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Post by Miss Jack on Nov 23, 2008 23:14:02 GMT -5
It was a slow day at the Straight and Narrow.
Then again, every day was a slow day at the Straight and Narrow. Jasper had spent most of his time the first few weeks scrubbing the place down, and now, although not top of the line, it was at least clean.
He hacked at a deeply buried crate he'd found. It was fireproof and bullet proof, but it was not Jasper proof, and he managed to get it open.
Guns.
With a sigh, he covered it back up, and put it back in its lonely and lost corner. He would have to write a note to Miss Clarke about how he found a box, and he definitely didn't look inside, but maybe she would want to check it out.
He didn't get involved in Miss Clarke's business (who still insisted every day that he call her Cherry, but he didn't), and she in turn didn't get involved in his. However, some days, when certain unfriendly gentlemen paid her a call, he might stand behind her, not saying a word, and look menacing until they left.
Except Calcifer. He was the kind of guy Jasper would have gladly thrown out by the back of his fancy collar, but he was one Miss Clarke insisted he leave alone.
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Post by Princess Katie on Nov 25, 2008 23:42:10 GMT -5
Cherry breezed in with a gust of frigid air that ruffled the fur of her black sable-trimmed coat. “It’s beginning ta look a lot like Chrisssstt-mas!” She declared, in a singsong voice to no one in particular, tossing her bag down on the bar.
“Hey Mistah Grey,” Cherry called, in faux-formality. “The fella from the furniture store said he’s sendin’ his boys ovah to install the new booths today. Ya think ya can stand around an’ look scary sos they don’t screw around on my time?” She had taken full advantage of Jasper’s intimidating looks in these last few weeks. Having a big, scary-looking fella at her beck and call was an asset Cherry had sorely missed.
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Post by Miss Jack on Nov 26, 2008 2:27:48 GMT -5
"Miss Clarke," he greeted with a small nod, and a smaller smile. He raised an eyebrow. "I'll be around," he promised.
He drummed one hand on the counter (the polished counter, thanks to last week's cleaning). "I found a box," he said finally.
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Post by Princess Katie on Nov 27, 2008 0:45:26 GMT -5
“That’s nice, Jasper. Unless it’s a tiny blue box with a diamond inside, I don’t really care,” she commented, hauling herself up to sit on the counter. “Hey, yous wanna make us somethin’ ta eat, I’m starvin’.”
As the flapper examined her shiny black fingernails and lit up a cigarette, the bell above the doorway announced the arrival of a man in khaki pants, an undershirt and suspenders. They were worker-grade clothes, so logically Cherry assumed they were the guys sent over to work on the booths. “Hey, them tables aren’t bolted to the floor, sos they should be able to come out real easy, but the benches are married up ta the wall, sos they may take some finaglin’ to get out.”
But the guy didn’t move. He just peered around the smokey, dimly-lit Straight and Narrow. Cherry was not pleased, “Hey fella, you listening?” He didn’t say anything. Cherry was now downright irritated, “Whaddaya lookin’ for, a fat lip?”
“You alone? Mrs. O’Shaughnessy, yeah?”
“Actually, it’s Miss Clarke. O’Shaughnessy is my good-for-nothin’ boyfriend, not my good-for-nothin’ husband. What’s it to ya?” Cherry wiggled her ringless left hand at the man by way of proof.
“My mistake,” he said, casually putting his hands into his pocket and glancing around the room once more.
Cherry scowled, “Yeah. So, what can I do ya for?” This guy was starting to make her nervous. She knew a creep when she saw one. With a good deal of care, she slid off of the counter to put the bar between her and the guy, unhooking the latch of a secret compartment behind the bar with the heel of her shoe.
“Well,” he drawled, holding eye contact with her, “I’m here to collect on a debt your man owes my boss. We’ve been overly generous in the time-department, given him more than a sufficient grace period. We’ve sent him several letters, but they return to us unopened. Now, Miss Clarke, don’t you think that’s a bit rude? If your boyfriend is around, I’d very much like to see him.”
