10-04-2023, 04:27 AM
The bright light cast by sconces in the rock walls flickered. The scent of cigar smoke, cigarretes and marijuana, of brandy and whisky vied with that of leather and sweat. There was a slight haze of smoke. Only slight. The air ducts did their job well enough without being so loud as to make conversation impossible.
Not that this was a place where lots of conversations happened. Not a lot, but some. Mik knew that more than one deal was struck down here in this room, away from prying eyes. The fights occupied the attention of most, while two rivals or whatever came to arrangements or made alliances, or plotted with one another.
Mik had his tricks with fire, of course. But he'd also found that just connecting to the Lady's Luck gave him enhanced hearing. Add a bit of fire and air in just the right combination and, well, Mik heard a lot of stuff.
He wasn't stupid. He never divulged what he heard directly. But maybe he nudged certain parties in a certain direction. Like maybe beefing up their security in one area. Or maybe a hint that it might be fruitful to talk to so and so. Maybe he might find himself sitting at a bar or club with one of the lieutenants of one of the guys here. And maybe he spoke casually, asking the right questions here, telling the right stories there, and lo and behold the guy reveals enough that if anyone ever tried to trace how the info got out, well, old Lefty was the source, after all. Or gave him enough details to flesh out what he'd heard.
A million little tricks and ways of knowing what was going among all the families, with hidey holes like this.
Did Mik think he'd ever get got? Maybe. The Lady was the Lady, after all. So Mik didn't get too cocky. Sometimes he let things go, let some juicy piece of intel go unsold or not acted upon. The Stoya certainly didn't see what had come, even if he had know many of their guys pretty well.
He wasn't being a dick. But not like he could warn everyone about stuff and expect to keep on enjoying the pleasure of breathing and all.
You had to respect the dance.
Besides, the people in charge needed back channels. Image and ego being what they were, sometimes they were forced to take an aggressive face saving position. It was a jungle, after all. But these guys didn't get to the top by being morons. The pathetic trolls who cared solely about image had been weeded out rather easily, long ago. Turns out being macho and insecure makes you pretty easy to manipulate. Who'd a'thought it?
Anyway, so when it looked like a blood vendetta was all but certain, it took a guy like him to help pass on useful information. Nothing formal, of course. But he had a role. Pressure valve and all that. Give people outs.
So where was I? Oh yeah. So you get the idea of the kind of place this was. Not anything like the Kremlin back rooms. But in many ways, exactly like.
The smack or slap of a fist connecting with flesh occasionally punctuated the quiet hum of low conversation between visitors or serving girls, the clinking of ice against glass. It was mostly muffled grunts as one guy, head disappearing into the armpit of the other, sweaty and bloody, holding him tight. They leaned against one of the walls, their movements slow and restricted.
Yeah, this fight had gone on for a while and looked to be turning out to be a dud. Mik thought he recognized the guy with a head. Surprising. He was really good. Whatever fool had decided to take him on maybe lucked out. As in, his ass was mostly unkicked, it seemed. Maybe the guy was having a bad day.
Well, you know just as he thought it, Head guy exploded, release the struggling man to sudden freedom, which totally disoriented him as he began to fall back. Laughter erupted from the watchers as he was making a bee line right into some of the spectators. Ahh, but Head was there, faster that thought, fist and then feet flying at head and stomach.
And then Mik laughed as the other crashed into the spectators- some doofus in a bright orange suit that might as well been a bullseye- rolling them both over.
And then staff was there to help both up, clean up the mess, and refill drinks as the loser was led out the other heavy door at the end of the room. The others clapped the winner and he saw wallets being pressed as money changed hands.
Mik looked at Jaxen for a moment, just letting him absorb the surroundings. He probably recognized some of the people here, being who he was. It was early enough that there were no frat packs out, at least not yet. Those were hilarious but always came at the end of the night, as they got blizted and watched enough upstairs that they decided they wanted to take on one of the fighters themselves.
And you know, Mik got it. Sometimes you just needed to blow off steam. Like now. The last week or so had been slow. Not a whole lot going on, honestly. Meeting Jaxen was a good start, of course. But so far, it was all just preamble.
Getting things moving seemed right. Another glance at his companion sealed it. "Hold on," He said to Jaxen and then went to the guy overseeing the resetting of the room. It took a bit of wrangling but eventually the guy nodded. Twat. It wasn't like he was doing anything out of place.
He took his jacket off and handed it to the girl who reached out, winking at her. "Thanks, doll. Hold on..." He undid his cuffs and buttons and then took off his shirt and handed it to her. Another wink as he pulled off his wife beater to reveal his heavily muscled torso. A massive tattoo of The Lady covered his chest and each arm to his elbow.
Not that this was a place where lots of conversations happened. Not a lot, but some. Mik knew that more than one deal was struck down here in this room, away from prying eyes. The fights occupied the attention of most, while two rivals or whatever came to arrangements or made alliances, or plotted with one another.
Mik had his tricks with fire, of course. But he'd also found that just connecting to the Lady's Luck gave him enhanced hearing. Add a bit of fire and air in just the right combination and, well, Mik heard a lot of stuff.
