had found something. Like a hound who'd smelled blood, Hiyori knew innately.
She had been insulted and treated like a ten-year-old girl. Bastard didn't have any manners. Aside from that, he had been good business, got her some real good stuff. "Nice doin' business with ya," she said under her breath, struggling a bit under the weight of the box.
The words, like her footsteps, were swallowed by the outdoors as she walked away, still stumbling over the box.