Post by Mr. Otis on Aug 25, 2012 20:43:40 GMT -10
Continued from "Contracts Pt 2" At Lexcorp Towers
What Lex Luthor wanted, Lex Luthor got. I’d personally spend the rest of my days making sure of that. It’s the least I could do. Mr. Luthor pulled me off the docks, gave me some real money and put his faith and trust into me. Now I had to assemble a team and between the time I’d spent in the joint and the time I’ve spent in the bars I already had a few guys in mind for the job.
I was walking out of Lexcorp heading for the Street. There were still a few cop cruisers around but, the bacon quantity had dropped significantly during my time inside the Administrative Lex Corp Tower. See, Lexcorp Towers was, as the name insinuated, two towers. Twin towers, if you will. They were the largest buildings in the country. One tower was mostly administrative stuff. That’s where the cops were swarming. The second tower? Well, you practically needed a call from the President to get ya inside there. Over the course of my time in Metropolis I’d heard a lot of rumors about what went on inside there. A building that large, allegedly full of scientists and test labs and things of that sort… I’d always been curious… Maybe now that I was working for the man himself, I’d one day get to see what went on in that second tower.
As thoughts of Zombies and six legged dogs and lab rats the size of Buicks ran through my mind, I got to the curb ready to hail a cab.
“Mister Otis?”
I glanced to the side and saw some guy in a black suit standing next to a black full sized Lexus.
“Who wants to know?” I answered.
“Mr. Luthor’s assigned me to be your driver, sir.”
Heh… When this day started I had to bum a ride to a factory so I could spend the day putting up with a bunch-a shit for twelve dollars an hour. Now I had an assigned driver and somebody was calling me “Sir”… You pray to whoeva ya want but it was at this moment I realized that my God went by the name Luthor.
“My driver huh? Well alright. Take me to McGuinties… It’s on the corner of twelfth street and Escanaba.”
The driver grew wide eyed, “Bu-bu-but sir… That’s in the Suicide Slums…”
“Yeah… Now get us there.”
I could tell the driver was as nervous as a virgin on prom night but he opened the door for me all the same. It was time to make some calls. I knew exactly who I was going to assemble for Mr. Luthor’s crew and I knew they’d all be down in the Slums.
It was going on One O’Clock in the after noon as the Lexcorp Lexus pulled up in front of a beat up bar called McGuinties. The building had graffiti on it and there were seedy characters walking about. Homeless people wearing sacks and pushing carts. Often times we’ve talked about the sun shine and beauty of Metropolis and it’s easy to do that looking down from the high rise office windows of Lexcorp or the magnificent Centennial Park… When you get down in the Suicide Slums the only definitive difference between Metropolis and Gotham is that there’s a little less smog and cloud cover.
The chauffer was nervous but he walked to the back of the car and drew open the door all the same. Otis Chesterfield stepped out clad in his navy suit, white shirt and navy tie.
“Otis?! That you Otis?! Look atchu tryin to look like you’s somebody!”
Otis glanced to the side. It was a thin dark woman stumbling with a bottle in her hand.
“Ahhh, shaadddup crack whore!”
“Fuck you motherfucker!”
Otis motions back at the driver still standing beside the car and quips, “Not even with his dick.”
Otis draws the door open and just get’s inside the building as the woman throws her bottle, missing him and shattering against the brick wall of McGuinties.
Now if the outside scene didn’t tell you what you needed to know about the Suicide Slums, the fact that there’s a bar doing Friday night business on a Monday before one o’clock in the afternoon might paint a pretty good picture for ya. Now make no mistake about it… This is not a night club. This is not even a honky tonk or an upscale bar with some roughneck patrons like the place in Roadhouse. No, this is a good ol fashion, run down, beat up, standard bar. You’re not gonna get an apple martini or a banana daiquiri here. There’s Beer and there’s shots. Ask for anything more sophisticated then that and you may get shot.
Otis surveys the room… Off to the back left he immediately spots two men. Neither man is small but one man sticks out. He has to stand between six-eight and Six-Nine and weigh close to four hundred pounds. He has thick brown curly hair and a thick ol’ beard and he’s dressed in blue jeans, a black shirt with a skull and crossbones on it and a leather jacket with a denim jacket over top that’s had the sleeves cut off. There’s patches all over this guy’s denim jacket-turned-vest. He’s standing by the wall, holding a pool cue in one hand and chugging on a long neck of Budweiser with the other.