His words were not nearly as polite as they were intended to sound; there was a clear tone of threat dancing beneath those syllables, and Cherry was pretty sure she heard the sound of a gun cock. Cherry sighed, donning a faux-casual demeanor. “Oh, I’m sorry. Didn’t you know? He was put away a century plus 13 ago. I’m sure he’d be happy to pay you when he gets out. So, we’re closed for remodeling right now so if you’d please see yourself out, that’d be great.”
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Post by Miss Jack on Nov 27, 2008 1:37:31 GMT -5
His mouth twisted in irritation. Not that he was such a whiz at conveying things through the spoken word, but surely she knew he wouldn't inform her out about a box if it was just, in fact, a box.
He let it go, just like that, sunshine behind a cloud, and moved back into the kitchen. He had just unearthed the proper ingredients for a chicken tomato sandwich when the bell announced a new customer. Or not, as was typical. He moved slower, keeping his movements quiet so he could hear.
He stopped altogether after money was brought into the conversation and checked his holster, though he knew it was there, loaded with only four bullets, but one would be enough. If it came to that.
He clearly heard Miss Clarke issue the command for the thug to take his leave. If he didn't listen, Jasper would make his grand and terrible entrance.
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Post by Princess Katie on Nov 27, 2008 3:30:57 GMT -5
The man made no rush to vacate, so Cherry decided to hurry him along with a short, “Let’s go, mac. If yer that fuckin’ concerned, leave yer business card and I’ll get back to ya within the week.
“Look, don’t be a stupid bitch. Just give me a down payment of a couple thou—“
“No, you look, ya bastid. You don’t just come into my place of business and use that tone of voice with me, like you’re the fuckin king. You’re just some asshole without the balls to come collect on this debt when my boyfriend is around, and there’s only a 20 pound girl to hass—OWFUCK.” Cherry’s tirade was suddenly interrupted when the stranger whipped the pistol out of his pocket and fired where Cherry’s face was, only a second ago. She had, luckily, been quick enough to duck when she saw him begin to pull his arm up, but she was not quick enough to roll out of the way of the showering glass. A thread of red crept its way from her temple, across to her eyelid; another cut appeared across her lips and down her chin. She figured he’d probably heard the commotion, but Cherry opted to shriek for Jasper anyhow as she lobbed a hunk of broken glass over the counter, completely missing her intended target.
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Post by Miss Jack on Nov 28, 2008 1:53:01 GMT -5
He'd waited too long, but at least Miss Clarke had the gut instinct and common sense to duck out of the way.
Jasper threw open the kitchen doors, striding toward, bold as you please. The stunned Dream fired off a shot, but it missed. Luckily. Jasper's hand twitched and in the next instant, a pistol rested in his palm. One bullet knocked the gun out of the thug's hand, the next shot a hole in his foot so he couldn't run.
Jasper approached him stoically, at least two head's taller. "Oh shit," the stranger cussed and, wounded or not, he turned to make like diarrea and run. Jasper grabbed his collar and the Dream's legs pumped immobile through the air. He turned his head slightly, saw Jasper, and might have wet himself, making the sign of the cross.
Still holding the Dream suspended in the air (by the suspenders), Jasper pushed the barrel of his pistol right into his nose. "How much does Miss Clarke owe?"
"Look, man-- I'm just here on orders, settlin' some friendly business is all..."
A soft click as the pistol cocked. The color drained from the thug's face. "Nothing, she don't owe nothing. It's all good, now. Good like candy corn."
"Good."
Jasper owned the door and tossed him ten feet into the street. The bell clanged as the door shut again, and Jasper walked behind the counter and picked Cherry up. He examined her for a moment and then sighed heavily. "I don't think you need stitches."
Oy vey.
Sometimes, it was like she was an innate force working against his luckiness.
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Post by Princess Katie on Nov 30, 2008 2:00:25 GMT -5
As Jasper rather diplomatically bargained with their gust, Cherry kept herself low to the floor, and frantically pried open the secret cubby in the floorboard. Her face bleeding rather freely, she managed to withdraw a loaded Thompson submachine gun, but was too late to do much. Her grip on the gun didn’t loosen, even as Jasper picked her up and set her on the counter—it was like a traumatized child gripping onto a teddybear.
