Come On In. Or Don't.

[The Mistaken]

(From the Perspective of [member="Elliot Day"])

Outside, rain was falling like a blanket of despair; an unrelenting leach until it swallowed you wholly with cloistering depression. It was as though the lucky ducks on top of the world had all decided to relieve themselves upon the cancer that bred painfully beneath them. Elliot wasn't one of the sods caught outside. He had a dry office, a job and strong enough means to protect himself...for now. All luck ran out, eventually. That mantra was exactly why most of the drinking patrons were killing themselves slowly in the bar one floor below his office.

The good thing about renting out the room above a bar? You were a short flight of steps away from one of the best sources of all: Zero to Little Inhibition.

The bad? You could flip a coin and it'd be a better indication of how hit or miss his work day was going to be.

The foot traffic was moderate to light and even that would either consist of a drunk, a nosy ne'er-do-well or an actual client. There was a time that he would have worried about needing advertisement, but his reputation was starting to speak for itself around these parts. He wasn't quite sure if putting up business signs was such a good idea with the amount of people who may or may not want to see him gone.


His last job had wrapped itself up yesterday. A money trail had fizzled out to finally land the target (of which Elliot had been investigating) in jail. Naturally, the client had been upset that Elliot hadn't caught up to the man before he could spend his money to woo and sleep with the wife of the guard captain, Setchi Vord. As if it was Elliot's fault the target was pretty much riding a jail bait schutta rocket straight into incarceration. Elliot made sure to get what was owed him, but knew that repeat business with that same customer had less odds than Elliot winning the lottery.

He sat on the corner of his desk, staring at the rainy windows and reflecting quietly to himself in the near-dark of his office. His left hand held a flask of Corellian Whiskey and his other hand had the e-cigarra (he hated the smell and toxins of cigarras, but he loved the feel of exhaling vapor). His 5-shot revolver remained as a comfortable, non-intrusive and familiar weight in his inside breast pocket. He took another sip.

The clients would come. Otherwise, he would go and explore what was to be found.

 

[Elliot Day]

The building's ceiling was high, higher than the second floor, and domed. Various gasses, whether from the mix of masses or from their cigarras, floated up and collected into its own mini atmosphere of grime and pollution. When it got particularly thick and too close for the inhabitants comfort, the bar tender would have his son climb up and open a window hatch, even if it was raining. If it was raining and he did have his son open the window, the bar keep would simply shove a barrel under the rainfall spot and later use the caught rain to finally mop the floors. Judging by the faint scraping sounds of heavy plastic on hardwood flooring coming from the bar proper, he guessed it was that time again.

Like primary school, one could say this bar was an ecosystem in and of itself; one that reflected the outside world or, more appropriately, the urban jungle that was Nar Shaddaa. Crawley the Creep was still watching the door with twitchy eyes for any and all newcomers that might want to buy a death stick. Lilli would normally be putting out, but tonight she looked like a dear in headlights about to face life in jail. She was probably pregnant, early stages. Just a guess, though. Talbot was tuning his scuitar and already setting his hat on the ground. Falcone and his goons had decided to take up residence in their favorite booth, their suspicious eyes glaring everyone down in silent challenge. Mario Vespucci, the bar tender, was yelling at his kid, behind closed doors, for losing his gas mask. As if Eliott needed more hints and reminders of the cruelty that lay outside these five walls. Funny part was, Crawley was just now waking up from a nap and Lilli had just walked in with tear-streaked mascara on her face. The rest was about to unfold. That was Foresight for you, ladies and gentlemen.

No one had shown up for business and it didn't look like anyone was going to. As he walked casually down the stairs, a drunk tripped and stumbled head first into the wall near the stairs before collapsing asleep at the base of the stairs. Elliot stopped and waited on the last step. A couple seconds later, it actually happened and the drunk was physically in front of him. He stepped over the body and kept walking. Up ahead, yet another drunk was about to slap a man, twice as sober and many times meaner, with an empty liquor bottle. The bottle came down and thus erupted a large cantina brawl. He reached the drunk as he raised his bottle to strike the bigger man (in real time). Before the drunk could begin his downward swing, he easily slipped the bottle out of the weak grasp. Instead of a bottle that started a brawl, the drunk's hand came down to seemingly pat the other guy on the shoulder. He didn't stop to watch the fruits of that action, but he could tell that a riot had been averted.

