"We are talking about anger here, Fraser, a human emotion. Are you human? Because if you are, human beings feel things. Okay? They feel anger. They feel love. They feel lust and fear. And sometimes, I know you don't want to hear this, sometimes they even cry."
[ 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.
[Down was exactly where Ray was headed, and that really didn't seem like a great place to be when locked in a cage in a dark and dreary dungeon with stifling heat and blood congealing all over him. If paranoia was going to hit him, then he'd get hit with it hard. He gets nervous, that can't be helped, but it's just nerves and anxiety didn't always mix great with drugs, especially the after effects of them. Shit, as if things weren't bad enough already.
As the door clangs shut behind him, and he watches Armando drop to the floor almost immediately following it, Ray considers that to be a pretty good idea. He's weak and exhausted, especially with the added bonus of the kick of adrenaline slowly leaving his body, so he finds the furtherest 'corner' away from the gangster that he can and settles down into it heavily.
Despite the heat he's shivering, staring reluctantly back at the other as he listens to the proposed plan. It's not something he can argue with. This guy already had it planned out and he knows it far better than Ray ever could. Ray doesn't know Vegas or the Vegas Feds.
He'd just have to suck it up and go along with it for Fraser's sake. Anything to get the Mountie back to Chicago and out of the hair of both the Feds and all the Vegas families, because of course Benton had managed to stir up trouble here, of course he had. That's what he does wherever he goes. Nothing is ever simple when Benton Fraser was involved.]
I got it. Go have yer fuckin' shower and leave me in peace.
[Because right now Ray just wants to curl up in a ball and preferably sleep. Or just ride out the downer that could be days. It's going to be weeks before he's right again, and that's not even counting mentally.
The curling up happens, the sleep? Well, that might come. Or he might just lay there for the next few hours and wait.]
[ Vecchio pauses, droopy eyed, watching for just a few moments as Ray curls up in the back of the cage, and he feels a stab of pity for the guy. Hard as he might be, this is just another thing he's going to be carrying around with him, a scar that nobody would ever see, that he'd never talk about or confront. Just for a second he looked really broken, and Ray had to worry that he'd done too much, pushed too far. As he stood, he looked down at him quietly, and for a moment - since Ray was curled up tight - he let his expression become unguarded.
Fraser would help. He didn't know how, but Fraser would notice something had changed. He could be a pain in the ass sometimes, he could suck when a friend was hurting just as much as he could step in to be strong for them, but he was at least perceptive, and hell, maybe he knew this guy better than Vecchio had let Fraser know him. His replacement did seem to wear his emotions on his sleeve, no matter his efforts to hide them. If anything, his hard guy act only made his soft side easier to see through to.
He scrubbed at his neck, then became aware of his throbbing, aching hand, and decided to go ahead and get out of there. A shower would be a good start. He'd call his doctor first, clean off the filth and then get his hand seen to and stitched up while the pain was still all numbed out.
He saw to it, turned off the music on his way out so that Ray might stand a chance of sleeping, and two hours later was escorting his guys into the pool room, sharing stories with them, laughing and mocking the ravaged cop in the downstairs dungeon. At last he gathered up Ray's clothes, waving his hand for them to stay. ]
Nah, enjoy your drinks, I'll deal with this.
[ And he slipped back downstairs, heading over to the cage and dropping the clothes in through the bars. He fetched a washcloth too. ]
Wash the come off, leave the blood. And when you come out keep your head down, don't try and hide how much it hurts. It's in your best interests if they think I'm the baddest, meanest mafankulo you've ever had the displeasure of meeting. I don't want to have to strip you down and do it again in front of them just to make my point.
[ He reached in through the cage bars, brushed his good hand briefly through Ray's hair and just as quickly snatched it away. ]
They'll drive you out and put you on the side of the road somewhere, you'll have your firearm returned to you. As for your friend, watch the lobby tomorrow morning. Alright.