His friend is smaller, but by no means small. Around six foot two, two hundred eighty pounds. He has a short buzz cut and a long thick black and gray goatee. He has a scar under his eye that looks like it was probably ascertained from a broken beer bottle across the face. He has on a pair of black jeans and a black T-Shirt that has an 8-Ball on the back. He’s sizing up his shot at the table.
At the far end of the bar stands another big ol’ hoss. Easily six-five, Six-six and at least 360 pounds. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and black T-Shirt with an image of some demonic creature that reads “The Devil Made Me Do It”. But more notable is that instead of hair, his entire head is covered with a tattoo of fire. The bar tender sets a shot in front of him and he withdraws his black Zippo lighter. He flicks open the lighter and places the flame to the alcohol, igniting the shot and grinning before he throws it back with a hearty “AHHHH”.
On the near side of the Bar there’s a large black man. Unlike the other big guys we’ve noticed, this guy doesn’t have a gut. He’s built like a wall. He stands Probably around six foot four, he’s wearing a black sleeveless shirt showing off his well sculpted biceps, a tight fitting gold necklace and a pair of black jeans.
Leaning against the bar with his back to big black man and more importantly, his front to a blonde woman in leather pants and a tied off black T-Shirt is a Cuban man who stands about six-three and is more slender than any of the others. Of course he’s still a well built fella, he’s just smaller than the others. His hair is slicked back with about a quart of grease and gel aside from one lone long curl dangling over his face. He has a tooth pick in his mouth and he’s grinning as he spits his game to the woman at the bar.
“Well good Christ all mighty… Look who’s dressed in his Sunday best.”
Otis looks back over to the pool table where the big ol’ bear of a man in the leather and denim is standing. He and his friend are both looking at Otis and the call out has the rest of the bar turning to see Otis as well.
Otis grins, “Sunday best? Sunday’s just another day of the week my friend… Today’s a special occasion. Why don’t you ‘n 8-Ball let me buy ya-a-round?”
The two men at the pool table look at each other and shrug before placing there cue sticks on the table and walking toward the bar. Otis makes his way to the bar as well, the three of them coming to the bar near where the Cuban man is talking to the blonde woman.
“Listen cheeka… You… Me… An hour of thrustin’ power in the shower… It’ll be magic baby.”
She laughs, “My boyfriend may not appreciate that.”
The Cuban scoffs, “Boyfriend? You don’t need no stinkin’ boyfriend. You need a *Man* friend and trust me sweetheart, I’m all man.”
She looks him over and smirks, “Oh yeah?”
He smirks back, the tooth pick in his mouth coming to attention as he says, “Oh yeah mommy.”
“Hey asshole!”
Half the bar turns around, evidently there’s more than one individual who’s answered to that name before. One of the few people didn’t turn around was the Cuban.
“So what do you say baby? You, Me and the best hour of your life?”
She laughs, “I’m afraid it might be the last hour of your life.”
He get’s a confused look but it doesn’t take long for him to realize what she meant. A Big burley guy in similar attire to “Grizzly” grabs our Cuban by the shoulder and spins him around. The Cuban looks at the big man and snickers.
“Whoa cheeko… I don’t know what cologne you use but if I was you, I’d call the makers and demand a written apology. You reek cheeko.”
The big man draws back his right fist but when he does the black man that was positioned behind the Cuban hooks his arm and spins him around.
“Oh… Bad decision blackie.”
The burley fella goes for a hard right but the black man steps back making the apparently jealous boyfriend nearly throw himself over the bar. He pushes himself off the bar and turns around and WHAAAAAM! The black man drives a hard fist right into the burley man’s face making his nose instantly swell and start spurting out blood as he stumbles back. The black man walks toward him… The burley man’s eyes are watering from the impact of the punch so it’s hard for him to see but he goes for a big right hand anyway. The black man ducks under it and drives a hard right hand into the lower back of the burley fella making him drop to his knees. The man starts trying to push himself up as the black man walks around in front of him. As the burley man is pushing himself up to his feet the black man grabs the back of his head with both hands and CRAAAAAACK! He drives the burley man’s face right into his knee making the burley man snap back to the floor.