His detective gaze swept the room and he noticed something glinting from beneath the stairs. Upon further investigation, he realized it was the kid's gas mask. He went to find that kid so he could give him the mask, but he couldn't spot him. After a couple of minutes of searching, he was across the room when he finally spotted a confused and frightened kid searching around the stair area as though he had lost something. It was Mario's kid, looking for that gas mask he had just grabbed. Before he could reach the nimble kid, the spry fella' had already darted into the kitchen. As he neared, Elliot started to hear yelling from behind the door. It was Mario Vespucci chewing out his kid for losing his gas mask.

It wasn't often, but there were times that Elliot had questioned the delicate intricacies of his power. Did things happen because he was acting on what he saw during his use of Foresight? That wasn't typically the case, but instances, such as Mario's kid, happened frequently enough to remain an unnerving presence in the back of his thought processes.

 

[Elliot Day]

The double doors opened at the front of the bar and two gorillas entered the enclosure. He knew them anywhere. In fact, he had just watched them come in before leaving his office. "Big Boy" Caprice and "Flat Foot" McGucket cut an imposing double door image themselves. With those two bulldozers around, Marlin Falcone came to you, not the other way around. Tables and chairs, occupied or not, were shoved to the side to make way for their boss to the opposite side of the bar; to their favorite booth. Day tried to move towards the kitchen and duck out of sight before being spotted---

"Hey, Day!"

Elliot froze in his tracks, not even needing to turn to know it was Marlin.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, Day."

Elliot turned slowly to face Mr. Marlin Falcone.

"My table. Five minutes, Daisy Boy."

The gorillas looked like they hadn't eaten anything for dinner, yet.


Both parties parted ways and Day slipped inside the kitchen. Weegee, the bar keep's son, was sitting on the counter with his father leaning in close to him, giving him the "responsibility talk" in their native language. The kid's eyes were getting misty. The bar keep turned to face the intruder, Day, and he said,

"What are you doing in here, Day? Can't you read the Employees Only sign?"

"Not under the layer of palm sweat and grime, no," replied Day as he tossed the gas mask to the father. Mario fumbled a bit, but caught the gas mask. "Sorry. I needed to borrow it."

"What the hell, Day?! You can't just take my son's stuff like---"

Day wasn't into masochism, so he skipped out on the responsibility talk. That was probably going to bump his cost of living just a bit, but he didn't care at the moment. There were more pressing issues at hand. He checked the time. Barely a minute had passed. The reason he didn't make a beeline to the corner booth was because Falcone was anal retentive. He'd already been knocked around like a plaything once before by Thing 1 and Thing 2 for not following the exact wording of Falcone's whim.

A more compassionate soul might have taken the time to talk to Lilli, but Elliot had neither the time nor the psychology degree to turn on that leaky faucet. Sure, they were technically friends and they'd held varying levels of conversation. Sure, she was beautiful, as dames go. However, she was a rabbit hole; a ticking time bomb; a hot potato waiting to go off in the arms of the man holding onto her at the time only God knows when. She was just another firework on this forsaken planet: She was beautifully made, marvelous to look at and supposedly spectacular to experience. But, once she was used up, she was going to be yet more refuse falling back to earth and no one was going to care enough to help pick up the pieces.

He looked back at the time. Show time. Time to meet Falcone and his uber goons.

 

[Elliot Day]

Elliot looked up at Falcone from underneath the shade of his fedora. He stood there cool as a cucumber with his hands in his pocket. Marlin Falcone didn't even bother to look up as he spoke to Elliot, but the two brick walls kept their laser-locked gaze upon him.

"Y'know, Day? The giant tropical centipede shares its territory with tarantulas. Despite it's impressive length, it's a nimble navigator, and some can be highly venomous. As quick as lightning, just like the tarantula it's killing, the centipede has two curved hollow fangs which inject paralyzing venom. Even tarantulas aren't immune from an ambush."

He then pointed at himself and looked up to bore holes with his eyes into Elliot's head.

"This centipede is a predator."

Falcone let that unique object lesson sink in before saying,

"I heard what you did to the Michelin Bros. You're good enough, Day, but you're not immune to ambush; especially if it's me pulling the strings. Are you ready to listen to my demands?"

Elliot tilted his head forward in silent agreement.

"Good. One: You're going to keep your PI nose out of any and all of my business. You get hired to snoop me, my boys or my property, you immediately turn the offer down. I don't care if you get paid big bucks. You suddenly find out a bit too late that you were hired to snoop us, you immediately turn tail. Two: whoever tries to send you our way, you inform us; let us know who's coming for us. Do I make myself clear?"

Elliot nodded his head once more, still silent as ever. Falcone knew Elliot enough that quiet confirmation was good enough.

"That's all I've got for you...for now. Go back to whatever you call a life and leave us be."

Falcone looked back at the menu and used his hand to shoo away Elliot. Elliot was more than happy to oblige.