[ He swung open the cage door and backed up a step. He wasn't armed, not this time, except with a sausage, but then he didn't need to be. There were guys waiting upstairs, and Ray really needed his cooperation now. With the drugs at least worn off, he oughtn't to be wired enough to attack just for the sake of it. ]
Come on. Sooner you get out of here, sooner I can get back to making money. Oh, and hold this. [ He passed him the sausage. ] When we get upstairs throw it to the short shifty looking one, make sure he catches it. I'm gonna tell him I fucked you with it.
[ He really hated that little bastard; it'd be worth it. ]
[Once on that flat surface, Ray didn't move. Didn't even care what Armando was up to behind him or whether he was tempted to approach yet again. If that cage door opened, he may well try his luck one last time, but for now, curled up in a ball on the floor seemed like the most comfortable and irresistible spot in the world. His ears are still perked, listening for movement, but there's no reaction as Armando, and only the vaguest lifts of his head as he hears footsteps retreat upstairs, only to check he was left alone, head dropping heavily back down the moment he's assured he's alone. There could be cameras, he doesn't discount that, but it doesn't really matter when he's not going to fucking move no matter what.
Briefly he considers checking over his wounds, but the lighting wasn't good enough for it and there was no point agitating wounds that were already sealing themselves up quite effectively. Moving was just going to aggravate them. Might as well just lay still.
There's nothing to register how long he's been there, or if he even fell asleep, but after Armando leaves, the next thing he recalls is him arriving again amidst a distant murmur of voices. Ray doesn't move at first, teeth gritted as he half expects something to happen, skin cringing just slightly as he hears the rustle of fabric pushed through the bars but staying unmoving until that brush of a touch through his hair.
He wishes he'd been ready for it, really, just to be able to sink his teeth into a hand again, but instead he's left slowly uncurling and pushing himself to his feet just in time to witness the cage opening. Freedom. A chance to escape. But what the fuck was the point in 'escape' now when he was being released anyway? The worst of it had already come, and if they did intend to kill him on the drive back... well he could sort that out when it came, but it seemed counter productive considering Armando's need to get rid of the Mountie.
After staggering on his feet for a second and trying to readjust his bearings to being vertical again, Ray slowly reaches for the wash cloth and then his clothing, dabbing himself slightly cleaner and then dressing himself with all the delicacy of someone who's got plenty of injuries to show for themselves. He avoids bending down when he can and refuses to face the other as he moves to hide any obvious instinctual flinches or winces. He's fine. He's good. He'd heal, but that mobster had a point. No point trying to act the hard guy in front of those men if the entire point was to portray three hours of agony.
Slowly he steps out of the cage, grunting as he moves his arm just a little too quickly to catch the thrown item, and then pausing to look down at it and register just what the point of it is.]
You're a sick fuck.
[But whatever, he's moving for the stairs, heading up them with some obvious stiffness that only increases as he approaches the top, just to give the goons a show. There's already blood seeping through his relatively thin shirt, but that couldn't be helped, it'd help add to the sight of him being bruised and battered. By the time he's out of that basement, he's staggering to the nearest wall while flinging that sausage at what looked to be the smallest member. Armando better fucking appreciate the play along, Ray's only doing it for the sake of easy cooperation to get the fuck out of this place.]
[ They emerged back into the bright Vegas afternoon, so little changed from where they'd gone below ground into the depths of sweaty hell. Back in the cool embrace of the Adobe built house with its naturally cooling walls and the blessed reprieve that was central air, Ray let himself exhale some of the tension he'd been feeling. The ordeal really was over. This guy would be taken safely away, his reputation would benefit from the experience, and more importantly he'd sleep well tonight knowing that in the morning Fraser would be leaving Vegas forever.
Ray played along, a real demonstration of cooperation considering where they'd started, and he'd use it as reference later on. Cowed him into submission, terrified of him, and who could really blame the guy? He'd gone in kicking and spitting and screaming, and now here he was following orders like all the other good little Vegas piggies.