The Cuban saunters over and stands over the burley fella.
“Oh man, cheeko… Forget worrying about your odor… You’ve gotta do something about that face. You’re just offensive to look at cheeko.”
He smirks before grabbing his toothpick out of his mouth and flicking it into the face of the barely conscious fella. The blonde woman the Cuban was talking to rush’s over kneeling next to her boyfriend as the Cuban and the Black Man head back to the bar.
Otis, “Well Stonewall… I see you haven’t lost your touch.”
The black man, now identified as “Stonewall” shrugs. The Cuban gives him a pat on the shoulder and hollars, “Yo, Bartendah… Two brews for me and my friend.”
“Comin right up Rico.”
Otis glances over at the big man on the end with the flame tattoo. The bartender was in the process of pouring him another shot.
Otis calls out, “Hey… Cerberus… Why don’tcha come over and join us… That shot’s on me.”
Cerberus shrugs and grabs the shot, walking over.
Otis glances to the Bar tender, “My friends here (motioning to “Grizzly” and “8-Ball” ) need two budweisers and I’ll have a Coors Light.”
“You got it Otis.”
Now, surrounded by “Grizzly”, “8-Ball”, “Rico”, “Stonewall” and “Cerberus”, Otis spins around so his back is to the bar.
Otis, “Fellas… What would you say if I told you that I had the opportunity of a lifetime in the palm of my hand and I wanted to bring you guys in for a taste?
Cerberus, “How much product we moving and how much cash we getting?”
Otis shakes his head, “It’s not a drug operation… At least I don’t think Luthor deals in drugs, I could be wrong.”
8-Ball scoffs, “Luthor? As in captain America Lex Luthor, all over TV talkin about “The Criminal Element?”
Grizzly, “Yeah… ‘The Criminal Element’… We’ve got names damn it!”
8-Ball and Grizzly share a hearty laugh as Rico and Ceberus both smirk. The beers for all five men arrive. Two Budweisers for 8-Ball and Grizzly, a Corona for Rico, A Budweiser for Stonewall and a Coors Light for Otis. Otis reaches inside his pocket and withdraws the envelope Luthor had tossed him earlier. He opens the envelope wide as his friends peer inside. Otis withdraws a hundred dollar bill and hands it to the bar keep.
Bartender, “You’re a funny guy… Now ya got any real money?”
Otis seems annoyed, probably even offended as he says, “Hey wise ass… Take the damn money and gimmie my change!”
The Bartender grabs a money marker from the register and slides it across the bill.
Bartender, “Holy crap… It’s real.”
Otis, “No shit.”
Rico takes a swig of his Corona before he says, “So yo… Cheeko… What do we do and where do I sign up?”
They all nod as Otis grins. The bartender gives Otis his change, which he pockets.
Otis, “I thought you boys would never ask. I’m just waiting on one more guy to join our crew and then we can go.”
8-Ball, “Anybody we know?”
Before Otis can answer, the door to the bar draws open. Standing in the sunlit door frame is a man of modest size. About six foot, maybe six one, a hundred eighty five pounds, to two hundred pounds. His thick blonde hair is styled back and he’s dressed in black combat boots, designer blue jeans and a white Ralph Lauren Polo Shirt. He has on thin framed sunglasses with small circular lenses.
Grizzly, “Who the fuck…”
The man walks across the bar room floor, people looking at him strangely as he clearly isn’t a regular of the bar.
Otis, “Gentlemen… This is Jericho Caine… My brother served with him overseas.”
8-Ball, “A War Vet eh?”
Jericho Caine, “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
8-Ball sarcastically replies, “Oh, well excuse me Mister sixty dollar jeans and a Polo Shirt.”
Jericho Caine stays completely straight faced as he replies, “a hundred five.”
8-Ball, “Huh?”
Jericho Caine, “The Jeans… They cost a hundred five dollars.”
Grizzly laughs, “A hundred five dollars on a pair of jeans? Shit. I shop at Big & Tall and I still spend way less than that on my jeans.”