“Good,” she said, “I don’t want a stitch-face. Oh god, do you think I’ll scar?” If she wound up with two big scars across her face, she would be so mad. It was one thing to run with gangsters, it was another thing to look like one.
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Post by Miss Jack on Nov 30, 2008 3:50:51 GMT -5
Jasper rested his hands on his hips, not saying anything for a moment. "Miss Clarke," he said at last, in resignation, almost like a reprimand.
Worry about your life before looks, clothes, cigarettes and booze. How many times did he have to say it. He touched her hair abover her temple, his fingertips instantly red and wet. "That one won't show, it's in your hair," he said. He sighed ran his thumb along the one over her lips. He wiped the blood on his pants and straightened. "That one probably will. You should give me the gun, Miss Clarke."
Probably, he should have told her about the scarring after she'd let go of the gun.
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Post by Princess Katie on Nov 30, 2008 4:04:44 GMT -5
Her life was looks, clothes, cigarettes and booze. How many times did she have to say it?
She winced when Jasper touched the cut on her temple, and again when he touched the one on her lip. “Heywatchit, buddy,” she hissed. Cherry was wounded and afraid and feeling a little pathetic, but she was still Cherry T. Clarke. The news of the lip-scar traumatized Cherry even more, and she clutched the Tommy gun closer to her. “Nooooooooo,” she whined, “I don’t wanna scar, and I don’t wanna give this to yas. This was Lucky’s, ya know that? It was with us, in the car, when he bit the big one.”
So what if Jasper didn’t know what she was going on about, it made her feel a little better, to think about worse injuries (both emotional and physical) than the ones she had now. With some great reluctance, she relinquished her grip on the submachine gun. “Can ya take me home? The keys are in my coat pocket on the rack.”
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Post by Miss Jack on Dec 1, 2008 0:52:31 GMT -5
He mentally rolled his eyes.
"I'll give it back," he promised in a soothing tone. "When you're a bit less traumatized."
He nodded at her suggestion that she go home. He found the keys in her pocket, then took her coat back, draping it over her shoulders. No way would he attempt to carry her. She'd clock him.
"Want me to lock up here?"
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Post by Princess Katie on Dec 1, 2008 1:33:46 GMT -5
“I am not traumatized, I am fine. If you’re suggestin I am not in my right mind, then you are wrong, mac. Oh, and, yeah. Please lock up. The chair guys can come back tomorrow.” Cherry grabbed a clean dishtowel to hold to her face so she didn’t leave a blood trail to the car. She grabbed onto Jasper’s arm as she slid down from the counter, and did not let go until she was safely in the front seat of the car.
Cherry examined her face in the rearview mirror and sighed heavily. It was going to be a pain putting on makeup now. “Thanks for takin’ care of that douche-face for me. I am really much obliged, Jasper.”
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Post by Miss Jack on Dec 1, 2008 1:38:37 GMT -5
Without asking, he reached over and did up her seatbelt. He put the car into gear and eased out onto Chimera's busy streets. One thing he was not getting used to was the general 'in-your-face' attitude of Nightmares. It was never such a pain to drive in Dreamland.
"My pleasure, Miss Clarke," he said, his mouth curving into an almost smile. "Taking care of douce-face's is what I do best."
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Post by Princess Katie on Dec 1, 2008 22:54:29 GMT -5
Cherry smiled over at him, but quickly put a stop to that, because it made her lip bleed worse. So, she cursed a bit and pushed the towel closer to her lip to try and stop the blood flow. “I knew I did good in hirin’ yas,” she commented, muffled through the dish towel. “I feel much safer nowadays.”
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Post by Miss Jack on Dec 4, 2008 0:54:49 GMT -5
Nice to know he'd get paid to risk his life another day. He nodded once, sending a grave look to her still bleeding mouth.
A clattering carriage roared by the front of them at an intersection with no inclination to stop, and it was only by luck that they avoided a collision.
Sigh.
"Where do you live, Miss Clarke?"
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