He wasn't stupid. He never divulged what he heard directly. But maybe he nudged certain parties in a certain direction. Like maybe beefing up their security in one area. Or maybe a hint that it might be fruitful to talk to so and so. Maybe he might find himself sitting at a bar or club with one of the lieutenants of one of the guys here. And maybe he spoke casually, asking the right questions here, telling the right stories there, and lo and behold the guy reveals enough that if anyone ever tried to trace how the info got out, well, old Lefty was the source, after all. Or gave him enough details to flesh out what he'd heard.
A million little tricks and ways of knowing what was going among all the families, with hidey holes like this.
Did Mik think he'd ever get got? Maybe. The Lady was the Lady, after all. So Mik didn't get too cocky. Sometimes he let things go, let some juicy piece of intel go unsold or not acted upon. The Stoya certainly didn't see what had come, even if he had know many of their guys pretty well.
He wasn't being a dick. But not like he could warn everyone about stuff and expect to keep on enjoying the pleasure of breathing and all.
You had to respect the dance.
Besides, the people in charge needed back channels. Image and ego being what they were, sometimes they were forced to take an aggressive face saving position. It was a jungle, after all. But these guys didn't get to the top by being morons. The pathetic trolls who cared solely about image had been weeded out rather easily, long ago. Turns out being macho and insecure makes you pretty easy to manipulate. Who'd a'thought it?
Anyway, so when it looked like a blood vendetta was all but certain, it took a guy like him to help pass on useful information. Nothing formal, of course. But he had a role. Pressure valve and all that. Give people outs.
So where was I? Oh yeah. So you get the idea of the kind of place this was. Not anything like the Kremlin back rooms. But in many ways, exactly like.
The smack or slap of a fist connecting with flesh occasionally punctuated the quiet hum of low conversation between visitors or serving girls, the clinking of ice against glass. It was mostly muffled grunts as one guy, head disappearing into the armpit of the other, sweaty and bloody, holding him tight. They leaned against one of the walls, their movements slow and restricted.
Yeah, this fight had gone on for a while and looked to be turning out to be a dud. Mik thought he recognized the guy with a head. Surprising. He was really good. Whatever fool had decided to take him on maybe lucked out. As in, his ass was mostly unkicked, it seemed. Maybe the guy was having a bad day.
Well, you know just as he thought it, Head guy exploded, release the struggling man to sudden freedom, which totally disoriented him as he began to fall back. Laughter erupted from the watchers as he was making a bee line right into some of the spectators. Ahh, but Head was there, faster that thought, fist and then feet flying at head and stomach.
And then Mik laughed as the other crashed into the spectators- some doofus in a bright orange suit that might as well been a bullseye- rolling them both over.
And then staff was there to help both up, clean up the mess, and refill drinks as the loser was led out the other heavy door at the end of the room. The others clapped the winner and he saw wallets being pressed as money changed hands.
Mik looked at Jaxen for a moment, just letting him absorb the surroundings. He probably recognized some of the people here, being who he was. It was early enough that there were no frat packs out, at least not yet. Those were hilarious but always came at the end of the night, as they got blizted and watched enough upstairs that they decided they wanted to take on one of the fighters themselves.
And you know, Mik got it. Sometimes you just needed to blow off steam. Like now. The last week or so had been slow. Not a whole lot going on, honestly. Meeting Jaxen was a good start, of course. But so far, it was all just preamble.
Getting things moving seemed right. Another glance at his companion sealed it. "Hold on," He said to Jaxen and then went to the guy overseeing the resetting of the room. It took a bit of wrangling but eventually the guy nodded. Twat. It wasn't like he was doing anything out of place.
He took his jacket off and handed it to the girl who reached out, winking at her. "Thanks, doll. Hold on..." He undid his cuffs and buttons and then took off his shirt and handed it to her. Another wink as he pulled off his wife beater to reveal his heavily muscled torso. A massive tattoo of The Lady covered his chest and each arm to his elbow.
The room's A/C pebbled his skin. He stripped to his boxers and then put on the shorts given him. He glanced over at Jaxen and grinned as he heard the back entrance open behind him. He looked over his shoulder and...well...hey, he did want to have fun.
The guy was his height....but outweighed him by probably half his weight again. And Mik wasn't scrawny. But this guy was beefy. Another time, he'd enjoy wrestling around with him, all oiled up and naked, playing a submission game. There was no lose in that game, no matter who won.
He looked back again to Jaxen and instead saw the Lady watching him, this time with Oriena's face. It wasn't the same as the one on his chest. Didn't matter, though. It was her all the same.
He shrugged, as the lead gave the rules. He didn't really pay attention. It was the usual stuff, he knew. No eye gouging. Don't pull hair. No biting dicks. Normal.
Well, he'd wanted to have fun. That could mean anything. Time to toss the dice.
His first shot landed with a hard thud. If it bothered his opponent, he couldn't tell. Time to go to work.
The guy was his height....but outweighed him by probably half his weight again. And Mik wasn't scrawny. But this guy was beefy. Another time, he'd enjoy wrestling around with him, all oiled up and naked, playing a submission game. There was no lose in that game, no matter who won.
He looked back again to Jaxen and instead saw the Lady watching him, this time with Oriena's face. It wasn't the same as the one on his chest. Didn't matter, though. It was her all the same.
He shrugged, as the lead gave the rules. He didn't really pay attention. It was the usual stuff, he knew. No eye gouging. Don't pull hair. No biting dicks. Normal.
Well, he'd wanted to have fun. That could mean anything. Time to toss the dice.
His first shot landed with a hard thud. If it bothered his opponent, he couldn't tell. Time to go to work.