Jericho Caine flatly responds, “And it shows.”
Grizzly glares, “You talking shit son?”
Jericho Caine, “I’ve never understood that expression. You can’t talk shit. I shit, shit. I wouldn’t even begin to understand how you’d talk shit.”
Grizzly, “Fuck this.”
Grizzly grabs his beer bottle and goes to wrap Jericho but before Grizzly can even get close to hitting Jericho, Jericho thrusts the tips of his fingers into the big man’s throat making him drop the beer on the floor and grab his throat gasping.
8-Ball, “HEY!”
8 Ball goes for a hard left hand but Jericho catches his wrist, turns and sends 8-Ball flying up over his shoulder to the floor with a modified judo throw.
Rico, “Heh-heh… This guy can go cheeko.”
Grizzly comes running at Jericho from behind. Jericho never even looks behind him, he just reaches out, grabs a bar stool and swings backwards up over his head, shattering the stool over Grizzly’s head. Grizzly drops to his ass as Jericho looks to Otis without any change in emotion.
Jericho Caine, “Your brother told me you wanted me to assist you with a private team assembled for Alexander Luthor.”
Otis nods, “That’s right…”
Jericho Caine, “What is it that this “team” will be doing?”
Otis, “Whatever Mr. Luthor requires. Regardless of what side of the law those orders may fall. Is that a problem?”
Jericho Caine, “Did your brother tell you my price?”
Otis, “He did.”
Jericho Caine, ‘Can you meet it?”
Otis, “I can.”
Jericho Caine, “Then no, it’s not a problem.”
Otis, “Excellent. Let me introduce you to the rest of the team… This is Rico Suave`.”
Rico withdraws a toothpick from his ear and gives a nod before placing the tooth pick in his mouth.
Otis motions behind him and says, “And that’s Stonewall.”
Stonewall gives a small nod. Otis motions to the opposite side toward the big man with the flame tattoo on his head.
Otis, “The big man there goes by Cerberus. And…”
Otis motions down to 8-Ball and Grizzly trying to get up off the floor.
Otis, “These two fellas you just beat the crap out of are 8-Ball and Butch “Grizzly” Addams.”
Grizzly and 8-Ball get to their feet, mean mugging Jericho but choosing not to try their luck again.
Jericho Caine, “Excellent. What’s our first task?”
Otis, “Somebody got murdered today at the Lexcorp Administrative Tower.”
Jericho Caine, “Board member?”
Otis shakes his head, “Nah, just a junior executive of some sort. Nobody special. But whoever killed this guy made a point to kill him inside the very secure Lexcorp Tower.”
Jericho Caine, “That’s strange. Why go to all the effort to penetrate Lexcorp when you could just wait for the guy to leave work and take care of him elsewhere.”
Otis, “Exactly. That’s what Mr. Luthor wants to know. He wants to know who Iced this guy and why they chose to do it at Lexcorp. We need to get to Lexcorp and find out if anything is missing. We also need to break into this guy’s computer and look over his files. Can you do that sort of thing?”
Jericho Caine, “I can turn the insides of almost any computer into a compact explosive. However, when it comes to hacking my skills are limited. But I know somebody. He’s not cheap but he’s the best there is.”
Otis nods, “Give him a call. Have him meet us at Lexcorp.”
Jericho nods, “Alright.”
Otis, “Excellent… Well boys… Unless you guys have something more financially stimulating to tend to this afternoon, I believe we should get right to it.”
Rico smirks, “Show me the way to the greenbacks cheeko.”
Otis takes a swig of his Coors Light and then leaves the rest of the bottle on the bar. He begins for the door with Jerichio, Rico and Stonewall all close behind. 8-Ball and Grizzly stay near the bar for a moment.
8-Ball, “First chance we get, we’re slitting that blonde fuck’s throat.”
Grizzly Addams, “Yeah… Fuck yeah.”
Otis opens the door for Jericho, Rico and Stonewall. He glances over…
Otis, “Hey fellas, ya coming?”
8-Ball, “Yeah…”
The two bikers slam back the rest of their budweisers and then leave the empty bottles on the bar before heading to (and through) the door. Otis finally steps out closing the door behind him as we fade.
