[ Down sucked. Down was awful. Down was paranoia and pain and the detailed world getting all crummy round the edges. It was exhaustion as the adrenaline wore off and a sick queasy feeling, but that was what the buttermilk was for. When the cage clinked shut, the electronic lock automatically activating, he allowed himself to relax, and his body did the rest. His legs folded underneath him, and he sat on the floor, the gun on the ground in front of him, and just for a moment demonstrated he was human, exhaling tension, running his hands back through his almost-hair. ]
Other than blue balls? You really know how to ruin an orgasm, huh?
[ He was almost too tired to be a smartass, let alone a wise guy, but there was business to do, and he scrubbed all the feeling back into his eyeballs, then dropped his hands onto his knees, looking back at Ray through the bars. ]
The FBI run out of the Royale. They have a thing where they look the other way or something, don't ask me what it is, but they operate out of Vegas, so they're going to put up somewhere, and they switch it up sometimes, pretend they keep us on our toes. Idiots. If they were real smart they'd get on the housing market, there's a boom going on in these parts. Land; they ain't making any more of it.
[ He scrubbed at his nose. It was running, but when was that ever a surprise? Really, this job had its perks but it was ruining him for being a regular human being. ]
They have him in 1507. That's up on the penthouse level--which is actually three penthouse levels, because people come to Vegas to hemorrhage money, and they start on the hotel room. Now they have two guys guarding it; they take turns, but your guy is real regular about sleeping. There's at least one more works at the front desk, but their operatives are out working most of the day, following us around town wasting government money.
So that's where I come in. Me and a couple of mine, we'll go shake up the guys at the Royale, make a scene. It's a big deal to the Feds, and if something goes down they'll want all hands on deck. They won't be thinking of your cooperative Mountie friend. Joe Casey or whoever it is gets called off guard duty, and you slip in, open the door, and then you get right out of town; they won't even know you were there.
Now you can do that, right? Cause if I have to disappear him it's gonna be less pretty.
[ It was a simple plan, really. Couldn't go wrong. So long as Ray didn't bring Fraser back through the lobby as he was escaping. He wouldn't be that dumb, though; that'd mean having to slip him out right under the noses of the FBI. Fraser, though--well, Fraser was that dumb. He was the loose cannon in all this. ]
You got any questions? And if you say "what does Langoustini mean" I'm gonna keep your tongue as a fucking souvenir.
no subject
Other than blue balls? You really know how to ruin an orgasm, huh?
[ He was almost too tired to be a smartass, let alone a wise guy, but there was business to do, and he scrubbed all the feeling back into his eyeballs, then dropped his hands onto his knees, looking back at Ray through the bars. ]
The FBI run out of the Royale. They have a thing where they look the other way or something, don't ask me what it is, but they operate out of Vegas, so they're going to put up somewhere, and they switch it up sometimes, pretend they keep us on our toes. Idiots. If they were real smart they'd get on the housing market, there's a boom going on in these parts. Land; they ain't making any more of it.
[ He scrubbed at his nose. It was running, but when was that ever a surprise? Really, this job had its perks but it was ruining him for being a regular human being. ]
They have him in 1507. That's up on the penthouse level--which is actually three penthouse levels, because people come to Vegas to hemorrhage money, and they start on the hotel room. Now they have two guys guarding it; they take turns, but your guy is real regular about sleeping. There's at least one more works at the front desk, but their operatives are out working most of the day, following us around town wasting government money.
So that's where I come in. Me and a couple of mine, we'll go shake up the guys at the Royale, make a scene. It's a big deal to the Feds, and if something goes down they'll want all hands on deck. They won't be thinking of your cooperative Mountie friend. Joe Casey or whoever it is gets called off guard duty, and you slip in, open the door, and then you get right out of town; they won't even know you were there.
Now you can do that, right? Cause if I have to disappear him it's gonna be less pretty.
[ It was a simple plan, really. Couldn't go wrong. So long as Ray didn't bring Fraser back through the lobby as he was escaping. He wouldn't be that dumb, though; that'd mean having to slip him out right under the noses of the FBI. Fraser, though--well, Fraser was that dumb. He was the loose cannon in all this. ]
You got any questions? And if you say "what does Langoustini mean" I'm gonna keep your tongue as a fucking souvenir.