3:40 AM: Harlem’s Paradise
harlems-hero:
“It comes with the bar order that I sign for each week, if that’s what you’re meaning.” The taller gentleman responded with a late, if not hearty laugh. An inordinate amount of teeth flashed as his shoulders shook. That seemed to cue two of the other bartenders to chuckle along with him, even if they weren’t fully aware of the punchline.
“Glad you appreciate the drink though. So, I’m guessing you’re one of Captain Audrey’s brand newly minted white boys here for tribute? Word of advice. These ain’t office hours. Its closing time, and you need to pay your respects during the daytime. And make yourself known too, undercover or not. I’ll make sure you’re not made by anybody that’s too mad and bad to know.”
Quentin takes another sip from the glass, the tip of his tongue trailing over his lips in a bid to chase remnants of the beverage with a low hum of contentment. His grin broadens with the other’s laughter but it’s the curious manner in which the two employees join in which amuses the developer more - power was often firmly held onto by those who weren’t deserving of it, handed down to them through the legacy of predecessors forging a long term reputation. There’s an element of that here but the manner in which Stokes carries himself contradicts any thought of hypocrisy that may linger at the back of Beck’s mind, an abundant air of respect effortlessly commanded that comes across in waves as the two bartenders know their place ( it intrigues Quentin ).
“Captain Audrey—” There’s a distinct lack of recognition over the brunet’s features, a questioning brow faintly raised - the name sounds vaguely familiar, potentially from a soundbite from featured reports as part of his ongoing research of varied waves of crime in New York. As much as Beck didn’t particularly enjoy blindly walking into a place of ill-repute, he finds the idea of being pegged as a member of the NYPD hilarious ( was he giving off a particular vibe? ). “You must be mistaking me for someone else… but it’s nice to see that you take care of those even when they conflict with your personal interests.” The tumbler is swapped over, his right hand extended towards Cornell in a bid to clarify his supposed stance within this mess of mistaken identities, readying himself to roll into the fabricated spiel in which the engineer had adopted over the past nine months. “Quentin Beck. R&D in New Media.”