What Lex Luthor wanted, Lex Luthor got. I’d personally spend the rest of my days making sure of that. It’s the least I could do. Mr. Luthor pulled me off the docks, gave me some real money and put his faith and trust into me. Now I had to assemble a team and between the time I’d spent in the joint and the time I’ve spent in the bars I already had a few guys in mind for the job.
I was walking out of Lexcorp heading for the Street. There were still a few cop cruisers around but, the bacon quantity had dropped significantly during my time inside the Administrative Lex Corp Tower. See, Lexcorp Towers was, as the name insinuated, two towers. Twin towers, if you will. They were the largest buildings in the country. One tower was mostly administrative stuff. That’s where the cops were swarming. The second tower? Well, you practically needed a call from the President to get ya inside there. Over the course of my time in Metropolis I’d heard a lot of rumors about what went on inside there. A building that large, allegedly full of scientists and test labs and things of that sort… I’d always been curious… Maybe now that I was working for the man himself, I’d one day get to see what went on in that second tower.
As thoughts of Zombies and six legged dogs and lab rats the size of Buicks ran through my mind, I got to the curb ready to hail a cab.
“Mister Otis?”
I glanced to the side and saw some guy in a black suit standing next to a black full sized Lexus.
“Who wants to know?” I answered.
“Mr. Luthor’s assigned me to be your driver, sir.”
Heh… When this day started I had to bum a ride to a factory so I could spend the day putting up with a bunch-a shit for twelve dollars an hour. Now I had an assigned driver and somebody was calling me “Sir”… You pray to whoeva ya want but it was at this moment I realized that my God went by the name Luthor.
“My driver huh? Well alright. Take me to McGuinties… It’s on the corner of twelfth street and Escanaba.”
The driver grew wide eyed, “Bu-bu-but sir… That’s in the Suicide Slums…”
“Yeah… Now get us there.”
I could tell the driver was as nervous as a virgin on prom night but he opened the door for me all the same. It was time to make some calls. I knew exactly who I was going to assemble for Mr. Luthor’s crew and I knew they’d all be down in the Slums.
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It was going on One O’Clock in the after noon as the Lexcorp Lexus pulled up in front of a beat up bar called McGuinties. The building had graffiti on it and there were seedy characters walking about. Homeless people wearing sacks and pushing carts. Often times we’ve talked about the sun shine and beauty of Metropolis and it’s easy to do that looking down from the high rise office windows of Lexcorp or the magnificent Centennial Park… When you get down in the Suicide Slums the only definitive difference between Metropolis and Gotham is that there’s a little less smog and cloud cover.
The chauffer was nervous but he walked to the back of the car and drew open the door all the same. Otis Chesterfield stepped out clad in his navy suit, white shirt and navy tie.
“Otis?! That you Otis?! Look atchu tryin to look like you’s somebody!”
Otis glanced to the side. It was a thin dark woman stumbling with a bottle in her hand.
“Ahhh, shaadddup crack whore!”
“Fuck you motherfucker!”
Otis motions back at the driver still standing beside the car and quips, “Not even with his dick.”
Otis draws the door open and just get’s inside the building as the woman throws her bottle, missing him and shattering against the brick wall of McGuinties.
Now if the outside scene didn’t tell you what you needed to know about the Suicide Slums, the fact that there’s a bar doing Friday night business on a Monday before one o’clock in the afternoon might paint a pretty good picture for ya. Now make no mistake about it… This is not a night club. This is not even a honky tonk or an upscale bar with some roughneck patrons like the place in Roadhouse. No, this is a good ol fashion, run down, beat up, standard bar. You’re not gonna get an apple martini or a banana daiquiri here. There’s Beer and there’s shots. Ask for anything more sophisticated then that and you may get shot.
Otis surveys the room… Off to the back left he immediately spots two men. Neither man is small but one man sticks out. He has to stand between six-eight and Six-Nine and weigh close to four hundred pounds. He has thick brown curly hair and a thick ol’ beard and he’s dressed in blue jeans, a black shirt with a skull and crossbones on it and a leather jacket with a denim jacket over top that’s had the sleeves cut off. There’s patches all over this guy’s denim jacket-turned-vest. He’s standing by the wall, holding a pool cue in one hand and chugging on a long neck of Budweiser with the other.