The started goon who'd caught the sausage now stared at it, then back at Armando, and Vecchio poured off another stream of clipped Italian and laughed, but the poor guy didn't understand. At last, completing the joke, the older guy - Si - provided a translation in English, and the young man flipped the sausage into the air and jumped six feet away from it. There were laughs all around then, except for from Armando who now looked deadly still and serious. ]
Hey, pick that up. There's little kids starving to death and you're wasting food? For shame. Besides, the States Attorney is coming for dinner and you know how he likes his pork sausage. Kitchen. [ He gestured. ] Then have the driver get the car running.
He's a hothead. [ He went on, when the younger man had left with the sausage in hand. ] I want you with him. Cop's no good to me dead now, I put too much work into him. So you make sure he gets put out on the patrol route. Leave him water and give him his shit back, and make sure that little cocksucker doesn't think he's doing me any smart favors. I need this guy.
[ Si nodded, then stepped out after the other guy, leaving Armando with two nameless thugs he could care less about. He turned back to Ray, stepping back over toward him and clasping his head in both hands, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. It was more menacing than remotely sexual. Like it said "I could kill you right now but I choose not to."
He looked him square in the eye, still holding Ray's head. ]
If all goes well, Detective, we'll never see each other again. If it doesn't--well, you'll visit that room once more, and the last thing you'll see is the vultures picking out your friend's eyes right before they peck out your own. You take care now, Ray.
And yet dealing with humiliation was almost as difficult as anything that had come before. Ray hated it. He hated being seen as incapable. Hated having those scumbags laughing and joking about it all.
It was for the best that he was exhausted and stuck on a downer. He could fight this but it felt like far too much effort and something he was barely capable of right now. It'd be a waste anyway. Trying to lash out at this lot now would make the last few hours completely useless. He'd cooperated because he knew it was one of the only ways to get Fraser back to Chicago, and he'd continue to cooperate until that happened.
The vague cooperation didn't stop his lips curling into a tired snarl as Armando got near, teeth clenched at that press of lips, amazed at his own self-restraint. The fact he resists hitting that guy is a miracle, but it's all for Fraser.]
Be seein' you, scumbag.
[He mutters back, barely audible but showing enough physical compliance that he manages to make it look more like a vague agreement than any threat to the audience. Let those idiots think what they will, Armando knows that Ray would rip his head off right now if it weren't for that fucking Mountie.
And it's that fucking Mountie that has Kowalski willingly led away by Si, hunched and suitably injured for the sake of the viewers, but still ready to spring into self defence at a moments notice. There's that temptation to think about shooting the guys the second his gun is returned, or even attacking with fists if it's returned bulletless, but yet again: that fucking Mountie.
Fuck it, he'd stand on some dusty Vegas road and flag down cars if he needed to, all far the sake of Fraser.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.
no subject
As the door clangs shut behind him, and he watches Armando drop to the floor almost immediately following it, Ray considers that to be a pretty good idea. He's weak and exhausted, especially with the added bonus of the kick of adrenaline slowly leaving his body, so he finds the furtherest 'corner' away from the gangster that he can and settles down into it heavily.
Despite the heat he's shivering, staring reluctantly back at the other as he listens to the proposed plan. It's not something he can argue with. This guy already had it planned out and he knows it far better than Ray ever could. Ray doesn't know Vegas or the Vegas Feds.
He'd just have to suck it up and go along with it for Fraser's sake. Anything to get the Mountie back to Chicago and out of the hair of both the Feds and all the Vegas families, because of course Benton had managed to stir up trouble here, of course he had. That's what he does wherever he goes. Nothing is ever simple when Benton Fraser was involved.]
I got it. Go have yer fuckin' shower and leave me in peace.
[Because right now Ray just wants to curl up in a ball and preferably sleep. Or just ride out the downer that could be days. It's going to be weeks before he's right again, and that's not even counting mentally.
