02-11-2018, 08:18 PM
Thiago Amengual buried his hands in the pockets of his wool coat and cursed the Moscow weather for what was not the last time. They called it spring, but the air was biting cold. it only deepened a scowl across the smooth youth of his face, but the scowl did its work when his dark eyes met those of a drunk stumbling out of the Hole.
The hole looked like a hole. He forced his own lip to not curl at the thought of descending into such a place, but this was the kind of dirty work that would earn his father's trust. The fourth and youngest son of a wealthy Latin family had a lot to prove if he was going to earn a place at his father's dangerous table. The Amenguals were scattered for years, a shadow of former glory. His father took over the business after his uncle was executed by American raiders. Revenge was name of their game, but first, they had to reclaim their place in the world, build back the business, then they could restore what was taken.
Thiago checked the time one last time and descended into the hole. He made certain to dress more plainly than he was accustomed. The family was wounded, but they weren't impoverished. He wore a t-shirt with an electric-colored icon of the Virgin Mary across the front, jeans and boots. He had a gold ring with a red jewel on one hand and his black locks swept back behind his ears in a fine haircut. He was more handsome than intimidating. No one was likely to think twice about him.
The bar was noisy. The smack of pool balls filled the distance. Music played from a box in the corner. The bar was filled with locals. Russian accents heavy with English plugged his ears. He grit his teeth and focused through the veiled tongues, pushed his way to the bar tender and ordered a Mexican beer, if they had any. The barman made him repeat himself. Thiago rolled his eyes and complied, only to find they didn't carry the lager.
"Then give me what ever beer is best."
He laid down some money and scanned the group for the one he sought. There was no way of knowing who the contact was, so he positioned himself near the music box, dug beneath the t-shirt, and pulled a chain out. From the gold links dangled an authentic shark's tooth, this one inlaid with gold.
He propped an elbow up on the drink-rail, smiled at a couple cute girls, and waited to be found.
***
Ryker sipped at his beer, and while he intended to ignore Chaos and Bravado, the way she pulled the little skinny shit along was fucking entertaining. He watched her openly, the way she moved, the tilt of her jaw, the lay of her hands. A small spike of jealousy arose when she joined another's table. He had military written all over him. Least ex-military, and Ryker didn't need to glimpse the hint of a holster under that jacket to know it.
Other than that guy, there was only one other person sitting solo tonight. She occupied an entire booth to herself. Fit, athletic, and resting bitch face written all over her, Ryker lazily studied the whispers she planted in younger men's ears only to see them scurry away to do her bidding. Someone important then. Someone powerful. He was almost disappointed that she didn't wear the shark tooth necklace.
The brown faced Mexican kid that did finally wander into the bar stood out like a sore thumb. He was the only person of color in sight, which was something to say in and of itself. Ryker barely needed confirmation from the necklace that it was Amengual, or at least, Amengual's representative.
He pushed up from his chair, stalked around the bar making sure to take a path that caught the eye of that black widow spider, and flicked the kid with her a very open fuck you as he passed. Otherwise, Ryker joined the Mexican at the music box, studied the necklace momentarily settled against the neon colors of the Virgin, leaned in and spoke one word of code.
"El Tiburón."
He offered to shake the kid's hand when the flash of recognition crossed his face.
"Take off the fucking coat, kid, you look ridiculous. Never wear it again. You can bury the necklace now."
He led him back to the table to talk.
The hole looked like a hole. He forced his own lip to not curl at the thought of descending into such a place, but this was the kind of dirty work that would earn his father's trust. The fourth and youngest son of a wealthy Latin family had a lot to prove if he was going to earn a place at his father's dangerous table. The Amenguals were scattered for years, a shadow of former glory. His father took over the business after his uncle was executed by American raiders. Revenge was name of their game, but first, they had to reclaim their place in the world, build back the business, then they could restore what was taken.
Thiago checked the time one last time and descended into the hole. He made certain to dress more plainly than he was accustomed. The family was wounded, but they weren't impoverished. He wore a t-shirt with an electric-colored icon of the Virgin Mary across the front, jeans and boots. He had a gold ring with a red jewel on one hand and his black locks swept back behind his ears in a fine haircut. He was more handsome than intimidating. No one was likely to think twice about him.
The bar was noisy. The smack of pool balls filled the distance. Music played from a box in the corner. The bar was filled with locals. Russian accents heavy with English plugged his ears. He grit his teeth and focused through the veiled tongues, pushed his way to the bar tender and ordered a Mexican beer, if they had any. The barman made him repeat himself. Thiago rolled his eyes and complied, only to find they didn't carry the lager.
"Then give me what ever beer is best."
He laid down some money and scanned the group for the one he sought. There was no way of knowing who the contact was, so he positioned himself near the music box, dug beneath the t-shirt, and pulled a chain out. From the gold links dangled an authentic shark's tooth, this one inlaid with gold.
He propped an elbow up on the drink-rail, smiled at a couple cute girls, and waited to be found.
***
Ryker sipped at his beer, and while he intended to ignore Chaos and Bravado, the way she pulled the little skinny shit along was fucking entertaining. He watched her openly, the way she moved, the tilt of her jaw, the lay of her hands. A small spike of jealousy arose when she joined another's table. He had military written all over him. Least ex-military, and Ryker didn't need to glimpse the hint of a holster under that jacket to know it.
Other than that guy, there was only one other person sitting solo tonight. She occupied an entire booth to herself. Fit, athletic, and resting bitch face written all over her, Ryker lazily studied the whispers she planted in younger men's ears only to see them scurry away to do her bidding. Someone important then. Someone powerful. He was almost disappointed that she didn't wear the shark tooth necklace.
The brown faced Mexican kid that did finally wander into the bar stood out like a sore thumb. He was the only person of color in sight, which was something to say in and of itself. Ryker barely needed confirmation from the necklace that it was Amengual, or at least, Amengual's representative.
He pushed up from his chair, stalked around the bar making sure to take a path that caught the eye of that black widow spider, and flicked the kid with her a very open fuck you as he passed. Otherwise, Ryker joined the Mexican at the music box, studied the necklace momentarily settled against the neon colors of the Virgin, leaned in and spoke one word of code.
"El Tiburón."
He offered to shake the kid's hand when the flash of recognition crossed his face.
"Take off the fucking coat, kid, you look ridiculous. Never wear it again. You can bury the necklace now."
He led him back to the table to talk.