His friend is smaller, but by no means small. Around six foot two, two hundred eighty pounds. He has a short buzz cut and a long thick black and gray goatee. He has a scar under his eye that looks like it was probably ascertained from a broken beer bottle across the face. He has on a pair of black jeans and a black T-Shirt that has an 8-Ball on the back. He’s sizing up his shot at the table.
At the far end of the bar stands another big ol’ hoss. Easily six-five, Six-six and at least 360 pounds. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and black T-Shirt with an image of some demonic creature that reads “The Devil Made Me Do It”. But more notable is that instead of hair, his entire head is covered with a tattoo of fire. The bar tender sets a shot in front of him and he withdraws his black Zippo lighter. He flicks open the lighter and places the flame to the alcohol, igniting the shot and grinning before he throws it back with a hearty “AHHHH”.
On the near side of the Bar there’s a large black man. Unlike the other big guys we’ve noticed, this guy doesn’t have a gut. He’s built like a wall. He stands Probably around six foot four, he’s wearing a black sleeveless shirt showing off his well sculpted biceps, a tight fitting gold necklace and a pair of black jeans.
Leaning against the bar with his back to big black man and more importantly, his front to a blonde woman in leather pants and a tied off black T-Shirt is a Cuban man who stands about six-three and is more slender than any of the others. Of course he’s still a well built fella, he’s just smaller than the others. His hair is slicked back with about a quart of grease and gel aside from one lone long curl dangling over his face. He has a tooth pick in his mouth and he’s grinning as he spits his game to the woman at the bar.
“Well good Christ all mighty… Look who’s dressed in his Sunday best.”
Otis looks back over to the pool table where the big ol’ bear of a man in the leather and denim is standing. He and his friend are both looking at Otis and the call out has the rest of the bar turning to see Otis as well.
Otis grins, “Sunday best? Sunday’s just another day of the week my friend… Today’s a special occasion. Why don’t you ‘n 8-Ball let me buy ya-a-round?”
The two men at the pool table look at each other and shrug before placing there cue sticks on the table and walking toward the bar. Otis makes his way to the bar as well, the three of them coming to the bar near where the Cuban man is talking to the blonde woman.
“Listen cheeka… You… Me… An hour of thrustin’ power in the shower… It’ll be magic baby.”
She laughs, “My boyfriend may not appreciate that.”
The Cuban scoffs, “Boyfriend? You don’t need no stinkin’ boyfriend. You need a *Man* friend and trust me sweetheart, I’m all man.”
She looks him over and smirks, “Oh yeah?”
He smirks back, the tooth pick in his mouth coming to attention as he says, “Oh yeah mommy.”
“Hey asshole!”
Half the bar turns around, evidently there’s more than one individual who’s answered to that name before. One of the few people didn’t turn around was the Cuban.
“So what do you say baby? You, Me and the best hour of your life?”
She laughs, “I’m afraid it might be the last hour of your life.”
He get’s a confused look but it doesn’t take long for him to realize what she meant. A Big burley guy in similar attire to “Grizzly” grabs our Cuban by the shoulder and spins him around. The Cuban looks at the big man and snickers.
“Whoa cheeko… I don’t know what cologne you use but if I was you, I’d call the makers and demand a written apology. You reek cheeko.”
The big man draws back his right fist but when he does the black man that was positioned behind the Cuban hooks his arm and spins him around.
“Oh… Bad decision blackie.”
The burley fella goes for a hard right but the black man steps back making the apparently jealous boyfriend nearly throw himself over the bar. He pushes himself off the bar and turns around and WHAAAAAM! The black man drives a hard fist right into the burley man’s face making his nose instantly swell and start spurting out blood as he stumbles back. The black man walks toward him… The burley man’s eyes are watering from the impact of the punch so it’s hard for him to see but he goes for a big right hand anyway. The black man ducks under it and drives a hard right hand into the lower back of the burley fella making him drop to his knees. The man starts trying to push himself up as the black man walks around in front of him. As the burley man is pushing himself up to his feet the black man grabs the back of his head with both hands and CRAAAAAACK! He drives the burley man’s face right into his knee making the burley man snap back to the floor.