The curling up happens, the sleep? Well, that might come. Or he might just lay there for the next few hours and wait.]
no subject
Fraser would help. He didn't know how, but Fraser would notice something had changed. He could be a pain in the ass sometimes, he could suck when a friend was hurting just as much as he could step in to be strong for them, but he was at least perceptive, and hell, maybe he knew this guy better than Vecchio had let Fraser know him. His replacement did seem to wear his emotions on his sleeve, no matter his efforts to hide them. If anything, his hard guy act only made his soft side easier to see through to.
He scrubbed at his neck, then became aware of his throbbing, aching hand, and decided to go ahead and get out of there. A shower would be a good start. He'd call his doctor first, clean off the filth and then get his hand seen to and stitched up while the pain was still all numbed out.
He saw to it, turned off the music on his way out so that Ray might stand a chance of sleeping, and two hours later was escorting his guys into the pool room, sharing stories with them, laughing and mocking the ravaged cop in the downstairs dungeon. At last he gathered up Ray's clothes, waving his hand for them to stay. ]
Nah, enjoy your drinks, I'll deal with this.
[ And he slipped back downstairs, heading over to the cage and dropping the clothes in through the bars. He fetched a washcloth too. ]
Wash the come off, leave the blood. And when you come out keep your head down, don't try and hide how much it hurts. It's in your best interests if they think I'm the baddest, meanest mafankulo you've ever had the displeasure of meeting. I don't want to have to strip you down and do it again in front of them just to make my point.
[ He reached in through the cage bars, brushed his good hand briefly through Ray's hair and just as quickly snatched it away. ]
They'll drive you out and put you on the side of the road somewhere, you'll have your firearm returned to you. As for your friend, watch the lobby tomorrow morning. Alright.
[ He swung open the cage door and backed up a step. He wasn't armed, not this time, except with a sausage, but then he didn't need to be. There were guys waiting upstairs, and Ray really needed his cooperation now. With the drugs at least worn off, he oughtn't to be wired enough to attack just for the sake of it. ]
Come on. Sooner you get out of here, sooner I can get back to making money. Oh, and hold this. [ He passed him the sausage. ] When we get upstairs throw it to the short shifty looking one, make sure he catches it. I'm gonna tell him I fucked you with it.
[ He really hated that little bastard; it'd be worth it. ]
no subject
Briefly he considers checking over his wounds, but the lighting wasn't good enough for it and there was no point agitating wounds that were already sealing themselves up quite effectively. Moving was just going to aggravate them. Might as well just lay still.
There's nothing to register how long he's been there, or if he even fell asleep, but after Armando leaves, the next thing he recalls is him arriving again amidst a distant murmur of voices. Ray doesn't move at first, teeth gritted as he half expects something to happen, skin cringing just slightly as he hears the rustle of fabric pushed through the bars but staying unmoving until that brush of a touch through his hair.
He wishes he'd been ready for it, really, just to be able to sink his teeth into a hand again, but instead he's left slowly uncurling and pushing himself to his feet just in time to witness the cage opening. Freedom. A chance to escape. But what the fuck was the point in 'escape' now when he was being released anyway? The worst of it had already come, and if they did intend to kill him on the drive back... well he could sort that out when it came, but it seemed counter productive considering Armando's need to get rid of the Mountie.
After staggering on his feet for a second and trying to readjust his bearings to being vertical again, Ray slowly reaches for the wash cloth and then his clothing, dabbing himself slightly cleaner and then dressing himself with all the delicacy of someone who's got plenty of injuries to show for themselves. He avoids bending down when he can and refuses to face the other as he moves to hide any obvious instinctual flinches or winces. He's fine. He's good. He'd heal, but that mobster had a point. No point trying to act the hard guy in front of those men if the entire point was to portray three hours of agony.
Slowly he steps out of the cage, grunting as he moves his arm just a little too quickly to catch the thrown item, and then pausing to look down at it and register just what the point of it is.]
You're a sick fuck.
