Aiding the enemy
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Bad Cop (reluctantly) decides to work with Jimmy Drafter. Based on Debt of Fortune, in which Jimmy is still alive and is a rich, smug gangster with unfettered reign over the criminal element of Bricksburg.
Part 4. Contains swearing (again)
***
By the time Bad Cop entered the room the other men had arranged themselves around a large table. Drafter sat at one end and Lance at the other. Drafter drummed his hands on the table, stopping only when Bad Cop stood to his side, crossing his arms.
"Part of the job of protecting me is not letting me out if your sight." Drafter whispered through gritted teeth.
"I was held up by one of your lackeys. Wanted my gun. What protection am I without it?" Bad Cop hissed back.
Drafter rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you'll figure something out." He made a motion to Bad Cop to move away, then turned back to the table.
Lance cleared his throat loudly.
"Let's get down to business, shall we?"
Drafter ran his tongue along his teeth, then rubbed at his nose. Bad Cop watched him. Was he nervous? Or just too sober. Whatever it was, it showed.
"Don't forget whose meeting this is, Lance."
"I haven't, Jimmy, but you seem distracted. Just a suggestion, it might be good to enforce some kind of rule with your guys when it comes to speaking out of turn. Show em who's boss." Lance smirked and leaned back in his chair.
Bad Cop paced the length if the table, glaring at Lance.
"I get the point." Drafter said. "But I'm already bored of you. So here's what I need to say. I'm not going to back down, there's not going to be a retreat. Which means we have to find a way of getting along."
"But that doesn't make sense. As long as you deal on my streets I kill whoever I like. My house, my rules." Lance was still slouching, examining his fingernails.
"We're aligned. You're a Duplo, first and foremost."
"About that." Lance sat forward. "Don't you think it's convenient how when you want to expand your business into my territory we are buddies, we're an alliance. But when the Conejos needed backup dealing with rivals, no fucking answer. I cleaned out the trash and then you suddenly decide to crash the party."
"Thought you could handle it." Drafter shrugged. "And anyway, there's room for both of us. I got the message you were sending. I understand. You want to be taken seriously. You want to protect what’s yours. But there’s a way we can both get what we want. What I’m proposing is we give you a cut of any profit we make out your way, and we give you a discount on our product.”
Lance crossed his arms, leaning back once more in his chair.
“Why would you do something like that? what’s in it for you?”
“It might sound crazy, but I'm hoping for a little less death and destruction.”
Lance laughed.
“You? C’mon. I know how this works. The deal starts out great for me but next thing i know I’m either working for you, or I’m run out of town.”
"I promise you that's not my plan." Drafter said.
"Why would I believe you?"
Drafter stood up, scraping his chair back on the parquetry floor.
“Look, how about we shake on it? You have my word. You leave the Duplos be, and i compensate you as a sign of my appreciation.” He walked the length of the room, towards Lance, who watched him, eyes narrowed.
Bad Cop stood against the wall, between the two. All eyes were on them. Drafter stretched his hand out, smiling. Lance stared at it.
"I never said I agreed," He said. "So why are you trying to shake my hand?"
Drafter looked at Bad Cop. "You'd think he'd know."
"Know what?" Lance turned towards Bad Cop, also. In fact, everyone in the room was watching him.
Bad Cop shrugged. "A good deal, kid. You don't have the numbers for some all out war. If that what you're planning."
Lance scoffed. "and why would I listen to you? Most of your "meetings" ended up with people in body bags, right? Or wishing they were."
Bad Cop walked to the table and rested his knuckles against it. He leaned his head to Lance’s ear, voice quiet.
"Which is why, when someone offers to shake your hand, you do it." Lance blinked.
Jimmy leaned in and squeezed them both in the shoulder.
"He's got a point, there. This isn't something you go home and think about." He stretched out his hand again. "So what do you say?"
"Alright, alright. I'll fucking do it."
Lance grabbed Drafter’s hand and gripped it tightly. Drafter slapped him hard on the back.
"Right. Good choice." He walked back towards his chair. "We should talk percentages. I personally was thinking 80/20, but I'm willing to move a little."
He sat down in his chair and threw his feet up on the table.
"Twenty percent?" Lance screwed up his nose. "That's pathetic Jimmy, even from you."
Drafter lit a cigarette. "90/10, then?" He laughed loudly.
"This isn't a joke."
"Of course not," Drafter said. "But that doesn't mean we can't relax a little. Let you hair down,Lance. Were on the same team now!"
There was a knock on the door. Everyone's eyes shot to it. Bad Cop moved his hand towards his hidden sidearm.
The door creaked open a few inches.
"Catering." A voice called.
"We didn't order any." Drafter replied.
"It's complimentary."
Drafter waved his hand lazily.
"Fine, bring it in. Hope there's booze involved. Wouldn't mind toasting the occasion, right Lance?"
Two men pushed in a cart covered in food, some hidden by cloches. They pushed it over to Drafter, who picked up an apple from the fruit bowl and took a bite.
"Open up some of that champagne. Then take a glass to the blond kid at the end of the table."
One of the men pried off the cork and let the champagne bubble before messily pouring it into a flute.
"You're not too good at that." Drafter said, standing. "Here, let me do it." He reached his hand towards the bottle, and the man pouring grabbed it and pushed it down onto the cart. The bottle fell and rolled across the floor. Bad Cop reached for his gun, but hands pressed into his back, shoving him against the table. His arms were pinned. He watched one of the men pull free a pistol that had been taped to the underside of the cart. He held it to Drafter's temple.
"Which movie did you learn this one from, Lance?" He asked, smirking.
"Not the time for smart comments, Jimmy." Lance walked to Drafter and took the gun. He looked at it a moment, chuckling. “This was almost too easy.”
"You're just going to shoot me in the head in a busy hotel? There are cameras everywhere out there."
"Not in the hotel, no."
Lance grabbed the back of Drafter’s collar and pressed the gun in his back. Bad Cop was also forced to his feet and found himself standing next to Drafter, looking at the door. Lance pointed to a few of the men around the table, who stood and joined the group. He left two to guard the duplos, who looked from Bad Cop to Drafter as if waiting for some command. One of the conejos opened the door and Drafter and Bad Cop were shoved through it, and to a hall filled with boxes, empty carts and one or two bored looking hotel staff, who knew better than to pay attention to the out of place men walking past.
They reached a delivery room and walked through a side door, shoving aside a waiter who was smoking on the steps. He looked up at them with annoyance, then down again.
They turned a corner into a dark alleyway full of dumpsters that stunk of rotting food and were covered with graffiti. Lance shoved Drafter against the wall. Drafter turned to him.
"This was your plan?" Drafter glared at him. "You could have at least thought of an interesting way to kill me, Lance. This is so amateur."
"You're dead either way." Lance took of his jacket and handed it to one of his men. "Why does it matter how? I think it's fitting, really. I'll shoot you in the head then throw you in one of these dumpsters like the trash you are." He rolled up his sleeves and then aimed at Drafter's head. He took a step forward.
Drafter stared at him, jaw set.
***