The Cuban saunters over and stands over the burley fella.
“Oh man, cheeko… Forget worrying about your odor… You’ve gotta do something about that face. You’re just offensive to look at cheeko.”
He smirks before grabbing his toothpick out of his mouth and flicking it into the face of the barely conscious fella. The blonde woman the Cuban was talking to rush’s over kneeling next to her boyfriend as the Cuban and the Black Man head back to the bar.
Otis, “Well Stonewall… I see you haven’t lost your touch.”
The black man, now identified as “Stonewall” shrugs. The Cuban gives him a pat on the shoulder and hollars, “Yo, Bartendah… Two brews for me and my friend.”
“Comin right up Rico.”
Otis glances over at the big man on the end with the flame tattoo. The bartender was in the process of pouring him another shot.
Otis calls out, “Hey… Cerberus… Why don’tcha come over and join us… That shot’s on me.”
Cerberus shrugs and grabs the shot, walking over.
Otis glances to the Bar tender, “My friends here (motioning to “Grizzly” and “8-Ball” ) need two budweisers and I’ll have a Coors Light.”
“You got it Otis.”
Now, surrounded by “Grizzly”, “8-Ball”, “Rico”, “Stonewall” and “Cerberus”, Otis spins around so his back is to the bar.
Otis, “Fellas… What would you say if I told you that I had the opportunity of a lifetime in the palm of my hand and I wanted to bring you guys in for a taste?
Cerberus, “How much product we moving and how much cash we getting?”
Otis shakes his head, “It’s not a drug operation… At least I don’t think Luthor deals in drugs, I could be wrong.”
8-Ball scoffs, “Luthor? As in captain America Lex Luthor, all over TV talkin about “The Criminal Element?”
Grizzly, “Yeah… ‘The Criminal Element’… We’ve got names damn it!”
8-Ball and Grizzly share a hearty laugh as Rico and Ceberus both smirk. The beers for all five men arrive. Two Budweisers for 8-Ball and Grizzly, a Corona for Rico, A Budweiser for Stonewall and a Coors Light for Otis. Otis reaches inside his pocket and withdraws the envelope Luthor had tossed him earlier. He opens the envelope wide as his friends peer inside. Otis withdraws a hundred dollar bill and hands it to the bar keep.
Bartender, “You’re a funny guy… Now ya got any real money?”
Otis seems annoyed, probably even offended as he says, “Hey wise ass… Take the damn money and gimmie my change!”
The Bartender grabs a money marker from the register and slides it across the bill.
Bartender, “Holy crap… It’s real.”
Otis, “No shit.”
Rico takes a swig of his Corona before he says, “So yo… Cheeko… What do we do and where do I sign up?”
They all nod as Otis grins. The bartender gives Otis his change, which he pockets.
Otis, “I thought you boys would never ask. I’m just waiting on one more guy to join our crew and then we can go.”
8-Ball, “Anybody we know?”
Before Otis can answer, the door to the bar draws open. Standing in the sunlit door frame is a man of modest size. About six foot, maybe six one, a hundred eighty five pounds, to two hundred pounds. His thick blonde hair is styled back and he’s dressed in black combat boots, designer blue jeans and a white Ralph Lauren Polo Shirt. He has on thin framed sunglasses with small circular lenses.
Grizzly, “Who the fuck…”
The man walks across the bar room floor, people looking at him strangely as he clearly isn’t a regular of the bar.
Otis, “Gentlemen… This is Jericho Caine… My brother served with him overseas.”
8-Ball, “A War Vet eh?”
Jericho Caine, “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
8-Ball sarcastically replies, “Oh, well excuse me Mister sixty dollar jeans and a Polo Shirt.”
Jericho Caine stays completely straight faced as he replies, “a hundred five.”
8-Ball, “Huh?”
Jericho Caine, “The Jeans… They cost a hundred five dollars.”
Grizzly laughs, “A hundred five dollars on a pair of jeans? Shit. I shop at Big & Tall and I still spend way less than that on my jeans.”