[But whatever, he's moving for the stairs, heading up them with some obvious stiffness that only increases as he approaches the top, just to give the goons a show. There's already blood seeping through his relatively thin shirt, but that couldn't be helped, it'd help add to the sight of him being bruised and battered. By the time he's out of that basement, he's staggering to the nearest wall while flinging that sausage at what looked to be the smallest member. Armando better fucking appreciate the play along, Ray's only doing it for the sake of easy cooperation to get the fuck out of this place.]
no subject
[ They emerged back into the bright Vegas afternoon, so little changed from where they'd gone below ground into the depths of sweaty hell. Back in the cool embrace of the Adobe built house with its naturally cooling walls and the blessed reprieve that was central air, Ray let himself exhale some of the tension he'd been feeling. The ordeal really was over. This guy would be taken safely away, his reputation would benefit from the experience, and more importantly he'd sleep well tonight knowing that in the morning Fraser would be leaving Vegas forever.
Ray played along, a real demonstration of cooperation considering where they'd started, and he'd use it as reference later on. Cowed him into submission, terrified of him, and who could really blame the guy? He'd gone in kicking and spitting and screaming, and now here he was following orders like all the other good little Vegas piggies.
The started goon who'd caught the sausage now stared at it, then back at Armando, and Vecchio poured off another stream of clipped Italian and laughed, but the poor guy didn't understand. At last, completing the joke, the older guy - Si - provided a translation in English, and the young man flipped the sausage into the air and jumped six feet away from it. There were laughs all around then, except for from Armando who now looked deadly still and serious. ]
Hey, pick that up. There's little kids starving to death and you're wasting food? For shame. Besides, the States Attorney is coming for dinner and you know how he likes his pork sausage. Kitchen. [ He gestured. ] Then have the driver get the car running.
He's a hothead. [ He went on, when the younger man had left with the sausage in hand. ] I want you with him. Cop's no good to me dead now, I put too much work into him. So you make sure he gets put out on the patrol route. Leave him water and give him his shit back, and make sure that little cocksucker doesn't think he's doing me any smart favors. I need this guy.
[ Si nodded, then stepped out after the other guy, leaving Armando with two nameless thugs he could care less about. He turned back to Ray, stepping back over toward him and clasping his head in both hands, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. It was more menacing than remotely sexual. Like it said "I could kill you right now but I choose not to."
He looked him square in the eye, still holding Ray's head. ]
If all goes well, Detective, we'll never see each other again. If it doesn't--well, you'll visit that room once more, and the last thing you'll see is the vultures picking out your friend's eyes right before they peck out your own. You take care now, Ray.
no subject
The worst was over.
And yet dealing with humiliation was almost as difficult as anything that had come before. Ray hated it. He hated being seen as incapable. Hated having those scumbags laughing and joking about it all.
It was for the best that he was exhausted and stuck on a downer. He could fight this but it felt like far too much effort and something he was barely capable of right now. It'd be a waste anyway. Trying to lash out at this lot now would make the last few hours completely useless. He'd cooperated because he knew it was one of the only ways to get Fraser back to Chicago, and he'd continue to cooperate until that happened.
The vague cooperation didn't stop his lips curling into a tired snarl as Armando got near, teeth clenched at that press of lips, amazed at his own self-restraint. The fact he resists hitting that guy is a miracle, but it's all for Fraser.]
Be seein' you, scumbag.
[He mutters back, barely audible but showing enough physical compliance that he manages to make it look more like a vague agreement than any threat to the audience. Let those idiots think what they will, Armando knows that Ray would rip his head off right now if it weren't for that fucking Mountie.
And it's that fucking Mountie that has Kowalski willingly led away by Si, hunched and suitably injured for the sake of the viewers, but still ready to spring into self defence at a moments notice. There's that temptation to think about shooting the guys the second his gun is returned, or even attacking with fists if it's returned bulletless, but yet again: that fucking Mountie.
Fuck it, he'd stand on some dusty Vegas road and flag down cars if he needed to, all far the sake of Fraser.
The Mountie better appreciate this.]