(no subject)
Time had passed since Remy had fallen into the bar instead of a storage warehouse, but apparently not much, given as how it had been evening then and was only just now sunset, the sky still streaked orange and red.
It wasn’t until he saw the state of the place, and the leaves blown in from the boulevard in drifts against the demolished furniture that he realized it had to have been a day, perhaps two since the fight had taken place, “Merde.” It was soft, though nonetheless heated, patting his pockets to make sure the prize was still there.
He nodded then, lighting a cigarette to help him think, drumming his fingers against his lighter, and then against his hip as he pocketed it again, taking a long drag. Really there was nothing for it but turn the trinket in now, and explain that he’d had to go to ground until he was sure it was safe. It wasn’t entirely a lie anyway, though it wasn’t entirely the truth either.
At least he had it though, and anything the competition had turned in could be proven as a counterfeit easily enough. Though of course, that brought up the question of whether he wanted to turn it in at all, of course, he could also offer to sell it to the competition, play both ends against the middle as it were, leave it to sort it out amongst themselves which was the real and which the replica, and by the time they figured it out, he'd be long gone.
He smiled to himself at that thought. He'd offer it to the ones who'd hired him first of course, but he doubted they'd believe him. Which was of course, when he'd offer it to the competitors, who'd tried to hire him but hadn't offered enough.
He nodded, flicking the butt end of his cigarette out into the gutter as he started off down the street, hands in his pockets, headed down to find someone he knew who had a mighty fine eye for copies. After that he had to contact his employers, which wouldn't be difficult, they'd told him how, from there it was up to him to find the others, but didn't suppose that would be too difficult either, since they were bound to be looking for him, since they knew he had the jewel, all he had to do really was make himself known.
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"You look well for someone that the Friars've said is dead."
"C'mon Bennè, 'm a swamp rat, 'f there's one t'ing rats're good at s'hidin' out until t'ings blow over, non?"
"In an empty building?"
"It wasn' empty mon ami. And 'f that's what they're sayin', well, all th'better, non?" He shook his head, "Can you help me wit' t'is or no?"
The woman removed thejeweler's loupe from her eye, shrugging, "Sure I can LeBeau, what kind've amateur do you take me for? But goddamn if it isn't risky business."
He grinned, altogether too charming for his own good, "Take a look at who you're talkin' to Bennè."
She sighed, shaking her head and reaching across the small worktable to rumple his hair, "Fine, I'll do it, but it's th'last thing I'm doing for you. I do this, you get paid, and you get the hell out of this city, hear me? S'never been safe for you here and now s'less safe than ever."
"I know." He said, nodding, a card already flicking end over end across his knuckles, "That's th'plan, get paid, get out. A'ready got tickets out've here." His smile went crooked again, "Y'goin' miss me?"
"You wish. I've been trying to get you out of here since you first showed up on my doorstep looking like a lost puppy with a bum leg."
"Which I'm still indebted t'you for fixin'."
"You get out of this one in one piece and we'll call it square."
It wasn’t until he saw the state of the place, and the leaves blown in from the boulevard in drifts against the demolished furniture that he realized it had to have been a day, perhaps two since the fight had taken place, “Merde.” It was soft, though nonetheless heated, patting his pockets to make sure the prize was still there.
He nodded then, lighting a cigarette to help him think, drumming his fingers against his lighter, and then against his hip as he pocketed it again, taking a long drag. Really there was nothing for it but turn the trinket in now, and explain that he’d had to go to ground until he was sure it was safe. It wasn’t entirely a lie anyway, though it wasn’t entirely the truth either.
At least he had it though, and anything the competition had turned in could be proven as a counterfeit easily enough. Though of course, that brought up the question of whether he wanted to turn it in at all, of course, he could also offer to sell it to the competition, play both ends against the middle as it were, leave it to sort it out amongst themselves which was the real and which the replica, and by the time they figured it out, he'd be long gone.
He smiled to himself at that thought. He'd offer it to the ones who'd hired him first of course, but he doubted they'd believe him. Which was of course, when he'd offer it to the competitors, who'd tried to hire him but hadn't offered enough.
He nodded, flicking the butt end of his cigarette out into the gutter as he started off down the street, hands in his pockets, headed down to find someone he knew who had a mighty fine eye for copies. After that he had to contact his employers, which wouldn't be difficult, they'd told him how, from there it was up to him to find the others, but didn't suppose that would be too difficult either, since they were bound to be looking for him, since they knew he had the jewel, all he had to do really was make himself known.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
"You look well for someone that the Friars've said is dead."
"C'mon Bennè, 'm a swamp rat, 'f there's one t'ing rats're good at s'hidin' out until t'ings blow over, non?"
"In an empty building?"
"It wasn' empty mon ami. And 'f that's what they're sayin', well, all th'better, non?" He shook his head, "Can you help me wit' t'is or no?"
The woman removed thejeweler's loupe from her eye, shrugging, "Sure I can LeBeau, what kind've amateur do you take me for? But goddamn if it isn't risky business."
He grinned, altogether too charming for his own good, "Take a look at who you're talkin' to Bennè."
She sighed, shaking her head and reaching across the small worktable to rumple his hair, "Fine, I'll do it, but it's th'last thing I'm doing for you. I do this, you get paid, and you get the hell out of this city, hear me? S'never been safe for you here and now s'less safe than ever."
"I know." He said, nodding, a card already flicking end over end across his knuckles, "That's th'plan, get paid, get out. A'ready got tickets out've here." His smile went crooked again, "Y'goin' miss me?"
"You wish. I've been trying to get you out of here since you first showed up on my doorstep looking like a lost puppy with a bum leg."
"Which I'm still indebted t'you for fixin'."
"You get out of this one in one piece and we'll call it square."