Jericho Caine flatly responds, “And it shows.”
Grizzly glares, “You talking shit son?”
Jericho Caine, “I’ve never understood that expression. You can’t talk shit. I shit, shit. I wouldn’t even begin to understand how you’d talk shit.”
Grizzly, “Fuck this.”
Grizzly grabs his beer bottle and goes to wrap Jericho but before Grizzly can even get close to hitting Jericho, Jericho thrusts the tips of his fingers into the big man’s throat making him drop the beer on the floor and grab his throat gasping.
8-Ball, “HEY!”
8 Ball goes for a hard left hand but Jericho catches his wrist, turns and sends 8-Ball flying up over his shoulder to the floor with a modified judo throw.
Rico, “Heh-heh… This guy can go cheeko.”
Grizzly comes running at Jericho from behind. Jericho never even looks behind him, he just reaches out, grabs a bar stool and swings backwards up over his head, shattering the stool over Grizzly’s head. Grizzly drops to his ass as Jericho looks to Otis without any change in emotion.
Jericho Caine, “Your brother told me you wanted me to assist you with a private team assembled for Alexander Luthor.”
Otis nods, “That’s right…”
Jericho Caine, “What is it that this “team” will be doing?”
Otis, “Whatever Mr. Luthor requires. Regardless of what side of the law those orders may fall. Is that a problem?”
Jericho Caine, “Did your brother tell you my price?”
Otis, “He did.”
Jericho Caine, ‘Can you meet it?”
Otis, “I can.”
Jericho Caine, “Then no, it’s not a problem.”
Otis, “Excellent. Let me introduce you to the rest of the team… This is Rico Suave`.”
Rico withdraws a toothpick from his ear and gives a nod before placing the tooth pick in his mouth.
Otis motions behind him and says, “And that’s Stonewall.”
Stonewall gives a small nod. Otis motions to the opposite side toward the big man with the flame tattoo on his head.
Otis, “The big man there goes by Cerberus. And…”
Otis motions down to 8-Ball and Grizzly trying to get up off the floor.
Otis, “These two fellas you just beat the crap out of are 8-Ball and Butch “Grizzly” Addams.”
Grizzly and 8-Ball get to their feet, mean mugging Jericho but choosing not to try their luck again.
Jericho Caine, “Excellent. What’s our first task?”
Otis, “Somebody got murdered today at the Lexcorp Administrative Tower.”
Jericho Caine, “Board member?”
Otis shakes his head, “Nah, just a junior executive of some sort. Nobody special. But whoever killed this guy made a point to kill him inside the very secure Lexcorp Tower.”
Jericho Caine, “That’s strange. Why go to all the effort to penetrate Lexcorp when you could just wait for the guy to leave work and take care of him elsewhere.”
Otis, “Exactly. That’s what Mr. Luthor wants to know. He wants to know who Iced this guy and why they chose to do it at Lexcorp. We need to get to Lexcorp and find out if anything is missing. We also need to break into this guy’s computer and look over his files. Can you do that sort of thing?”
Jericho Caine, “I can turn the insides of almost any computer into a compact explosive. However, when it comes to hacking my skills are limited. But I know somebody. He’s not cheap but he’s the best there is.”
Otis nods, “Give him a call. Have him meet us at Lexcorp.”
Jericho nods, “Alright.”
Otis, “Excellent… Well boys… Unless you guys have something more financially stimulating to tend to this afternoon, I believe we should get right to it.”
Rico smirks, “Show me the way to the greenbacks cheeko.”
Otis takes a swig of his Coors Light and then leaves the rest of the bottle on the bar. He begins for the door with Jerichio, Rico and Stonewall all close behind. 8-Ball and Grizzly stay near the bar for a moment.
8-Ball, “First chance we get, we’re slitting that blonde fuck’s throat.”
Grizzly Addams, “Yeah… Fuck yeah.”
Otis opens the door for Jericho, Rico and Stonewall. He glances over…
Otis, “Hey fellas, ya coming?”
8-Ball, “Yeah…”
The two bikers slam back the rest of their budweisers and then leave the empty bottles on the bar before heading to (and through) the door. Otis finally steps out closing the door behind him as we fade.
